Gospel Story Finder

In the early 1930s, Margaret Kisilevich and her sister Nellie gave a Christmas gift to their neighbors, the Kozicki family, which was remembered by them all their lives and which has become an inspiration to their families.
Home to Margaret back then was Two Hills, Alberta, Canada—a farming community populated largely by Ukrainian and Polish immigrants who generally had large families and were very poor. It was the time of the Great Depression.
Margaret’s family consisted of her mother and father and their 15 children. Margaret’s mother was industrious and her father was enterprising—and with all those children, they had a built-in labor force. Consequently, their home was always warm, and despite their humble circumstances, they were never hungry. In the summer they grew an enormous garden, made sauerkraut, cottage cheese, sour cream, and dill pickles for barter. They also raised chickens, pigs, and beef cattle. They had very little cash, but these goods could be exchanged for other commodities they could not produce themselves.
Margaret’s mother had friends with whom she had emigrated from the old country. These friends owned a general store, and the store became a depot for folks in the area to donate or trade surplus hand-me-down clothing, shoes, etc. Many of these used items were passed along to Margaret’s family.
Alberta winters were cold, long, and hard, and one particularly cold and difficult winter, Margaret and her sister Nellie noticed the poverty of their neighbors, the Kozicki family, whose farm was a few miles away. When the Kozicki father would take his children to school on his homemade sleigh, he would always go into the school to warm himself by the potbelly stove before returning home. The family’s footwear consisted of rags and gunny sacks cut into strips and wrapped about the legs and feet, stuffed with straw, and bound with twine.
Margaret and Nellie decided to invite the Kozicki family, by way of the children, for Christmas dinner. They also decided not to tell anyone in their family of the invitation.
Christmas morning dawned, and everyone in Margaret’s family was busy with the preparations for the midday feast. The huge pork roast had been put in the oven the night before. The cabbage rolls, doughnuts, prune buns, and special burnt sugar punch had been prepared earlier. The menu would be rounded out with sauerkraut, dill pickles, and vegetables. Margaret and Nellie were in charge of getting the fresh vegetables ready, and their mother kept asking them why they were peeling so many potatoes, carrots, and beets. But they just kept peeling.
Their father was the first to notice a team of horses and a sleigh packed with 13 people coming down their lane. He, being a horse lover, could recognize a team from a long distance. He asked his wife, “Why are the Kozickis coming here?” Her response to him was, “I don’t know.”
They arrived, and Margaret’s father helped Mr. Kozicki stable the horses. Mrs. Kozicki embraced Margaret’s mother and thanked her for inviting them for Christmas. Then they all piled into the house, and the festivities began.
The adults ate first, and then the plates and cutlery were washed, and the children ate in shifts. It was a glorious feast, made better by the sharing of it. After everyone had eaten, they sang Christmas carols together, and then the adults settled down for another chat.
Margaret and Nellie took the children into the bedroom and pulled from under the beds several boxes filled with hand-me-downs they had been given by their mother’s merchant friends. It was heavenly chaos, with an instant fashion show and everyone picking whatever clothes and footwear they wanted. They made such a racket that Margaret’s father came in to see what all the noise was about. When he saw their happiness and the joy of the Kozicki children with their “new” clothes, he smiled and said, “Carry on.”
Early in the afternoon, before it got too cold and dark with the setting sun, Margaret’s family bid farewell to their friends, who left well fed, well clothed, and well shod.
Margaret and Nellie never told anyone about their invitation to the Kozickis, and the secret remained until Margaret Kisilevich Wright’s 77th Christmas, in 1998, when she shared it with her family for the first time. She said it was her very best Christmas ever.

Photographs of Dora provided by the Pieper family
In the days that followed our daughter Dora’s scheduled birth by Caesarean section, we knew that something was different about her. But it was not until she was rushed directly to the hospital from a doctor’s checkup three weeks later that we began to understand what a life-changing event her birth would be for our family.
The weeks and months that followed took us on a roller-coaster ride of hopes and fears as dedicated professionals tried to diagnose Dora’s condition. Each new theory brought its own set of anxieties.
“Oh please, not that. We could not bear to lose her,” we responded to one possible diagnosis. “If it is this, we are not sure how we can deal with it,” we responded to another.
Diagnosis is a two-edged sword. It can bring closure and help one understand what the future may be like, but it can also create expectations or define limitations that may not even be real. In our case, we are grateful that after all the theories and tests, doctors could never come to a specific diagnosis for Dora.
“She is physiologically normal in every way,” they told us, “but she suffers from low muscle tone and seizures.”
We have lived the past 28 years with that statement—its uncertainties, its twists and turns, its challenges, and its joys and possibilities. We did not know what the road would be like, but we never felt limited by a specific medical diagnosis.
Some of the most frequent questions we have received over the years about Dora are “What does she have?” and “What is her disability?” We generally answer by saying something like, “Well, she doesn’t talk, walk without aid, or feed or dress herself, but she is so much more than that.”
We have learned not to define her by her inabilities or her limitations. Rather, we love to define her by her abilities.
For example, Dora can smile. Her smile makes those around her smile. Total strangers have stopped us in the airport to ask if they can take a picture with Dora simply because they have been overwhelmed by the light of her radiant smile.
She can give hugs. If you are lucky enough to get a hug from Dora, it will change your life. Once, when we were walking out of a sporting event, Dora passed a homeless man on the sidewalk and spontaneously reached out and hugged him. It was obvious from his expression that her hug was one of the most amazing things he had experienced that day.
Dora helps you feel loved. If Dora locks eyes with you, even for a second, you will feel a love and sweetness that might cause tears to well up in your eyes. With those amazing gifts, why would we ever want to define her as “disabled” or “handicapped”? She has influenced hundreds of lives for good simply by being who she is and doing what she does.
It is easy for parents to become overwhelmed when they realize that their child will depend on them for a lifetime. Feeling overwhelmed is even more pronounced when that child requires constant physical, emotional, and perhaps medical support. The prospect of feeding, dressing, bathing, caring for, and supporting a child every day can appear as a mountain that is just too tall and steep to climb.
In those moments, it is important to step back and say, “I just need to do this today.” We have found that by focusing just on the needs and opportunities of each day, the task seems more manageable. We can live just one day at a time, and we can look for the joy and growth that come with that day.
Each spirit sent to earth is capable of “enlargement.”1 All of us are expected to exercise our agency to the degree that we are able. We caregivers are responsible to help those under our care to grow and progress physically, emotionally, and spiritually to the extent they are able. That can mean helping them to have opportunities to serve—such as Dora giving hugs or smiles. It can also mean helping them to use and, if possible, enlarge their physical and mental capacities through therapy and activity.
In doing so, we need to be realistic. If we are constantly frustrated, we may be pushing too hard. The Lord can help us and guide us through His Spirit to do those things that are possible and appropriate. In some cases, He will give us miracles, small as they may seem.
We will always remember being told by a leading orthopedic specialist that Dora would never walk. But after several years of much prayer and hard work, Dora can now walk with assistance. Her overall condition hasn’t changed, but the Lord gave us a small miracle to help her grow and find more enjoyment in life.
It is only natural to ask why? when a precious, challenged child of God is sent to our home. Our faith naturally leads us to ask God whether it would be possible to heal or remove the child’s condition. We have the certain faith that God can heal our daughter, but He has also made it clear that it is not His will to do so now.
Heavenly Father has His own purposes for sending Dora to us, and He will heal her—if and when He wills to do so. That day may not come until the time of ultimate healing—the Resurrection. It takes as much faith to accept God’s will that these precious ones not be healed now as it does to believe that He can heal them now. Dora was sent to us with a purpose, and we have felt cautioned not to seek why but to ask Heavenly Father what He wants us to learn.
“To ask, Why does this have to happen to me? Why do I have to suffer this, now? What have I done to cause this? will lead you into blind alleys,” said Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Instead, he said, “Ask, What am I to do? What am I to learn from this experience? … When you pray with real conviction, ‘Please let me know Thy will’ and ‘May Thy will be done,’ you are in the strongest position to receive the maximum help from your loving Father.”2
At times we think of the parents of those children the Savior healed during His mortal ministry. Perhaps, like us, those parents wondered for what purpose their children were sent to them. After the Savior had healed them, the parents could understand that it would have been impossible for Him to demonstrate His healing power and divinity had there been no one to heal. We have the faith that a time of healing will come for all of God’s children.3
We look forward to that day.

