Gospel Story Finder

My senior year in high school was filled with student body responsibilities, classes, activities, and planning for next year at BYU. I felt my senior year was a time for me to evaluate and take stock, to plan for big changes in my life. And all my friends were getting contact lenses.
“It’s a whole new world!” Cheryl confided as we huddled in our band uniforms at the opening football game. “I can see things I never saw before!” I had to admit she looked much prettier, too. Her small Japanese features no longer hid behind the thick glasses she had worn for years.
I pushed my own glasses back up on my nose and considered the possibilities. If Cheryl and Carolyn and Ron and Celia could make the change, why couldn’t I? It couldn’t be all that big a deal.
Or could it? I pondered some more as my regular checkup with the ophthalmologist approached.
“Of course!” he reassured me. He could fit me with contacts. I would have them within two weeks, for a mere $200, including eye exam and fittings during the breaking-in period.
That, of course, was another problem. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money for my family in 1970. I didn’t want to waste it. What if I couldn’t get used to the contacts?
I thought some more as I bicycled home. Daddy’s business hadn’t been going well. On the other hand, I had a good part-time job. Maybe I could offer to pay part of the bill. Maybe I would have to pay for the whole thing. Would it be worth it? I decided it would.
“Absolutely not,” said Daddy. “No daughter of mine is going to wear contact lenses.” I argued that everyone was getting them. I argued that I would pay part of the cost. I argued that I would pay all of it. I argued that I had $200, and more, sitting in the bank at that very minute. I argued that the doctor thought he could correct my vision more accurately with contacts. I argued that my glasses pinched behind my ears. I argued that contacts would give me better grades in school. Daddy was adamant, totally unreasonable. He finally put his foot down and refused to listen any more. “I don’t want you to go through all that,” he said flatly. “No. Don’t ask again.”
I stormed to my room in tears. The fight had bolstered my resolve. Anger had replaced any squeamish fears I had entertained. I would show him! I was 17 years old. I had my own life to live! Nobody was going to have control over me, not while I had $200 of my own money in the bank. I fantasized that I would be beautiful, independent. I would even lose weight, maybe streak my hair. Boys would take me out. I would show that mean, old-fashioned man a thing or two!
The next day I made an appointment for another eye examination.
I felt very shy and embarrassed the day I returned home wearing my new contacts. My eyes seemed different and foreign. The feeling was not unlike the strange tingle I had in my fingertips on the rare occasions when I used nail polish. I felt naked without my glasses, but I was astounded at the clarity of my vision. And in my heart a lurking fear was beginning to grow.
Lois had had her ears pierced against her father’s wishes. I remembered Paulette with the cork and needle at the slumber party, the alcohol-soaked strings, the infection. Lois had been grounded for a month. I pushed these thoughts aside and stiffened as I opened the front door. After all was said and done, the price had been paid and Lois had her pierced ears. I was a contact lens wearer now!
My father was more surprised and curious than shocked and angry. “Please let me see them,” he said. I held out the tiny green disk on the tip of a finger. He stared at it almost reverently. “Is this all there is to it? It’s so tiny. Are you sure you can see with it?”
I felt smug, superior, vindicated.
His next question surprised me. “Didn’t it hurt your eyes when they poured the latex in?” What on earth was he talking about? Nothing of that sort had gone on at all.
“I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning. I followed him upstairs to his room. From the back of his sock drawer, he pulled out a hinged leather case and opened it. On the white velvet lining were two glass balls. No, not balls. I picked one up. Doll teacups, of clear glass, an inch in diameter and an eighth inch thick.
“These are my contact lenses,” Daddy said sadly.
I was horrified. “How could anyone wear those? Why they must cover the whole eyeball!”
“That’s right,” he replied. “I wore them three times.”
My mother peered over my shoulder. “One of the times was on his second date with me,” she said. “His poor eyes watered so much and he was so miserable I made him take them off.”
“They made them by propping my eyelids open with a metal brace and pouring liquid latex over my eyes,” he explained. “The molds were then used for the glass lenses, which fit tightly over the entire eye. It took all my courage to put them in. I didn’t want that to happen to my little girl,” he finished lamely.
Remorse filled my heart. Daddy had only been trying to protect me from the pain he had suffered himself, while I had thought he was being mean and unreasonable. I shuddered as I remembered my misery when the orthodontist had made latex molds of my teeth. Then I thought of the young man, 20 years earlier, who had endured incredible agony for the hope of being freed from the burden of thick, heavy glasses.
Daddy hadn’t realized that times had changed. His actions toward me had been motivated by memories of his earlier experiences. I understood better now the reasons for other restrictions he imposed upon his children. He had once been a young man. Events during those years had shaped his relationship with his family; and the family rules, fair or unfair, were influenced by those experiences.
I knew the remaining months I would spend in Daddy’s household were limited. I would soon begin a new life that would lead me away from home. Very shortly, my parents would not be responsible for my welfare, and I was sorry my new understanding of them had come so late. I wished I had been more considerate and teachable.
Three years later, my mother called my Provo apartment with the news. “Your father got his new contact lenses today. Aunt Jeuney and I picked him up at the train station and asked him how he was doing. He really was excited! ‘When I got back to the office, I didn’t have to pick up a single thing on my desk to see what it was,’ he said.”
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of the man who had groped for so many years and had now found a fuller measure of vision. I prayed that in future relationships I would realize that people, especially parents, act according to their past experiences. It is impossible to understand all the reasons why people do the things they do. I hope I can remember that lesson all my life.

