Gospel Story Finder

The winter of 1848 was difficult and challenging for the pioneer settlers in the Salt Lake Valley. During the summer of 1847, Brigham Young had declared that the Saints had finally reached their destination. “This is the right place,” said Brigham Young, who had been shown in a vision where the Saints were to be established. The early members of the Church had endured tremendous adversity as the Restoration of the gospel unfurled. They had been driven from their homes, persecuted, and hounded. They had suffered untold hardships as they crossed the plains. But now they were at last in “the right place.”
And yet the winter of 1848 had been extremely harsh. The winter had been so cold that some people’s feet had been badly frozen. A spirit of uneasiness began to descend upon the Saints. Some Church members declared that they would not build their homes in the valley. They wanted to remain in their wagons, for they were sure that Church leadership would herald them on to some better location. They had brought seeds and fruit plants, but they dared not waste them by planting in the barren desert wasteland. Jim Bridger, a well-known explorer of the time, told Brigham Young he would give a thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn raised in the Salt Lake Valley because, he said, it could not be done.
To complicate matters, gold had just been discovered in California. Some Church members envisioned that life would be simpler and more abundant if they were to move on to California in search of riches and a better climate.
Under this cloud of discontent, Brigham Young addressed the members of the Church. He declared:
“[This valley] is the place God has appointed for His people.
“We have been kicked out of the frying-pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. God has shown me that this is the spot to locate His people, and here is where they will prosper; He will temper the elements for the good of His Saints; He will rebuke the frost and the sterility of the soil, and the land shall become fruitful. Brethren, go, now, and plant … your … seeds.”
In addition to promising these blessings, President Young declared that the Salt Lake Valley would become known as a highway to the nations. Kings and emperors would visit the land. Best of all, a temple to the Lord would be erected.
These were remarkable promises. Many Church members had faith in Brigham Young’s prophecies, while others remained skeptical and left for what they assumed would be a better life. Yet history has shown that every prophecy Brigham Young declared has come to pass. The valley did blossom and produce. The Saints prospered. The winter of 1848 was a great catalyst for the Lord to teach His people a valuable lesson. They learned—as we all must learn—that the only sure and secure road to protection in this life comes through trusting in and obeying the counsel from the prophets of God.
With frozen feet and a barren wasteland, those early Saints surely needed faith to trust their prophet. Their very survival and lives were at stake. Yet the Lord rewarded their obedience and blessed and prospered those who followed His mouthpiece.

A Coach’s Conversion
Like many other young adults, football coach Solomon Eliya Tumane had questions about religion. “I wanted to know about God and why He asks us to pray, and about Jesus Christ and why He died for us. I was confused, but I was studying the scriptures, particularly the Old Testament.
“Then one day I was coming from work, and I saw two missionaries. I asked them the question about Jesus Christ. As they talked about Him, I could tell they loved Him. They invited me to come to church, and when I did, I felt something inside telling me that this was what I had been looking for all those years.
“The missionaries taught me to pray and that it is important because it is our way to talk to Heavenly Father and to find the truth. I accepted what the missionaries taught me. I knew it was the true gospel, especially when we would read the scriptures together and pray about them.”

One summer, my mother and I went on a humanitarian trip to Guatemala. One day, we went to the Semac Champey, a park with pool after pool of deep blue water connected by rock terraces overflowing with water.
Our group hiked up the steep, rugged path to the cliff top overlooking the pools. The hike involved many staircases along a sheer drop-off. Several times we had to stop by a bench just to catch our breath.
After hiking for hours, my mother was winded and tired. She stopped alongside the trail, saying she would join us on our way back down.
I continued about 200 feet farther and came to the clearing with the lookout. The view was beyond words. Hurriedly, I ran back to my mother and encouraged her to come and see it.
As we rested and took in the view, I thought about how that hike is like our lives. Though the pathway of the gospel is straight and narrow, sometimes it seems like a vertical climb. We get discouraged as friends give up or turn back to paths that seem easier. And the adversary is constantly there, telling us that we’re foolish or just not spiritually cut out for the journey.
But we shouldn’t give up. Eternal life, just like that view, will be beyond words. Though we won’t achieve perfection in our mortal state, we can reach any heights through Christ, and He will always be there to help us for those last 200 feet.
Since this experience, I’ve tried to not give up on my hike to heaven. The Lord has blessed me in my efforts to fulfill His commandments and serve others. I know that He will help all of His children. Our part is to keep pressing on.

