Gospel Story Finder

I want to mention one other experience. Laurie said that I love being a grandfather, and that’s absolutely true. We just got back from a two-year stint at the Church Office Building at the Commissioner of Church Education office, and right after we relocated to Utah, our oldest daughter had her first child, which is our first grandchild. We were in the hospital, and after the baby was born, we were invited in. I had just finished four years as a young single adult ward bishop, so I had had a fair amount of experience with the issue that you might expect would come across the desk of a YSA ward bishop. As I walked into the room and saw my daughter and her husband holding this new baby, so fresh from our Heavenly Father’s presence in this perfect little body, ready to start her eternal journey here on the earth, the Spirit whispered to me, “This is why the Law of Chastity.”
It was a powerful experience for me. It’s so wonderful to watch two loving parents take a child and make efforts to teach them about the Gospel, the Savior, and Heavenly Father’s plan for them. Evie, our granddaughter, just turned two last week, and Erin told us that they were talking in Family Home Evening about the Savior. Evie stopped what she was doing for a moment and said, “Jesus. I like that guy.”
It’s wonderful to see you brothers and sisters making faithful decisions to have children and teach them the proper way so that they can return to their Heavenly Father. You will be so blessed, I promise, by making these sacrifices.

He loves being around the Prague full-time missionaries. One day he was playing softball with them, and an elder accidentally hit him in the head with a big metal baseball bat. The elders wanted to take Lukáš to the hospital, but he refused and said he just wanted to go home. He felt certain that if he prayed, Heavenly Father would make him better. As soon as he prayed for help, his head stopped hurting. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

When I met Gina, who became my wife, she was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She wanted me to learn about the Church so we could marry in the temple. But I didn’t want that. I was not religious.
Eventually we got married civilly. After we had a child, I still wasn’t interested in the Church, but Gina kept attending.
Finally, I decided I would prove that her church was wrong by going to other churches. This went on for several years, but no matter where I went, I wasn’t comfortable.
Then, one Sunday as Gina was getting our daughter ready to go to church, I started getting dressed for church too. She looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?” I responded, “I’m going to go to church with you.” She looked at our daughter and said, “Get ready quick! We don’t want him to change his mind!”
So, off we went. Because I felt the Holy Ghost through the people at church, they were essential to my conversion. After that, the missionaries came to our home. They were awesome, the teachings they shared were beautiful to me, and the Spirit filled my heart (see Moroni 10:4–5).
I joined the Church, and soon Gina and I were sealed in the temple. Our daughter was sealed to us, and we now have three more children who were born in the covenant.

On one occasion, one of my daughters came to me and asked me to keep her cell phone for a week. She said that she felt it was consuming too much of her time and attention and she wanted to reset her priorities. I put her phone on a shelf and she reclaimed it a while later. I loved the desire for self-mastery she demonstrated and the introspective analysis she practiced as she sought to act and not be acted upon.[10]

“I was in Zimbabwe a few months ago and went to visit a school. Little children as young as six or seven years old walked five miles each way just to go to school. The building had no windows, and its two classrooms were separated by flour sacks. It was a chilly, rainy day when I was there, and water was running in through the door, which had to be left open to let light into the building. Each child had just one piece of paper and a pencil. They knelt on the wet floor when they wrote, using their benches as tables. They sang “I Am a Child of God” (many of the children were Church members), which they sang in Shona, their native language, and “God Bless Africa,” a national song of the African people. Those children sang with all their hearts.
“Many of the children were sick, malnourished, and so thin that you could count their ribs. I left with tears in my eyes. And that’s why we have to bring the gospel to those people. It’s only the gospel of Christ that will make the difference.
“Children, learn about and love children in other lands because we’re all children of the same Father. And don’t ever forget to thank your Father in Heaven for what you have and to be generous to the rest of the world.
“Be happy. The children in Africa are happy in spite of their problems. The gospel of Christ can make us all happier than we’d be without it.”

A number of years ago my brother called me and as we visited, I asked him that same question, he said he had had better days. He then asked me how my day was and I told him that I no longer had bad days; of course he wanted an explanation.

That day some unusual things happened. I was at work trying to keep pace with a busy schedule. I had just finished my morning surgeries and hurried to exam room one to see my first patient, in our practice there is a small slot in the door that holds the medical records where the technicians write their findings as they interview clients and examine the patient. Today the card was empty. That was strange and as that fact was beginning to register, something else out of the ordinary happened. The door softly closed behind me, and the technician who normally followed me into the room was on the other side of it. There was a scruffy white and black dog sitting on the exam table, you have never seen such an emaciated mess in all your life. He had one red swollen eye and what looked to be a large dirt clod on his head. His coat was dirty and unkempt and he was very gaunt.

