Gospel Story Finder

I was born Christian and did prayers and attended church every week. However, I could not imagine the love of God and Jesus’s great sacrifice until I came across one incident. This was on January 11, 2006, when I was 22 years old. All our families were gathering to commemorate the first death anniversary of my grandfather. So I was busy arranging things necessary for the families who would be attending the event. I had no sleep for almost three days. Still, I was assigned to bring the priest from another town to solemnize the event with a gospel message and prayer. Despite my tiredness, I had agreed to bring him.
In the snowy cold winter season, I got ready after showering early in the morning. I started driving but felt drowsy. I saw one town at a distance and thought that I could make it there and have tea. However, my eyes were so heavy that unconsciously I closed my eyes. Within a fraction of seconds, my high-speed car hit a tree beside the road. My snoozy eyes could see the car colliding with the tree. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and found that I had had a major accident. I immediately stopped the running, smoky car engine. I found that the front glass was smashed and had fallen into pieces on me. But not even a single fragment of it pierced my body. I was thankful to God for that. Later, I discovered blood flowing from my mouth. I cupped my hands to get it and threw it out the window. But I realized it was not going to stop so I kept a big cloth in my mouth to overcome the blood loss. My legs were stuck underneath. While I was trying to get them free, my right leg got dislocated at femur (thigh bone) joint. So, I could not move. As it had happened early in the morning, and I could hardly find people to help. After a little while, I found someone and asked for help, but he was scared and ran away. Later, two people came and helped me get out of the car.
The car was totally crushed at the front side. It became completely useless. Eventually, people started surrounding me. Everyone was amazed at what had happened and wondering that I was still alive! I took someone’s mobile as mine was lost during mishap and phoned my father to explain the situation and urged him to take me to the hospital. My father was very much grieved when he saw me lying on the road. However, so great was God’s comfort upon me that I was able to recover very fast and started walking again in just one-and-a-half months.
That day, I was reminded of God’s gentle love when I heard the words from Psalms 119:50:
“This is my comfort in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened me.”
He truly protected me. Whenever I recall that situation, I would try to speculate how Heavenly Father must have been suffering while His beloved Son was crucified on the cross! How great was the pain Jesus bore for all of us to prepare a path so that we could all return back to our heavenly home! My heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for Him and Heavenly Father and Their unconditional love. My soul rejoices whenever I think of the truth that JESUS IS RISEN and that His divine role is successfully accomplished.

I clenched my fists, bit my lip, and kicked the ball that was rolling toward me. Then I frowned as I watched it soar out of bounds instead of going into the goal.
A girl named Nan had been standing on the sidelines watching our game. She ran to pick up the ball, tripping in her excitement. Everyone laughed. No one thanked her as she threw the ball back to us.
I felt guilty. I knew Nan wanted to play, but I didn’t want to be the one to invite her.
Nan was quiet, with messy brown hair, thick glasses, and a squeaky voice. She didn’t have one friend in our whole class. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her. I had just never talked to her.
That afternoon our teacher announced that she was going to move our desks around. She would make a new seating chart.
The room buzzed with excitement. My best friend, LeAnna, and I smiled at each other.
Just then Caroline leaned toward me. “I heard Nan tell Mrs. Martin she wants to sit by you. Gross!”
I sat in shock. “Why me?” I wondered. I had never been mean to Nan, but I had never been nice to her either.
“Tell the teacher you don’t want to sit by her,” Caroline whispered. “Otherwise no one will want to sit by you.”
I looked at Nan. Her head was lowered. She must have known what everyone in the room was thinking.
Mrs. Martin called me up to her desk. I knew Nan was a child of God and that Jesus said to love everyone. But if I became friends with Nan, everyone would think I was weird.
“Who do you want to sit by?” Mrs. Martin asked me.
“LeAnna,” I said. That was easy.
Mrs. Martin smiled. “Would you be willing to sit by Nan too?”
I looked down at the floor and whispered, “I’d rather not.”
Mrs. Martin looked surprised. “Are you sure, Angie?”
“Yes,” I muttered.
The next day our desks were rearranged. I sat by LeAnna. Nan was across the room. The two girls sitting by her pushed their desks away from hers so it looked like she was sitting alone. She looked like she was going to cry.
A few weeks later Nan changed schools. A girl in my ward went to that school, and I asked her if she had met a new girl named Nan.
“I think so. What does she look like?” she asked.
“Well, she’s really quiet. Her hair is messy, and she wears thick glasses. No one in my class liked her.”
“Really? It must not be the same girl,” she said. “The new girl I know is really fun. Everyone likes her. She’s a great soccer player.”
I thought about the day Nan had watched us playing soccer. She only needed a chance and a friend. And I could have given her both.
That day I made a promise to myself to always be nice to everyone and never let a girl like Nan slip by me without trying to be her friend.

