Gospel Story Finder

The air was stiflingly hot, and birds filled the blue Portuguese sky. Nearby, some of my nephews were playing in the river, plunging into the water to escape the heat.
I wished I could escape my troubles so easily. I had recently decided to become active again in the Church. Through the Holy Ghost, the Lord had confirmed my decision, but my family and friends didn’t understand. They had criticized and abandoned me, and I felt utterly alone. A request to watch my sister’s boys swim had offered some needed moments of peace in what seemed a constant battle against forces intent on keeping me from the truth.
I had brought my Book of Mormon with me, and while my nephews splashed in the river, I sat under a tree and read. Tears started to flow as I thought of those I loved who told me I was making a mistake. I was so sure I was doing the Father’s will.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I could no longer hear my nephews. I looked toward the river, but they weren’t there. Concern, bordering on panic, flooded my heart.
And then I heard a young voice calling out my name. I turned to see my nephews standing behind me, smiling, cheeks as radiant as the light of the sun. The youngest, about five years old, was hiding something behind his back—an arrangement of multicolored flowers he and his brothers had picked from the nearby field. He presented them to me in a voice that sounded like music to my ears.
Tears sprang again to my eyes. But this time they were tears of happiness. As I embraced my nephews, I lifted my face to the sky and saw rays of sunlight shining through a break in the clouds. A great peace filled my heart. Because of this small, simple gesture—made with love—I knew I was not alone. Even though they did not understand my decision, my nephews—and all my family members—still loved me. But more important, Heavenly Father knew of my trials and was there to sustain me with His infinite love and concern.

I ask you "Was my testimony complete?" To that my answer is no. I knew that God lived and that Jesus was the Christ, but at that point in time, I did not have a confirmation concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. As a result, I made it my aim to gain that testimony. Over a period of approximately three-months, I carefully read the Book of Mormon until I completed the entire text. During that journey I had many experiences with the Spirit, but due to my lack of keen spiritual sense, I was unable to recognize that what I was feeling at that time was indeed the Spirit. However, as I concluded the Book of Mormon, I followed the familiar direction in the promise written by the prophet Moroni. Once again, I knelt beside my bed and in my evening prayer I asked God if the Book of Mormon was true. I received an answer to that prayer. It was almost identical to the experience I had a few months earlier with the New Testament. As a result, I came to know that the Book of Mormon was also His truth, and I knew that Joseph Smith had to be a true prophet of God because this scripture came to us through him.

Well, since then, I have felt the Spirit on many occasions, but these two experiences were very special and very sacred to me. The Spirit truly confirmed to my entire being that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that the Book of Mormon and Bible are the Word of God, that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is His Church, and that we have a true and living prophet who leads this Church this day. I know this. I really know it to be true.

A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

Seth squirmed in his chair. He could hardly wait to hear what Grandma and Grandpa had to say. When everyone was quiet, Grandpa began. “For a long time, Grandma and I have prayed about serving a mission. We want to do what the prophet has asked, so we turned in our mission papers. The Lord has called us to serve a mission in Puerto Rico.”
Everyone was happy and excited for Grandma and Grandpa. Everyone except Seth. He felt sad and lonely. “It’s almost like everyone wants them to go away,” Seth thought. He went to his room, curled up on his bed, and cried.
Mom found him there. “Seth, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe that Grandma and Grandpa are leaving us. What about when my new baby sister is born? She won’t know who they are. And what about me? Don’t they care about me?”
“Seth, Grandma and Grandpa love you very much,” Mom said. “That’s one of the reasons they’re going to serve—to set a good example for you and for all of us.”
Seth didn’t understand. He had never felt more miserable.
The next morning, Grandma’s soft voice woke Seth up. “I thought maybe you and I could have breakfast together,” she said.
Seth sprang out of bed. Maybe Grandma and Grandpa had changed their minds!
After Grandma and Seth finished their waffles, she told him a story. “When Grandpa and I started thinking about going on a mission, I was concerned about you. I prayed that Heavenly Father would help you to understand our feelings. Then at general conference, Elder Robert D. Hales said if we serve a mission, our families will be blessed.
“Grandpa and I want those blessings for you, Seth. We also want to show you that it’s important to follow the prophet. We want you to share this special time with us and be happy.”
Seth knew that Grandma was right. “I am happy for you, Grandma. I just didn’t know that following the prophet meant I’d lose you.”
“You will never lose me, Seth,” Grandma said. “We are an eternal family. But we are asking you to share us with people in Puerto Rico who need us. The time will pass quickly. We’ll write letters and send you stamps for your collection. And when we get back, I’ll be an even better grandma!”
On Sunday, Seth’s Primary sang “Follow the Prophet.” It seemed like a whole new song to Seth. Now he knew that sharing Grandma and Grandpa was one way he could follow the prophet too.