Having overcome her shyness, upon returning from her mission, Salamatu decided to give Zainu a chance and agreed to date him. It did not take her long to realize that Zainu “really wants me in his life. He wants us to make a family. He wants us to be together forever, not only here but in the life to come. He is the man for me!”
When Zainu told Salamatu he wanted to get married, she said, “If you really mean it, you need to go to my people.”
Like many young people, the Deens faced some big obstacles when thinking about marriage. Zainu explained, “One thing that makes us in Africa find it difficult to get married is that young people think about the cost of living. No job, nothing that can bring in income. Some of us, some of the young people in the church, have the mentality, ‘How can I get married? How can I feed my family? Where can I get money? Where can I start?’”
Zainu said, “In Africa setting of marriage, people think that before getting married you have to acquire everything. That is the mentality. I must get money first. I must get a house. I must get a car. So those are some of the . . . [barriers] to getting married.”
By the time Salamatu returned from her mission, neither one of them had a job even though Zainu had been looking and volunteering the entire time she was on her mission. They both had taught the principles of marriage and family on their missions. They knew what was right. The obstacles seemed very large.
That is when Zainu took the action he knew from two years of practice on his mission. He told Salamatu, “I want us to pray that I can have a job, any kind of job. Then I think we can proceed.”
He said, “All of a sudden, God heard our cry, and I got a job, a security job!”
The way to marriage seemed to open, but there was still a lot of preparation. As soon as Zainu got a job, Salamatu said, “When they pay you, we must take a small amount of the money, $300,000 Sierra Leones, and we will save it. In fact, you will not save it in your own account. You will open a small account for me so that you won’t have access to take from that money.”
Zainu thought, “$300,000? What can $300,000 Sierra Leones do for marriage? It’s too small.” He continued, “Well, as time goes on, $300,000; $600,000; $900,000; $1,200,000. It is true! It is working! Now we can get married.”
Zainu said that Salamatu was his motivation. When he felt, “We don’t have much,” she told me again, “We do it little by little.”
When Zainu was paid, they worked their plan. They took out a set amount to put into Salamatu’s account. Then they would buy one thing necessary for their future or for their wedding. “We go buy material,” Zainu said. “We buy two yards. We do not have money to buy six yards at once. We go buy two, and we keep it. This is how we do it. Little. Little. Little. Little.”
Just as they both encountered opposition when deciding to serve their missions, so too, the Deens had people questioning their decision to marry, suggesting they should spend their money on things, or they should wait until they had a better job. But Zainu said, “I am obeying commandments. ‘If you love me, keep my commandments’ (John 14:15), and marriage is a commandment. Marriage is ordained of God.”
Salamatu quickly added, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
She tells her young women that she wants them to go and serve the Lord and then get married. “The gospel blesses families so when you go out there and serve the Lord, the Lord will not only bless you, but even the families you leave behind, they will also receive the blessings.
“I also want to tell those who are struggling to marry that they should not struggle. They should not think about the worldly things that say ‘I have to do this; I have to get everything before I get married. Like me and my husband, we do not have plenty, but we have enough because the Lord is for us. The Lord always provides for us. The Lord always loves us. That is why we are so happy. We are so blessed. We have a handsome son. That is one of the blessings we have.”
Zainu added, “If we serve Him wholeheartedly, then there are blessings, which me and my wife, as a family are experiencing. People are coming now to us, wanting to know our way of living. These are the blessings. The Lord knows our hearts.”
“I want to testify that serving a mission is a good opportunity to serve the Lord with all our heart, might, mind and strength. Even when we return home, the things that we learn on a mission, we should not let them go away. If we apply them in our lives, we will receive a blessing, especially in our marriage. I always know that the Lord loves us. That is why He wants us to have a partner, not only here but even when we return to Him that we will always be happy. We should not be afraid of being married because the Lord, He stands for us wherever we are. If we are having any constraints, He will stand for us,” said Salamatu.
“I testify that marriage is ordained of God. As me and my wife have endeavored to follow the principles and the commandments of the Church, we are receiving the blessings,” finished Zainu.

Years ago when we moved from one ward to another, I was given a class of Primary boys to teach. As I asked about each boy on my roll card, my adviser answered about one, “Oh, you can’t interest that family. They have never been active!”
Young, full of hope, and idealistic, I made personal visits to each home on the list prior to the first class. Upon visiting the home of the “inactive” boy, I discovered two other children of Primary age. After explaining the activities I had planned for the summer, I said that I would be happy to pick him up each week since my children wouldn’t fill up the car. In fact there would be room for all of them if they would like to go with me.
I was treated very kindly and made to feel that they were happy I had come, regardless of the boy’s decision. “You give it some thought,” I said, “and I’ll drive by, just in case you decide to join us, okay?”
The following week when I drove hopefully into their yard, my happiness knew no bounds, for not only was he all dressed up and ready to go, but the other two children as well!
Many months later, during a cold winter when I found myself too ill to teach my Young Women class, in fact too ill to even take my children, my daughter’s new teacher offered to take them all with her for several weeks.
This thoughtful teacher was the mother of my little Primary boy. She was not only active now, but one of my children’s teachers and a wonderful blessing to me and my family.