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale but rather in a peaceful place known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler and Grant Remund have passed away. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

One morning long ago, Kookaburra sat high and solemn in his gum tree, looking down on the rain-washed world. He had heard the strong night wind uproot a tall tree near the pond, so he flew down to take a look. Lying on the earth where the tree roots had been were two tiny eggs. The falling tree must have disturbed a bird’s nest. But whose?
Kookaburra thought he knew almost everything there was to know about anything. But he didn’t know who had laid the eggs. Mrs. Kookaburra agreed to sit on them to keep them warm while Kookaburra tried to find their owner.
First he flew to his friends in the trees. He asked Cockatoo about the eggs, and Cockatoo asked Parakeet. Then Parakeet asked Parrot. But none of them knew whose eggs Kookaburra had found.
Next Kookaburra searched out his friends who lived on the ground. He found Bowerbird decorating his nest with flowers, berries, and pieces of brightly colored material. Bowerbird came proudly down his mossy path and greeted his guest. Unfortunately, Bowerbird had never seen any eggs like Kookaburra described. So Kookaburra said, “Bowerbird, Bowerbird, come with me. Come see the eggs by the fallen tree.” And off they went.
Then Kookaburra and Bowerbird went to see Lyrebird, who was easy to find because he was putting on a show that very minute. What a sight he was! He danced around on the little stage of earth and vegetable matter that he had built, mimicking the song of one bird after another. His very long tail feathers fanned out in the sun in the shape of a lyre.
Kookaburra and Bowerbird politely waited until his act was over before asking about the eggs. But Lyrebird didn’t know whose eggs they were. So Kookaburra said, “Lyrebird, Lyrebird, come with me. Come see the eggs by the fallen tree.” And off they went.
Beyond the trees, Kookaburra and Bowerbird and Lyrebird saw the Mallee Fowls in a clearing. Their eggs had been laid, and Mallee was putting a big pile of sand over the vegetation that covered the eggs. As the visitors watched, he next scratched away earth in the center of the pile to make a little hole to let in warm air. His beak worked just like a thermometer, testing to see that the eggs were not too warm or too cool.
Kookaburra said, “Mallee Fowls, Mallee Fowls, come with me. Come see the eggs by the fallen tree.”
Mrs. Mallee explained that her mate could not leave their eggs, but she would go with them herself. So Kookaburra, Bowerbird, Lyrebird and Mrs. Mallee returned to the edge of the pond.
Mrs. Kookaburra was still there, sitting on the eggs. Kookaburra thought that if they would all hide behind the gum tree and wait very quietly, the mother bird might still return. So they did.
They had sat still for only a few minutes, although it seemed like a very, very long time, when they saw the strangest sight! Up the bank toddled a furry creature. It had a bill like a duck, but it had no wings. Its long tail was wide and flat like a beaver’s tail. And its legs were very short with webbed feet.
Kookaburra recognized Mrs. Platypus. She was returning to the place where she had dug her home under the ground. Mrs. Platypus had thought her eggs had been lost during the storm, and when she saw the two little eggs, she waddled from side to side and clattered her giant bill. Then she cuddled up to her eggs.
Because Mrs. Kookaburra had kept the eggs warm, they were all ready to hatch. One began to crack open, then the other. Out popped two tiny platypuses. They crawled right up onto their mother’s tummy and held on with all their might.
Kookaburra and his friends watched every move. Mrs. Platypus scooted right back down into the pond and flipped over onto her back in the water. She gave one big splat with her tail and floated away just like a big log, with her babies riding on top of her.
Mrs. Kookaburra said, “Well, I never!”
Mrs. Mallee ruffled her feathers and said, “Unbelievable!”
Lyrebird fanned out his tail, danced around in a circle, and started to sing.
Bowerbird picked up a feather to take to his bower, and Kookaburra blinked his eyes. He shook his head and stared in amazement. The eggs had not belonged to any bird at all, but to Mrs. Platypus. The joke was on him!
Kookaburra’s solemn look vanished, and he began to laugh. He flew back to his high branch in the gum tree and laughed louder and louder until his laugh rang out clear across the Land Down Under, where his laugh can be heard to this very day.

However, I warn you, a new name, new flexibility, and fewer reports won’t make an ounce of difference in our service unless we see this as an invitation to care for one another in a bold, new, holier way, as President Nelson has just said. As we lift our spiritual eyes toward living the law of love more universally, we pay tribute to the generations who have served that way for years. Let me note a recent example of such devotion in hopes that legions more will grasp the Lord’s commandment to “be with and strengthen”10 our brothers and sisters.
Last January 14, a Sunday, just a little after 5:00 p.m., my young friends Brett and Kristin Hamblin were chatting at their home in Tempe, Arizona, after Brett’s day serving in the bishopric and Kristin’s busy day caring for their five children.
Suddenly Kristin, a seemingly successful survivor of breast cancer the previous year, fell unresponsive. A call to 911 brought an emergency team trying desperately to revive her. As Brett prayed and pleaded, he quickly placed just two other telephone calls: one to his mother requesting her help with the children, the other to Edwin Potter, his home teacher. The latter conversation in its entirety went as follows:
Edwin, noting caller ID, said, “Hey, Brett, what’s up?”
Brett’s near-shouted response was “I need you here—now!”
In fewer minutes than Brett could count, his priesthood colleague was standing at his side, helping with the children and then driving Brother Hamblin to the hospital behind the ambulance carrying his wife. There, less than 40 minutes after she had first closed her eyes, the physicians pronounced Kristin dead.
As Brett sobbed, Edwin simply held him in his arms and cried with him—for a long, long time. Then, leaving Brett to grieve with other family members who had gathered, Edwin drove to the bishop’s home to tell him what had just transpired. A marvelous bishop started immediately for the hospital while Edwin drove on to the Hamblins’ home. There he and his wife, Charlotte, who had also come running, played with the five now-motherless Hamblin children, ages 12 down to 3. They fed them an evening meal, held an impromptu musical recital, and helped get them ready for bed.
Brett told me later, “The amazing part of this story isn’t that Edwin came when I called. In an emergency, there are always people willing to help. No, the amazing part of this story is that he was the one I thought of. There were other people around. Kristin has a brother and sister less than three miles away. We have a great bishop, the greatest. But the relationship between Edwin and me is such that I felt instinctively to call him when I needed help. The Church provides us a structured way to live the second commandment better—to love, serve, and develop relationships with our brothers and sisters that help us move closer to God.”11
Edwin said about the experience, “Elder Holland, the irony in all of this is that Brett has been our family’s home teacher for longer than I have been theirs. Over that time, he has visited us more as a friend than by assignment. He has been a great example, the epitome of what an active and involved priesthood bearer should be. My wife, our boys—we don’t see him as one obligated to bring us a message at the end of each month; we think of him as a friend who lives just down the street and around the corner, who would do anything in this world to bless us. I am glad I could repay just a little bit of the debt I owe him.”12