3. While participating in the dedication of the Kansas City Missouri Temple, Sister Holland and I were hosted by Brother Isaac Freestone, a police officer by profession and a high priest in the Liberty Missouri Stake. In our conversations he told us that late one evening he was called to investigate a complaint in a particularly rough part of the city. Over the roar of loud music and with the smell of marijuana in the air, he found one woman and several men drinking and profaning, all of them apparently totally oblivious to five little children—about two to eight years of age—huddled together in one room, trying to sleep on a filthy floor with no bed, no mattress, no pillows, no anything.

Brother Freestone looked in the kitchen cupboards and in the refrigerator to see if he could find a single can or carton or box of food of any kind—but he could find nothing. He said the dog barking in the backyard had more food than those children had.

In the mother’s bedroom he found a bare mattress, the only one in the house. He hunted until he found some sheets, put them on the mattress, and tucked all five children into the makeshift bed. Then, with tears in his eyes, he knelt, offered a prayer to Heavenly Father for their protection, and said good night.

As he arose and walked toward the door, one of the children jumped out of bed, ran to him, grabbed him by the hand, and pled, “Will you please adopt me?” With more tears in his eyes, Brother Freestone put the child back in bed, found the stoned mother (the men had long since fled), and said to her: “I will be back tomorrow, and heaven help you if some changes are not evident by the time I walk in this door. And there will be more changes after that. You have my word on it.”4

If we don’t take gospel blessings to our communities and our countries, we will never have enough policemen—there will never be enough Isaac Freestones—to enforce moral behavior even if it were enforceable. And it isn’t. Those children in that home without food or clothing are sons and daughters of God. That mother, more culpable because she is older and should be more responsible, is also a daughter of God. Such situations may require tough love in formal, even legal, ways, but we must try to help when and where we can because we are not checking our religion at the door, even as pathetic and irresponsible as some doors are.

The day Alma Elizabeth turned eight years old she saw some elders baptizing people in a nearby creek. Her parents did not know about the baptismal service, so she ran home to tell them. With their permission she, too, was baptized in the creek. Afterward she walked to the meetinghouse to be confirmed. But after the confirmation, she felt very tired and fell asleep on a seldom-used church bench where people could not see her. When the meeting ended everyone went home. Alma Elizabeth’s family became concerned about her long absence, and they sent her big sister Helen to search for her. She found Alma Elizabeth still asleep in the now empty meetinghouse.

