Gospel Story Finder

Just before my eleventh birthday, British and Australian troops and American paratroopers liberated us. Our property had been confiscated in the civil war between the Dutch and the Indonesians, so we had no home to return to. We stayed in a refugee camp, waiting for my older brother to recover from cholera. My father had needed immediate medical aid and had been shipped to Holland with the wounded Dutch soldiers. He lived only a short time after the rest of us reached Amsterdam.
My mother was left to find what work she could to sustain herself and her six living children. Penniless, we lived in a tiny apartment furnished with old wooden boxes. Life was not easy, and although my mother longed to make our existence more comfortable, she did not have the means to do so.
On my sixteenth birthday, as I was cleaning out a closet, I came across Pop Mientje, safely tucked away on the shelf. She was dirty; she had been a victim of my airsickness in a cargo airplane, and she had been in the mud under me as we sought cover when our truck was shot at by the Indonesians.
I decided to clean her up. As I scrubbed her with a brush, her clothes, which were sewn to her body, disintegrated. Unwilling to abandon her, I began the job of reconstruction. But as I reached into the stuffing, it yielded more than soft cotton. Pop Mientje spilled forth the treasure she had carried all these years: diamonds, rubies, pearls, jade, and various rings. How had my old rag doll been made the guardian of such precious goods?
The discovery of the jewels changed our lives. The proceeds from their sale first brought us warm clothing and furniture to make our lives more comfortable. Eventually they enabled us to obtain higher education. The training I received because of Pop Mientje’s treasures meant better employment and higher wages, both in Amsterdam and later in America.

Tony Harner, a priest from the West Shore Ward, Gettysburg Pennsylvania Stake, is a straight shooter. The 15-year-old convert of a year proved it by winning the overall title in the United States Junior Open Skeet shooting championships in Lordship, Connecticut. In that competition he hit 486 out of 500 targets, using four different guns. He followed up that triumph by taking first place in the second class 410-gauge competition at the World Skeet Championships in San Antonio, Texas.
Tony, who has been skeet shooting for only two years, entered ten registered shooting events between January and July of 1976 and won or placed in all but one of them. He defeated shooters from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Maryland to win his zone championship. He finished second in the Pennsylvania championship. He won the mid-American championship and was the champion of the first and second annual Mack Truck meets, among other accomplishments. Tony, who loads his own shells, has several times broken every target during a competition.
Tony has a strong testimony of the Church and feels that his knowledge of the gospel has contributed to his desire to excel in his sport. He recently put in many hours helping to landscape the West Shore Ward’s new chapel and has been eager to teach skeet shooting skills to other young men in the ward.

Our family is learning from a close relative, six-year-old Liam. This past year he has battled aggressive brain cancer. After two difficult surgeries, it was decided that radiation would also be necessary. During these radiation treatments, he was required to be all alone and lie absolutely still. Liam did not want to be sedated because he disliked the way it made him feel. He was determined that if he could just hear his dad’s voice over the intercom, he could lie still without the sedative.

During these anxious times, his dad spoke to him with words of encouragement and love. “Liam, although you can’t see me, I am right here. I know you can do it. I love you.” Liam successfully accomplished the 33 required radiation treatments while holding perfectly still, a feat his doctors thought would be impossible without sedation for one so young. Through months of pain and difficulty, Liam’s contagious optimism has been a powerful example of meeting adversity with hope and even happiness. His doctors, nurses, and countless others have been inspired by his courage.

We are all learning important lessons from Liam—lessons about choosing faith and trusting in the Lord. Just like Liam, we cannot see our Heavenly Father, but we can listen for His voice to give us the strength we need to endure the challenges of life.

Could Liam’s example help us to better understand King Benjamin’s words to become as a child—submissive, meek, humble, patient, and full of love? (see Mosiah 3:19).

A more familiar example was mentioned in a ward I recently attended in Salt Lake City. A wife of a member of the bishopric was speaking in sacrament meeting. She thanked the members of the ward for not phoning their home on Monday evening. She said that was the only time in the week when she and her children could plan to have their husband and father all to themselves. That forbearance would be good for all wards and branches.