The word winner flashed across the TV screen. Ava had lost. Again.
Ava frowned at her brother Skyler and hit the start button on her video game controller. “Let’s play again.”
The game quickly started a new level. This time they were in an abandoned warehouse. Bad guys would be hiding everywhere. Ava shivered with delight and gripped her controller tightly.
But Skyler set his controller down. “I’m done playing,” he said.
Ava tried to hand his controller back. “You’re just saying that because you won,” she said. “Come on. One more level.”
Skyler shook his head. “I don’t think we should play it anymore.”
Ava watched Skyler pull the game from the console. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Ever?”
Skyler shrugged. “It doesn’t make me feel good when I play it.”
“But Mom and Dad say it’s OK!” Ava said. “And we’ve been playing it forever!”
“I think we should get rid of it so we don’t play it again.”
Ava grabbed the game from him. “You can’t decide for the rest of us!” she said. “It has to be fair!” She turned to the couch where their little sister Betsy sat watching. “Betsy, what do you think?”
“It’s kind of scary,” she said.
Ava couldn’t believe Betsy was choosing Skyler’s side.
Skyler gently took the game from her hand. “OK, I’ll just hide it for a while,” he said. “We have lots of good games to play instead. Maybe we won’t even miss it.”
Ava just glared and watched him put the game into his pocket.
The next day Ava went to the family room to play the game. Then she remembered. Skyler had hidden it. I’ll just find it then, Ava thought. She checked under Skyler’s bed. She checked between the couch cushions. She even checked the chicken coop!
But weeks went by and the game was still missing. Skyler had hidden it really well. Some days, Ava completely forgot about the game.
One afternoon it was Ava’s turn to do laundry. She opened Skyler’s dresser drawer and started putting his clothes away.
Something poked out at the back of a drawer. It didn’t look like clothes. Ava slowly pulled it out.
It was the game! It had been here the whole time! Ava grinned. She couldn’t wait to play it again. She was sure Skyler would play it too once he remembered how fun it was.
Except … it was a little scary, like Betsy had said. Suddenly Ava wasn’t so sure. It was more violent than their other games—even if Mom and Dad hadn’t noticed.
Skyler said it didn’t make him feel good. Ava thought about it. Maybe he was right. Sometimes after playing the game, she would argue with Betsy more or be angry at Skyler for winning. She hadn’t felt good either. She just hadn’t noticed until now. Ava put the game back in the drawer and set a stack of shirts on top.
“Ava!” Skyler called. He leaned into the room, smiling. “Dad says we can’t beat him at basketball. Want to prove him wrong?”
Watching movies or playing games that make you feel bad … is like eating worms just because they’re there!
Ava glanced down at the drawer. She thought a moment. The video game was fun. But it didn’t make her or her siblings feel good.
Ava smiled. “Yeah!” she said. She closed the drawer, and the two raced out of the bedroom, leaving the game behind.

The panel discussions had everyone’s interest. All the participants were given slips of paper. They could write any question they wanted discussed without a name attached. They put all the questions into a hat and then the stake president, several bishops, and Young Women leaders would attempt to answer the questions as they were drawn at random. The panel did reserve the right to refer the question to someone more knowledgeable or simply not answer.
“All the questions were interesting,” said Jaran Rosaker, Oslo Third Ward. His friend, Tarjei Gylseth agreed, “And they gave good answers as well.”

Lydia Kaminaga, like Hirobo Obeketang, was born into the Church but became less active during her teen years. But the story of her journey back is as remarkable as it is distinct.

Lydia and her husband, Kaminaga Kaminaga, both grew up in the Church. “I never had any doubt about the teachings of the Church,” says Kaminaga. “I’ve always believed them.”

But life moved differently for Lydia. When she was in seventh grade, she says, “I was the only Mormon in my school, and I felt left out. I did what my friends were doing. I got my priorities wrong.”

Lydia’s parents sent her to Provo, Utah, USA, to live with family, hoping their influence might inspire Lydia to live the gospel. Though she learned things that helped her later in life, at the time she wasn’t interested in Church activity.

Lydia moved back to the Marshall Islands in January 2002, just a month after Kaminaga returned from serving a mission in Japan. They met shortly thereafter. Although Lydia was not living Church standards, Kaminaga kept coming to her house pretending that he wanted to visit her nephew, Gary Zackious.

Eventually, Kaminaga made up his mind to talk to her parents about going out on dates—wholesome, clean activities—with Lydia. Although they initially tried to dissuade him, Kaminaga says he “finally told them, ‘There’s still a chance for her to change.’ When I said that, the whole feeling in the room changed. Her dad cried and said, ‘I’ve always wanted her back in the Church. You can try.’”

At first Lydia didn’t take Kaminaga seriously. After all, he was a clean-cut returned missionary, and she hadn’t been active.

“But he saw something I didn’t see,” Lydia explains. Since she wasn’t dating anyone, she agreed to go out with him. “He brought me back. Being his girlfriend, I had to set my standards straight. He reminded me of my covenants made at baptism. He reminded me of all the things I really missed a lot, like reading scriptures and family home evening. Kaminaga and I did service projects together. We read the Book of Mormon. We went to firesides. He showed me how to live differently. Going to church was not just sacrament meeting but also Sunday School and Relief Society too.”