In the vicinity where I lived and served, we operated a poultry project. Most of the time it was an efficiently operated welfare project, supplying to the storehouse thousands of dozens of fresh eggs and hundreds of pounds of dressed poultry. On a few occasions, however, the experience of being volunteer city farmers provided not only blisters on the hands, but frustration of heart and mind. For instance, I shall ever remember the time we gathered together the teenaged Aaronic Priesthood young men to really give the poultry project a spring cleaning. Our enthusiastic and energetic throng gathered at the project and in a speedy fashion uprooted, gathered, and burned large quantities of weeds and debris. By the light of the glowing bonfires we ate hot dogs and congratulated ourselves on a job well done. The project was now neat and tidy. However, there was just one disastrous problem. The noise and the fires had so disturbed the fragile and temperamental population of several thousand laying hens that most of them went into a sudden molt and ceased laying. Thereafter we tolerated a few weeds, that we might produce more eggs.

I want you to know that I really appreciate the effort that goes into making this the best magazine for youth. I especially enjoyed the article “Preparation for Power” in the May 1983 issue because it reminds me of how thankful I am for the priesthood. Almost five years ago, my dad was seriously injured when he was struck on the head by a 2,000-pound grain drill. He was unconscious in the hospital for three days and sustained a tremendous memory loss. The doctors realized that their efforts weren’t helping his condition, so my mom called in the elders to give him a blessing. Three weeks later he was out of the hospital and could remember everything he knew before the accident. The only thing that was different was that he could no longer taste or smell things. I’ll always be grateful for the power of the priesthood because I know it was that blessing that saved my father’s life.
Cindy RustSpringfield, Oregon

Our dad is a police officer. A couple of years ago when we lived in Australia, Dad was working at a big convention. Important people from all over the world were coming. There were lots of protesters, and Dad’s job was to protect the people attending the convention. It lasted five days, and it was on the television news all the time because the protesters were angry and causing problems.
Dad worked long hours and was hardly ever home during that time. We watched television as much as possible to find out what was going on. One morning, Mum turned on the TV, and Dad was on the news! The protesters were getting out of control, and the police officers were having a difficult time protecting the people at the meeting. Mum turned off the TV, and we knelt down and said a prayer. We asked Heavenly Father to protect our dad.
When Dad got home that night, he was very tired. We told him we had prayed for him that morning that he would be protected. Dad smiled. He told us that he had been on the front line facing the protesters when the sergeant told him to leave the line and go cover a different area. After he left, several police officers were injured and had to be taken to the hospital. The sergeant had made him leave the front line shortly after we had finished our prayer.
We are children of God. We can pray to Heavenly Father anytime, anywhere. We know that He hears and answers our prayers.Jessica and Jaime Zurzolo, ages 11 and 6, Weippe, Idaho

by Cathe Chapman
The memory of piles and piles of crushed granite remains in the minds of 70 youth from the Mesa Arizona Stake. As a service project in conjunction with their youth conference, they gathered at 5:30 in the morning at the Ho Ho Kam Park, winter home of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. They had been asked by the bicentennial committee of the city of Mesa to help improve the looks of the park. The piles of crushed granite had been dumped into the meridians that bordered the driveways and parking lot. Seventy-five tons needed to be shoveled and raked evenly.
“It’s a great project,” said Tony Curtis, a priest in the Mesa 23rd Ward, “because we are in service to the community.” The group worked at a fast pace because they were determined to beat the heat of the blazing Arizona sun.
When they finished the work, they were dirty, hot, and tired, and more than ready to participate in the water carnival planned for the afternoon.
The city of Mesa was so pleased with the work, they wrote a special letter thanking everyone who participated.

The next story that I would like to share with you is related to the first, and demonstrates the power of faith and hope when building Zion even when we don’t immediately see the fruits of our labor.

In 2004 my oldest daughter was called to serve in the Utah Provo Mission and she was assigned to the St. George Temple Visitors’ Center. At one point in her mission she remembers pleading with Heavenly Father to help her understand why she got called to the Utah Provo Mission.

One day shortly after she and her companion were knocking on doors in a retirement community in St. George, an elderly gentleman opened the door and invited them in. He introduced himself and my daughter and her companion introduced themselves. He was pleasantly surprised when he found out that my daughter was from Fiji and began speaking to her in Fijian. He told her that he served his mission there many years ago. After a few minutes of conversation, my daughter realized that this was Elder Abbott, the same missionary who with his companion Elder Harris organized the church in Fiji and called my mother, Emma, to be the first Relief Society president in 1954. He quickly went and got his missionary Book of Mormon to show my daughter. He had the names and signatures of the 14 members of the church that attended the first meeting in Fiji. He then told my daughter that while on his mission he never had one convert baptism – and it was hard for him. All these years he felt his “mission” was unsuccessful. My daughter saw the sadness in his eyes.