Norberto and his family were brought into the Church through an uncle they call “Ton Ton.” Ton Ton bought their family a subscription to the Church magazine in French in 1985. So when he visited the family in 1991, they already had an idea of what the Church was about. Ton Ton said, “The Church has now come to Madagascar. Let’s go find it.”

They found the meetinghouse, but the first time the family attended, Norberto’s father, Elie, couldn’t go. He still had responsibilities with the young men’s group in another church. Norberto’s mother, Esther, came home from that first meeting and told her husband, “We’ve found the right church.” Elie went with them the next week, and the entire family accepted the gospel. Norberto was a baby at the time. He was baptized when he turned eight, even though he was afraid to go under the water.

When he was twenty-eight, Jacob married Magdelena Roschi, a lovely, cultured girl from his own village. Life was now a joyful experience for the young man, who was the principal of the high school he had attended. He was also honored by holding all of his late father’s offices, including auditor, assessor, and treasurer of Canton Bern, the second largest county in Switzerland.
In the late 1870’s, however, Jacob’s life took a drastic change. He heard the gospel, accepted it, and immediately faced persecution. He was forced to resign his position as principal, and was relieved of his county offices. But the worst shock came when Jacob’s father-in-law took Jacob’s wife and four small children from him.
Jacob felt that he should go to Zion, and in 1879 he emigrated to Logan, Utah. He led a lonely but diversified life for the next five years. He studied English and Church history, worked in sawmills, and laid track for the railroad. His sister in Switzerland, Anna Clara, forwarded his letters so he could keep in touch with his wife and children.
Those first years in America were difficult for Jacob. His daughter, Elizabeth Stowell, tells that he had a hard time adjusting to his new life and was often discouraged. But he never regretted having accepted the gospel.
In 1884 Elder Spori was called on a mission to Turkey. He arrived in Istanbul just a few days after Christmas and immediately began to proselyte. At first he needed an interpreter, but he had a unique talent with languages and in only three months had a good command of Turkish. He taught the gospel with strength and vigor. Using various methods to get his message into the homes of Turkish families, he taught French and English without charge and blessed the lives of many by teaching them the gospel. His students learned new languages, but they learned about the restored Church at the same time. Jacob also taught German but charged for this service to obtain funds for food and clothing.
In the summer of 1886 Elder Spori was called to go to Palestine. He was the first called specifically as a missionary to that country in this dispensation. Orson Hyde dedicated the land in 1841, but did not proselyte there. Elder Spori performed Palestine’s first baptism when he baptized Johan George Grau on 29 August 1886.
Elder Spori’s labors extended as far as Joppa, Damascus, and Jerusalem. It was here in the land of Palestine that he discovered how miracles can come about through small means.
By local law all Christians had to be out of the city of Haifa before the gates were locked at dusk. But Elder Spori was working in that city with an investigator who was ill at the time. The young Mormon elder hated to leave until he was sure his friend was better. That evening, with the investigator getting better, Jacob made plans to leave the city. He knew the gates were locked and that getting caught meant going to jail. As he walked along the city’s shore, pondering what to do, he watched the fishing boats coming into port. He noticed some men preparing the nets for the next day’s work and had the feeling he should help them. He stepped up and began working; no one seemed to notice him. When the work was finally done the men rolled up the nets, got into the small boat and prepared to set sail. Without a word Elder Spori also got into the boat. Before long they were on the sea. The next day the boat landed at Cairo, and Elder Spori jumped from the boat, went into the city, and resumed preaching the gospel.
After a mission of three and a half years, Elder Spori was released, and he returned to Switzerland. There he fulfilled an assignment from President Wilford Woodruff to help organize a company of Saints for their journey to Zion. It took him nearly a year to accomplish this.
Before his mission had ended, Elder Spori had received word from an almost inconsolable wife, still in Switzerland, that their eldest daughter, Katherine, had died from injuries received in a fall from a swing. Jacob, knowing well of the gospel’s ability to heal spiritual wounds, wrote his wife of the doctrines of the Church. She was touched by these new truths and became convinced the gospel was true.
Mrs. Spori applied for baptism and was reunited with her husband when he arrived in Switzerland following his missionary labors. She later bore fervent testimony and gave thanks for the eternal truths the gospel brought into her life.
Before leaving for Zion, Elder Spori translated several Church tracts into French. He was assisted by his youngest sister, Anna Clara Spori, a talented and well-educated young woman.
Finally, Jacob Spori and his wife and three children, Jacob, Magdalena, and Louise, and his sister Anna Clara left Bern for America. It was June, 1888. Their destination was Rexburg, Idaho. Jacob had been called to be the first principal of Ricks College, and the new school was getting ready to open.
Homes in Rexburg were scarce so the Spori family moved into an empty tithing granary. Their fifth child, Elizabeth, was born there 6 July 1888.
For the four years Jacob Spori was principal, he not only taught school, but was a friend of the families of the students. He would visit the homes of the Saints, especially when there was sickness there.
“At the time of the diphtheria epidemic in 1891,” his daughter recalls, “he went fearlessly to administer to the sick and comfort the bereaved.” Two of his daughters caught this dreaded disease, but he administered to them, believing they would be spared by the power of God. And they were.
After four years as academy principal Elder Spori asked for and received an honorable release from his work. He then turned to farming and began a project that was in later years a boon to agriculture in the area—he helped in the development of the canal on the Egin Bench, known as the Spori Canal.
Jacob Spori died in 1903—he was back teaching again, still doing the things he felt had to be done. His doctor had warned him that he suffered from diabetes and that he should stop working and rest more. Jacob’s reply was that he would rather “die working than die resting.”
Versatility and unwavering faith are two traits that characterize Jacob Spori’s life. He was a great educator, a student of languages, a missionary. He liked geology and mining, receiving his final degree in metallurgy when he was fifty years old. He became interested in medicine in Istanbul. Music was his great escape. He learned to play several different instruments. Science and agriculture were also parts of his life.
His life is well summarized in the words of his daughter: “He had such a burning testimony that he bore it whenever the opportunity presented itself. He used to tell us that nothing men can do will ever change the truthfulness of the gospel. All the seeming sacrifices he made seemed nothing to him compared with the peace and joy that came into his life when he joined the Church.”