As they spent time together on dates that were wholesome and uplifting, Lydia’s life began to change and her testimony grew. She still had to clear some things up, however.

“It was hard coming back,” she admits. “Repentance is not easy, but I have a really strong testimony of repentance. In a lot of ways, our dating was about getting to know each other more and about getting me back to church, to see things differently.”

“It’s about relationships,” adds Kaminaga.

Lydia and Kaminaga were married on November 28, 2002. A year later they were sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple and attended Brigham Young University–Hawaii. Now they live in the Marshall Islands with their three children. Lydia serves as their ward’s Sunday School teacher for the young men and young women, and Kaminaga serves as the Young Men president.

It was a bright summer day. Everyone in Marc’s family was busy working outside. David was mowing the lawn. Dad was fixing the car. Mom was weeding the garden. Marc started to feel a little lonely. Hmmm, he thought, I will go visit Sister Dunkley.
Sister Dunkley lived just up the street. Marc liked her. She had beautiful white hair. She made delicious cookies. Her house always felt warm and happy. Mom said that he could visit her, so he skipped all the way there.
Marc knocked on Sister Dunkley’s door. No one answered. He knocked again. Slowly the door opened. There was Sister Dunkley. She looked a little tired. Her beautiful white hair was a little messy. She was still in her pajamas.
Sister Dunkley smiled a tired smile. “Why hello, Marc. Would you like to come in?”
“Yes, thank you.” He sat down on the couch. Sister Dunkley sat down on a chair.
“I don’t have any cookies today, Marc,” she said.
“That’s all right, Sister Dunkley. I just came for a little visit. Everyone is busy at my house.”
Marc looked around at Sister Dunkley’s house. Something did not feel right. From the couch he could see her bed. It was not made. He could see her kitchen, too. The dishes were not washed. He looked at Sister Dunkley. Why was she still wearing her pajamas?
Marc got down off the couch. “I need to go home.”
“That was a short visit.” Sister Dunkley looked puzzled.
“I need to tell my mom something.” He walked out the door, then ran down the street. He ran all the way to his own backyard. “Mom! Mom!” Marc grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the house.
“My goodness, Marc, what is the matter?”
“It’s Sister Dunkley! We need to make one of those Relief Society dinners for her. She’s sick, and we need to help her.”
“How do you know she’s sick?”
“When I visited her, I sat on her couch. I could see into her bedroom. Her bed was not made. I could see into her kitchen. Her dishes were not done. She still had her pajamas on, and her beautiful white hair was a little messy. Now, Mom,” Marc said, his hands on his hips, “when you are sick, you don’t make your bed. You don’t do the dishes. You wear your pajamas, and your hair is a little messy. So I know Sister Dunkley is sick.” Marc pulled his mom’s hand again. “Come on—let’s go make one of those Relief Society dinners.”
A smile slowly crossed Mom’s face. “Marc, let’s you and I go back to see your sweet friend, Sister Dunkley.”
Marc and Mom went to Sister Dunkley’s house. Mom knocked on the door. When no one answered, Mom slowly opened the door. “Sister Dunkley!” she called.
Marc ran across the living room to Sister Dunkley’s bedroom. “Look, Mom! She’s lying on her bed!”
Sister Dunkley tried to get up, but she couldn’t. She was too sick. Mom sat on her bed and quietly talked to her. Next Mom made a telephone call. Soon Sister Dunkley’s son came into the house. He looked worried. He thanked Mom for helping his mother.
“Don’t thank me,” Mom laughed. “Thank my little detective, Marc. He had the sense to know something was wrong.”
On the way home, Mom held Marc’s hand. “I am very proud of you, Marc. Thank you for coming and telling me Sister Dunkley was sick. When you felt uncomfortable, that was Heavenly Father telling you something. That feeling came from the Holy Ghost. He was telling you to pay attention, that something was not right. Since you listened to that feeling and came and told me, we were able to help Sister Dunkley. Those feelings can help us be safe and guide us in what we need to do. They tell us that Heavenly Father loves us. I am happy you came and told me what you were feeling. Today, Marc, you listened to the Holy Ghost. Come on! I’ll race you home so we can make one of those Relief Society dinners.”

President George Albert Smith’s mother knew the Lord’s will; he told this touching incident of being taught to pray: “I was trained at the knee of a Latter-day Saint mother. One of the first things I remember was when she took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom. In the room there were two beds, the bed in which my parents slept, and a little trundle bed over on the other side. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. When we got upstairs she sat down by my little trundle bed. She had me kneel in front of her. She folded my hands and took them in hers and taught me my first prayers. I shall never forget it. I do not want to forget it. It is one of the loveliest memories that I have in life: an angelic mother sitting down by my bedside and teaching me to pray … That prayer opened for me the window of heaven. That prayer extended to me the hand of my Father in Heaven, for she had explained to me what it all meant, as far as a little child could understand …” (Sharing the Gospel with Others (Deseret Book Co., 1950) pp. 147–48.)