It was at that precise moment that it became very clear to her that one of the reasons she was sent to the Utah Provo Mission and assigned to the St. George area was for this elderly man who felt that his mission was unsuccessful. My daughter noticed four names on the list in Brother Abbott’s Book of Mormon and she pointed to them and said the following:

“Brother Abbott: This person, Emma Lobendahn is my grandmother. These two people – Brian and Elliott Lobendahn are my uncles. This person, Irene Lobendahn is my mother. I am her eldest child.”

She told him that he was the missionary who gave her mother (me) a baby’s blessing; that he was the missionary who extended the call to her grandmother, and gave her a special blessing to help her fulfill her calling as the Relief Society President; and that she served faithfully in that calling for 23 years, long after he returned home from his mission.

My daughter told him how her father, my husband Brother Meli Lesuma, joined the church in 1973. He served a mission in 1977, and converted his whole family. His three younger brothers and now his four children have all served missions. She told him that Fiji now has a temple, four stakes, one district and many wards and branches. She told him that the church membership in Fiji is over 12,000. She then said,

“Brother Abbott, because of you and your work as the first missionary in Fiji, you accomplished many great things and I and my family will always be grateful to you. Your work has brought thousands of people into the church in Fiji.”

When my daughter finished sharing these details, Brother Abbott was in tears. He was grateful for my daughter’s timely visit, and no longer felt that his mission was unsuccessful.

My first reaction when I heard this story was to reflect on what a loving Heavenly Father we have, who knew to send help and reassurance to this man. I spoke with Brother Abbott on the phone, he said that when he called my mother to be the Relief Society President, he knew that she was the one the Lord wanted to help build Zion in Fiji, and that all she needed to do was to get rid of her fears.

Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.

If we applied that advice in today’s social climate, would it work? Imagine using it on a personal interactive basis. Let’s say I boarded a plane, sat next to a fellow traveler, and declared: “Hi, I’m Scott Swofford. What do you know about me? Would you like to know more?” I am pretty sure a call button would be pressed and I would be relocated, if not removed from the plane.

The most authentic way to enter a gospel discussion is to first seek to understand. I have experimented with the following approach when seated on a plane: “Good morning. I like those shoes.” The dialogue is now underway on a positive note.

Eventually it gets us to “Is this flight outbound or returning home for you?”

Inevitably they will ask me where home is, and I am lucky in that admitting I’m from Utah is like setting a timer on a predictable response. Three, two, one: “Are you Mormon?”

Now, I could launch into my memorized first discussion, but it is in Japanese, so instead I usually reply, “Yes. And you?” I then pay genuine attention to a lot of information about this new friend—their thoughts on faith, their struggles, and their current frame of mind. Then I am ready for the Spirit to direct the next move.

The lesson that most affected my life was a Primary lesson. It was so long ago that I don’t remember the teacher’s name, but the lesson penetrated my soul so deeply that I have never forgotten it.
When I was five years old I learned that God was my Heavenly Father and that Jesus Christ was my Savior and Redeemer. I learned that They love all people and that I could speak with God whenever I needed to because He always listens to my prayers. My faith increased, something within my heart grew, and little by little I gained a testimony of the Godhead. With the pure intent of a small child, I started praying with greater fervor, and I had many wonderful experiences with prayer.
I attended church for more than a year. Then other events made my going to church difficult. But I never stopped praying.
I was finally able to join the Church when I turned 20 years old. I was baptized with the sincere feelings of a child who says to her Father, “I’m coming back home.”
The seed was planted when I was a child and then germinated when I became an adult. I don’t know whether that teacher knows how much she helped me. But her lesson transformed my soul and kept my feet on the sure path, even while I had no contact with the Church for 14 years.
Estela Santana Leitão Cavalcante, Praia Grande Ward, Praia Grande Brazil Stake

While I was in the mission field a few years ago, I observed one of the missionaries who always had people to teach and baptize. Wherever he went, he went with such commitment, happiness, and love for others that he was accepted. It was said of him that when he would come back into an area, many of the people would peek through their windows just to get a glimpse of this unusual young man. Though he was not particularly gifted in language skills, he succeeded in bearing a strong testimony to thousands of people.
Again, like my friend, he only did what everybody could do, but usually doesn’t.