At the top of a hill, the highway traffic on I-65 rushes right by a grove of trees. Few people even notice the cluster of 30 to 40 headstones nestled in the triangle between the main road and an off-ramp leading toward Vinemont and some other small towns. But the young men of the Cullman Ward, Huntsville Alabama Stake, pay attention to the spot whenever they go by. It’s the site of the Wilhite Cemetery, and without their efforts, including four Eagle Scout projects over the years, the graves of these settlers from the 1820s, and of others in additional cemeteries nearby, could quietly disappear.
Back in Cullman, the young men talk about the value of building a tradition. “We’ve cleaned a lot of the cemeteries up in the hills here,” says Amel Drake, 13. “It started with one Eagle project, and that led to another and another and another.” For example, five miles away in Falkville, members of this same Troop/Team 335 earlier cleaned up a cemetery of about 150 graves, including the resting places of both slaves and prominent citizens. These Scouts have learned to safely operate weed whackers, to properly glue broken headstones together, and to keep a journal of names and locations for people who wish to visit graves or do family history research.
“We don’t just do cemeteries; we do other Eagle projects too,” says Enoch Jones, 15. “And we do lots of community service, to benefit others and ourselves.” He pauses, then adds, “Traditions are a part of our heritage. Building a tradition of service helps us to remember who we are and where we come from. Keeping up the cemeteries is just a part of that.”

I was seven years old, and I didn’t know how to swim, so my mom enrolled me in afternoon swimming lessons with my friend Angie. At the end of each lesson, our teacher would take us out into the center of the pool to practice our strokes. We were always safe in the middle since our teacher supported us under our stomachs and we wore “bubbles” on our backs.
One day Angie and I didn’t have our bubbles on, so we clung to the side of the pool. Angie decided she wanted to try to swim across the corner to the adjacent wall, about four feet (1.2 m) away. I was hesitant at first, but then she dared me. So even though I was scared, I took in as much air as I could and plunged under the water, hoping to reach the other side. Instead of floating with ease as I had done before with my back bubble, I began to sink. I was in a state of panic. I knew I was going to drown. Then I remembered what my teacher had told me a few weeks earlier: “If you lose control while swimming, just stretch one of your arms straight up out of the water, and someone will come help you.”
With this thought in mind, I stretched my arm in the direction I thought was up. I didn’t feel any air. I stretched my arm in every direction, never finding the top. Just then my head bumped against the side of the pool. Angie was there waiting for me. I guess she hadn’t realized I was “drowning.”

While in high school in Alberta, Canada, I went to watch our junior and senior football teams play back-to-back games in the city playoffs. The games were in late October, and it was very cold. I had applied a number of thick layers of clothes, but I became very cold into the second game. I was so cold that I was shivering.
The people behind me noticed I was cold and offered a hot drink of coffee from their thermos. I was tempted as I saw the steam coming off the thermos and thought how good it would feel to warm my insides. It would only be one drink, and no one would know. Then I thought of my parents and teachers who had steered me straight and trained me to prepare for this situation. I could remember the lessons in family home evening, Sunday School, priesthood meetings, and seminary that taught me how freedom is gained by obeying our Father’s commandments.
As the cup was being poured, I remembered previous mistakes, and the result of those mistakes on my life. I resolved to do the right thing. I thanked them for their offer but refused the coffee. As I walked home after the games, my heart felt light. I now understood better than ever the freedom gained from obedience to the commandments and what my parents, teachers, and the general authorities were trying so hard to teach me.