Years ago my adventurous son Jeff and I found ourselves on an old bus bouncing along on a dirt road in Central America at 1:00 a.m. We took the early, early bus because it was the only bus that day. A half hour later, the driver stopped for two missionaries. When they got on, we asked them where in the world they were going so early. Zone conference! And they were determined to do whatever it took to get there. At 2:00 a.m. two more elders boarded the bus and enthusiastically hugged their fellow missionaries. This scene repeated itself every half hour as the bus climbed the remote mountain road. By 5:00 a.m. we had 16 of the Lord’s finest as fellow passengers and were basking in the Spirit they brought on board.
Suddenly we screeched to a halt. A massive mud slide had buried the road. Jeff said, “What do we do now, Dad?” Our friends Stan, Eric, and Allan had the same concern. Just then the zone leader shouted, “Let’s go, elders. Nothing is going to stop us!” And they scrambled off the bus! We looked at each other and said, “Follow the elders,” and we all sloshed through the mud slide, trying to keep up with the missionaries. There happened to be a truck on the other side, so we all hopped aboard. After a mile we were stopped by yet another mud slide. Once again the elders plowed through, with the rest of us close behind. But this time there was no truck. Boldly the zone leader said, “We will be where we are supposed to be even if we have to walk the rest of the way.” Years later, Jeff told me how those missionaries and this photo inspired and motivated him tremendously as he served the Lord in Argentina.
Although we overcame the mud slides, we were all spotted with mud. The missionaries were somewhat nervous about standing before their president on zone conference day when he and his wife would be carefully checking their appearance.

“I went to my former friend and minister the next day to bear him my testimony. I was so happy that I felt I could convert the whole world, and I wanted to,” he later recorded. “I wanted everyone to feel the peace and the joy that came from my baptism. And the most wonderful thing of all, I had an assurance that greater joys and greater knowledge were yet in store—not only for me but for my beautiful family.”

Having earned some ready money with the orchestra on the ship, Howard bought a Ford roadster. It was neither fancy nor new, and it gave him trouble the day after he bought it. But being an excellent mechanic, Howard spent the next two days fixing it. He has been “Mr. Fix It” ever since. In the 1980s when he was in his midseventies, he drove a large white car that was reaching antique status, and as the parts would wear out, he could find no replacements. The car held great sentimental value, so he machined the parts himself with home equipment.