Having no idea what we were doing, and learning only that the dogs name was Cholo from the record, I asked, "What are we doing for Cholo today?" For a moment no one answered, there appeared to be a whole family there, grandparents a mother and father and several kids, and they all looked at the floor. They were Hispanic and as is often the case an older woman touched a young girl on the shoulder and she began to speak. "We had Cholo put to sleep a week ago." With that flat statement my gut tightened slightly, I could envision that we had put Cholo to sleep a week ago and that somehow we had not done a very good job, and he had come back to life, you know that can be considered as one of the ultimate failures. That is a hard decision for people to make and if it had gone poorly, I could imagine that they were not happy, so tentatively, I asked, "Did we put him to sleep?" They smiled and the little girl said "no". Now relieved but still confused I prompted them to continue. This time the mother in broken English began to explain. "A week ago Cholo ran into the road and was hit by a car, it didn't kill him but he was badly hurt." "His eyeball was popped out and his skull was fractured, we could see his brain!" "We knew he could not live and so my husband's friend took him into the desert and put him to sleep." I asked, "How did he put him to sleep?" She answered that he had shot him five times. I laughed and commented, "He must not have been a very good shot." "Oh no", came the reply, "Cholo was dead, and we buried him in a shallow grave."

This was becoming more bizarre by the moment. Still perplexed, I ask, "How did he get home." She said, "An hour ago the phone rang and my husband's boss said your dog is out here and he doesn't look very good, you better come and get him. We tried to explain that it could not be our dog that he had been dead for a week, but he said he was sure it was our dog and that we had better come down. It was Cholo and so here we are." Still not sure what they wanted, I ask, "What do you want us to do, put him to sleep?" The mother became excited and began to shake her head, "No, no, Cholo is a good dog, after all of this, he came home to us. We want you to fix him."

Cholo had had a bad day. He set a new standard for bad days. He had been hit by a car, had his skull fractured, his eyeball popped out of its socket. He had been taken out into the desert away from his family and shot five times. Then to end this bad day, he was buried alive. So with this as our standard, I would submit that I have never had a bad day and neither have most of you.

These were poor people so I began to explain that we would want to take x-rays and run some tests to see what would be best for Cholo. The mother looked at her hands and said "We only have $1200.00." I am sure this was all the money they had in the world. I told them to have a seat and we would see how extensive his injuries were and then we could talk of the costs involved.

I really expected to find very little when we x-rayed Cholo, but when the pictures were developed, he had been shot five times in the head and neck. I don't know how he was alive, but he was. The dirt clod on the head turned out to be a large laceration and a fracture into his frontal sinus. What they thought was the brain was actually the sinus cavity. We cleaned it up and sutured his wounds. The eye was very red and hemorrhagic; it had been proptosed and because of the loss of blood it had sunk back in to the socket and his vision was fine, even though the eye was very blood shot. Cholo required very little attention, a few sutures and some antibiotics and pain killers. He was a modern day miracle.

One Friday night I went to do temple baptisms for the first time. I thought the temple would be a spotless place where I could feel the Spirit. I was not disappointed. When I first arrived, I saw my Papa Skip. He was working in the baptistry that night. He was dressed all in white. White tie, white jacket, white everything!
I was going to be baptized for a special ancestor with a fun name. His name was Abraham Abraham. I had never heard of anyone who had the same first and last names. I felt really good when I was baptized for him. I felt like he was happy to finally have a chance to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Before I was confirmed for Abraham Abraham, Papa Skip talked to me about the importance of being part of the Church. Temples provide opportunities for all of God’s children to become members of His Church. When we’re confirmed, we receive one of the best gifts in the whole world. When we are worthy, we get to have the Spirit with us! This means when we have choices to make, we should listen for the Spirit to help us make wise choices. It means I must listen for the Spirit to lead me instead of letting the world lead me.
I want to live my life so that someday I will get to shake Abraham Abraham’s hand and tell him how happy it made me to help him become a member of the Church.
When I left the temple, my mom asked me my thoughts about the temple. I said, “It was a great experience, and I want to go back again!”