A true story from Taiwan
Yi-Hsun loves drawing in her art class.
When art time is over, everyone goes outside to run and play. Yi-Hsun wants to run to catch up with her friends.
But then she sees Yi-Ruei trip on a rock and hit her knee. “Are you OK?” Yi-Hsun asks.
Yi-Ruei shakes her head and starts to cry.
Yi-Hsun helps her friend go to the school nurse. The nurse cleans up Yi-Ruei’s knee and tells her to rest.
Yi-Hsun helps Yi-Ruei back to the classroom.
Yi-Hsun is happy that she followed Jesus’s example and helped Yi-Ruei. They finish their pictures together.

Two hours after Jay arrived, I knew I didn’t like my cousin. Two days after he arrived, I didn’t like myself. I knew that this would be my worst Christmas ever, and I began fervently wishing for it to be over with and for Jay to be gone. More than anything, I thought about how ashamed of me my father would be if he found out that I was a weakling who couldn’t stop somebody from rubbing my nose in the dirt.
A month ago Aunt Edith had written that she and Uncle Harley and Jay were coming to spend Christmas with us. On the day they were to arrive, we waited expectantly on the porch as we watched a moving cloud of dust appear far down the road. Soon a shiny green car pulled up in front of the gate.
“A brand new Studebaker!” my father said, wonderment in his voice. Since the drought and the dust storms and the depression had started, we had seen little that was new, much less a new car.
During the handshakes and hugs, I noticed that Jay was almost as big as Uncle Harley, although my cousin had just turned twelve, not quite a year older than I was.
“Jay’s the biggest boy in his grade,” Aunt Edith announced proudly.
“Yes, sir, this boy’s going to be a football star,” Uncle Harley boomed, even prouder.
“I reckon Andy’s like his dad,” my mother said, chuckling. “John says he got his growth late, but there was plenty of it—six-four in his stocking feet.”
My father didn’t say anything, and I wondered if he was wishing that I was bigger so that he could act proud too.
Later, upstairs in my room, Jay wandered around, restlessly touching things.
“You any good at marbles?” he asked. He sounded as if he was pretty sure I wasn’t.
“OK, I guess,” I answered.
While he got his marbles from his suitcase, I drew a chalk circle on the worn linoleum floor. “You go first,” I offered, since he was company.
He won the first game. I won the next two.
He scooped up his marbles. “This sorry old floor is uneven, and you have an unfair advantage, ‘cause you’re used to it. Without an unfair advantage you wouldn’t have won, kid.”
“Nuts! You’re just a bad loser,” I returned.
Before I knew what was happening, he had pinned me facedown on the floor, and with his knee in my back, he twisted my arm up behind my shoulder blades.
“Say uncle,” he ordered.
“I won’t.”
“Say uncle, you redheaded, freckle-faced runt. Say it!” He twisted until hot pain seared my shoulder.
“Uncle,” I managed to gasp.
Shoving my nose hard against the floor, he released me. When we were standing, facing each other, he said calmly, “If you tattle, I’ll get you again.”
“I don’t tattle.” I could feel my face flame at the insult.
“Dandy little Andy,” he taunted, with a mocking grin.
Around the grown-ups flattery just oozed from Jay, and he was extra polite to me. But when we were alone, he was something between barely tolerable and awful. In his tolerable state he talked incessantly but brushed aside anything I had to say as if he were shooing away a fly. When he prodded the cow I was milking and she put her foot in the bucket, he jeered, “Dandy little Andy.” My arms were sore from his constant knuckling me with his oversize fist.
On Christmas Eve, when we were chucking rocks at a fence post, Jay threw one that missed its mark and hit the door of his father’s car. It left a big dent and chipped the paint. My father and Uncle Harley, approaching from the well house, saw the damage and both of us with rocks in our hands.
“Son, did you do that?” Uncle Harley sounded stern.
Jay looked him directly in the eye and replied so earnestly that I would have believed him myself if I hadn’t known better, “No, sir, I did not.” Then he glanced at me with a pained expression.
After that performance my “I didn’t do it” sounded like a guilty denial.
My father stood silent for a moment, then turned and strode toward the barn.
Despite my misery, Christmas day did come. Jay and I took the firecrackers Uncle Harley had brought for us to a bare spot of ground near the windmill and spent the morning blowing up tin cans. I was so relieved that this was the last day of his visit that I actually had a good time.
Late in the afternoon Jay tagged along when I went to the pasture to drive in the milk cows. I rounded up the cows and was headed back with them when I saw a firecracker arc and explode under the lead cow. She tossed her horns and ran bellowing toward the barn.
I turned and saw my cousin, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a satisfied smirk on his face.
Then I smelled it—prairie fire! I whirled around to see flames beginning to lick through the dry winter grass.
I ripped off my plaid mackinaw and beat out the fire nearest me, but the ever-present west wind fueled new flames that raced along, devouring the grass. I knew that if I couldn’t stop the blaze, it could burn up three counties. As I ran up and down beating the growing line of fire, I became like a piece of machinery, with no thought of heat or smoke or time. I didn’t even wonder where Jay was. I had completely forgotten him.
Finally I became aware of my father’s voice. “Andy, it’s all right. The fire’s out.”
I saw my father, his eyes red-rimmed from the smoke, holding wet gunny sacks in each hand. Blackened grass surrounded us. We walked wearily to the dry creek bed and dropped down on a flat rock.
From farther down the creek Jay suddenly appeared, striding purposefully. “I was going for help, sir. After I saw Andy drop that firecracker, I—”
My father’s voice cracked like a whip, “Don’t bother with another one of your lies, Jay. Go along to the house.”
My father turned back to me and put his hands on my shoulders. He said in his quiet way, “You did a man’s job today, Andy. With everything the way it is, if all the winter grazing had burned, I don’t see how we could have held on to the ranch another year. I’m grateful to you.”
I understood then that in ways that mattered to my father, I stood tall.
The next morning as we waved good-bye to the occupants of the green car, I found myself suddenly thinking that this was my best Christmas ever.