A few weeks ago, it was my privilege to dedicate a monument to the memory of Ellen Pucell Unthank. It stands on the campus of Southern Utah University in Cedar City, Utah. It is a bronze figure, beautiful and engaging. It is of a little nine-year-old girl, standing with one foot tiptoe, her hair blowing back in the wind, a smile on her face, eagerly looking forward.
Ellen Pucell, as she was named, was born in a beautiful area of England where the hills are soft and rolling and the grass is forever green. Her parents, Margaret and William Pucell, were converts to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the time of their baptism in 1837 until the spring of 1856, they had scrimped and saved to go to the Zion of their people in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains of America. Now that was possible if they were willing to pull a handcart one thousand miles across a wilderness. They accepted that challenge, as did hundreds of their fellow converts.
Margaret and William took with them their two daughters, Maggie, fourteen, and Ellen, nine. They said good-bye to loved ones they would never again see in mortality. Near the end of May they set sail from Liverpool with 852 of their convert associates. My wife’s grandmother, thirteen-year-old Mary Goble, was a part of that company and, I like to think, played with those little girls aboard ship.
After six weeks at sea, they landed at Boston and took the steam train to Iowa City. They had expected their handcarts and wagons would be ready. They were not. There was a serious and disastrous delay. It was not until late in July that they began the long march, first to Winter Quarters on the Missouri and from there to the Rocky Mountains.
The Pucells were assigned to the Martin Handcart Company. The Goble family, my wife’s forebears, became a part of the Cluff Wagon Company, which followed the handcarts to give help if needed.
With high expectation they began their journey. Through sunlight and storm, through dust and mud, they trudged beside the Platte River through all of the month of September and most of October. On October 19, they reached the last crossing of the Platte, a little west of the present city of Casper, Wyoming. The river was wide, the current strong, and chunks of ice were floating in the water. They were now traveling without sufficient food. Bravely they waded through the icy stream. A terrible storm arose with fierce winds bringing drifting sand, hail, and snow. When they climbed the far bank of the river, their wet clothing froze to their bodies. Exhausted, freezing, and without strength to go on, some quietly sat down, and while they sat, they died.
Ellen’s mother, Margaret, became sick. Her husband lifted her onto the cart. They were now climbing in elevation toward the Continental Divide, and it was uphill all the way. Can you see this family in your imagination?—the mother too sick and weak to walk, the father thin and emaciated, struggling to pull the cart as the two little girls push from behind with swirling, cold winds about them, and around them are hundreds of others similarly struggling.
They came to a stream of freezing water. The father, while crossing, slipped on a rock and fell. Struggling to his feet, he reached the shore, wet and chilled. Sometime later he sat down to rest. He quietly died, his senses numbed by the cold. His wife died five days later. I do not know how or where their frozen bodies were buried in that desolate, white wilderness. I do know that the ground was frozen and that the snow was piled in drifts and that the two little girls were now orphans.
Between 135 and 150 of the Martin company alone perished along that trail of suffering and death. It was in these desperate and terrible circumstances—hungry, exhausted, their clothes thin and ragged—that they were found by the rescue party. As the rescuers appeared on the western horizon breaking a trail through the snow, they seemed as angels of mercy. And indeed they were. The beleaguered emigrants shouted for joy, some of them. Others, too weak to shout, simply wept and wept and wept.
There was now food to eat and some warmer clothing. But the suffering was not over, nor would it ever end in mortality. Limbs had been frozen, and the gangrenous flesh sloughed off from the bones.
The carts were abandoned, and the survivors were crowded into the wagons of the rescuers. The long rough journey of three hundred, four hundred, even five hundred miles between them and this valley was especially slow and tedious because of the storms. On November 30, 104 wagons, loaded with suffering human cargo, came into the Salt Lake Valley. Word of their expected arrival had preceded them. It was Sunday, and again the Saints were gathered in the Tabernacle. Brigham Young stood before the congregation and said:
“As soon as this meeting is dismissed I want the brethren and sisters to repair to their homes. …
“The afternoon meeting will be omitted, for I wish the sisters to … prepare to give those who have just arrived a mouthful of something to eat, and to wash them and nurse them. …
“Some you will find with their feet frozen to their ankles; some are frozen to their knees and some have their hands frosted … we want you to receive them as your own children, and to have the same feeling for them” (quoted in Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 139).
The two orphan girls, Maggie and Ellen, were among those with frozen limbs. Ellen’s were the most serious. The doctor in the valley, doing the best he could, amputated her legs just below the knees. The surgical tools were crude. There was no anesthesia. The stumps never healed. She grew to womanhood, married William Unthank, and bore and reared an honorable family of six children. Moving about on those stumps, she served her family, her neighbors, and the Church with faith and good cheer and without complaint, though she was never without pain. Her posterity are numerous, and among them are educated and capable men and women who love the Lord whom she loved and who love the cause for which she suffered.