I was reared in the Philippines by strict but loving grandparents. My grandfather’s favorite phrase was, “It’s for your own good.” He used it whenever I acted stubborn or failed to finish a chore. He always said that the things he asked of me would help me become better prepared when I grew up. Although I didn’t fully comprehend his words, young as I was, I obeyed—if for no other reason than to avoid further sermons.
My grandparents were religious people. By the time I was five, I knew there was a loving God who blessed us as we obeyed His commandments. Going to church on Sundays was a must, and singing hymns, reading Bible stories, and praying were part of our daily routine. I felt temporally and spiritually blessed. We were happy and content.
Then events came into my life that shattered my peace like the sudden blow of unpredicted bad weather. My grandparents died unexpectedly one Christmas season when I was a teenager. The sorrow I felt seemed to ruin forever the joys and anticipation of Christmas. A couple of months later, my parents’ home burned down. A year later, my mother was in a car accident that left her an invalid. Then my father lost his job.
Tribulations beset me like a storm. With little money, I lost hope of earning a college degree. The demands of household chores drained me of energy.
Confused and battered emotionally and spiritually, I began to doubt God’s existence. I began to ask why He had allowed such adversity to come into my life when I had always tried to obey Him. The whys continued to bother me, and with no answers, I slowly drifted away from the church I was attending at the time. For years I searched other religions for answers and relief, but nothing satisfied me.
One bright summer afternoon, a close friend invited me to meet the Latter-day Saint missionaries. They impressed me with their polite greeting and neat appearance, and I was curious about their name tags, which bore the name of Jesus Christ. Somewhere inside my soul, a soft but clear voice seemed to whisper, Hear their message; it’s for your own good. The familiar phrase echoed in my mind.
As I listened to the discussions, my faith in God’s existence was gradually restored, and I accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ. Following my baptism, I found that my lifelong questions had answers. I read in Doctrine and Covenants 122:5–7 the Lord’s words to the Prophet Joseph Smith: “If thou art called to pass through tribulation … all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.” I have come to realize that great blessings did come from my trials, for they led me to the true fold of God.
Looking back on my experiences, I realize they truly were for my good—just as Grandfather had said.

Compared with prices in the 1980s, food and merchandise were very inexpensive. Beef sold for 3¢ a pound; butter, 8¢ a pound; eggs, 6¢ a dozen; sugar, 10¢ a pound. Shoes sold for $1.00 to $1.75; boots, $4.50 a pair. Riding whips were $1.50; spades, $1.25; calico sold for 12 1/2¢ a yard; and shirt collars for 28¢ each. These low prices were a blessing to the Saints, yet there were a significant number who lacked even pennies to purchase their needs. Hundreds fleeing from Missouri had lost all of their possessions, and many new converts came from backgrounds of poverty. Such people were often touched by the Prophet’s kindness and generosity, as he drew upon the resources of the store in their behalf. For example, Jane Elizabeth Manning, a freeborn black convert from Wilton, Connecticut, came to Nauvoo in the late fall of 1843 with her mother, Eliza, four brothers and sisters, a brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and Jane’s small son, Sylvester. They had walked nearly 800 miles: “We lay in bushes, and in barns and outdoors, and traveled until there was a frost just like a snow, and we had to walk on that frost. … I wanted to go to Brother Joseph.”
When the family arrived in Nauvoo, the Prophet and his wife Emma hosted them in the Mansion House until they could find homes in which to live.
“When I [came to Nauvoo] I only had two things on me, no shoes nor stockings, wore them all out on the road. I had a trunk full of beautiful clothes, which I had sent around by water, and I was thinking of having them when I got to Nauvoo, and they stole them at St. Louis, and I did not have a rag of them. … One morning, before [Joseph] came in, I had been up to the landing and found all my clothes were gone. Well, I sat there crying. He came in and looked around. … To Sister Emma, he said, ‘go and clothe her up, go down to the store and clothe her up.’ Sister Emma did. She got me clothes by the bolt. I had everything (“Joseph Smith, the Prophet,” Young Woman’s Journal, Dec. 1905, pp. 551–52).