This story happened in Brazil.
“Jacob, do you know the answer?” Mrs. Lelis asked.
Jacob opened his eyes and lifted his head off the desk. All his classmates were looking at him. His teacher was staring at him too. He felt his cheeks get warm. He had fallen asleep in class again!
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lelis,” he said. “Can you please say the question again?”
“Sure. But please stop napping in class.”
He shrunk down in his seat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jacob came to his new school just a few weeks ago. He loved to learn, and his classmates were nice. But there was one problem—he was always so sleepy! His new school was far away, so he had to wake up very early to be there on time.
At first, it was easy to focus in class. But it got harder and harder. Sometimes Jacob was so tired he fell asleep.
The next day, The school principal asked Jacob and his parents to meet with her. She smiled and welcomed them into her office.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Jacob is a great student. But his teacher says he’s not interested in his classes. Sometimes he doesn’t focus, and he seems very tired. Is he OK?”
His mother nodded. “Jacob worked hard to be able to go to school here, but it’s far from our house. He needs to wake up early every day. So he gets sleepy in his morning classes.”
“Oh, is that all?” the principal said. “You should try coffee drops! Put a few drops of very strong coffee in Jacob’s drink each morning. That will keep him awake.”
Jacob frowned. “But our family doesn’t drink coffee, ma’am.”
The principal looked confused. “It will be hard for you to learn if you keep falling asleep. You should at least think about it.”
When they left the principal’s office, Jacob’s thoughts were mixed up. He wanted to do better in school, but he wanted to follow the commandments too.
That night, his family read about the Word of Wisdom in the scriptures.
When it was Jacob’s turn, he read, “And all saints who remember to keep and do these sayings … shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge. And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.”
Then he had an idea!
He stood up from his chair. “Instead of coffee drops, I’ll use faith drops!”
“What do you mean?” his father asked.
Jacob smiled. “Every morning before breakfast, we can say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless me so I don’t feel so sleepy. Our prayers will be like drops of faith!”
Mom and Dad smiled too. “That sounds like a great idea!” Dad said.
The next morning, their family knelt and said a prayer that Jacob would have the energy to stay awake. They did the same thing the next day. And the day after that. Each night, Jacob tried to go to bed early too. And each morning Jacob’s family had faith that Heavenly Father would help him.
Over time, their drops of faith worked. Jacob could focus for the whole day! God had answered their prayers. And Jacob knew He was proud of him for following the Word of Wisdom.
“Ready for class, Jacob?” Mrs. Lelis asked one morning as he walked into the classroom.
Jacob nodded with a big grin on his face. He had his drops of faith before school. He was ready for anything!

One Christmas season when I was about five, I saw in a store window a jigsaw puzzle with a picture of an old fire engine going full speed down the street. The horses pulling it were galloping, smoke from the engine chimney was blowing out behind, and dogs were barking. I passed that store window many times and glued my eyes on that picture. I wanted that puzzle for Christmas more than I wanted a sled or skates or anything else.
When Christmas morning finally came, I found hung on my chair a stocking full of good things. But right off I spotted my puzzle. It was wrapped in bright paper, but I could tell by the shape what it was. I quickly opened the box and was soon lost in the pleasure of putting the puzzle together.
Before long my father came into the room and explained to my younger brother, older sister, and me that the Jensen family down the street had recently come from Denmark. He said the father had no job and no money, and then he suggested that we take our Christmas dinner to them. He also asked each of us to select our most loved toy and give it to a child in the Jensen family.
Father said we would leave at eleven forty-five and were to be ready then with our toys.
Before we left for the Jensen’s, I spent three happy hours playing with and enjoying my puzzle. I thought about giving something else, but I knew deep down that there was only one gift to give.
At eleven forty-five we all started out. Father carried the turkey on a platter. Mother and my sister Emily followed with potatoes, gravy, dressing, cranberries, and dessert. And under my arm, carefully rewrapped, was my fire engine puzzle.
When we entered the Jensen home, Father placed the turkey on the small bare table in the corner, and the others followed.
Each one of us in turn then gave his present. Emily gave her beautiful doll to the girl. I stepped forward and looked at the boy about my age. “Here,” I said as I pushed the puzzle at him. He took it from me and smiled. Next my brother gave his offering to the smallest child. And then we returned home.
It was strange, but somehow as I walked the block between our house and the Jensen’s, it seemed as if my feet didn’t touch the ground. I felt as though I were floating on clouds of good feeling, for I knew I had made someone else happy.
Even our Christmas dinner of canned beans, bread, butter, and bottled fruit had a special and unforgettable meaning on that special Christmas Day!