And this is what he told me.
The greatest day of my life, up to that point, was the day I received my mission call. Not even being accepted for the all-state basketball team or even achieving Eagle Scout could compare. Dad and I were home alone, because Mother and the girls were spending two months in Phoenix with Grandma. I had just finished telephoning Mom to tell her the good news.
“Wow, Dad!” I said as I hung up the telephone. “I still am very surprised! Mom thinks it’s great, too. She says to tell you Grandma’s feeling a little better, by the way. Wow! I am very surprised,” and I leaped to catch hold of the top of the door frame, executing a quick little swing.
“How would you like to start your mission right away?” Dad asked quietly.
“You bet! I wish it were tomorrow! I can’t wait to get into the LTM and then take a plane for—”
“No. I mean it, Rich. How would you like to begin your mission now?”
“Now? But Dad, the letter says, ‘You will enter the missionary home in Salt Lake City on the 20th of March.’ I don’t think they let you go in early. I think you have to—”
“I don’t mean start it in the Missionary Home. I mean start it here.” He was still sitting quietly in his big chair, looking at me very steadily. Something in his expression caused me to become thoughtful. I sat on the footstool near the fireplace and just waited.
“I don’t want to make any speeches, Rich. You’re ready for your mission; we all know that. You’ve done all the right things to prepare. By the way, in case I haven’t said it lately, I’m proud of you.”
For some reason, I became emotional and tried to hide my tears by pretending to tie my shoelace.
“But a mission’s hard on the best of young people. That early adjustment brings frustration and problems most kids your age haven’t had to deal with. And I guess a certain amount of frustration is good for the soul. It makes you grow up. But sometimes, if a fellow isn’t able to tolerate those frustrations, it can really interfere with his mission, and mix him up; it can—”
“But Dad, you said I was prepared.”
“In all the big things, yes. You’ve honored your priesthood, worked hard in your quorums, done well at seminary and in the institute this past year.”
“Well then?”
“I’m talking about the little things. Your mother and I have tried to teach you a lot about personal responsibility, and I think you are a mature person—well, most of the time!” he laughed. “But you know your mother likes to spoil you a little—”
“Aw, Dad!”
“Well, she does! And I guess that is her privilege. All I’m saying is this: there are lots of little surprises in store for the missionary. If you and I begin working on them now, then your adjustment should be easier. With the two of us living alone for the rest of the summer, we could operate on the missionary companion basis and see what we can learn.” Now he sat back and waited.
“I don’t quite understand, Dad. You mean, like you’re the senior companion and I’m the junior? Great! But then what? What will we do? Go tracting? I can see us at Sister Bigelow’s door—or Brother Young’s!” I grinned as I thought of the startled looks that would appear on our neighbor’s faces if my father and I donned dark suits and went around knocking on their doors.
“No, no tracting. You’ll see what I have in mind tomorrow. Right now, I think it’s time for us to go to sleep.” He got up and stretched.
“Okay, Dad. Pretty soon. I just want to catch a little bit of the late show, and then I’ll—”
“No late show. It’s time for bed, Elder.” And something about the look he gave me made me wonder about this new senior companion of mine.
“Rise and shine!” The call came loud and clear.
I bounded out of bed, startled. Dad usually tip-toed past my room, especially in the summer. Then I saw the clock. Six A.M.! I sunk back into the bed with a laugh.
“Stop joking, Dad!” I called as I rolled over.
The door banged open.
“Out of the bed, Elder! And make it up as soon as you’ve finished praying. You’re due in the kitchen in 20 minutes.” The door shut again, this time quietly. I stared at it in amazement.
When I finally made it to the kitchen, the table was set, but Dad had done nothing else about breakfast. He sat reading the scriptures in Mom’s rocker by the window, where the sun streamed in through her white curtains and over the African violets.
“You’re on breakfast detail, today,” he said, smiling. And, as I reached into the cupboard for a box of cold cereal, he said, “Sorry, You can’t do a missionary’s work on that. Now listen carefully; I’ll only say this once.” He held up the four fingers of his right hand.
“Basic four. Remember that from health? Every meal. Milk or milk products, meat or protein, fruits and vegetables, cereals and grains. Every meal. Basic four. Now get going.”
As I searched wildly in the refrigerator, glancing back over my shoulder at Dad from time to time, I wondered what had happened to my quiet, easy-going Father.
Without tears, but with plenty of sweat and a drop or two of blood (cut myself on the fruit knife), I managed to put a basic-four breakfast on the table by 7:00 A.M. I felt pretty proud. Dad said nothing, just knelt beside his chair and talked to the Lord as he had every morning of the world since I’d been in it, and before.
Later we cleared the table together and did the dishes. Then Dad said, “Study time Elder. Let’s sit right here.”
“Now I know you’re working mornings at the supermarket. But that gives you the afternoons free. I’ve talked with the bishop, and he was delighted with my plan. He’s changed our home teaching assignments; here’s the new list.”
I took one look at it.
“Good night, Dad! This list must contain every inactive member in the ward!”
“No, not all of them. But they’ll keep us busy. This afternoon I want you to go over the list. Think about the people, the families. Think about what we can do to help them, how we can reach them. Think especially about the Marlins—we’re going there tonight and you’re giving the lesson. Well, Son, time for me to go. See you a little before five. I’ll fix dinner tonight; since you’ll be working on the lesson.” And with that he was gone.
I guess my mind has kind of confused that first meeting with the Marlins. But I know that I did everything wrong. Preached to them instead of talking. Started coughing—not on purpose, I promise—when Brother Marlin lit a cigarette (trying to catch me off guard, I was sure). I asked Linda Marlin how school was, completely forgetting that she’d dropped out.
The next morning, Dad moved into phase two. Instead of getting me up at six, he opened the door at 5:30, dressed in his jogging outfit. Seems he thought I might have gotten out of shape since basketball season.
“Missionaries do a lot of walking—especially where you’re going. Need to be in good shape,” he said as we strode briskly into the foothills north of our house. “Now then—”
Now then? I thought. What could be next? Here we were jogging in the darkness, with not even the sun to keep us company. What could be “now then”?
“Brothers and Sisters,” he began, puffing only slightly between phrases, “Today we’re happy to welcome Elder Richard Ericson, who is new to our branch. We’d like to have Elder Ericson say a few words to us. Perhaps Elder Ericson would like to talk briefly on faith.”
“Elder Ericson,” slightly short of breath, rolled his eyes and began to mumble a pretty standard two-and-a-half minute talk on faith. At the conclusion of this wonderful woodland sermon, Elder Ericson, Senior, said, “Tomorrow, brothers and sisters, Elder Ericson will give us a real talk on faith.”
That evening, one tired junior companion spent the evening hours with a triple combination, concordance, and a copy of Joseph Smith’s, Lectures on Faith. But the next morning, I felt pretty good about the talk.
Soon we were jogging every morning; I was making a basic-four breakfast every other day and a basic four dinner on the days in between; we were making regular evening visits to our home teaching families; and I was spending the evenings memorizing scriptures and preparing for the talks I was “assigned” to give while jogging. I was also doing my own laundry, cleaning my room, and budgeting every cent I earned. I can’t say as I was crazy about the hours we were keeping—up at 5:30 and in bed before 11:00—but I really felt I was building myself into a missionary. So naturally, that was time for me to get humble.