As a 12-year-old boy, I had the privilege to serve as the secretary of my deacons quorum. I recall with joy the many assignments we members of that quorum had the opportunity to fill. Passing the sacred sacrament, collecting the monthly fast offerings, and looking after one another come readily to mind. The most frightening one, however, happened at the leadership session of our ward conference. The member of our stake presidency presiding was William F. Perschon. He called on a number of the ward officers to speak. Then, without the slightest warning, President Perschon stood and said, “We will now hear from Thomas S. Monson, secretary of the deacons quorum, to give us an accounting of his service and bear his testimony.” I don’t recall a thing I said, but I have never forgotten the experience.

Amherst Ward, Springfield Massachusetts Stake
My name is Nichole Jewkes, and I am eleven years old. I live in Belchertown, Massachusetts. I am one of only three Latter-day Saints in my middle school. This has been a big change for me because I just recently moved here from Utah. Since not many people in my school know about the Church, I have a great opportunity to do missionary work.
I wear my CTR ring to school every day. People look at my ring and ask what CTR stands for. I always reply, “Choose the right.” And they say, “Cool!” and move on.
One day, my friend Christine noticed my CTR ring and asked what it stands for. I answered, “Choose the right.” Christine said, “Wow! This is so cool!” Then she asked me where I had gotten it. I said that I got it from my church. She asked me how much one costs and if she could buy one. I said that I’d get one for her for free. She acted surprised and said, “Thank you so much.”
I got a CTR ring from my Primary president on Sunday and took it to school on Monday. Christine was very excited and said thank you so many times! She continued to wear it every day and was always telling me how neat it was and how much she loved it.
A few days later, another friend named Julie also noticed my CTR ring. She noticed that Christine had one, too. Julie thought they were neat and asked where we had gotten them. I asked her if she would like one, and she said, “Oh yes, please!”
Now when Julie sometimes says the Lord’s name in vain, she’ll remember and say, “Sorry.” And when older kids swear around me, she’ll say, “Don’t swear around Nichole; she doesn’t like it.” It is nice to know that even though my friends do not belong to our church, they are still trying to choose the right and stand up for me.
I have learned from living here and having many friends who are not LDS that most people are still really good people, trying to do good things with their lives. I hope the CTR rings continue to strengthen Julie and Christine and that I can continue to invite them to church and Church activities. I hope we can all continue to be good missionaries, no matter how old we are.

In 1938 Hitler had his armies invade western Czechoslovakia, and he soon ruled it. All Americans were warned to leave the country. Before the mission president, Wallace Toronto, left, he set apart Josef Roubícek, a Czech and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, as the acting mission president. For the next five and a half years, Church headquarters received no word from the Saints in Czechoslovakia.

During that time President Roubícek held regular meetings. For a few months the government outlawed public meetings. When that happened, President Roubícek kept in touch with members by mail. In his letters, he encouraged them to study the Book of Mormon with their families.

When the war ended in 1945, an American soldier took a letter from President Roubícek and mailed it to President Toronto. “I wish to inform you,” President Roubícek wrote in the letter, “that after six years of war all members of the Church have remained well and alive. It has been a terrible time. … The [Saints’] … testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel have not wavered even in the worst moments of this great conflict.”*

Let me conclude with a parable: Once there was an army. It was strong, handsome, and fairly well trained. The soldiers knew their duty. They were assigned to be watchmen on the towers. They were to sound the alarm to warn the people when the enemy approached. In times of relative peace, however, it isn’t always easy to remain alert in such an assignment. To help spend the time, the soldiers often invented games to amuse themselves; some of these games required great skill. One game was particularly engrossing, and many soldiers became quite proficient at it. Someone suggested that they start a tournament to determine who in all of the army was the best player. The tournament became the talk of the whole village and even beyond. In fact, game players from all over the land actually began to join the army simply so they could compete in the tournament. Each year great honors were given to the champions, parades were held in tribute to their achievements, and children dreamed of the day when they, too, could join the army to participate in the tournament. Of course the enemy was not disappointed by the tournament’s acquired popularity; it was one of the enemy, in fact, who proposed the competition in the first place.

My brothers and sisters, we are the army of Zion. We can make a difference, but we must stay alert as watchmen on the tower and not be distracted by the games or purposes of the world.