“I was about eight or nine years old when I lost the sight in my right eye. But it wasn’t until I looked through binoculars that I realized I could see only through my left eye. I lost the use of that eye when I was about fourteen years old. Now I can see only the difference between light and dark.”

But having lost the ability to see with his eyes, Brother Juntratip has been able to develop the ability to see with the Spirit.

“I was in my late twenties when I first met the Latter-day Saint missionaries. They were bicycling by the house one day and saw me. They stopped and introduced themselves and asked if I had ever heard of the Church. When I said no, they told me about Joseph Smith and the First Vision.
“From what they told me, I felt that Joseph Smith was a good man who had done nothing wrong. At their suggestion, I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father to know if what they had told me was true. When I got up from my knees, I had this soft, warm feeling down my spine.”
The elders arranged to come again, this time bringing Braille editions of the Book of Mormon and The Articles of Faith by Elder James E. Talmage—both in English.
But Pornchai says he had been prepared for this moment. His father, a bank clerk, started teaching him English when Pornchai was nine years old. When he was ten, he began working with a tutor. Later, he enrolled in a four-year high school correspondence course offered by a college for the blind in the United States. He had completed the course and received an American high school diploma shortly before the missionaries stopped to talk to him.
“When I look back on those years, I realize that everything fitted into place,” says Brother Juntratip. “Not only was I able to read the books the missionaries gave me, but I think I was also prepared spiritually to receive the gospel message.
“I grew up observing the customs of two religions. Like most Thais, I was raised a Buddhist. My parents, being of Chinese descent, would observe Chinese religious customs, such as the new-year festival, the ancestral festival, and the new-moon festival.
“But I had read of Jesus Christ, and as a small boy—a long, long time ago—I had watched movies in which the Lord was depicted, like The Ten Commandments and The Robe. And I believed in God. I told myself that there must be a God, because if there were no God, who created the universe and all the good and beautiful things in it? There had to be an omnipotent Being.”
Brother Juntratip was baptized on 6 December 1976, at the age of twenty-eight.
By then, his parents had died, but he faced opposition from his two younger brothers. “They were university-trained engineers, and their only religion was materialism. They couldn’t understand what I was doing.”
Three years later, they opposed his decision to attend Brigham Young University—Hawaii Campus. “My brothers were sure I’d fail,” recalls Brother Juntratip, “and they didn’t want the embarrassment of having to bring me home.” To try to keep him from going, his brothers took control of a piece of property his mother had left him. He had planned to sell the property to acquire money for college expenses. But his brothers said they would hold the property so that if he failed, they could sell it and use the money to bring him home.
But Brother Juntratip still went ahead with his plans and enrolled at BYU—Hawaii. He wrote to an airline company asking them to let him fly half-fare. They responded by giving him a free ticket.
Pornchai studied English literature at the university, taping the lectures and also listening to taped versions of the study text. He supported himself by transcribing oral history tapes.
He graduated in December 1983 and then entered BYU at Provo, Utah, for graduate work in English literature. “Because I did well while in college in Hawaii, my brothers let me have the money from the property sale to pay my way to Utah,” says Brother Juntratip. “I had to give so much time to my studies that I couldn’t work to support myself, but luckily I was awarded a scholarship. I received my master’s degree in June 1986 and returned to Thailand.”
For seven months after returning to Thailand, Brother Juntratip taught students in his home. Then he was offered a position as translator for the Church.
“I had been praying that I would find employment that would fit my particular circumstances, and the translation job does that. I translate seminary and institute student manuals into Thai.”
At first, Brother Juntratip hired someone to read the English text to him. He would dictate the Thai translation into a tape recorder, and the tapes would then be transcribed. These last two steps were eliminated when he taught himself to use a Thai-language typewriter. Later, he replaced the typewriter with a computer, making revisions and corrections easier. In addition, he now receives a taped version of the original English text.
Brother Juntratip met his wife, Kwanjai, a couple of years after his return from BYU. She had served a mission in Thailand.
The Juntratips were sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple in June 1990 by the temple president, Floyd Hogan, who had been Kwanjai’s mission president. Their son, Pituporn, was born in August 1991. “His name means patriarchal blessing,” explains Brother Juntratip. “We hope he grows up to be a good missionary like his mother.
“I remember that when the missionaries presented the discussions to me, I felt the gospel message they taught me was true, was good,” he says. “By striving to live my life according to the gospel, I have come to know for a certainty that it is true and it is good.”