On April 6, 1830, the day Joseph Smith organized the Church of Christ (later to be called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints),1 he proclaimed the words of a revelation to those assembled. “Behold,” the voice of God declared in it, “there shall be a record kept among you; and in it thou [Joseph Smith] shalt be called a seer” (D&C 21:1).

While other boys were out playing little league baseball, Greg spent a lot of time working on the family farm, milking and feeding cows, cleaning out the milk tank, you name it. He doesn’t regret the time spent—it taught him to work hard. But he won’t tell you he loved it either, although he did have a number of ways to make the long, tedious hours go by faster. He took great pride in trying to do the best job he possibly could. If he was working with others, he would talk to them, laugh with them, joke with them, and get to know them better. And then, when he had a spare second, he would dream about what he would try to accomplish in the future.

Don’t think of all the things you need to get done in your lifetime; think of what needs to be done now. You do your best, and Heavenly Father will make it work. For example, while I was preparing to teach a seminary lesson about President Thomas S. Monson, I was wondering how I could keep seven kids (all of whom are older than me) listening, learning, and interested. I decided to try and get as much participation as I could. It turned out fine! So just do your best at the work right in front of you.
Bethany F., 15, Kentucky, USA

Since 2008, a team of local volunteers have coordinated a Christmas Day luncheon and festivities to ensure no one spends the day alone. This event enjoys fellowship from many different people including new migrant families, international students, those who have left unsafe homes, people experiencing financial challenges, empty nesters and those separated from family due to COVID border closures and other reasons.
Sister Anouck Van Dyck has been the chairperson for the last three years and said this event is a collaboration between local volunteers, the City of Joondalup Council and various businesses to ensure everyone knows they are loved and appreciated on this very special day. The Perth Australia Mission helps with this by providing a setup and pack down service and are now part of the official entertainment program singing carols to invite the Spirit of Christ into everyone’s hearts.
Of their involvement, Perth Mission President Michael J. Stone commented: “What a great delight to be involved in such a deserving community project during this special Christmas season.
“Our missionaries were thrilled to be of service and truly felt the spirit of Christmas as they worked and sang on Christmas Day to those in the community that might otherwise have had a lonely Christmas.
“We are grateful for the opportunity our missionaries have had to give to the community through work and song on Christmas Day. In serving others, their spirits were lifted towards the Saviour—a wonderful day and blessing for all.”