Some time ago I found a large white envelope in my mailbox. Inside was a story written by a boy I had taught years before when he was in sixth grade. I remembered the student and the assignment his class had worked on for months. I also remembered that he loved to write and would sit and think and think. Sometimes only a word or two found their way to the page. At times he worked during recess, but when the due date arrived, his story still had a chapter to go. I told him just to turn it in as it was, but Jimmy had a different vision and wanted to turn in a finished story. The last day of class he asked if he could finish during the summer break. Again I told him just to turn it in. He pleaded for more time, and finally I sent him on his way with a stack of wrinkled and smudged papers, complimenting him on his determination and assuring him of my confidence in his ability to complete a great story.
I thought about him that summer, but the assignment left my mind until years later when I found his completed project in the mailbox. I was amazed and wondered what made Jimmy finish his story. What kind of vision, determination, and effort had been required in this task? Why do any of us finish a hard task, especially if no one demands its completion?
My husband’s great-grandfather Henry Clegg Jr. was a finisher. He joined the Church with his family when the first LDS missionaries went to Preston, England. Henry had a view of his destination in his mind as he and his wife, Hannah, and their two young boys immigrated to Utah. Henry left his older parents, who were too feeble to make such a long and arduous journey, knowing he would never see them again.
While crossing the plains, Hannah contracted cholera and died. She was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. The company then moved on, and at 6:00 in the evening, Henry’s youngest son also died. Henry retraced his steps to Hannah’s grave, placed his young son in his wife’s arms, and reburied the two of them together. Henry then had to return to the wagon train, now five miles away. Suffering from cholera himself, Henry described his condition as being at death’s door while realizing he still had 1,000 miles to walk. Amazingly he continued forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped writing in his journal for several weeks after losing his dear Hannah and little son. I was struck with the words he used when he did start writing again: “Still moving.”
When he finally reached the gathering place of the Saints, he began a new family. He kept the faith. He continued his story. Most remarkably, his heartache over the burial of his sweetheart and son gave birth to our family’s legacy of moving forward, of finishing.
I have often wondered as I have heard pioneer stories like the one of Henry Clegg, “Could I ever do that?” Sometimes I fear this question, knowing our pioneer legacy lives on today. I recently visited West Africa and witnessed everyday pioneers walking forward, joining a new church, leaving behind centuries of traditions, even leaving behind family and friends, as did Henry. My admiration and love for them is as great as for my own forebears.
Do the challenges of others appear more difficult than our own? We often look at someone with tremendous responsibilities and think, “I could never do that.” Yet others might look at us and feel exactly the same way. It is not the magnitude of the responsibility but rather how it feels to be the one in the middle of the unfinished task. For a young mother with many children at home, caring for them through the day and then through the night could feel like 1,000 miles yet to walk. Giving a lesson in Relief Society to women who are older or younger, more experienced or more educated could feel difficult, especially when the topic is one you are struggling to understand and live yourself. Teaching a class of 10 active six-year-olds can be daunting, especially when your own six-year-old is in the class and you haven’t quite figured out how to teach him one-on-one.
What do we learn from young Jimmy, from early pioneers, and from modern pioneers around the world that will help us in our specific challenges? Jimmy spent years writing on his own for no deadline, Henry Clegg marched on alone and without heart even to write in a journal, and African Saints lived worthy of a temple they could not have imagined would one day rise in their own nation. To keep going, to stay faithful, and to finish had to be its own reward.
Years ago one of our daughters asked me to come outside and play tetherball with her. She told me to sit down and watch as she hit over and over again a ball on a rope that wound itself around a pole. After watching several windings, I asked what my part was in the game, and she said, “Oh, Mom, you say, ‘Good job, good job,’ every time the ball goes around the pole.”
“Good job!” helps the journey seem possible. It might sound like a phone call from a mother of one of the six-year-olds in that Primary class, calling to let the teacher know that her son carefully helped his little sister into the car seat without being asked, acknowledging the Primary teacher’s lesson as the impetus for this new behavior. It might look like a husband getting the children off to nursery and Primary as his wife sets up her lesson for Young Women. It might be as simple as a smile, a hug, or a long walk to sort things out with a friend, a husband, or a child.
We each must find and finish our own story, but how much sweeter the telling when encouragement is called out, when arriving at our destination is valued and celebrated, however long ago the journey commenced.
The greatest mentor and advocate we have said: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). Can any of us afford to leave this piece out of our individual journey?
Henry Clegg was still moving forward to live among the faithful Saints, to take his place, to raise a righteous family, to serve his neighbor. He had that picture in his mind even when his heart was breaking. I heard a Primary child from Ghana answer the question “What does it mean to choose the right every day?” with, “It means to follow the Lord and Savior every day and do your best even when it is hard.” This modern pioneer boy knew President Hinckley’s admonition. He knew about keeping commandments every day. He understood that his own story would unfold simply by putting one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.
Last fall I found myself with a wonderful but challenging opportunity to develop and teach Primary training through a video made entirely in Spanish. At one time in my life I was a Spanish speaker, but recently I had been speaking Portuguese and knew what it would take to relearn Spanish. I did all the things each of you do to complete a task that feels extremely difficult. I found help from capable and dedicated Hispanic sisters. Together we studied, prayed, fasted, and worked long hours. The day arrived to go and do the thing the Lord had asked, and we not only were fearful but felt our work was inadequate. We had worked up to the moment of delivery, and nothing more could be done. I wanted to start over.
Each of our husbands gave us priesthood blessings, and peace and calm started to come. Like angels, help came in the form of a sweet husband who set the alarm on his watch so he could pray for me every half hour during the recording, a cameraman whose eyes radiated “Good job,” and Primary leaders who had confidence in the workings of the Spirit and were able to communicate that with power. We ended up with a finished film that was helpful for our Spanish-speaking leaders. All who participated in it were partly surprised and entirely grateful for its success. We walked as far as we could go, and when we thought we might abandon our carts and drop by the wayside, angels somehow pushed from behind.
What did we learn from this task? The same lesson Henry Clegg Jr. and Jimmy learned and the same thing all faithful modern-day pioneers are learning. With the Lord, nothing is impossible (see Luke 1:37), but we each have to finish our own story. He sends His Spirit, we call out encouragement to each other, but we have to keep writing, keep walking, keep serving and accepting new challenges to the end of our own story. “Still walking” is the fundamental requirement in the journey of life. He wants us to finish well. He wants us to come back to Him. I pray that each of our stories will end in the presence of our Heavenly Father and His Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, the authors and finishers of our faith. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Ruben Gapiz and Nenita Reyes were among the earliest Filipinos to join the Church. Nenita, who was baptized on 25 November 1961, was the fifth person to join the Church after missionary work began. She was a college graduate when her brother-in-law sent the missionaries to her home. Her response and the response of several family members was immediate and positive. Nenita was soon called to lead the music for the growing group of members in the Manila area. She has since served in the presidencies of the Young Women, Relief Society, and Primary.
Ruben Gapiz was interested in Nenita before he was interested in the Church. A talented guitar player, he was recruited to accompany Church members for an evening of Christmas caroling. Disappointed that he was not offered payment for his services, he was about to leave when he saw Nenita leading the singing. He stayed, eventually listened to the missionary discussions, and was baptized a year after Nenita.
Two years later, Ruben and Nenita became the first Filipino Latter-day Saint couple to marry. Almost everyone in the branch attended the ceremony and the celebration afterward. The Gapiz family was eventually blessed with four daughters.
Ruben accepted a number of callings in the Church, but he served with less eagerness than Sister Gapiz, although his testimony continued to grow. In 1975, however, Nenita says “the Lord tapped him on the shoulders and woke him up.” Ruben was diagnosed with cancer of the nasopharynx. He was not expected to live more than a few years. Nenita and Ruben’s oldest child was only 10 years old when the cancer was discovered; Ruben wanted badly to live and raise his family.
“In August 1978,” he recalls, “I received my patriarchal blessing from Patriarch F. Briton McConkie. My wife was in the room with me. … [The patriarch] did not have any prior knowledge of my affliction. Toward the end of the blessing he pronounced these words, which brought tears to my eyes and caused my wife to sob softly: ‘You will live your life to the fullest and will be called to serve in many leadership positions.’
“After the blessing was over, [the] patriarch … asked me the reason for my tears. I told him that I had been diagnosed with cancer, that I had only two years to live, and that the blessing he pronounced was almost too good to hope for. … I knew that day that the Lord had answered my prayers.”4
The blessing awakened his dedication to the gospel. “He became a different man after that,” Sister Gapiz says.
He has since worked tirelessly to strengthen the Church in the Philippines. Through the years he has served as bishop, stake president, mission president, and regional representative. He also served as chair of the committee that translated the Book of Mormon into Tagalog, the predominant native language. He currently serves as an Area Authority Seventy and Materials Management manager in the Philippines/Micronesia Area.