I hung up the phone, dumbfounded. “I have to call everyone,” I thought. “Pete, Whitney, Kristen …” I fumbled for my planner, too flustered to remember the phone numbers I’d had memorized since middle school.
A few weeks before, our group of friends had mailed Daniel a Christmas package. We had marveled that in a mere six months he would be home from his mission. We could hardly wait!
Then Daniel’s dad had called. Now I wished we still had to wait—bad news suddenly turned six months into three days. Daniel had become so sick he was bedridden, and the doctors didn’t know why.
Besides being worried about his illness, I was heartsick to think of how disappointed he must be. Serving a mission had been his most treasured goal, and the people in Michigan were some of his most beloved friends.
The night before Daniel’s return home, I lay in bed staring out the window. The moon illuminated brown mountains and bare tree branches—nothing like the snow-covered evergreens I pictured in Michigan. I frowned. “It will be even more depressing if he has to come back to this,“ I thought. Climbing out of bed and onto my knees, I prayed that Daniel might be welcomed home by a glistening, white blanket of snow. Before I drifted off to sleep, a few snowflakes flurried outside my window.
The next morning, as we walked to Daniel’s house to await his arrival, beautiful snow crunched under our shoes. I offered a hurried, silent prayer of thanks.
Soon a car pulled into the driveway. Daniel looked frail, but he managed a weak smile and handshake for each of us. As he inched up the walkway, he paused to survey the yard. His smile deepened. “I like the snow,” he murmured. I turned away to hide my tears.
That afternoon, as I drove back to college, I realized more fully what the Lord had done. Only one storm cloud hovered in the sky, directly over our hometown. Less than three miles away from the snow, the sun beamed down on a dry, brown valley.
I had always believed in answers to prayers, even in miracles. But it was the first time I had understood that sometimes God performs small miracles just to show His love. Overwhelmed by the Spirit, I thanked the Lord again for His gift of comfort—a snowstorm for Daniel.

A small note on the keyboard read, “This computer is reserved for Samuel at 5:00 a.m.” In response to his stake president’s challenge for the stake to index one million names, 14-year-old Samuel B. of Utah started getting up at 5:00 a.m. so that he could index before school. With one computer in the home and seven siblings with homework to do, Samuel had to sacrifice some sleep in order to get time on the computer.
But Samuel’s enthusiasm spread to the rest of his family. Soon his brother Nathan sacrificed basketball time and his sister Ivyllyn sacrificed reading time in order to index. “I’ve never been challenged as much by my children,” Samuel’s father says. “Until they got involved, I thought indexing was hard. They taught me that it could be easy and fun.” The following New Year’s Eve, the children were rushing to finish their yearly indexing goals before midnight.
Thousands of miles away, the Lanuza family in Guatemala caught the same enthusiasm. This family of nine—five children, Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa—share one computer. With the children using the computer for homework, Mom finishing her studies at the university, and Dad working, the computer is always in high demand, and each family member takes turns indexing. Together, the family indexed more than 37,000 records in 2011.