Kate’s stomach dropped when the soccer field came into view from the car window. She knew the Bulldogs were the best in the league. But she didn’t think this many people would show up for tryouts.
She tightened her grip on her bag when she realized tryouts must have already started. It looked like they were doing drills. The girls were weaving between cones and sprinting across the grass. She was late! Kate jumped out of the car as soon as her mom pulled up.
She only made it a few steps before she remembered something important. She needed to say thank you! She circled back. “Thanks, Mom,” she called. “Thanks for driving me and for breakfast!”
Saying thank you wasn’t a big deal to a lot of people, but it was to Kate. Her favorite scripture story was the story of the ten lepers. She couldn’t believe that out of the ten people Jesus healed, only one said thank you! She’d made it a goal ever since to always say thank you.
Remembering that story made the tight feeling she had inside loosen a little bit. At least until she joined the other girls in doing drills and saw how good they were. She couldn’t help worrying. What if everyone else is way better than me? she thought. What if I’m the worst one here?
But soon the coach divided them into teams for a practice game, and Kate stopped thinking of anything other than the black-and-white ball moving like lightning from one girl to the next.
She was breathing hard by the time the coach blew the whistle to end tryouts. “Great job, everyone,” he said. “I’ll make decisions in the next few days and let you know.”
Kate walked slowly over to her bag. Her whole body was splattered with mud. And her legs felt like slow, heavy elephant legs. Worst of all, she had no idea if she’d even come close to making the team.
She was one of the last girls to leave. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the coach. He just gave her a short nod and turned back to his clipboard. But Kate felt a little better as she walked away. She might not make the team, but at least she’d been grateful.
Later that night, Kate was washing dishes with her dad when the phone rang.
“I think it’s the soccer coach,” Dad said, looking at the number. Kate’s heart started pounding. He took the phone to the next room. Kate stayed at the sink, trying to focus all of her attention on washing the dishes.
When she heard Dad come in a few minutes later, she kept her eyes down. “What’d he say?” she asked.
“Just that my Katie is going to be a Bulldog,” he said, nudging her shoulder.
Her heart skipped a beat. “I made the team?” she said, finally looking up. Dad nodded with a big smile. Kate did a happy dance, splashing water over both of them.
“Hey!” Dad said with a laugh. “I have something even better to tell you once you quit being a human water fountain.” Kate paused mid-twirl. What could be better than making the number-one team in the league?
“Did you thank the coach at the end of tryouts?” he asked. Kate nodded. “Well, he wanted me to tell you that he was really impressed by that. Of the 34 people who tried out, you were the only one that said thank you. He said to thank you for saying thank you.”
Dad’s smile was even bigger than before. Kate knew her own smile was just as big. Just like the story of the ten lepers, she thought. Being grateful did matter!

President Kimball was a friend of the Savior. When he was in the hospital ready to undergo open-heart surgery, his bed was being wheeled down the hall and into the operating room by a young orderly. The young man accidentally smashed his finger between the doorjamb and the bed. The orderly was in pain, and he took in vain the name of the Savior. The prophet, although already sedated, opened his eyes and gently rebuked the orderly: “Young man, don’t say that; He’s my best friend!”

Illustration by Steven Keele
I was traveling from Mexico to Montana, USA, and had a layover in Denver, Colorado. I walked around the airport, looking through huge windows at planes landing and taking off. I was nervous because I had never flown before. The airport seemed really big.
I looked at my ticket and realized I had two hours before my flight would depart. I decided to find a place to sit down and read until I boarded the plane. I felt scared as I looked for a place to sit. Almost every seat was taken. I decided to sit next to an older lady who seemed to be alone. She was the only one who didn’t seem scary to me.
An hour or so passed before I decided to talk to her. I introduced myself; she seemed really nice and eager to talk to me about her grandchild’s accomplishments. She asked me a little bit about myself, and I told her all about my life in Mexico. Then I had a sudden urge to share the gospel with her. She asked me about my religion, and I told her that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
She said she had never heard of it.
I smiled and said, “We are also known as Mormons.”
She immediately changed her attitude. Her facial expressions and the way she talked to me changed. She didn’t seem to know what to say. I had a feeling that our conversation had come to an end, but I tried to keep talking to her. I asked her about her religion. She said without hesitation, “I am Catholic.”
She then said, “I don’t understand. You are such a nice girl. You seem decent. Why, then, would you want to be a Mormon?”
I was shocked by this comment, and I didn’t know how to respond. I offered a silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me explain what being a Latter-day Saint meant to me. I told her that I loved being a member of the Church, and because of the teachings of the gospel, I was able to be a better person and see things with perspective.
She looked surprised and said, “Mormons don’t believe in God.”
I tried not to laugh at this comment; instead I smiled and realized that this was my chance to share the truth with her. I explained some of our basic beliefs. I taught her about the plan of salvation and the importance of families. She still didn’t seem convinced, so I decided to bear my testimony to her. There in a huge airport, I was blessed with the courage to share my testimony about Joseph Smith, about the living prophet and apostles, and about the love I feel toward the gospel and the Book of Mormon.
I looked at the clock. It was time for me to catch my plane.
That afternoon strengthened my testimony in a way that I had never experienced before. I was happy that I shared my testimony with her and grateful that I was able to help change her mind about members of our Church. I can now be more confident when someone asks me about the Church.