When I was twelve years old, the junior-high music teacher invited me to play the bass viola in the school orchestra. I had to take one semester of instruction before I could join the orchestra. One day a week, the music teacher taught a lesson to me and two other boys. The rest of the week we went into a vacant classroom to practice.
We were practicing in the unsupervised classroom one day when one of the boys—he was a year older and was bigger than I was and something of a bully—started looking through the drawers and cupboards. He found a stack of phonograph records. Looking through them, he said, “I’d like to have these records, and I think I’ll just take them.” The other boy was his friend and agreed to help him. Then the bigger boy turned to me and threatened, “Don’t you tell anybody, or I’ll beat you up.”
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want him to beat me up, and I didn’t want to be a tattletale. But I knew that stealing was wrong. I went home from school that day very troubled. When my dad came home, I asked if I could talk with him. I told my dad what had happened at school and asked for his advice.
“Well, Son,” he said, “you just need to always do what’s right, whatever it is. It may be hard sometimes, but you must always do what’s right.” He didn’t tell me what to do; he only taught the principle.
I knew that what Dad said was true, and I knew what I should do. But choosing the right isn’t always easy. After I prayed about the situation, though, I felt even more sure of what I should do.
The next day the three of us went back to the unsupervised room again to practice. I was scared because I didn’t know how the boy would respond to what I was going to say. I summoned up my courage and said, “You’re going to bring those records back. And if they’re not here by tomorrow, I’m going to turn you in. You have until tomorrow to bring them back.”
I waited nervously for his answer. He swallowed hard and was silent, but he didn’t attack me. The next day he brought the records back. I’ve always appreciated my dad for his wise counsel to choose the right.

There is a living God who loves us and is constantly nearby and available. Doubt need not be part of our lives. The reality of God’s influence is felt by all Church members who comply with divine laws. It can also be tangibly felt by nonmembers, when it is his will. This is evidenced by the following experience in the São Paulo Temple.

The temple was opened to the public during the month of September 1978 before being closed in preparation for the dedication. Among the many visitors who felt the influence of this special temple was a certain nonmember newspaper reporter.

During the tour he eventually arrived at the door of the celestial room. Those few people who were accompanying him saw him abruptly stop and bow his head. He remained in that position for some time, with his eyes closed and head bowed. Then he slowly moved his head from side to side and at the same time opened his eyes, as if to inquire by this gesture “Who is there?” or “Is anyone there?”

After some time his head was raised and his eyes opened. His expression indicated that he knew something holy was there, and those about him witnessed the tears streaming down his face. He had felt the beautiful influence of the Spirit found so often in the temples. He knew something good was there and felt joy inside. It was a real, tangible feeling.

Stringy orange chunks went skittering across the road. Nothing was left of the carefully-carved pumpkin face except a lonely candle stuck in the pulpy mess near my feet.
“C’mon, throw yours,” Mike said, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Do it!” Jeff urged.
Kevin pushed my shoulder. “Hurry up! Smash it, and let’s get out of here.”
My friends stood in a circle around me. The pumpkin felt smooth and cold in my hands. It was heavy, even though the stringy insides had been pulled out and holes carved for a silly face. I remembered how long it had taken me to clean and carve my own pumpkin at home, scooping out the slippery seeds and carefully slicing out sections for its eyes, nose, and mouth.
But this pumpkin wasn’t mine. I had grabbed it off a porch tonight after trick-or-treating, then waited impatiently for house lights to blink off one by one. It wasn’t my idea to smash the pumpkins, but my friends said it was great fun. They had each swiped one too.
“Everyone does it,” Mike had said. “It’s a Halloween tradition. Nobody can see you—it’s too dark out. Just hold the pumpkin up as high as you can and smash it on the road.”
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Kevin added. “It’s just an old pumpkin. It’ll be rotten soon anyway.”
They were right. It was great fun. My pumpkin-smashing sent chunks flying farther than anyone else’s. I laughed out loud when some gooey pieces splatted on Jeff’s pant legs. Jeff pushed me backward into some pumpkin mess on the road. Mike grabbed a pumpkin chunk and plopped it on top of Jeff’s costume wig. Soon pumpkin pieces were flying everywhere.
A porch light switched on suddenly, and a man’s voice growled from the lit doorway. “Hey you boys! What’s going on out there?”
A small figure in pajamas, clutching a teddy bear, stood by the man’s side. “Daddy, where’s my pumpkin?” asked a tiny voice. “Did the boys break my pumpkin?”
We raced through neighborhood yards until we were safely out of sight, finally crouching behind shrubs to see if anyone was following us. “Watch out! Over there!” But it was only a tree shadow stretching its long black body over the ground toward us. The wind moaned and sighed. Clawlike branches scratched unearthly noises against rooftops. I gulped deep breaths of cold night air and tried to steady my trembling legs. This was scary—but exciting too!
We listened for police sirens or neighbors yelling for us to come out. A dog howled faintly in the distance. An airplane droned in the dark overhead. But there were no footsteps, no searching flashlights, no angry voices. We were safe. We laughed, patting each other on the back. This had been easy!
But something followed me as I walked home. Something invisible wrapped its long, icy fingers around my head and invaded my ears. It was sneakier and more chilling than any make-believe Halloween ghost.
It was a tiny voice crying over a pumpkin—the one I had smashed.
The voice chased me all the way back to my house. I quietly climbed the front steps and sat down in the dark shadows. My own pumpkin scowled at me from the porch railing as if it knew that I had smashed one of its relatives. For fun. Because “everyone did it.”
The front door opened, and Dad poked his head outside, whistling for our dog. “Hey, kiddo, did you have a good time trick-or-treating? Did you get any candy for your old dad?”
I handed him my bag full of treats. “Here. Take what you want. I’m not hungry.”
Dad sat down beside me. He pulled a sucker out of the bag, unwrapped it, and pointed it at my pumpkin on the railing. “You know, Son, in a way you’re a little bit like that pumpkin over there.”
“Sure, Dad,” I said. “I have an empty space where my brains should be.”
Dad rolled the sucker over his tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with your brain—when you use it,” he said, picking at some pumpkin goo still clinging to my pants. “I meant that there’s a ‘candle’ inside you, too—a bright spark that lights up your face and makes you who you are. It’s a pure, clear, beautiful light that’s inside every person. Maybe it shines a little less when they do something they’re ashamed of, but it never goes out completely.” He gently turned my face toward his. “Your light looks a little dim tonight.”
“It’s a wonder it didn’t go out like a smashed pumpkin,” I said. “A broken pumpkin just lying in the road, waiting for a car to run over it. A pumpkin that didn’t even belong to me.”
I stood up and walked over to the railing. My hands circled the perfectly-decorated pumpkin that had taken me a whole hour to clean and carve. I picked it up and started down the front steps.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
I turned to face him. “A little voice is calling me,” I choked out.
Dad studied his sucker. “A voice?”
“Of a little boy in pajamas.”
Dad smiled. “Follow that voice,” he said. “Your light is getting brighter every second.”