Christmas was coming, and Miguel’s teacher was talking about his school’s annual holiday food drive. “Our goal is to collect two thousand pounds of food—a whole ton—to share with others who are less fortunate,” Mrs. Stevens said. “We’ll need everyone’s help to gather that much.”
As he trudged home after school, Miguel wondered what he could take for the food drive. His father was away again, harvesting crops for others. He sent money from time to time, but often they had to get along on what his mother earned cleaning houses. Sometimes the tiny cupboards in their trailer were almost bare. But Miguel knew that other families in the trailer park had even less.
He unlocked the trailer, shrugged off his backpack, and opened the kitchen cupboard. He found rice, some beans, tomato sauce, a few cans of soup, a sack of cornmeal, and some canned corn.
When his mother returned from work, Miguel told her about the food drive. “It’s to help poor people,” he explained.
“Of course we must give something,” she said. She handed him a can of refried beans. “Take this.” The can weighed one pound twelve ounces. Miguel put it into his backpack so he wouldn’t forget to take it to school.
Gradually the pile of food in the corner of the classroom grew into a small pyramid. Every day the class divided ounces into pounds and added up the new total. As often as he could, Miguel brought something else from the cupboard in the trailer. Mamá was happy for him to help the poor with whatever they could spare.
One night Mamá came home especially tired. She put a big brown sack on the tiny kitchen table. “Is something wrong, Mamacita (Mama)?” Miguel asked.
“The Ostermans are going to Florida for the holidays,” she said, “and they won’t need me to work for three weeks. But look at what I have! Mrs. Osterman gave it to me.” She pulled a shiny oval can out of the bag.
“Ham?” Miguel licked his lips as he studied the colorful picture on the can. Then he read the label. “Ten whole pounds! Caramba (Wow)!”
“We’ll eat it on Christmas Eve,” Mamá said. “Let’s invite Tía (Aunt) Margarita to join us. She has no one to enjoy the holiday with.” Tía Margarita was not really Miguel’s aunt, but she lived in the trailer next door and often visited Miguel and his mother.
“Will we have a Christmas tree?” he asked.
“Our home is small, my son, but look!” She pointed out the window to the tall scraggly pine tree near the entrance to the trailer park, decorated with a few strings of lights. “We have a huge, beautiful Christmas tree right there.”
Miguel looked at the canned ham almost every day. A thought was growing in his mind. The night before the last day of school, he asked, “Mamá, are we poor?”
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she smiled at him. “Of course not, mi hijito (my son). We have a cozy place to live, we have food in our cupboard, I have work; and best of all, we have each other. We are rich.”
“But, Mamá, about the ham …” Miguel hesitated and swallowed hard. “I want to give it to the food drive.”
“But why, Miguel? Don’t you want it for our special dinner?”
Miguel hugged her. “Yes, Mamacita, but—but I want to do more to help the poor people.”
“Of course, of course,” she said, hugging him back. “Take it tomorrow. I am pleased that you are so generous. I will make your favorite chili tacos for Christmas Eve, instead, and we can pretend that they are full of ham. Tía Margarita will think that we are doing the right thing too. Now it is time for me to say the blessing on our supper.” Miguel bowed his head. “We are thankful for this food,” she prayed. “We are grateful that we have enough to share. …”
The next day, after his mother left to clean for the Maxwell family, Miguel slid the ham into his backpack. It thudded against his back as he jogged to school, but he didn’t mind. “Look what I have brought for the food drive,” he said to Mrs. Stevens as he placed the shiny oval can carefully on her desk.
“How generous, Miguel! Are you sure you should give this away?”
Miguel nodded. “The poor people need it,” he said.
Late that afternoon the principal reported that more than a ton of food had been collected by the students. “I’m so pleased!” he announced. “Because of you, many of your neighbors will have a happier holiday.”
Miguel felt cheerful until his mother returned from work with bad news. “Mrs. Maxwell’s grandchildren are coming to visit for the holidays,” she said. “She won’t need me for two weeks. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid, Miguel. Maybe your father will send money soon, but we can’t count on it. He does his best, but he has to live too.” Then she smiled. “But we will have our special dinner with Tía Margarita. That will make a special Christmas treat for us, sí (yes)?”
While Miguel was washing the dishes after their supper, he heard footsteps outside. Someone was running near the trailer. He opened the door and peered into the darkness.
“Mamá, come quick! There’s something by our door.”
Miguel and his mother lifted two large boxes into the kitchen. Food spilled out of them—potatoes, rice, canned fruit, soup, flour, sugar, oranges, tuna fish. At the bottom of one box, he saw a familiar shiny oval can. “How can this be?” he asked. “I gave our ham away. Now it has come back to us.”
“I don’t know, Miguel. Someone must think we need it.”
“But we don’t, Mamá. Not nearly as much as some others. You said yourself we are rich. We must find someone who really needs the ham.”
“You are right, Miguel. Let’s do that,” she replied.
They put on their coats and stepped outside into the frosty night air. Miguel cradled the ham gently against his chest like a newborn babe.
The trailer park was quiet, and the windows of the neighbors’ homes glowed softly in the dark. Miguel and his mother walked from door to door until they came to a trailer where a little boy opened the door. His eyes grew wide when he saw the ham.
“For us?” he asked.
Miguel smiled and handed it to him. “For you,” he said.
The boy’s mother came to the door and thanked them, tears shining in her eyes. Miguel’s mother put an arm around him, and together they hurried home through the cold, feeling warm inside.
On Christmas Eve, Miguel, his mother, and Tía Margarita sat down to their chili tacos and laughed together. Miguel thought of the little boy with the ham and the people at school who would have a happier holiday because of what the class had shared. He knew then that giving had made Christmas better for everyone.