In order to have Jason, the little brother who died, sealed to them, Brother Baum’s Uncle Bud from Arizona acted as proxy, or substitute, for him. The children said that when they were being sealed, it felt as if Jason was there instead of their uncle. Before they went to the temple, the children always asked why Jason had to die. Sister Baum said that they don’t ask anymore, because they know that someday they can be with him again.

Stacie’s1 dad was abusive. He told her she wouldn’t be good at anything when she grew up. He made her feel worthless.

When Stacie moved away for college, she was able to think more clearly. She started going to church again and felt God’s love for her and her family. Over time, she found increasing peace in the gospel and her relationship with the Savior.

Today, Stacie is a successful professional with a loving family of her own. Some days are still hard, but she feels a lot of happiness and forgiveness of others.

“I know that Jesus Christ can heal all our wounds,” Stacie says. If there’s one thing she would share with other survivors, it’s to stay hopeful.

“There is always hope in Christ,” she says, “even in the middle of trials that seem like they will never end.”

Erin stood on Temple Square in Salt Lake City looking at life-sized statues of the nativity scene and waiting for the music and story to begin. Christmas lights twinkled all around her. But it didn’t feel like Christmastime.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked her.
Erin nodded, but she wasn’t so sure.
Only a few days ago, a boy from Erin’s class at school had died in a car accident. She had seen a lot of people crying at the funeral, and she had cried a lot herself. She hadn’t known the boy that well, but Erin knew his family loved him as much as her family loved her. She felt scared to know that something like that could happen to someone her age.
Now she didn’t feel excited for Christmas. She felt worried all the time—scared to get in a car, scared to be apart from her parents, scared to leave her house in case something bad happened to her while she was away. All the Christmas lights on Temple Square couldn’t erase the worried feeling inside her. How could she be happy in a world where she wasn’t always safe?
“It’s about to start,” Dad said. He pointed to the nativity scene.
The loudspeakers crackled to life, and a voice began speaking. Music played, and spotlights shone down on statues of shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, and Joseph. Erin listened to the familiar story. The baby Jesus was born and laid in a manger. Angels sang. Shepherds worshipped. Wise Men rejoiced.
Erin looked at the faces of her parents and the crowd gathered around the nativity scene. They all seemed happy. But why was everyone so happy about the baby Jesus if His birth didn’t stop bad things from happening? Erin didn’t like the question circling through her head. All she wanted was to stop feeling afraid.
The story ended, and a recording of the prophet’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He bore his testimony and read a scripture from the Bible: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Erin’s heart beat faster. She said the words again in her mind, trying to remember them. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
The scripture said that everyone would die—young people, old people—everyone. Erin knew that, of course, but she hadn’t thought about it much before. She thought she was too young to think about such things. But she wasn’t too young to have a testimony of the truth: because of Jesus Christ, everyone would live again. That’s why the shepherds and Wise Men rejoiced. They understood what Jesus had come to earth to do.
Erin looked from the little stable to a window in the visitors’ center behind the nativity scene. Inside the building a light shone on a large statue of Jesus stretching out His scarred hands. Erin thought about the little baby in the manger and how He grew into someone who had all power. And yet He chose to sacrifice His life for her. He had been born so she could live again. No matter what happened, Erin could feel safe in Jesus’s love.
Peace washed over her. She couldn’t quite explain how, but her worry disappeared. When she looked at the statue of Jesus Christ, shining brighter than twinkling Christmas lights, she barely noticed the dark night sky. She was too busy feeling the warmth of hope flickering inside her.

My sweet Frances had a terrible fall a few years ago. She went to the hospital. She lay in a coma for about 18 days. I sat by her side. She never moved a muscle. The children cried, the grandchildren cried, and I wept. Not a movement.