Ever since Jenna was a tiny girl, her family could see that she spoke a language all her own. Whenever she described something that happened, she couldn’t help moving her body with each sentence, making the words seem bigger and brighter as they took on an energy unique to Jenna. Her movements were graceful and dramatic. No one was surprised when she started dance classes with her best friend Lisa and came home talking as if she had found heaven.
“I love to dance, Mom. I love it more than chocolate ice cream and more than the best birthday surprise!” Jenna declared.
“I knew you were a dancer at heart,” Mom said as Jenna spun around and threw her arms around her mother’s waist, swaying as they hugged and laughed.
Jenna and Lisa worked hard in dance class. They never missed a session, and they stayed after class as long as possible to work on new moves and perfect their technique, watching themselves in the mirrors that covered the walls of the studio. Their teacher was very impressed.
“I don’t do this very often, girls,” she said to them after class one day. “But I think you two could perform one of the advanced-class dance numbers we’ll be doing for the Christmas Showcase.”
Jenna and Lisa thanked their teacher and smiled with delight. When they were outside in the parking lot, they began cheering, hugging, and jumping up and down.
“We did it, Lisa! I can’t believe this! We did it, we did it!” Jenna shouted.
Lisa’s mom rolled down the car window. “What’s up, you two?”
“Mom, you aren’t going to believe this! Our teacher just said we get to perform one of the advanced dances for the Christmas Showcase!” Lisa was beaming as she and Jenna leaped into the car.
“Well, I’m not a bit surprised. I know you two will be wonderful,” Lisa’s mom said. “You’ve been working so hard.”
And they kept working hard. Jenna and Lisa found every possible opportunity to practice and perfect each leap and every twist of the head down to the exact timing until even the top dance students in their class were impressed.
“How are you feeling about the dance performance?” Jenna’s mom asked one day as they got in the car after class.
“Fabulous,” Lisa said, grinning.
“Couldn’t be better,” chimed in Jenna. But after they dropped Lisa off at her house Jenna grew quiet.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t want to seem like a goody-goody, but …”
“What is it, honey?” Mom encouraged.
“Well, we got the costumes today that we’ll be wearing for the advanced dance number, and they’re not very modest. Then when we rehearsed the dance in the costumes, I realized that the moves, the music, and now the costumes are not something I would want you and Dad or my little brothers and sister to see. I sure couldn’t perform the dance if someone like the prophet were there watching.”
As the words came out, Jenna’s eyes filled with tears. She had always been taught to listen to the feelings in her heart, and this choice would not be an easy one. “What will Lisa think of me? What can I say to our dance teacher?” she wondered.
“I’m so glad you want to do what is right,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father will help you know how.”
That night before bed, Jenna prayed that Heavenly Father would give her the courage to stand up for what she knew was right. She also prayed that she would know the right words to use.
During school lunch the next day she asked Lisa if they could talk. They went to a quiet place and sat on a bench.
“Lisa, I don’t know how to say this, but … ” Jenna’s voice was shaky and she was looking down at her fingers. “I don’t feel good about performing in the advanced dance number. It’s just too, well, too … ”
She heard a sniff from Lisa and looked up. Lisa’s eyes were red. “I’ve been thinking about how to tell you the same thing,” Lisa said. They hugged and cried a little more, then marched to their classroom with their arms around each other’s shoulders. It was good to have a friend who understood.
It wasn’t easy for Jenna and Lisa to talk to their dance teacher, especially when she said, “We’re dancing the most up-to-date dances from the top dance companies in the nation. If you want to be dancers, this is the kind of thing you have to be willing to do.”
It was even harder when their teacher announced to the class that there would be a change in the advanced dance number. There were sneers from some of the other dancers. But Lisa was right by Jenna’s side. And more importantly, they both felt Heavenly Father’s love and knew they were doing the right thing.