Following the children’s baptisms, we continued to meet frequently in the family’s home. We held family home evenings, shared scriptures and uplifting experiences, and introduced them to many ward members and helped them to get integrated into the ward. However, despite the continued gospel experiences and the regular Sunday attendance of the children and their mother, Kuk-Won and Mi-Jung were no closer to setting their own baptismal date. We just continued to love them and support them the best we knew how.
As the months went by, Elder Ricks was transferred, and my new companion, Elder Minor, was an elder straight from the missionary training center. He was full of faith, energy, and excitement, and I honestly had a difficult time keeping up with him! After meeting with Kuk-Won and Mi-Jung on a few occasions, Elder Minor approached me and asked whether or not my previous companion and I had fasted with them. We had not. In fact, I was a bit embarrassed to admit that the thought had not even occurred to me! So we met with this loving family and suggested a fast. I was amazed to discover that after learning of fasting from us, they had already been periodically fasting on their own, both for the health of their son and for a change in work schedule that would allow Kuk-Won to attend church with his family. We asked if we might join them in their family fast, and soon their faithful prayers were answered: Kuk-Won’s work schedule was changed. While we thought this was the only thing keeping them from getting baptized, Mi-Jung still did not feel ready to get baptized.
On one visit to their home, Elder Minor had another inspired idea. After we shared a scripture message, he pulled out his pocket-sized hymnbook and asked if we could sing with them. Though we had sung together with their family on previous occasions, I had never seen Mi-Jung join in the singing and just assumed that she did not like singing or was uncomfortable because the music was new to her. Elder Minor asked her if she had a favorite hymn, and to my astonishment, she got choked up and replied that she loved singing hymns and that ever since she was a little girl, her favorite hymn had been “I Need the Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98). We asked if she would sing that hymn with us, and she tearfully agreed. Soon we were singing a four-part harmony, with Kuk-Won and his children singing the melody, Mi-Jung singing alto, Elder Minor singing tenor, and me singing bass.
The Spirit was as strong in the room as we had ever felt. As we sang the third verse, emotion overcame her, and her voice dropped out as we continued:
I need thee every hour,
In joy or pain.
Come quickly and abide,
Or life is vain.
I need thee, oh, I need thee;
Ev’ry hour I need thee!
Oh, bless me now, my Savior;
I come to thee!
As we completed the fourth and final verse, she was sobbing.
Illustration by Julia Yellow
As her husband tried to comfort her, she was eventually able to compose herself. She looked me right in the eyes and said, “I need to get baptized.”
The baptismal service for Kong Kuk-Won and Pak Mi-Jung that following Sunday afternoon was a truly joyous occasion! Their children, Sung-Gyun and Su-Jin, participated in the program, and numerous local members attended to show their support for the newest convert family in their ward. And Elder Minor and I provided a special musical number: “I Need Thee Every Hour.”
Eventually I finished my mission and returned home. After a year at Brigham Young University, I returned to South Korea for a summer internship, and each weekend I made a point of visiting the many special friends and families I had met while serving on my mission. After a few weeks, I made my way back to meet with this special family. Upon arriving at their home, I noticed that someone was missing—their son, Sung-Gyun. With tears in her eyes, Mi-Jung broke the news to me: their son’s cancer had come out of remission, and at age 14 he had lost the battle.
As I tried to express my heartfelt condolences to their family and also process the deep sorrow and pain I was feeling, Kuk-Won assured me that they knew everything would be OK. They loved the gospel, attended church faithfully, and looked forward to the day when their family might be sealed together for eternity in the Seoul Korea Temple. Despite the heartache and loss they felt, they knew they would again see Sung-Gyun and be reunited. Mi-Jung also told me that singing hymns daily helped her and her family find the strength to cope with the loss of her beloved son and feel the accompanying peace the Spirit brings.
As I left their home that evening, I reflected again on the words of Mi-Jung’s favorite hymn. I am grateful that Heavenly Father blessed this amazing family with peace after Sung-Gyun’s passing, and I am especially grateful for the Spirit’s role in Mi-Jung’s personal conversion and for the faith and hope their family held for the eternal blessings of the temple.