And then one day, she opened her eyes. I set a speed record in getting to her side. I gave her a kiss and a hug, and I said, “You’re back. I love you.” And she said, “I love you, too, Tom, but we’re in serious trouble.” I thought, What do you know about trouble, Frances? She said, “I forgot to mail in our fourth-quarter income tax payment.”

I said to her, “Frances, if you had said that before you extended a kiss to me and told me you love me, I might have left you here.”

A decade passed before the president of the Samoan Mission, Thomas A. Court, sailed to the Vava'u Group on March 19, 1907 to determine if it was suitable for missionaries but also to buy horses for the mission farm.

According to the book Unto the Islands of the Sea - A History of the Latter-day Saints in the Pacific by R. Lanier Britsch, "When President Court returned to Samoa, he reported that the prospects were ‘very bright’ and he intended to send elders there soon. ... President Court told ... missionaries that friends he made in Vava'u had asked the Church to send elders to open a school and preach the gospel. According to Ermel J. Morton's account of the Tongan Mission, the man who asked President Court to send missionaries to Vava'u was Iki Tupou Fulivai, harbor master" (434-435).

Here’s my great-grandfather Iki Tupou Fulivai, harbor master of Neiafu, Vava'u, which was one of the busiest and most beautiful harbors in the Pacific. Until recently, this was the only portrait of him that existed, probably taken in the late 1800s in Sydney, Australia because he was educated there. Iki was well traveled, working on ships that took him to China, Europe, and even to America - rare among Tongan men at that time. He especially loved the Orient, and as a little boy, I remember playing on his estate Esia, which I didn't realize until I was an adult is the Tongan transliteration for "Asia." Tonga was so remote that it was also rare for Tongans to wear Western clothing, but Iki is sporting exactly what was fashionable at the time in London, New York, and Philadelphia right down to the handlebar mustache. As the son of a nobleman, Iki and three of his peers were sent to Australia to study because the Tongan government hadn't yet established public schools. The other three boys grew homesick and returned to Tonga, but Iki stayed and learned to speak English, although he didn't complete his education - he simply dropped out to travel. Because he was fluent in English, the governor of Vava'u later appointed him harbor master, piloting the tow boat that brought large ships into Vava’u’s scenic Port-of-Refuge harbor.

Presumably, that's how Iki met President Court, whom he invited to stay in his home when he learned he was a minister looking to buy horses. The next morning, Iki took the mission president to a neighboring village and introduced him to a family friend who owned horses. President Court selected two plow horses for purchase. Iki later recalled that President Court produced a handkerchief in which he saw gold coins that he offered for the horses. But true to the Tongan custom of the day, the friend refused the money. President Court was so indebted that he asked Iki how his kindness could be repaid. Iki responded by asking President Court if he could send teachers to educate his children. According to family lore, President Court famously replied, "I will send you two teachers."

Two months after President Court returned to Samoa with his horses, he sent Elders William O. Facer and Heber J. McKay to Vava’u on June 13, 1907. They lived with Iki’s family, teaching all of his children to read and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. The youngest of Iki’s 14 children is my grandmother Toa'ila, who wouldn’t be born for another 13 years and is alive today at age 94.

As a nobleman, Iki was pressured by the Tongan monarchy, who were mostly members of the Free Wesleyan Church, to remove the missionaries who lived in his home and to cease teaching his family and neighbors the restored gospel. He refused at great personal cost. Until the 1930s, when public schools were established in Tonga, Iki charged the Church $1 per year for the school property on his estate where missionaries taught in order to satisfy a Tongan law, making it affordable for the Church. Generations of Tongans learned to read and write and were baptized because of Iki Tupou Fulivai.

This was the environment in which my father grew up. In a similar situation, my father was not able to finish high school, but had learned from his father to always do his best. He worked as a driver and later as a salesman for an insurance company. He would always work hard to meet sales goals and receive higher commissions. Through his hard work, he was able to provide a good living for our family. However, I know there are two other aspects of my father’s life that helped him to become self-reliant: my father always paid an honest tithe, and he always put God first in his life. I remember reading the scriptures and praying together as a family, getting up early in the morning to go to seminary, attending church together with my brother and sisters, handing our tithing envelope to the bishop. Through these small and simple experiences my father was teaching us the importance of being not only temporarily self-reliant, but also spiritually self-reliant.