I don’t think I worried about the promises I had made at baptism, until I met Darren. Getting baptized was just something a guy did when he turned eight. When I was baptized, Grandpa and Grandma were there, along with Uncle Rick and Aunt Teri and all of my own family. It was like a big celebration, so I wasn’t thinking much about promises. In fact, I didn’t really think about the promises until I was in the fifth grade.
The Sunday before Darren moved to our school, Sister Murray talked to us in Primary about when the prophet Alma was by the waters of Mormon and invited his people to be baptized. He told them that if they were willing to enter the waters of baptism, they needed to promise to mourn with those who mourned and comfort those who needed comfort. She gave each of us a small white card with these baptismal promises written on it.
Darren and his little sister, Tanya, were the first black people I had ever seen at my elementary school. Maybe that’s why he surprised me so much. When the principal brought Darren to Mrs. Riley’s class, all I could do was stare. In fact, the whole class was quiet and just stared.
When Mrs. Riley asked us where Darren should sit, no one raised a hand to invite him to sit next to them, which we usually did when a new student arrived. No one said anything. Everyone just stared silently. Finally Mrs. Riley invited Darren to sit at a desk at the back of one of the rows.
All during the morning lessons, I couldn’t help sneaking peeks at him. He seemed so different from the rest of us. I wasn’t the only one—everyone in class sneaked looks all morning. Darren pretended he didn’t notice by keeping his head down, working on his math and English papers.
I think Mrs. Riley was the only one in the whole class who said anything to him that day. At lunchtime, he got in line with the rest of us and picked up his tray from the kitchen. He went to the long table along the wall and sat down. Usually I sat there, but I didn’t go there that day. It wasn’t that I was afraid of him—it was just that he was so different. No one else went to that table, either.
During noon recess, I played football with the rest of the guys. Darren didn’t come over, and we didn’t invite him. He just wandered around the playground by himself.
In the afternoon, when Mrs. Riley had us work in groups on our science project, no one invited him to be part of their group. Mrs. Riley finally assigned him to work with Tanner, Whitney, and Lance.
As I started home after school, I saw Darren and Tanya walking in front of me. I was in a hurry, but they weren’t walking very fast, so I hung back, not wanting to pass them. I didn’t want them saying anything to me, and I didn’t know what to say to them. I ended up running to the other side of the street and walking past them, acting as though they weren’t even there.
As soon as I reached home, I rushed into my bedroom to change my clothes. My friend Brandon and I had decided to ride our bikes over to the creek to catch minnows. As soon as I stepped into my bedroom, I saw the little white card I had hung on my mirror, and I thought of Darren.
At first, I didn’t understand how that card could possibly be talking about him. When we had talked in Sister Murray’s class about mourning for and comforting others, we had thought of someone’s grandpa or grandma dying, or someone whose house had burned down. We hadn’t talked about someone like Darren. But I thought of him that afternoon.
For a long time I stared at that white card, and I remembered what it was like to move into a new school. Two years earlier I had been the new kid. At first I was afraid and was sure that everyone in the whole school was staring at me. Then Brandon invited me to sit next to him in class. His friends became my friends. We sat in the cafeteria together. We played at recess together. That very first afternoon he even invited me to his house after school.
I thought about Darren’s first day. No one had spoken to him. No one had invited him to join them. No one had eaten lunch with him. No one had asked him over after school to play. And all during the day, he had been forced to face the silent, scary stares from the rest of us.
As I stared at Sister Murray’s white card, I realized that although I had thought Darren was different from the rest of us, he really wasn’t. He had a different color of skin, and darker eyes and hair, but he felt and hurt just like the rest of us. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to have friends. He wanted to play. He wanted to go places without everyone staring at him.
Suddenly I felt sorry for Darren. I decided that by really feeling sorry for him, I was doing what Alma talked about at the waters of Mormon. I told myself that that was all I needed to do, that that was all I could do without the whole school staring at me like I was someone extra strange. I changed my clothes and rushed outside to play.
The next day I grabbed my football and charged out of the house for school. Before I could leave the yard, I slid to a stop. There were Darren and Tanya coming down the street on their way to school. Barry and Trevor were fifteen or twenty steps behind them. I saw Barry pick up something and toss it toward Darren and Tanya. Then Trevor said something that I couldn’t hear, and both of them burst out laughing. Darren and Tanya just kept walking with their eyes straight ahead.
Instead of starting down the street close to Darren and Tanya, I pretended to have forgotten something and slipped back inside the house until all four of them were far down the street. I tried as hard as I could to not think about the white card stuck on the mirror in my bedroom.
During the day, there were several times that I could have said something to Darren, but I didn’t.
I didn’t stare at him and snicker like some of the other kids, but I didn’t try to comfort him at all. At lunchtime, I was right behind him in the line, and when he went to sit down, I almost followed him to his table. Then Brandon called to me from another table, and I went over to him.
By the end of the day, I was glad that it was Friday because I had a whole weekend without having to think about or to see Darren. On Saturday, I hardly thought about him. By Sunday morning when I was rushing about to get ready for church, Darren was the last thing on my mind.
As sacrament meeting started, I sat on the bench next to Mom. She teaches Primary and had her manual and lesson materials piled neatly on the floor in front of her. Right on top was a picture of Jesus wearing a red and white robe. And He was staring right at me. We sang the sacrament hymn, and I began to think about my white card with those special baptismal promises written on it, promises that I was about to renew when the deacons brought the bread and water around. I was going to promise to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and I knew—and I knew that Jesus knew—that for me that promise included Darren.
For a moment I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see that picture of Jesus looking up at me. But I could still feel His eyes staring at me. They didn’t stare at me like the eyes at school stared at Darren and Tanya. Jesus’ eyes were asking me to do something for Darren.
That Sunday was the first time that I was a little afraid to take the bread and water as it came down the row toward me. I knew that I wasn’t eating plain old bread or drinking regular old water. I was supposed to be thinking of Jesus and promising to do what I thought He would do if Darren was in His class at school.
I hesitated as Mom handed me the bread tray. In fact, I hesitated so long that Mom nudged me. Slowly I reached out and took a small piece of bread. When I did, I knew that I was repeating the promise I’d made three years ago, when Dad had led me down the tile steps into the baptismal font. For me, that shiny clean baptismal font was the same as the waters of Mormon for Alma’s people.
On Monday morning, I said an extra long prayer because I needed all the help and courage I could get. I grabbed my football, slipped out the door, and looked up and down the street. Darren and Tanya were still over a block away. Barry and Trevor were a few steps behind them.
I knew that I could start for school without running into Darren just yet. I could wait until I was in Mrs. Riley’s class and look for a chance to be nice to Darren there. Then I thought of that picture of Jesus, dressed in His red and white robe, staring up at me.
I gripped my ball and waited for Darren and Tanya. I was going to keep a promise.
“Hi, I’m Steve,” I said with a nervous smile. “I think you and I are in the same class.” I glanced anxiously down the street toward Barry and Trevor; then my gaze returned to Darren and Tanya. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Darren thought a moment and then shook his head. I smiled and took a deep breath because my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking a little bit. I tossed my football to Darren and he caught it. “Good hands,” I said. “Do you like football?”
“I love it! I used to play at my old school.”
“He was good, too!” Tanya spoke up, grinning up at her brother and then over at me.
“Then you’ll have to play with us. We can always use a good football player.”
We started down the sidewalk. I heard Trevor and Barry snicker, and I knew that they were staring behind us, but I kept walking with Darren and Tanya.
“Did you think of a frightening experience to write about in class?” I asked, remembering an assignment that Mrs. Riley had given us on Friday.
Darren laughed. “I can think of a lot of scary experiences that I’ve had. I haven’t written anything down yet, though.”
“Mrs. Riley said we could work in pairs. Maybe you and I can work together,” I invited. “We can help each other come up with something really good.”
When we reached the school, we went over to where the guys were starting the morning football game before the bell rang. As we approached, the playing stopped for a moment and all eyes were on Darren, Tanya, and me. No one said anything, but I could feel all of those staring eyes on me.
For a moment, I wished that I had hurried to school without waiting for Darren and his sister. I wasn’t used to those staring eyes. Then I realized that ever since Darren had entered this school, he had been facing those same staring eyes all the time. There was no place for him to run and hide from them, and those eyes hurt him as much as they hurt me—probably even more.
“Darren’s going to play with us this morning,” I burst out boldly. “Before he came here, he played a lot of football. He’ll be on my team. We can play with my ball.” I silently prayed that my voice wouldn’t crack or shake as I spoke. I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was.
“We don’t need any extra guys,” Rusty spoke up, staring up at Darren and me.
“We can always use someone good like Darren,” I came back. “He’s playing,” I repeated. “Go out for a pass,” I said, turning to him.
While all eyes were on us, Darren raced across the field. I gripped the ball, cocked my arm, and threw with all my might. My pass was a little high and a little long. I figured that Darren would probably miss it. But just as it sailed over his head, he leaped and stretched out his arms. The ball touched his fingertips. It was as though they had invisible glue on them, because he held onto the ball, pulled it into his chest, and clutched it tightly as he fell to the ground.
“Awesome!” I heard someone mumble behind me. “What a catch!”
I grinned and waved Darren back to us. “Come on, Darren, we’ll kick off.”
The eyes still stared, but I didn’t mind them so much, because I remembered the promise I had made the day before, when I had taken the bread and water. Into my mind came the picture of Someone in a red and white robe with His eyes staring at me. As I raced across the field alongside Darren, I was glad for His staring eyes and how good they now made me feel.