In the 1960s during the Vietnam War, Church member Jay Hess, an airman, was shot down over North Vietnam. For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words. What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote—and I quote: “These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.”

Will Spurlock, Jr., is a real whiz when it comes to electronics. His determination and excellence paid off when he was awarded a first-place trophy and medal, along with a tool kit, in the North Carolina State Electrical Trades competition.
Because of his first-place finish, Will went on to represent North Carolina in the Electrical Trades International competition. His project placed fourth.
For his hard work and achievements, Will was awarded a scholarship to a technical institute to continue his schooling. He is a priest in the Dunn Branch of the Fayetteville North Carolina Stake.

Dr. Ho-jik Kim was the first Korean to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He helped to establish the Korean Mission and a friend once said of him, “His righteous influence and simple faith in God was a great light for the people of Korea.”

While he was still a young man, Ho-jik searched many places to find the true religion. At one time or another he had joined several churches but none of them satisfied him; he wanted something more. After attending an agricultural college and a university in Korea, he decided to go to America to obtain a better education.

While studying at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, he met Oliver Wayman, a Latter-day Saint who became his friend. Oliver invited Ho-jik to attend some church meetings with him and later gave him the Articles of Faith, the Book of Mormon, and several other books. Ho-jik Kim read them all and believed they were true.

He was baptized in the Susquehanna River near where the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were baptized. The power of the Holy Ghost was strong and Brother Kim, thinking of the words of Jesus, “Feed my sheep,” felt that he should preach the gospel to his fellowmen.

He earned a doctor’s degree in education and returned home to Korea in 1951 where he held important positions in education with the government.

Dr. Kim played a big part in bringing the gospel to Korea and in helping the Church to grow there. He was an inspiration to the members and his example taught them humility, devotion, and faithfulness.

The Name of the Tree The animals were very hungry. Very hungry. The wonderful tree had fruit, but they could not get it until they learned the tree’s name. The speedy gazelle ran to Lion King to learn its name but forgot it. The elephant with his remarkable memory went next but also forgot it. It was the plodding but steady, ordinary but caring tortoise who saved the starving animals in this Bantu folktale about true humility.Celia Barker Lottridge (reteller)5–8 years