When I was about seven years old, living with my parents in Arabia, a children’s film called Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was released. The film is about a magical car that can drive itself, float on water, and even fly! I knew that back home in England they made a miniature toy car just like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and oh, how I wanted one! You could pull a lever, and the toy car’s wings would pop out! My father went on a business trip to England and asked if I wanted him to bring anything back for me, and I told him how very much I would like to have one of those Chitty Chitty Bang Bang cars.

He came back from his trip, and no car appeared. I was very sad and thought he must have forgotten. But about 10 days later was my birthday, and a little package, beautifully wrapped, was waiting for me. With great anticipation, and hardly daring to hope too much, I opened the gift and found my car. I was so happy that I cried. I pulled the lever, and the wings popped out, just like the car in the film! How I thanked my father for this most treasured gift. I played with that car for years and kept it for many more. I think my dad loved giving me that car at least as much as I loved receiving it.

Preparing to decorate our Christmas tree, I unpacked a box filled with Christmas decorations that I hadn’t seen or used in several years. As I pawed through the Christmas lights and linens, I discovered a dress box filled with Christmas ornaments I had collected when I was single and teaching school. I discovered a plain, cross-stitched ornament that simply said “Christmas Open House—1984.” My mind raced back to that year. I was unmarried and had apprehensively moved from a young single adult ward to a family ward.
I love the Christmas season, but some had been very lonely for me. Being in my 30s, single, and not having children, I sometimes felt left out. It was easy for me to feel sorry for myself, falling back into what I called the “poor little old me syndrome.” That particular year, 1984, I remember making a conscious decision to conquer the syndrome, to look beyond myself and see what I could do to make Christmas joyful for others.
I was relatively new to the ward and thought that opening my modest apartment to members of the Relief Society would help me celebrate the holidays and become better acquainted with the sisters.
As I reminisced about that open house, I remembered the small Christmas tree decorated with my box of ornaments, the smell of the shortbread cookies my single friends helped me bake, and the sweet taste of Mom’s “white Christmas punch” I served to the guests.
That conscious decision in 1984 to “lose my life” by looking outward was indeed a turning point in “finding” myself. As I pondered the past, I realized that many, in turn, had followed our Savior’s words and lost their life for me. Christmas ornaments had become a sweet reminder of Christlike friends.

For Cho Young Hyun, who serves as bishop of the Poong Hyang Ward in Kwangju, the determination to live gospel principles has even become an advantage in the competitive business world.
After completing his university studies, Bishop Cho became a candidate for a prestigious chemical engineering position with one of South Korea’s largest oil companies. As part of the hiring process, he interviewed with all of the company’s directors. “They sat in front of me and fired off questions,” he explains.
One of the questions asked was how he felt about family responsibilities in comparison to company responsibilities. “I think they were anticipating that I would assure them my first priority was with the company,” Bishop Cho says. “But I answered, without hesitation, that no success could compensate for failure in the home. My answer surprised them and moved them. And I was able to share the words of a prophet.”
Bishop Cho got the job. But after only five months, he received an offer to teach in the Church Educational System. Despite the fact that his salary would be cut by two-thirds, he accepted the offer and now teaches in Kwangju, a community in southwestern Korea near where he grew up.
“From the time I was young, I wanted to be a teacher,” says Bishop Cho as he reflects on the direction his life has taken. “But teaching math or science or history didn’t interest me. I wanted to teach people things that could change their lives. And now I am.”