Ítalo was excited for the ward temple trip. They were going to the Recife Brazil Temple. It was 15 hours away!
Ítalo, his older brother, Henrique, and their parents left early in the morning. As they rode along, Ítalo kept thinking about something Mom had told him. “This year, you can see how beautiful the temple is from the outside,” she said. “Next year, you’ll be old enough to see how beautiful it is on the inside.”
Ítalo hadn’t been to any temple before. But he had been watching the new temple being built in Fortaleza, where his family lived. It was amazing!
They stopped for lunch. Ítalo had his favorite, feijoada, black bean stew with rice. While he ate, he kept thinking about the temple. When the temple in Fortaleza was finally dedicated, it would be a temple his family could visit over and over again. They wouldn’t have to drive so far.
The sun was setting when Ítalo and his family arrived at the temple in Recife. “Que bonito!” Ítalo said. “How beautiful!” He couldn’t stop smiling.
The next morning, Mom showed Ítalo where he would be waiting with his friends from the ward. “Even though you can’t go inside the temple yet,” she said, “pay attention to the special spirit you can feel while you’re on the temple grounds.” Then the rest of Ítalo’s family went inside the temple.
Members of the ward sat with Ítalo and the other children on the grass near the temple. They read stories from O Livro de Mórmon (the Book of Mormon) together. Reading scriptures is a good way to get ready for the temple, Ítalo thought. He felt calm and safe. Mom’s right, he thought. There is a special feeling here.
Then the adults took Ítalo and the other children for a walk around the temple grounds. That’s when Ítalo noticed the words over the entrance to the temple. “Santidade ao Senhor. A casa do Senhor,” they said. “Holiness to the Lord: the House of the Lord.”
No wonder I feel so peaceful here, he thought. This is God’s house.
When the temple trip was over, Ítalo and his family returned home. He wanted to remember how he had felt at the temple. What could he do?
Sometimes Ítalo felt he could draw his feelings better than he could write about them. So he drew a picture of the temple. Then he showed it to Mom and Dad.
“This will remind me of where I want to go,” he said. He kept the picture in his room where he could look at it each day.
“I want to be ready,” he said. “Because I want to go inside someday!”

In France Elder Ballard met with missionaries in Versailles. He also stopped to visit the site of the future Paris France Temple, which was announced in the October 2011 general conference.

When Herman returned from serving in France during World War I, he and Minerva moved to the old Teichert family homestead in Idaho. Minerva loved this place, but they were eventually forced to leave by the construction of a new reservoir. They made their new home on a cattle ranch at Cokeville, Wyoming. Minerva painted scenes of the Idaho countryside around their old home in a frieze for the living room of their new home. For more than forty years, this room was both Minerva’s studio and the center of the Teichert household. She cooked meals on a wood-burning stove, occasionally adding a touch to a painting as she cooked. Every night while the family ate supper, she read to them—literature, history, and the scriptures.
In that same living room she developed a strong, original style as she painted hundreds of murals, portraits, and other works. The conditions were far from ideal for painting. The room was too small to spread out her larger murals. She sometimes had to fold the canvas, painting one section at a time. To see her murals in perspective, she would look through the small end of a pair of binoculars. Distractions were constant. But somehow Minerva persisted. “I must paint,” she once explained (unpublished manuscript, 1947).

Matthew Dean of Brisbane, Australia, was one of six Queenslanders invited to attend the National Maths Summer School. The summer school enables top math students to exchange ideas and attend lectures by leading professors from Australian universities.
Matthew placed fourth in his age group for Queensland in the state finals of the Australian Mathematic Olympiad and competed for a place in the Australian squad for the International Olympiad.
Matthew, 16, is a priest in the Manly Ward, Brisbane South Stake and serves as seminary president.