Two years after his baptism, Patrick was attending a young single adult ward in London when he met Jennifer Hulme, a Brigham Young University student from Saratoga, California. Jennifer had come to London for six months to study art history and English literature. The youngest of eight children, she had been raised in the Church.
Almost immediately, Patrick caught her eye.
“As I watched him interact with people in the ward, I saw the way he treated them,” Jennifer says of Patrick. “Whether it was a new member, a returning member, someone who was having struggles, or someone who was a close friend, he treated everyone with the same kind of genuine love and interest. That quality first and foremost drew me to him. It is a quality I have seen him develop, and that God has put to good use, over the 33 years we have been married.”
Elder and Sister Kearon’s love and respect for each other allows them to work united in faith.
After their courtship, the couple married in the Oakland California Temple in January 1991. They then raised their family in England for 19 years until Elder Kearon was called in 2010 as a General Authority Seventy after serving in several leadership callings, including as a stake president and Area Seventy. He was serving as Senior President of the Seventy when he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Elder Kearon says his wife is a faithful disciple who knows her true identity. “She lives a happy, positive, constructive, helpful, joyful life, with the Savior at the center of it all. She has been a source of strength and an enormous blessing to me since the moment we met.”
Susannah, the second of the couple’s three daughters, says her mother loves to give of herself: “She is full of life and light and has a passion for the gospel.” And like her father, her mother is an “excellent listener.”
Susannah and her sisters say their parents’ love and respect for each other allows them to work united in faith toward common goals. They listen to one another and respect and appreciate each other’s thoughts and opinions.
Emma, the couple’s youngest daughter, says her parents’ harmonious relationship and overt love for their children “has made for a very happy and secure home environment.”
Lizzie Kearon Staheli, the oldest, says of her father: “Dad sees people with Christlike eyes. He is always anxious to encourage and empower people. He sees the potential in everyone, whatever their circumstances.”
Emma adds: “He is full of faith and loves the joy the gospel brings him. Having found the restored gospel as an adult, he appreciates the difference it makes in one’s life as a source of light and joy.”
Elder Kearon calls his daughters—Lizzie (pictured with husband, Jonathan), Susannah, and Emma—“the most beautiful light in our lives, our greatest treasures.”
Jean B. Bingham, former Relief Society General President, describes Elder Kearon as calm under pressure. She recalls a time when she, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder Kearon, and others found themselves stranded abroad during a political uprising. Under Elder Bednar’s direction, Elder Kearon spent hours on a satellite phone working with local officials and Church representatives to create a path for their removal.
“His calm nature, focused efforts, and inspired insights produced a solution that allowed for our safe departure,” says Sister Bingham.
In December 2021, the family was shocked to learn that Sister Kearon had been diagnosed with breast cancer.
“I never thought cancer was going to hit me or us,” says Sister Kearon. She called the ensuing treatment extremely difficult, but the Savior was her source of strength through it all. “I’m still on oral chemotherapy, but I’m grateful to say that I’m cancer free as far as doctors can tell.”
Elder Kearon says: “Jen has been steadfast and impeccably faithful through it all. We give thanks every day for her health, and we give thanks for the exceptional care she’s been given.”
As with other trials she and her husband have experienced, Sister Kearon says, “Life serves us things we simply don’t want to do. We don’t like them. We didn’t ask for them. But we have to face them anyway. The best way to deal with things that are just plain hard is to turn to the Lord and ask for His strength, putting our faith in Jesus Christ and in His grace and power. A long time ago, I learned a lot about how the Savior succors us at our deepest, darkest times.”
Elder and Sister Kearon acquired that sacred knowledge after the birth of their first child, Sean.
During Sister Kearon’s first pregnancy, the couple learned early on from ultrasound scans that their baby boy had “a difficult heart anomaly, a life-threatening condition,” says Elder Kearon. “We spent the rest of the pregnancy tracking down the best doctors, cardiologists, and cardiac surgeons equipped to address his particular problem. We found a world-class team in London, and they were confident they could fix the problem.”
Surgeons operated on Sean when he was 19 days old. The surgery was long and painstaking. Afterward, says Elder Kearon, “Sean’s little heart could not restart. So, we lost him. His death was exquisitely painful. This was not the result we had fasted for, prayed for, and pled for, but we knew that heaven’s hand was in that experience.”
Sister Kearon says, “God led us through those months of pregnancy and the beautiful, brief life of our son in a way that, at the end of it, we knew we had done everything we could for him. That was a tremendous comfort.”
Healing came from an increased understanding of the Savior’s Atonement and Resurrection that Sister Kearon gained from an in-depth study of 1 Nephi and 2 Nephi. “In the grief of our loss, I felt like I was spinning in a black hole,” she says. “And yet, time after time, that free fall was arrested by the rock of the Atonement of Jesus Christ—because it is true. His grace, His living reality, make even the most painful losses bearable and hopeful.”
Healing came from the birth of the couple’s three daughters. “They brought healing with them,” Elder Kearon says. “They are the most beautiful light in our lives, our greatest treasures.”
Healing came from the words of inspired Church leaders, including a general conference talk by Elder Lance B. Wickman, in which Elder Wickman shared the pain of pacing deserted hospital corridors as his own little boy lay dying of a childhood disease. “Elder Wickman teaches that ‘believing is seeing’ and that faith is trust in the Lord,” says Elder Kearon. “His talk was enormously valuable to me because of his clear understanding of such an experience. This was magnified by the number of times I read it and listened to it.”
And healing came from ministering to others in their loss—be they refugees in Europe, the abused or oppressed, or fellow Church leaders like Elder Paul V. Johnson of the Presidency of the Seventy, who had lost a daughter to cancer two months before joining Elder Kearon in the Europe Area Presidency in 2015.
“He and Sister Kearon were wonderful in helping us in that grieving and healing time,” Elder Johnson says. “They were so sensitive to our situation. I’ve always loved them for that.”
Such is the way of discipleship. We bear one another’s burdens. We mourn with those who mourn. We comfort those in need of comfort. And we stand as witnesses of God—and the eternal promise of joyful reunions made possible through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. (See Mosiah 18:8–9.)
Elder Kearon greets members in the Europe East Area.
Then, when trying times come to us, that healing love and ministering balm are reciprocated. As an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, Elder Kearon is prepared to share with all the world that gospel message of hope, healing, and peace.
As an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, Elder Kearon is prepared to share with all the world the gospel message of hope, healing, and peace.
“Why do difficult trials happen to us?” Elder Kearon asks. “Because we come to earth to learn, to grow, to be sanctified, and to love and trust our Father in Heaven and our Savior. For now, we can’t see Them, and They can’t hold us. But the blessings of the Savior’s Atonement are infinite—infinite!”

I was somewhat familiar with the Church and its teachings because my family had met with missionaries when I was six years old. Ten years later, during the time I was struggling with my peers’ challenges to my personal standards, my mother happened to go to mormon.org and ask for the missionaries to visit again. I decided I needed to look into the Church again, too.
I appreciated how the members and missionaries were so welcoming and willing to answer my questions, such as why the Holy Ghost is a gift and how families can be sealed for eternity. And when I learned about basic aspects of the Church, such as the fact that we were all spirit children of God and that there are modern-day prophets, through my prayers the Spirit revealed to me that the teachings are true.
When I first attended a Latter-day Saint ward, I felt a sensation of joy and pure energy I had never experienced before. Peace and contentment flowed through me as I soaked in the loving atmosphere and listened to heartfelt testimonies. Everyone radiated happiness, and their giving spirits touched me. I later found out that these feelings came from the Holy Ghost.
However, the first time I strongly felt the Holy Ghost’s guidance was when I was reading the pamphlet titled The Testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I could identify somewhat with Joseph Smith’s confusion, and I saw pure truth in the statement: “They teach for doctrines the commandments of men, having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof” (Joseph Smith—History 1:19).
Joseph’s story penetrated so deeply into my core that I felt a burning sensation in my chest and began to cry. At that moment, I knew with all my heart that this is the one true Church. After reading the pamphlet, I told my mother, “I know it is true. I am ready now.”
Ultimately, my experience with the Joseph Smith pamphlet was the catalyst for my baptism and confirmation—and much more. My mother and I were baptized in March 2009, my father was baptized two months later, and we were all sealed in the temple just over a year later. Every day, I am grateful that I converted to the Church. The Holy Ghost has been a constant, loving companion to me, and He has influenced my life in both major and more mundane ways, as well as in ways I was not even aware of at the time.

Sometimes we don’t understand the reason for heavenly instructions. God will occasionally send us instructions that we do not expect. I remember sitting in a sacrament meeting when an impression came clearly to my mind. The instruction was not a voice or a whisper but a clear thought indicating something I should do. I did not expect to receive such instruction during sacrament meeting.
I turned to my wife and told her the prompting I had just received. She indicated that I should obey the prompting, even though we did not understand the reason behind it.
As we obeyed that instruction, and as time went by, we had several witnesses that the direction we received brought us greater peace and ensured we remained on our path of growth.