On May 12, 1846, soon after the first group of Latter-day Saints left Nauvoo, the United States declared war against Mexico. President James K. Polk sent Captain James Allen to recruit five hundred Mormon men to serve in the U.S. Army and march to California to conquer the territory for the United States.
Brigham Young recognized that fulfilling this request would provide some opportunities for the Saints’ trek west. He said that by serving, Mormons could show their loyalty to their country, earn money for their families, and receive free transportation to the West. He also hoped that approval would be given for the Saints to camp on Indian lands. “Let the Mormons be the first [United States soldiers] to set their feet on the soil of California,” President Young said.
After Brigham Young’s reassurance, the men volunteered to serve. They were promised by Church leaders that their families would be cared for, and Brigham Young told them that if they were faithful and kept the commandments, they would not be in any battles.
On July 21, 1846, the 541 men of the Mormon Battalion began their march under the command of newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel James Allen. Thirty-five women and forty-two children, most of whom were families of the soldiers, accompanied the battalion on their journey.
They first marched to Fort Leavenworth (in present-day Kansas), where they were given supplies, guns, and forty-two dollars each for clothing. Every soldier was able to sign his own name on the payroll, which impressed the paymaster—only a third of the previous recruits had been able to do so. Parley P. Pratt collected part of the Mormon soldiers’ pay to help support their families and the poor still in Nauvoo. The money was also used to help Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor, and Orson Hyde on their mission to England.
The Mormon Battalion stayed at Fort Leavenworth for two weeks. The days were extremely hot, and many of the men were ill with fevers. Colonel Allen was gravely ill and did not go with them when they left for Santa Fe. Later, they learned that he had died.
After crossing the Arkansas River on September 16, the new battalion commander, Lieutenant A. J. Smith, sent most of the women and children to the Mexican village of Pueblo (in present-day Colorado) for the winter. The soldiers were upset because they had been promised that their families could travel with them to California. But it was a wise decision because the battalion marched at a rapid pace with little time to rest. Just a month later, a group of sick men and women were also sent to Pueblo.
The weary soldiers trudged into Santa Fe, New Mexico, on October 9, 1846. Colonel Philip St. George Cooke became their new commander, with orders to blaze a wagon trail from Santa Fe to California. The work wore heavily on the battalion, and in November 1846, a third group of fifty-five weakened and tired soldiers turned back for Pueblo.
When the remaining soldiers marched toward Tucson, they were stampeded by a herd of wild bulls. The bulls charged toward them, and the men ran for cover. The stampede was brief, but three soldiers were wounded and several animals were killed, including two battalion mules. The event became known as the Battle of the Bulls—the Mormon Battalion’s only battle!
The soldiers marched peacefully through Tucson, even though a small group of Mexican soldiers was stationed there, then beyond the Colorado River into a hot desert where water could be found only by digging deep wells. They suffered through scorching days and freezing nights. Many had worn out the bottoms of their boots and were walking practically barefoot. Some wrapped rawhide and rags around their feet to protect them from the hot sands.
The end of their 2,030-mile (3266-k) march came on January 29, 1847, when they reached Mission San Diego. Fortunately the Mexicans had already surrendered and the United States had control of California, so the Mormon Battalion helped protect and build up the areas where they served. On July 16, 1847, the men were discharged; eighty-one chose to re-enlist for another six months.
Most of the discharged men planned to join their families in the Salt Lake Valley. But President Brigham Young sent a messenger to them, requesting that the men without families remain in California for the winter. Many of those who stayed behind worked at Sutter’s Fort on the Sacramento River. They were involved in the beginning of the California gold rush. The next summer, however, they left the gold fields to rejoin the Saints.

One night in Chicago, my wife, June, and I were taking a sister home from a ward meeting. I parked outside the apartment house and accompanied the sister into the lobby and to her door. June remained in the car and locked all the doors. I left the key in the ignition in case she needed to drive away. We lived on the south side of Chicago and were accustomed to taking such precautions.
Before returning outside, I looked carefully in each direction. I saw three young men walking by, so I waited until they were out of sight, and then I walked quickly toward our car.
As I paused for June to unlock the car door, I saw one of the young men running back toward me. Fortunately June saw him coming around the end of the car with a gun in his hand and didn’t unlock the door.
The young man pushed the gun against my stomach and said, “Give me your money.” I took out my wallet and showed him it was empty.
“Give me your car keys,” he demanded. “They are in the car,” I told him. “Tell her to open the car,” he replied. When I refused, he was furious. He jabbed me in the stomach with his gun and said, “Do it, or I’ll kill you.” Again I refused. He repeated his demands, again emphasizing them with his gun.
Not knowing what else to do, June waited and prayed. Then a peaceful feeling came over her, and she felt that everything would be all right.
From behind the robber, a city bus approached. The young man became distracted, and his gun wavered from my stomach. I realized that with a quick motion I could seize the gun without the likelihood of being shot.
But just then the Spirit let me know what would happen if I grabbed that gun: We’d struggle, and I would turn the gun into the young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.
I relaxed and, following an impulse, put my right hand on his shoulder. “Look,” I said. “What you’re doing just isn’t right. You could get killed or sent to jail for this.”
The young robber went through his demands for the third time, but this time his voice was subdued. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment, then ran away. June unlocked the door, and we drove off, uttering a prayer of thanks.
I am grateful that the Lord gave me the vision and strength that night to refrain from trusting in the arm of flesh and to put my trust instead in the protecting care of our Heavenly Father.

Several years ago, Brother Brothers and I were tight on funds and had to make a decision between paying our tithing or putting the money towards the adoption of our second child. Both were righteous and worthy uses for the money. We could not do both so we decided to prove the Lord, pay our tithing, and trust that everything would work out. A few days after paying our tithing, we received an unexpected refund check in the mail. We had been overcharged for something and the money was being returned to us. The amount was slightly more than the sum we had given in tithing. God keeps his promises when we obey.