On the other hand, Jill and Kent Sorensen, who are from the same stake, say one of the best ways to strengthen their family has been to serve away from home. Sister Sorensen says, “One of the main excuses couples give for not going is grandkids, married children with struggles, daughters expecting babies, aging parents—you name it. Family is a priority, and you miss them every day. But going on a mission sends a powerful message that missionary work is important too.”
Besides, Elder Sorensen notes, “there are so many ways to keep in touch now that you can check in all the time.”
The Sorensens’ missionary journey began three years ago, when their bishop asked them to host monthly firesides for couples contemplating missionary service. “After talking about it constantly,” Sister Sorensen says, “we had to go ourselves!” They received a call to serve in the Cook Islands, where Jill’s grandparents served 50 years ago.
Today, among other duties, they are asked to teach Bible classes in schools.
“We talk about Christ being the rock,” Elder Sorensen says. “We give the students a small rock and encourage them to remain rock solid in Christ. Now everywhere we go, people say, ‘Rock solid!’ when they see us.”

I learned this for myself when my oldest son received his first cell phone. With great excitement, he began entering the names of his family and friends into his contacts. One day I noticed his mom was calling. On the screen appeared the name “Mother.” That was a sensible and dignified choice—and, I’ll admit, a sign of respect for the better parent in our home. Naturally, I got curious. What name had he given me?
I scrolled through his contacts, assuming that if Wendi was “Mother,” I must be “Father.” Not there. I searched for “Dad.” Still nothing. My curiosity turned into mild concern. “Does he call me ‘Corey’?” No. In a last-ditch effort, I thought, “We’re soccer players—maybe he calls me ‘Pelé.’” Wishful thinking. Finally, I called his number myself, and two words popped up on his screen: “Not Mother”!
Brothers and sisters, by which name are you called?