Let me share with you a recent experience that has blessed my life. About six months ago, I noticed a woman sitting in Sunday School in my ward. I had never seen her before. I was prompted to go sit by her during Relief Society. We introduced ourselves as the meeting began. A few minutes later, she turned to me with a somewhat scared look in her eyes and said: "I haven't been to Church in years. I have been free of alcohol and drugs for ten months." I patted her hand and told her I was glad she was in church. A few minutes later she said, "I usually feel so uncomfortable in Church, but I have loved the meetings today." I again reassured her that she was in the right place. At the end of the meeting, she asked me if she could give me a call in the coming week. I gave her my number and we said our good-byes. Monday came—no call. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday came—no call. Finally on Friday afternoon, I received a phone call from her. She told me how hard it had been to get the courage to call me. It was the Friday before General Conference, and I invited her to attend the Sunday morning session with me. It was a wonderful experience for both of us. She was touched deeply by the music of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and particularly the conference messages on the Atonement. She was very emotional when President Monson stopped on his way out and waved to the large congregation in the Conference Center. He was right in front of the section in which she was sitting. She said, "I felt like he was looking right at me and knew I was there."

The journey back has been challenging for her. It has taken a variety of people to help her get back on the path to eternal life. She has had to give up her addictions, which has been incredibly difficult. She sought help from Alcoholics Anonymous. She needed a wave from a prophet of God to help her know of her worth in the sight of God. She needed a friend to encourage her to keep coming to Church. She has reconnected with her parents and siblings. Words can't describe the joy they are experiencing in having their daughter back. She needs a bishop to help her through the repentance process. She needs to give up her old friends and find new friends who will help her live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

As I was preparing this talk, I received a text message from her that demonstrates her need for righteous relationships in her life. It said: "I just wanted to say hi and I'm really excited. Kathy, the Relief Society President, called me today and invited me to a homemaking night at Church next week. Also, I wanted to tell you something they tell us in Alcoholics Anonymous: ‘What I can't do by myself, WE can do together.' Thanks for being my ‘WE'. "

One of my friend's concerns is that she has lost so much time in learning about the gospel. WE are learning about the gospel TOGETHER to give her a basic understanding of gospel truths. She will be better and I will be better because WE are helping each other. It's all about relationships!

On the day my friend and I went to general conference, I shared with her the Virtue Value Experiences and Project. Most sincerely she asked me, "Do you think I can ever be a virtuous woman?" With confidence I told her, "Yes!" It will take, however, the redeeming power of the Atonement for that to be possible. It will take a "mighty change of heart." It will take a repentance process that is not easy and it will take time—but it can be done. I'm happy to report that she is on her way, but she also needs the enabling power of the Atonement to become that virtuous woman. This enabling power will give her the "strength and assistance" from our Savior to become that virtuous woman and stay on the path to eternal life. I have witnessed this enabling power in my life and in the lives of others.

It all started when I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon and later went to the Ohio State Fair in 1972 to get a copy for myself. That week I read about Joseph Smith and the golden plates. I was fascinated by the story, but I could not believe that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. College was to start in a week, and I knew I wouldn’t have time to read the book after returning to campus. On Friday I prayed to know if the book were true, and if it were, I asked the Lord to give me time to read it.
Two days later I was in an automobile accident. I had to stay in the hospital for a few days and have a pin put in my broken ankle. The doctor told me I would be unable to go to school that semester. That really woke me up. I remembered what I had asked two days before, and I immediately began reading the Book of Mormon and the pamphlets I had picked up at the fair.
Two months after the accident two elders came and knocked on our door. My sister and I decided to receive the discussions, and I invited a friend to the first lesson.
For the second discussion I invited another friend also. The elders were transferred and two others continued to teach us. My sister’s boyfriend joined us in taking the discussions. My two friends and I were baptized in March 1973.
I arranged for two of my cousins to take the discussions at my house. My cousins, my sister, and her boyfriend Larry were baptized in May. Larry talked his sister into taking the discussions. He baptized her in August.
In October my sister married Larry. While at the wedding reception one of the missionaries talked to another of my cousins. She started asking questions about the Church. She was baptized in December.
Two of my friends came out to the Young Adult activities, and I suggested that they listen to the discussions. They are now members of the Church.
Beginning with a Book of Mormon, a prayer, and two missionaries knocking on my door, there are now 11 converts in the Church. The missionary program is important to me.
“Before they came there was no light: when they left there was no darkness.”