The first assignment in my sophomore English class was to bring “a signature item” the following Wednesday. “A what?” the class chorused. “A signature item,” the teacher explained, “is something that represents who you are.”
Uh oh, I thought. Something deep—what if I don’t know who I am?
Within my heart lay a desire to live a life that would matter. I wanted to make a positive impact and to know that my life was not lived in vain. Something within me told me that this was possible but did not say how. My confidence was lacking, and I was unsure how I, of all people, could do it.
Since I was originally from Utah, people often asked me if I was a Mormon. Each time, I would answer in a different way: “I don’t know.” “I was baptized, but I don’t go to church.” “No, but I should be.”
For some reason, I felt a responsibility to God to be a Mormon. But it didn’t make sense because I didn’t quite believe in God. At times, I would look out at the starry night and feel strangely alone, yet not alone. The universe filled me with a sense of longing and inexplicable familiarity. When I overheard people talk of how many wonderful blessings they had received from God, I listened with stoic nonchalance. Yet I had wonderful dreams, dreams of courage and honor.
My oldest sister, Lark, was the only active member of the Church in our family. When she moved to Seattle, Washington, with her new husband, Tim, they invited me to attend church with them in the ward they would be moving into, a half hour’s drive away. It was something she wanted me to do, and I somehow knew it was something I was supposed to do. So I decided to go.
With my life fluctuating and with the decision of who I would become hovering before me, I plunged into high school. I recognized that I had a slate wiped almost completely clean. The teachers didn’t know me. Neither did most of the students. The opportunity was excellent for me to redefine who I was, both to others and to myself. I had mixed emotions about popularity, but thought I might have an outside chance at it if I played my cards with precision. This was when the signature item was assigned.
Needless to say, I had not come up with a signature item on Monday. Nor had I come up with anything before going to the weekly Tuesday night youth activity in my sister’s ward. She made some suggestions on the way to the meetinghouse, but none of them satisfied me.
The events of the combined activity had been kept secret, so it was with curiosity that I viewed the cultural hall after my arrival. My first glance revealed tables that appeared to be set for dinner. A second look revealed that there was no food on the tables. Instead of plates containing physical food, there were copies of the Book of Mormon containing spiritual food; instead of eating utensils, there were writing utensils; and instead of napkins, there were sheets of paper. As I took a seat, my attention was captured by this riddle that had been set before me.
Two missionaries were the central speakers. Each bore his testimony of how he came to learn that the Book of Mormon was, indeed, the word of God.
When they turned our attention to a video which told the story of Christ’s visit to the righteous Nephites and Lamanites after his resurrection, an incredible feeling came over me. The way Nephi described the situation then is also an apt description of how I felt: “And it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them … to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Ne. 11:3). Pure knowledge of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon entered my soul that night, leaving a mark that would affect me eternally.
As Lark and Tim drove me home, I mentally went through my homework checklist. First period, algebra, done. Second period … Sixth period, English, signature item—uh, oh. What could I take?
In a still, small voice, the Spirit whispered, “The Book of Mormon.” I instantly recognized that it was not my physical ears that had heard this statement. This was the first time I had felt the Spirit with such distinction and clarity.
“Cool!” I stated with outright enthusiasm.
“What?” Lark said as she looked over her shoulder.
In awe, I explained, “I think the Book of Mormon should be my signature item.”
A smile spread quickly across her face, and she said, “Oh, that sounds great, but it will be really hard.”
That realization dampened my enthusiasm considerably. There goes my clean slate, I thought ruefully. Would I be giving up popularity and the chance of making friends in my high school life? Sensing my hesitation, Lark suggested that I pray about it before going to bed. The idea appealed to me, so I agreed. I thanked her for taking me home and went inside my house.
I placed the Book of Mormon with my school books. Then kneeling, I prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, are you sure this is what you want me to do?” The answer I felt was an immediate yes, accompanied by the assurance of the Spirit. “Will you help me?” I asked. Another strong positive feeling calmed my nerves. Reassured, I went to sleep.
As my sixth-period English class approached, I grew more uncertain. The teacher gave instructions to the class. We were to state our name, what our signature item was, and why it was our signature item. The first two requirements I had down pat, but for some reason, I hadn’t thought about the third. I knew what my signature item was; I didn’t know why it was my signature item.
When the call for volunteers was made, one girl from the front row stood up and shared her signature item. Then the girl next to her stood up and took her turn. A pattern started developing in the order of volunteers. The third person on the front row stood to share her item. After that, the pattern was set. To the class, it was probably just an amusing way of alleviating the uncertainty and pressures of being called to the front of the room. But it meant that I would be the final person to share his signature item.
When my turn came, I slowly walked to the front of the room. I hadn’t written a speech or even made a mental outline of what I would say. I began with, “My name is Derek Tucker, and this is my signature item. It is the Book of Mormon.” From that time until I finished speaking, I felt the Spirit guiding my words. To this day I am not really sure what I said.
After I finished, I braced myself for a verbal assault. But to my amazement and gratitude, there was silence. What truly took me by surprise, however, were the facial expressions of the students. About one-third of the class had tears in their eyes. Others had stoic expressions. And still others were nervously looking away. Though not everyone may have felt comfortable about the subject, there seemed to be an atmosphere of respect.
I turned to walk back to my seat when suddenly my attention was turned to the teacher, whose face was streaming with tears. She whispered in a choked up voice, “That’s a strong testament.” I was stunned; time slowed as the statement penetrated my heart. I said, “Thank you,” and then walked back to my desk.
The Book of Mormon was now emblazoned upon my formerly clean slate, never to be erased. I had put my trust in the Lord, and he had helped me. I now knew who I was—a precious son of Heavenly Father. And I knew that by being his servant my life would have meaning and value.