After my wife joined me in Utah, we went to California to visit her family, and it was there that I received an unexpected call from Elder Ian S. Ardern, Pacific Area President. He asked when I was returning to Fiji then said he urgently needed to meet with me. I told him I was returning to Utah the following week, so President Ardern said he would contact me then.
I did not sleep well after that call. My mind was troubled. My whole attitude for the remaining days of my holiday changed.
It was Elder Carl B. Cook of the Presidency of the Seventy who contacted me next, and my wife and I drove to Church headquarters to meet with him. What a humbling experience it was to be called to serve as an Area Seventy. While I had never turned down a calling in my 42 years of Church membership, this was different. I was overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy; I felt unprepared. I wept openly in the presence of my wife and Elder Cook. Was this really happening?
All my life I had looked up to the General Authorities and the General Officers of the Church—they were elected by God and were revered throughout the Church. All my callings up till then had been local. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined holding an Area ecclesiastical calling.
I struggled to accept what was asked of me, but doubt in my ability to fulfil this calling began to subside and instead, I was overcome by gratitude for my Savior, for His love and tender mercies. I felt a righteous determination to serve the Lord in this capacity. This was an opportunity for me to demonstrate my love for Him and for His Church. The scripture that came to my mind with great force was Doctrine and Covenants 82:3, “For of him unto whom much is given much is required.”
I was sustained during the April 2020 general conference, which was the first ever virtual conference held by the Church. My training as a new Area Seventy was also held virtually as the COVID-19 pandemic was at its peak. My first year in the calling was truly miraculous; the support I received from the Pacific Area Presidency, my fellow Area Seventies, and visiting General Authorities was amazing. Traveling to stake conferences and attending general conferences in person were highlights of this time, filled with wonderful learning and growing experiences.
However, deep inside, I still struggled, especially in my moments of personal reflection. I still felt insecure and inadequate in my service as an Area Seventy.
It was not until the last session of the General Authority, Area Seventy and General Officers Leadership Training, during the April 2021 general conference, that I finally received the spiritual witness I had been seeking since my call. I will never forget that moment.
This session’s agenda was for all 15 apostles and prophets to bear their testimonies and witness of Jesus Christ. The solemnity and sacredness of this occasion is glorious. It was Elder Neil L. Andersen’s testimony that changed my perspective and gave me the reassurance that I was searching for.
Elder Andersen explained how he felt when he was called to The Quorum of The Twelve Apostles. He said when he first sat in the seat that Elder Ulisses Soares now occupies, he looked up the row at the other 11 Apostles and the First Presidency, and feelings of personal inadequacy overwhelmed him. When I heard Elder Andersen say that, I sat up straight in my chair because I knew that what he had just said—and what he was going to say next—was specifically for me.
Elder Andersen said he struggled with this issue for a while and then it came: He heard the voice of the Lord say, “Neil, you did not put yourself there. I did, because I love you, and I know you can change, and I know you can help with my work.”
When Elder Andersen shared that sacred experience, it became sacred to me also. It was the confirmation that I needed.
I know that Heavenly Father and His Son did not call me because of anything I had done to qualify for this role, but it was because They love me. They know I can change, and They know I can help Them in Their glorious work: to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of all Their children. (See Moses 1:39.)

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Norwich, England, which is about 110 miles from London. During the Second World War, my father served in the British army and was stationed in Italy. In fact, I didn’t meet my father until I was five.
When I was about four years old, Mother would take my brother and me into the city every Saturday morning. At 10:30 we would be walking by a large clock that chimed. Mother would say, “Oh, it’s 10:30.” She would buy us a little something, not anything very significant, but something to try to brighten us up because Dad was away.
One particular Saturday morning when we were about to leave home, Mother said, “I don’t think we’ll go shopping today. I’m going to take you to the woods.”
After we arrived at the woods, we played in the grass and trees and enjoyed ourselves. Suddenly we heard an air raid siren. Planes were coming in overhead, so we hurried home. The next day, we discovered that at 10:30 A.M. bombs had been dropped, demolishing the whole area around the clock in the city.
That incident really had an impact on me. Mother often commented on the feelings she’d had that day. She wasn’t a member of the Church, but, not knowing why, she had had an impression, a prompting, to do something different. That was a great example in my life of parents being guided by the Lord to take care of their children beyond their normal understanding.

Moira hummed softly as she and Mamá walked out of the chapel. Church had just ended.
”Hi, Moira,” said President Scott. Richard G. Scott was the mission president in Argentina, where Moira lived. “Would you be willing to give a talk in district conference next month?”
Moira swallowed. She was just 12 years old, and she had never given a talk before! “I could try,” she said.
President Scott smiled. “Thank you! You will do great.”
On the way home from church, Moira’s heart was beating fast. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said.
“Heavenly Father will help you,” said Mamá. “He has helped you do hard things before, hasn’t He?”
Moira would have to be brave to speak at district conference. But she knew she could do it with Heavenly Father’s help. For the next few weeks, Moira worked hard on her talk. She wrote down what she would say. Then she practiced saying it out loud.
Finally the day came for her talk. Moira sat in the front and looked out at all the people in the chapel. There were so many!
Then Moira spotted someone waving at her. It was Carmen! Moira waved back. Seeing her friend in the crowd made her feel a little better.
When it was her turn, Moira stepped up to the microphone. She took a deep breath. Then she gave her talk. Her voice was shaky at first. But she could feel the Holy Ghost helping her. At the end, she shared her testimony. “I know that Jesus lives and loves us. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After the meeting, everyone went outside for a picnic lunch. Carmen found Moira and gave her a hug. “You did great!” she said.
“Thanks! I was scared, but Heavenly Father really helped me.” Moira smiled. She had done something she had never done before, and that made her a pioneer.

I didn’t know yet if the gospel was true when I was about seven and a half years old. I thought that if it was good enough for my parents, then it was good enough for me. One night, as I was pondering my life, my mind focused on thoughts of religion. I wondered if I was in the right one. I remembered Joseph Smith and that he had had the same thoughts. Thinking about this, I decided to follow his example. I got out of bed and began to pray. At first, I had a hard time concentrating on praying because it was pretty cold that night and I wanted to get back into my warm bed. After I finished my prayer, I listened for the Holy Ghost to tell me what to do. Finally, just as I was about to give up, I felt an amazing feeling. It was as if my heart was about to explode with joy! When I am in doubt of the scriptures and am not sure if Heavenly Father is really there, I look back at this time and remember that wonderful night when I first felt the Spirit for myself.