When I was nearly 20 years old, being a Latter-day Saint from an LDS family and attending BYU–Idaho, the questions started coming. “Have you put your papers in?” “Are you excited about going on a mission?”
I had always thought I would serve a mission, but when the time came to serve, I just avoided the matter.
For a long weekend, I made the four- to five-hour drive from Rexburg to my family’s home in Orem, Utah.
That weekend, home was filled with family and friends coming and going. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends added to an almost holiday feel. I seemed to keep getting pulled aside by family members and asked the usual mission questions. It was usually followed by offers of encouragement and support.
My Uncle Rick talked about how, as the oldest boy in the family, I would be setting an important example for my younger brother by serving a mission. Uncle Bob offered a fun anecdote from his mission to Sweden and said he was excited for me to get my call. My mom tenderly reminded me how much she loved me and how happy it makes her when I make correct choices.
I knew the word was getting around to “remind Rob about a mission.” I might have felt some resentment, but their promptings were delicate. I only felt love and concern when each of them approached me.
It was Sunday afternoon after church. I knew if I left at around 3:30 p.m., it would put me back home in Rexburg by 8:30. I was surprised having so much family around that there wasn’t a big dinner planned after church. In any case, I made a sack lunch for the trip and packed my old blue car for the ride back to school. It hurt to leave so many loving people, and I felt a little guilty I hadn’t come with news that I had put in my mission papers.
My car was dependable most of the time, but it had shown signs of unpredictability. Somewhere past the city of Pocatello, surrounded by the flat farmlands of eastern Idaho, my car began to cough and sputter. I glanced down for a minute, scanning my dashboard for red lights or needles that pointed out perils. Everything seemed OK, but the car continued to hesitate and began to lose power. I looked in my rear view mirror—nothing but darkness.
Surveying the horizon in front of me also reminded me that there were some vast unoccupied areas in Idaho.
My car sputtered and jerked. I was lucky enough to be by a ranch exit. I pulled off and stopped the car under the lone streetlight on the exit. The car shuttered for a minute more before I turned the key off. It was deadly silent, and snow was beginning to fall, which made any traffic on the freeway seem distant.
From experience I knew that if I gave the car a few minutes, I might be able to start it and carry on my trip, but I would have some time to burn. I grabbed my coat and laid it over the top of me and pushed my seat back as far as it would go.
As I lay in the quiet night, the first thing that came to my mind was the conversations I had had that day. The feelings of love and concern that had come from my family seemed to linger and to grow in me. Soon my heart began to swell as I remembered the warmness I had felt from family that day. Soon I knew that it was more than the love from my family I was reflecting on. The story of Alma the Younger came to me. He remembered his father preaching of the “the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world” (Alma 36:17).
My thoughts soon turned toward my Savior and how much He loved me and wanted good things for me. I began to pray and thank Heavenly Father for my family and the opportunities I had. My prayer was reciprocated with an even deeper awareness that Christ loves me and Heavenly Father knows me personally. I found myself having a meaningful spiritual experience I would never forget.
After about an hour had passed, I felt I had restored myself enough to try to drive on. I turned the key, and the car came to life. I revved it a few times and pulled the car back onto the road and then onto the freeway. What was sure in my mind after getting back onto the road was that, first thing the next morning, I wanted to get ahold of my bishop and start getting my mission papers ready.
When I got home, I was eager to call my mom and let her know the news.

As we increase our interactions with the Savior—as we really come unto Him—we can become like Him. But what does it really mean to come unto Him? How can we do that? My interaction with a little three-year-old girl several years ago was a great model to me of the relentless, undaunted effort that can be put forth when we really want to be close to someone, when we really want to get to know them.

My experience with this little three-year-old gave me some new insights into coming unto Christ. I was attending sacrament meeting in Raymond, Alberta, Canada, in the ward in which I grew up. It was summertime, just a few years ago. As soon as I sat down in the row behind this little three-year-old girl and her family, she had her eye on me. (I think it was my earrings that initially caught her eye.) I asked her what her name was. It was the same as mine: Wendy. When I told her that was my name, too, she was thrilled! So was I.

The Savior wants us to take His name upon us. To have His name.

There was no hymnal near me, so I asked Wendy’s older sister to hand me one from the row in front of their family. Little three-year-old Wendy heard my request and scurried to the end of her row, passing the knees of her four siblings and parents, and then up to the next row, where she secured the book and brought it back with joy to me.

Now I’m not saying that Wendy’s efforts to retrieve that hymnal compared with what Nephi went through to secure the plates—but perhaps her willingness to “go and do” did! (See 1 Nephi 3:7.)

When we hear what the Lord needs us to do, do we respond willingly and quickly? Is that one way to come unto Him—to do what He wants us to do and do it quickly? Little Wendy had heard my request and completed this loving act.

Wendy’s desire to be close to me was evident when, as my dad and I sang the opening hymn, she leaned over the back of her bench and put her face right on our open hymnal and smiled up into our faces with her big brown eyes that were ?lled with light and love.

As the sacrament meeting continued, Wendy found every way she could to connect with me: entreating me to talk to her (and I would comply by softly whispering into her ear) and studying every aspect of my face and hands as much as she could from her position of leaning over the back of her bench. Finally, she could bear it no longer. She shimmied under her bench and up and onto my lap, where she happily, peacefully, joyfully stayed for the rest of the meeting.

Do we feel that same restlessness and urgency to come even closer to the Savior?