Once when I prayed about how I could better follow the Savior, I was reminded that I could be doing the actions above more faithfully. While I was very consistent with some of them, others of them seemed to rotate within openings in my schedule.

With the inspiration to strive to be consistent at all of them, I was also reminded of two prophetic messages:
1 Nephi 3:7: “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.”
When President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, spoke in general conference of writing down evidences of the hand of the Lord in his family’s life each day, he said: “I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day.”4

I decided to put my trust in Nephi’s words and remember that the Lord would not give me any commandment (or collection of them) that He wouldn’t help me keep. And I also was inspired by President Eyring’s commitment to faithfully obey the invitation to journal daily even when he felt too tired to do so. If, with his busy schedule, he could stay obedient when tired, then I knew I could as well.

So I decided to put more faith in the Lord’s ability to help me accomplish all that He invites me to do. I prayed to Heavenly Father and I also sought to “counsel with the Lord” (Alma 37:37) to know the appropriate time or frequency I should devote to each invitation and commandment. I knew that some would be easy to accomplish because they were already part of my daily discipleship. And I also acknowledged that I may not be able to do some activities, like family history, for as long as other people may be able to. But I knew I could do something regularly. I also trusted that in these situations, as President Russell M. Nelson promised, “the Lord loves effort.”5 I knew that He also values the widow’s mite (see Luke 21:1–4) and whatever I was able to give. After all, we each can provide different offerings at different times in our lives or even in each day or week.

After prayerfully putting together a plan about how to accomplish the things I wasn’t doing as regularly as I could be, I prayed for divine help and strength to act on that plan. I also relied on the promise from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) when he counseled:
“When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities.
“We should put God ahead of everyone else in our lives.”6

I decided to prioritize the Lord in my schedule, in my actions, and in my heart and to leave my metaphorical “fishing nets” and better consecrate my life to Him.

Did that mean doing spiritual things 24 hours a day? Not in the sense of spending every minute reading scriptures or doing family history. But it did mean intentionally inviting Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ into each part of my day. In turning my heart to Them that way, I was reminded that all things temporal are spiritual as well (see Doctrine and Covenants 29:34–35) and that the Lord can be my focus in all my labors (see Alma 34:17–27). And it meant staying focused on what matters most as I strive to become a more intentional disciple.

Small changes started to make a difference and provide a path to improved obedience. If I was on my phone for a few minutes in the morning, I could use that time on FamilySearch’s Family Tree app instead of scrolling randomly on social media. While I waited in a line, I could make a quick call, send a text to minister to a friend, or talk with someone near me.7 I ended the day with my journal instead of with entertainment. I woke up with a better focus and a daily schedule to prioritize spiritual study before other distractions of the day arose. I followed President Nelson’s counsel to “make an appointment regularly with the Lord—to be in His holy house—then keep that appointment with exactness and joy.”8 I became aware of moments where I would usually become distracted by good things and instead tried to use that time for the best things.9

And you know what? I was able to fit everything into my schedule and still have time to enjoy other things. The mathematics of my time seemed to defy logic, yet I knew it was another way the Lord performs miracles in our lives that we can’t explain.

As Sister Michelle D. Craig, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, taught: “You and I can give what we have to Christ, and He will multiply our efforts. What you have to offer is more than enough—even with your human frailties and weaknesses—if you rely on the grace of God.”10 I felt (and continue to feel) that promise fulfilled in my life, and I’ve found that my schedule is actually less stressful, not more so, when I seek to do all the Lord asks. I’ve found that the commandments and invitations of the Lord bring far more richness into my life than anything else can.

While I should not have been surprised by what began to happen as I acted with renewed faith and experienced the miracles that made it possible to do all that the Lord asks, I am still in awe at how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have helped me accomplish what had before seemed impossible in my schedule (see Luke 1:37). Not only did the Lord “prepare a way for [me] that [I] may accomplish the thing which he commandeth” me, but the increased joy and fulfillment that came into my life was more than I could have anticipated. And I began to realize that these efforts are really more about whom I am becoming than about just what I am doing.11 A large part of that becoming led me to see that my heart was drawing closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and helping me become more like Them.

I was in the ninth grade. School and mathematics had always been easy for me. But at the end of the first term, I was getting a C in algebra. And to make matters worse, I still didn’t have any idea what it was all about.
With tears of frustration, I sought out my father and blubbered out my problem. He quietly and patiently said, “Let’s see if we can’t figure this out.” Even though he had never taken algebra as a boy, I felt confident he could help me. He did, explaining it so logically that I received A’s the rest of the term.
But he taught me another great lesson, too. “You have a good head on your shoulders,” he would say. “You’ll figure this out.” He let me know that he was certain, even if I wasn’t, that I could master anything I put my mind to if I didn’t allow my emotions to get in the way.

Another blessing, the Memphis teens say, is good friends. Jonathan Stambaugh of Collierville High School says, “A couple of years ago I didn’t go to seminary and didn’t really like church. I only hung out with guys on the baseball team, and even though it was fun, it felt empty. Then I started hanging out with Church friends, and things were so much better. My Church friends help strengthen my testimony.”
Jonathan is putting his chances at major league baseball aside for a mission. He says, “I would rather be a good guy than a good baseball player, because, without the gospel, nothing has a point.”