Anne Cody—the name struck me like a bolt of lightning. I had not seen Anne for years. Three decades before and a thousand miles away, Anne had been my childhood friend—and my link to the Church. My mother and sisters and I were members of the Church, but my father was not. No one in my family was active. Anne quietly and consistently took me with her to church and Young Women and included me in Church activities. During those crucial years I remained active more because of Anne’s friendship than because of my own testimony of the gospel.
That tenuous connection to the Church sustained me through my parents’ divorce. It inspired me to counsel my heartbroken father to start attending church and to listen to the missionary discussions. It was strengthened as my father joined the Church and my parents remarried. It was my guide through the turbulent teenage years.
Through it all Anne remained my friend and example. When she decided to go to Brigham Young University, I didn’t want to be left behind, so I went too. During that time good friends and full participation in the programs of the Church helped my testimony mature.
Then during my sophomore year, an unexpected tragedy befell my family. My oldest sister, who had suffered from emotional problems for years, took her own life. Our newly found testimonies comforted us through those difficult days.
I subsequently met a returned missionary and planned a temple marriage. The day before my wedding, my parents received their endowments, and we—my deceased sister included by proxy—were sealed as a family. Anne’s quiet influence had brought the blessings of the temple not only to me but to my family as well.

A Lesson from Grad School
I needed to learn this lesson during my own college years.

At the time, I was a third-year graduate student and was doing well in my program. A new student arrived—let’s call him Dave. Right from the start I had a challenging time being around him. I chalked it up to personality differences. Dave was really struggling in his first year and was at risk of washing out.

So what did I do? I am ashamed to say that I took the easy course and simply avoided interacting with him. While I was never overtly mean, I can say that I knew he was struggling, and I did nothing to help. In other words, I ignored an opportunity to help someone when I was uniquely positioned to do so. My attitude was, “What, you fell among thieves again? Well, that’s just part of the ball game. This is grad school; grad school is hard.”

I held on to this attitude for quite some time.

Then one Sunday, Kenny Loveless, our ward mission leader, approached me with an invitation. Now before I get to the invitation, it is important that you know two things about Kenny. First, Kenny is extremely fit and very strong. My guess is that for Halloween he often dresses up as a wall or a building. Second, Kenny has been well trained in the martial arts. He is a master, and at one point he held—and may still hold—the record for breaking the most wooden boards with his bare fist. He broke eight boards with no spacers.

Kenny had an invitation for me: “Mike, you are going to have a missionary experience this week and then report on it in quorum meeting next Sunday.”

Joseph Smith taught, “When the Lord commands, do it.” Well, I would add, when someone who can break eight boards with his bare fist invites you to do something, do it.

What were my options? My response to Kenny was simple: “Yes, Sensei!”

I immediately started thinking about people I could potentially invite to church. The first name that popped into my head was Dave, but I pushed it away. His name came again. I pushed it out. It came a third time. I accepted the challenge.

Then something unexpected happened. From the very moment I made the decision to extend the invitation to Dave, I started to feel differently about him. I started to see his situation more clearly, and my heart softened. I could suddenly sense how he must be feeling.

That next week I had two nice conversations with Dave before I invited him to attend a church activity. He sincerely appreciated the offer, though in the end he was not that interested.

So what came of all of this? Dave didn’t join the Church. But those interactions did help both of us get to a better place. We were each delivered, even if just partially, from our own challenges. Dave found in me someone who could uniquely help him, particularly with learning some of the more technical research skills required to be successful in our program. And I was delivered from my shameful attitude. I learned that when we see others the way the Savior sees them, we will not only be inspired to help but will be inspired to know how to help. And this help may not take the form of gospel discussions. Those discussions may need to come later. Today we may be inspired to deliver another from struggles with school, with work, with isolation, or with feelings of loneliness.

Last night was Thursday and everyone was home (untypical), and everyone was busy (typical). Rinda, seventeen, had to write a paragraph for English using a wild list of vocabulary words, and she wanted some ideas. Dinny, twelve, was struggling with a report on Treasure Island to be given orally and wondered how to make it interesting. Shelley, fifteen, was sandwiching geometry theorems between preparations for a report in American Problems on movie ratings and pornography, and she wanted my views. Becky, nineteen, wanted to know a good book to read and asked what I thought about the issue of faculty tenure as reported in the college newspaper that day. Megan, eight, needed some poems to take for library day and asked where to find some information on planets.
On a night like that, I am especially glad for some resources provided by my past to bolster my pretty-tattered present.

Keite de Lima A. Ahmed and Viviana Torres Noguera struggled to make ends meet even though their husbands worked hard for their families. For both, the PEF was a great blessing.
Less-active members of Keite’s family expressed doubts, however, when she registered for an 18-month safety-technician program. But she excelled in her studies and was offered a full-time position in her field in 2007.
“The fund did more than just help me receive training and employment; it also helped me feel better about myself and grow more confident in my abilities,” says Keite, one of the first women hired to conduct safety inspections, training, and implementation by a company in São José dos Pinhais, near Curitiba. “This inspired program has brought our family greater happiness and stronger testimonies,” she says.
Keite’s parents and siblings, impressed with her performance and determination and with how the PEF blessed her family, have returned to activity in the Church. “They were reminded that the Church lifts people and helps them grow in many ways—not only spiritually but also in all important ways that make for a full life,” she says.