(I might add that little Wendy actually made several people happy with that move: me, of course; her parents, who were happy they didn’t have to tell her to turn around anymore; and the surrounding people in the congregation, who didn’t have to listen to her parents telling her to turn around.)

From Wendy’s new vantage point of being up close and personal with me, she was curious about the other people in my family. Pointing to my father, she said, “What’s his name?”

I said, “His name is Daddy.”

And with a mix of joy, amazement, and awe, she said, “I’ve got a boy named Daddy, too!”

When we are close to the Savior, when we come unto Him, we come to understand that not only does He have a Heavenly Father, too, but also that His father is our Father.

And we know that there was a time in the Garden of Gethsemane when the Savior, out of the depth and breadth of His suffering for us, called out to our Heavenly Father with the most familiar name of “Daddy” when He cried, “Abba!”

With little Wendy on my lap, I whispered into her ear telling her what a wonderful little girl she was, how much her mother and father loved her, and what she could do to show them how much she loved them. She was totally enraptured with hearing these things—totally silent and very reflective.

Thanks for the idea of sharing a subscription to the New Era. My friends were all delighted to have the subscription. One of my friends is even taking the missionary lessons now and is thinking of joining the Church. I can still remember when he received his first issue, which had a lot about the temples in it. After he had finished reading it, he came running over to my house, with his face glowing, and said “That’s where I want to be married—in the temple!” I’m not a member yet myself. It’s been a two-year wait for me, and I still have to wait another six months. Thanks for this wonderful missionary tool and especially for the article “Every Nonmember a Missionary.” I still remember my next door neighbor saying to me, “Here you are going around telling everybody about the Church, and you’re not even a member yet!” He is now planning to go on a mission when he’s 19. I have been fortunate to have been able to set a good example to many of my friends. As a matter of fact, I now have the opportunity to give a report in my California history class on the Mormon influence in California. It’s not going to be easy to limit myself to historical facts and not try to convert the whole class.
Adriana Lillian BrownMenlo Park, California

I mention one more example of the incorrect way to accomplish home teaching. President Marion G. Romney, who was a counselor in the First Presidency some years ago, used to tell about his home teacher who once went to the Romney home on a cold winter night. He kept his hat in his hand and shifted nervously when invited to sit down and give his message. As he remained standing, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Brother Romney, it’s cold outside, and I left my car engine running so it wouldn’t stop. I just came by so I could tell the bishop I had made my visits.”6
President Ezra Taft Benson, after relating President Romney’s experience in a meeting of priesthood holders, then said, “We can do better than that, brethren—much better!”7 I agree.

The Gordon-Smith family’s cosmopolitan story begins more than twenty years ago in Prague, Czechoslovakia, where eighteen-year-old university student Rostya saw little hope for a future in her native country. Her parents were divorced. Her mother had escaped to Austria, and her father was in prison. Upon his release, “I told him I couldn’t live in Czechoslovakia any more,” she says. “I had seen a glimpse of freedom.” That “glimpse of freedom” had come during a student demonstration, when she and others of her generation had determined to live the ideals of liberty and equality, in spite of the opposition they faced.
Rostya obtained a visa that would allow her to leave for England, ostensibly to study English. “It was a sad and lonely time for me,” she recalls. “I arrived in London unable to speak English, with one suitcase and five American dollars.” Before leaving Czechoslovakia, she had arranged for a job as a maid with an English family in London. But after a year with the family, Rostya felt she wanted something more out of life.
With the encouragement of friends, she applied for admission to the University of London. “To pay for my studies, I sold newspapers at a railroad station from 5:00 to 10:00 A.M., attended classes in the afternoon, worked again from 6:00 to 11:00 P.M., and then returned home to my attic room to study and sleep.”
Two years later, she met Simon, also a student. A week after they met, he proposed marriage to her. At first, Rostya was hesitant. “I told him that I wanted to have a career and that I was not interested in marriage or children. But he persisted.” They were married eighteen months later. Both graduated the same year, Simon in civil engineering and Rostya in Eastern European studies. Simon’s first job was in Scotland.
Two years later, Simon came home from work and asked Rostya if she would like to move to Brazil on a company assignment. “When?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he replied. They were soon in Santos, Brazil, where Simon began work on an oil pipeline along the coast. They knew they had opened a new phase in their life. But the real change was yet to come.
The young couple soon joined a club for expatriates, where Rostya was attracted to a group of women that seemed enthusiastic and open. When Rostya introduced herself, one of the women said, “‘Gordon-Smith’ sounds English enough, but ‘Rostya’ certainly doesn’t.” “That’s because I’m Czech,” Rostya replied. To Rostya’s surprise, the women started speaking in Czech. Rostya had just met Zaza, a native Czech raised in Brazil, married to an American, Don Clark.
The Clarks and the Gordon-Smiths soon became friends, attending movies together, playing tennis, and just visiting. One day, two Latter-day Saint missionaries called at the Clark home while Rostya was there. “I did not know they were missionaries at that time,” Rostya says. “They were just two young men with short haircuts, dressed in shirts and ties. I asked them who they worked for, because I presumed any foreigner was working for a company. They gave me a very vague answer: they were working for a church, they said, and they were visiting people and reading scriptures with them in their homes. I thought it sounded very strange at the time.”
Don and Zaza Clark, who were members of the Church, began to talk to the Gordon-Smiths about the gospel. Soon, the Clarks invited their friends to attend a Church meeting with them. It was a fast and testimony meeting. “It was a shocker for me,” Rostya says. “All I could see was that everybody wept: men, women, and children. I was very, very embarrassed, and my husband was, too. When Don Clark asked me what I thought about the meeting, I looked at him and said, ‘I think it’s mass hysteria.’”
A short time later, Don and Zaza invited Simon and Rostya to an area conference in São Paulo, where President Spencer W. Kimball announced the building of the temple in Brazil. Rostya was impressed by the affection the people showed for the prophet. Following the conference, the Gordon-Smiths agreed to take the missionary discussions.
Nothing much happened until the lesson on repentance. “I was good at justifying any of my actions,” Rostya says, “but somehow the process of repentance seemed logical to me.” She found herself thinking about repentance, even writing letters of reconciliation. “But when the missionaries asked me to pray about the principle of repentance, I said, ‘How can I pray if I don’t believe in the existence of God?’ ‘How will you know if anyone lives on the tenth floor,’ they asked me, ‘if you don’t ring the bell? Ring the bell and see if anyone answers.’
“I was thinking about what they said while I was doing the dishes one day. I decided to follow their suggestion. I knelt down and said, ‘Heavenly Father,’ and a wave of warmth enveloped me. I started again, ‘Heavenly Father,’ and the warmth intensified. I felt enveloped in love and protection for the first time in many years. I asked all the questions: ‘Is this the true church?’ ‘Is Joseph Smith a prophet?’ ‘Is the Book of Mormon true?’ ‘Do you love me?’ My answers came in the affirmative by the power of the Spirit.
“I telephoned my friend Zaza Clark. ‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ I cried. ‘What have you got?’ she asked in alarm. ‘A testimony!’ I exclaimed.”
Rostya and Simon were scheduled to be baptized after a stake conference. During the conference, Elder James E. Faust of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles called on members of the congregation to bear their testimonies. He motioned for Rostya to come to the podium. With Don Clark translating into Portuguese, she bore her testimony in English. When she finished, tears were running down her cheeks. “At the end, when I said, ‘Amen,’ Don Clark turned to me and smilingly said, ‘I don’t understand. What is all this mass hysteria about?’”
Before they left Brazil, the Gordon-Smiths introduced their friends Richard and Sally Hardwick to the Church. When Richard sustained a serious injury that required surgery, the Gordon-Smiths accompanied Sally to the hospital. Rostya said, “Simon, I wish you would give Richard a blessing.” Sally asked, “What is a blessing?” The blessing was given and fulfilled. The Hardwicks joined the Church.
From Brazil, the Gordon-Smiths moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, where Simon worked on another pipeline project. When construction ended in 1985, the way opened up for Simon to move his family to Hong Kong and work for the Church. Simon supervised the construction of meetinghouses for the Asia Area—Hong Kong, Thailand, Indonesia, Singapore, and Malaysia. He also provided management support for Japan and Korea.
During this time, political changes in Czechoslovakia made it possible for Rostya to return home for the first time in twenty-two years. “I cannot describe my feelings,” she says. “I know that the new wave of freedom and enlightenment will bring the gospel into the lives of the people and then they will achieve real freedom.”
As for the four boys, they enjoy traveling and have learned to adjust well. Rostya calls them “citizens of the world.” “We found they are learning tolerance and acceptance of other people, cultures, and beliefs,” she says. David sings and plays piano. He loves soccer and swimming. He wants to be a lawyer or businessman. He bears his testimony of the gospel almost every testimony meeting. George also sings and plays piano. He is a gymnast. He wants to be a doctor and serve a mission in Czechoslovakia. He gained a testimony of the gospel for himself by praying after reading from the Book of Mormon. Richard draws and excels in mathematics. He also plays piano and is a gymnast. He wants to be an architect. Henry tries to emulate whichever older brother he is with.
Rostya says that their many experiences in all parts of the world have helped her family understand better who they are. “I am raising my sons with the idea that we are all equal to each other,” she says. “It does not matter what sex or what nationality you are. I firmly believe that. I am teaching them that the world is a very small place, and that with love and with the gospel, we can conquer all the evil.”