I was excited when Mom told me Sean was coming for dinner. He’s my big brother, but he moved away from home when he finished high school. My brother Mike went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he plays with me. When I was smaller, I’d take horse rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. He snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so he shows me wrestling moves instead. He won the city wrestling championship in the 11th grade. Sometimes we play ball, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make a model race car. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him.
I helped Mom set the table to make the time go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I want to have him to myself. I want it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s what she thought. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were here? I knew he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I was upset. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking to the missionaries all night would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner ready, so we sat down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big—tall and strong and big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if they could leave a message and a prayer before they went to their next appointment. This is the end of the night for me, I thought, disappointed. Sean won’t be helping me with my model car tonight. He’ll escape before anyone talks religion to him.
I waited to hear his chair move and the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad looked worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he was having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Peterson, the short, skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
Everything seemed to change. Sean looked back at Elder Peterson, and instead of answering with a joke, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?” Elder Peterson asked.
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Peterson continued talking, Elder Peterson asking questions and Sean giving him honest answers. Finally Elder Peterson said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember either.
I could remember—not the date but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, proud to be his brother, glad to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell him, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could talk.
“Sean,” Elder Peterson asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked at Sean and Elder Peterson, I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a big wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Peterson. I wanted to have the Lord on my side, and I think Sean wanted that, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath. Fortunately, they both won!

Later I was baptized into the Church, got married, and had my own family. One night in family home evening, my wife, Renee, talked about how Noah’s ark and our home were alike in many ways. Each provided safety from the scary storms of the world.

My brothers and sisters, let me tell you of a recent experience. We were in the city of Bacolod on the island of Negros, in the Republic of the Philippines. There, to my great surprise, I met a man I had not seen in years.
The weather was steamy hot, as it always is in Bacolod, the center of the once thriving Filipino sugar industry. My friend was in a short-sleeved white shirt with dark trousers, his shoes shined. His beautiful wife, Marva, was beside him. I said, “Victor Jex, what are you doing here?”
He smiled and replied, “We’re doing the Lord’s work. We’re helping the people. We’re missionaries.”
“Where do you live?”
“In a little house in IloIlo on the island of Panay. We came over on the ferry for the conference.”
I thought of when I had last seen them. It was a few years ago. They then lived in a beautiful home in Scarsdale, New York. He was a widely recognized and honored chemist, with a doctorate in chemical engineering. He worked for one of the big multinational companies headquartered in New York. He was credited with putting together the chemical ingredients of a product now sold around the world, the name of which is known to millions of people and the profit from which has run into many millions of dollars for his company.
He was well paid and highly respected.
He was also the president of the Yorktown stake of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had under his direction a corps of church workers who served faithfully in their local wards, many of whom commuted each day to and from New York City, where they held high and responsible positions in some of the great corporations of America. He was their church leader.
Now he was retired. He and his wife had sold their beautiful home, had given their children what furniture they wanted, and donated the rest to others. They had disposed of their cars and everything except their clothing, their family photographs, and their family history records. They had made themselves available to the Lord and His Church to go wherever they might be sent at their own expense. They were now in the Philippines Bacolod Mission, working among the wonderful, friendly, brown-skinned people of the area. Unemployment is high in this region, and there is much of misery. But wherever Elder and Sister Jex go, they touch for good the lives of those among whom they serve.
They are there to heal the suffering people, to teach the gospel of Christ, to give encouragement and strength and hope and faith. They are there to heal wounds of misunderstanding and contention. They are there to bless the sick and to help those with diseased bodies and frustrated minds. Their smile is infectious, their laugh a joy to hear. They are living humbly among the poor, down at the level of the people, but standing straight and tall to lift with strong hands.
This former New York executive and his charming companion are in the service of the Savior, giving their full time, their resources, and their love to bless with healing the lives of many who are discouraged and need help. Here is a retired New Yorker, a man of great learning and recognized capacity, living in a home with few conveniences, a simple little place that would fit in the living room of his former house.
He and his wife are there, with others of their kind. They are two of a band of remarkable and dedicated older missionary couples who minister to the wants of people with numerous problems. They receive no financial compensation. They pay their own way. This world’s goods mean little to them. As I said, they sold all they had when they left to come to the Philippines. They will stay for as long as they are assigned by the Church to do so. Then they want to go on another mission. They are healers among the people, serving in the cause of the Master Healer.