ARE YOU WEAK AND PUNY?
DO BULLIES PUSH YOU AROUND? BE THE STRONGEST BOY IN TOWN!
ORDER MR. HERCULES’ BODYBUILDING COURSE TODAY!!
SEND NO MONEY! ABSOLUTELY NO OBLIGATION!
Tracy sat in her bedroom, tugging at the end of a pigtail as she studied the advertisement in the comic book. In the ad were two photographs. The photo labeled “Before” showed a skinny boy with arms and legs like sticks. The other, labeled “After,” showed the same boy with enormous muscles popping out all over his body.
“Wow!” Tracy said. “I bet no one pushes him around anymore!” She thought of Buster Bailey, who liked to bully her as she walked home from school.
“I wish I could take Mr. Hercules’ free bodybuilding course. Then I’d really get Buster Bailey. But it’s only for boys.”
Tracy sprang up. “I know!” She tore out the ad and printed her name as only “T. Allison.” She addressed and stamped on envelope and put the ad inside it.
“Where are you going?” her mother called from the kitchen as Tracy opened the front door.
“For a walk,” Tracy said. She felt funny about not telling her mother what she was doing, but she didn’t want her to know about Buster Bailey. Her mother had enough to worry about. Tracy’s father had had an operation and was recovering very slowly. He had to stay in bed most of the time.
Tracy walked to the mailbox at the corner. I’m eleven years old, she thought. I can handle my own problems.
The next afternoon Buster was waiting for her as usual with his bike at the opposite end of the bridge. Tracy took a firm grip on her books and walked as fast as she could, pretending not to see him. But when she reached the center of the bridge, he got on his bike and headed straight for her, pedaling as fast as he could. She stopped and gritted her teeth. Within inches of running into her, Buster skidded sideways.
“I’m king of the bridge!” he shouted. “On your knees, peasant, and beg for safe passage, or I’ll throw your books into the river.”
Even though Buster was bigger than anyone else in their class, Tracy stood her ground and tried not to show that she was scared. She thought of the bodybuilding course. “You just wait, Buster Bailey,” she said. “One of these days I’m going to get you!”
“Bookworm,” he jeered. “Teacher’s pet.” After a few minutes of popping wheelies, he let her pass.
Every afternoon when Tracy got home, she stayed close to the front door and watched for the letter carrier. Luckily for her, the mail was delivered late in the day. A week after she sent in the ad, a bulky brown envelope addressed to Mr. T. Allison arrived. Tracy ran up the stairs to her room, shut the door, and opened the envelope.
Inside she found a letter, also a series of booklets titled Mr. Hercules’ Bodybuilding Course, filled with instructions and pictures of Mr. Hercules doing exercises, each more advanced than in the preceding booklet. Tracy didn’t understand all the words in the letter, but she understood the last line: “Please remit $45.00 within thirty days.”
Forty-five dollars! How could she possibly get forty-five dollars? She emptied her piggy bank on the bed and counted the money. Six dollars and thirty-eight cents. She couldn’t ask her parents for the money because they had lots of doctor’s bills. When she didn’t pay, would the police arrest her? Maybe Mr. Hercules himself would come looking for her!
That night she prayed for a miracle, and the next morning she woke up with an idea. She asked the neighbors if she could work for them. She weeded their gardens, swept their sidewalks, and washed their screens. She did errands and baby-sat. She saved every penny.
I’m working so hard, Tracy thought, I have a right to use the exercises. So every morning before breakfast and every night before bedtime, she took a booklet from the closet shelf where she kept them hidden and did the exercises. At first her muscles ached and she got tired after just a few minutes. She couldn’t do even one push-up. But she kept at it, and each day she could exercise a little longer. Soon she felt herself growing stronger.
The trouble is, Tracy thought as she walked home from school one afternoon, the exercises haven’t solved my problem with Buster Bailey. He’s always riding his bike, so I can’t get near enough to use my new muscles on him. She stepped onto the bridge and saw him waiting at the other end. When she reached the middle, he started toward her, coming faster and faster. This time he really would run into her! She jumped to one side. Buster twisted his wheel to stay in front of her, but the bike spun out of control and he was flung onto the pavement.
“Serves you right!” Tracy shouted.
Buster tried to get up and fell back, moaning. “My leg, my leg!”
Was he pretending? Maybe it was some sort of trick. But when she saw that he was crying, Tracy knew that he really was hurt. Buster would never cry, especially in front of a girl, if he could help it. “I’ll go get help,” she said.
“No! Don’t leave me, please!”
Tracy stared. “Why not?”
Gulping back his sobs, Buster blurted, “There’s this guy in sixth grade who’s out to get me. If he catches me off my bike …”
Tracy bit her tongue. Forgive your enemies, she reminded herself. She put down her books and helped Buster to his feet. “Lean on my shoulder, and try hopping on your good foot,” she told him. “My house is just down the street.”
They progressed very slowly toward Tracy’s house. She kept hoping that a car would stop and help them, but the street was deserted. “You’re heavy,” she said.
“And you’re strong,” he said, “for a girl.”
When they finally reached Tracy’s house, her mother took one look at Buster and phoned his home. While they were waiting for his father to arrive, Tracy’s mother asked what had happened. One thing led to another, and soon Tracy was pouring out the whole story about Buster, the body-building course, and the work she’d been doing to earn money.
“Wow!” Buster said. He was lying on the couch, his injured leg resting on pillows.
When Tracy showed her mother the book-lets, the letter, and the bill from Mr. Hercules, her mother frowned worriedly. “This is a big bill, Tracy. How much have you saved?”
Tracy tugged at a pigtail. “I only have twenty-seven dollars and thirty cents so far.”
“That was a very unwise thing to do, Tracy. Let’s write to Mr. Hercules and send him what you have,” her mother said. “When he learns the whole story”—she looked at Buster—“he might let you pay the rest when you can.”
To Tracy’s great relief, that’s exactly what Mr. Hercules agreed to.
Finally Tracy was able to pay her bill, but she learned a good lesson. Mr. Bailey asked Tracy to help Buster with summer school so that he could be promoted into fourth grade with the rest of their class, and Buster genuinely appreciated her help. Tracy was glad to help him—but this certainly wasn’t the way that she had planned to get Buster Bailey!

One of the great spiritual events in our family occurred in the life of our youngest daughter, Barbara, who was born with a defective heart. Then five months after she was born, she had heart failure and was taken to the hospital. Because she had a very serious type of heart ailment, the doctors had given up on her. Our bishop and I administered to her.
After that blessing, I had a total peace about her. Even though Barbara became very ill with pneumonia and went into a relapse, I knew that she was going to be all right.
She was in the hospital almost three months. At that time, although she was recovering from her problems, I could see that she was losing her will to live, and I was prompted to take her home, even though her doctor was very much against it. When we got home and laid her on the couch and the children all gathered around her, Barbara broke into a smile, her first in months. Taking care of this critically ill baby was a great concern to my wife, so this good doctor came to our home about every two days and checked her.
There have been very few cases of children with this type of defect who have lived into their teens. Barbara was blessed with amazing health, even though her heart wasn’t functioning normally. She took piano and swimming lessons, enjoyed limited activity in sports, and attended college. She actually had fewer health problems than the rest of the family, and she is now twenty-nine years old. There is no doubt in my mind that this resulted from our faith in the Lord and in the power of the priesthood and from following the promptings of the Spirit.