When I was in the MTC, my companion taught me an important lesson of being in favor with man, or in this case, other missionaries. Throughout our time there, I thought the world of this elder and admired his obedience and hard work. However, it was difficult for him at times to get along with the rest of our district as they continually would bump heads. He felt at times they might not be as obedient as they should or follow the MTC rules to exactness like he did.

At the end of our two month training before we left to The Kingdom of Tonga, he wrote in my journal and a small excerpt from it reads, "All I was trying to do was be the kind of missionary the Lord wanted me to be, but it was hard with all this negative pressure around me to conform to the 'group standard'. After a lot of prayer and searching the scriptures, I found my answer. It's found in 2 Timothy 2:24-26. In summary it says two things: Love with the pure love of Christ all those around you, but never compromise your own standard." He continued writing, "No matter how much good you do, no matter how obedient you are, no one will follow your example if they don't love you."

What a valuable lesson for me to learn at the start of my mission of how important it is to genuinely love others in a way that they would want to follow the example that I could set for them. To me this means being a concerned friend before a home teacher/visiting teacher.

At 12:15 A.M. I left the police station and climbed into the blue Alfa Romeo of the Italian carabinieri. I was putting in my obligatory year of service required of all Italian young men. I had been assigned to the police. My duty for that day was patrolling the cities of Jesolo and Cavallino, just northeast of Venice, from midnight to 6:00 A.M.
Suddenly the familiar sound of the radio caught my attention. “Avanti dalla trentuno,” I answered. My heart accelerated, anticipating the potential danger. Headquarters informed us that a bank robbery had just taken place in a rural town north of Venice. The officer stated that a policeman had been shot during the robbery. Four men were responsible and were supposedly armed with Kalashinikovs, a Soviet-made automatic weapon. They were apparently heading at high speed toward Jesolo in a white Lancia.
“Ricevuto,” I signed off, automatically reaching for the Beretta M12 under my seat. I turned to my partner and asked, “What are we going to do if we run into them?” His answer was cold and direct, “Shoot.”
My partner quickly shifted gears. My mind started reviewing all the different circumstances in which I could find myself in the next minutes. I was aware that our lives were in danger and realized that if we confronted four armed men, our chances were not good of staying alive. My partner was showing little emotion, and since his answer to my last question, he had not said a word.
Am I willing to die for this job and my country? was the question that arose in my mind. It was quickly answered by the words of the oath I had taken at the beginning of my service. I had promised to serve the country and the people of Italy and to protect them from any criminal acts or injustice, even by offering my life.
As our car turned into the main street of Jesolo, my right hand tightened on the grip of the M12. Am I ready to die? Am I ready to go back to meet my Heavenly Father? were the questions in my mind. I started thinking about my family, my life, and my testimony of the gospel. I pondered my weaknesses and almost instantly realized that my conscience was clean. I had no major regrets in my life and felt that I had apologized to all the people I had been unkind to. That thought gave me an incredible feeling of peace.
We did not confront the robbers that night. I concluded my one year of service in the police a few months later, never having to fire my gun. But I will never forget that winter night. It helped me realize how our Heavenly Father can call us back home at any time. I realized I wanted to be ready to leave this earth with the peace of a repentant and clean soul.

Looking back, I can think of many Good Samaritans who have influenced my life and the lives of others by going out of their ways to serve and teach. One of these Samaritans was a great-great-uncle of mine, who was in one of the first groups of pioneers to settle in Utah.
One severe winter he was dispatched to Carbon County to help other pioneers who were moving to that area but had been stranded by terrible snowstorms. Without hesitation my uncle responded to the call for help. He put the needs of others above his own and risked his life to bring many to safety. That story has been a source of inspiration to me. It has helped me to be more appreciative of my pioneer heritage and the people who willingly made sacrifices, facing troubles head-on.

Without appearing to be self-serving, I would like to tell you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood a little about my call to a full-time mission. The year was 1962, and a call was received from President David O. McKay to serve in the Mexican Mission. Shortly after receiving the call, I learned that I had bone cancer in my right arm and that the probability of my living many weeks was extremely low. A blessing was received from a wonderful father, wherein he blessed me with my life and that the mission call would be fulfilled and that I would have a family and be able to serve the Lord all my days.
The doctor congratulated me on being one who had great faith in the Savior but assured me that I didn’t realize the seriousness of what I had. As some of you have noticed, I only have one arm as a result of that problem; but ten months after having my arm amputated, I entered the Mexican Mission, full of excitement and ready to work. You see, young men, I had several years earlier committed to the Lord that I would serve a full-time mission and that I would not let anything stop me from fulfilling that call. Well, brethren, the doctor passed away twenty years ago, always amazed to see me still breathing, and he actually became quite interested in the Church.
Brethren, I want you to know that having one arm for nearly thirty years has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. It hasn’t been my greatest challenge, but it has been a great teacher to me, teaching me to be more patient and tolerant with others as I have had to learn to be more patient with myself. It has helped me to understand the necessity of our having challenges in life to help develop our character and stamina, helping us to become what the Lord ultimately wants us to become.

Three of her four children joined the Church with her, and all of them are still active Latter-day Saints. “When I was first being taught, the children would laugh behind the door. After I received my own testimony of the gospel, I got them to promise that they would listen to one discussion. I told the missionaries that they had better be good, because the children had promised to listen just this once. The elders prepared a very fine flannel-board presentation, after which the children promised that they would also join the Church. It is true, though, that the youngest son, Eikki, later said the reason he joined the Church was that his mother told him to,” Sister Rinne says, laughing.

Mom has always told me that Sundays are special days. They did not seem special to me, though. I didn’t get to play with my friends or have fun at the park. I thought Sundays were boring. Mom said that Jesus asked us to give Him just one day of the week for His very own. She said that there were many things that I could do to give Jesus His one day.
One Sunday when I was feeling especially restless, I decided I would try to give Jesus more of the day. I remembered that Grandma and Grandpa wanted me to send them a letter, so I sat down and colored a picture of Jesus for them. I put it in an envelope and got it all ready to mail. It made me feel good inside to think about how happy Grandma and Grandpa would be when they got my picture.
The next Sunday when I found myself with nothing to do, I decided to give Jesus more of that day, too. I looked at my Friend magazines and found some pictures of Him that I liked. I showed them to my dad, and he read me a story. It made me feel good inside to spend some quiet time like that with my dad.
Each Sunday after that, I found things that I could do to give Jesus His one day. Every time I do something special for His day, I feel good inside. Now I believe my mom. Sunday is a special day. It’s true that I don’t play with my friends or have fun at the park. I have a different kind of fun—the kind you feel inside your heart when you’ve given Jesus the one day of the week that He’s asked for: the Sabbath Day.

Paula says, “The standards I always saw my friend live were now mine. My friend’s testimony was now mine.” Not long after, Paula began to feel an intense desire to share with others what she had been given. When she had been a member for one year, she filled out her mission papers, met with her priesthood leaders, and received a call to serve in the Chile Santiago East Mission.
Valeria says, “As I watched my friend prepare to serve her mission, the Spirit touched my heart. I wanted to commit myself to serve God the way she was.”
“May I speak to you?” This time it was Valeria who had pulled Paula aside. “I’ve felt something special as you have been preparing to leave on your mission.”
Paula told her friend the same thing her friend had once told her: “It’s the Spirit telling you what you need to do.”
Valeria’s plans hadn’t included a full-time mission. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. “I can’t do it alone,” she told Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” her friend assured.
Later, when Valeria opened her call, she was surprised to be going to the same mission as her friend. Paula began serving in October 2002; Valeria joined her in February 2003.

In President Russell M. Nelson’s talk “Let God Prevail,” he asked: “Are you willing to let God be the most important influence in your life? Will you allow His words, His commandments, and His covenants to influence what you do each day?” This reminds me of the tempting experience my wife, Uche, and I had. Uche was managing a cement retail outlet. In one of our trying moments when we depended on the income from the shop to pay bills, her sales gradually went low and later stopped completely. The family was troubled, our source of income had ceased to flow, and that became a great moment of test of our faith.
Then came this Sunday morning while participating in the Sunday School class, Uche received a message indicating that 30 bags of cement was needed by buyers who were waiting by the shop! As she showed me the message, I pondered over it and remembered how we both had covenanted to hallow the sabbath.
We both agreed that her phone be switched off in order to regain full concentration on the teachings in the Sunday School class. As we acted fast, we both felt relieved. His arm was sufficiently strong as we had done the will of God rather than ours. We were blessed with His strength, and peace filled our hearts. His love calmed our hearts beyond our comprehension in those trying moments.