Gospel Story Finder

The Lodi 2nd Ward Primary, Lodi California Stake, celebrated President Thomas S. Monson’s birthday with service. Each child completed an act of service and then filled out a card describing their service. Some children helped their family take food to a neighbor, others shared school supplies with kids that didn’t have any, and lots of kids helped around the house. These cards were sent to President Monson for his birthday. They also had a birthday party and made the rainbow cake President Monson’s mother made for him when he was a boy, featured in the August 2012 issue of the Friend.

A recent nationwide survey found that nearly 8 in 10 Americans “believe that miracles still occur today as [they did] in ancient times.” A third of those surveyed said they had “experienced or witnessed a divine healing.” Many Latter-day Saints have experienced the power of faith in healing the sick. We also hear examples of this among people of faith in other churches. A Texas newspaperman described such a miracle. When a five-year-old girl breathed with difficulty and became feverish, her parents rushed her to the hospital. By the time she arrived there, her kidneys and lungs had shut down, her fever was 107 degrees, and her body was bright red and covered with purple lesions. The doctors said she was dying of toxic shock syndrome, cause unknown. As word spread to family and friends, God-fearing people began praying for her, and a special prayer service was held in their Protestant congregation in Waco, Texas. Miraculously, she suddenly returned from the brink of death and was released from the hospital in a little over a week. Her grandfather wrote, “She is living proof that God does answer prayers and work miracles.”

But I wasn’t alone. The Savior Jesus Christ was with me, even in my darkest days and nights. His face showed through the faces of my ward family. My bishop and his sweet wife met with me and were there the night I realized my husband and I would be getting divorced. They were heartbroken for me and for my children.
My bishop continued to call and check on me in the difficult months that followed that night.
Brother and Sister John ministered to me and my children in so many ways. They have been an example of Christlike love.
My ministering brother had been with us since we first moved to Idaho. He made many efforts to befriend my then-husband. Not only did this good brother visit us monthly, but he also called or texted to offer his assistance when I stubbornly told him I didn’t need anything.
After my separation, he and his wife became ministering partners, and they lovingly, and without judgment, met with me often. They invited us to sit with them at the local Independence Day parade and to join their extended family at a barbecue.
Our ministering brother found out my children’s favorite characters and carved them into plastic pumpkins for Halloween. They have helped us string Christmas lights, prepare our home for winter, spray our weeds, answer the children’s questions about electronics, and dig my van out of the snow. They brought me the softest blanket as a Christmas gift, which has comforted me many nights when I’ve been lonely and uncertain of what life would bring.
But the most important act of service was the many priesthood blessings this kind brother bestowed upon me and my children. He truly was an example of the scripture, “They did watch over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness” (Mosiah 23:18). So many times, when my anxiety felt like it had reached its peak, he and his wife would come over to talk with me, and the conversation would end with my receiving a priesthood blessing.
He gave my children priesthood blessings before the school year started. He participated in my daughter’s confirmation. This loving couple’s generosity has been an example of Christ’s love for me and my kids.
My friendship with my Relief Society president (second from right) and other sisters in Relief Society has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
I also saw Christ in the face of my angelic Relief Society president. As soon as she heard I was struggling, she took me to lunch and let me spill my emotions and found ways to relate to me with her own life experiences. She texts me often to make sure my children and I are OK. She and two other women in my ward began inviting me to dinner, to go on walks, and to attend the temple with them. They’ve helped steam-clean my carpets and paint rooms. One of them taught me to dye and cut my own hair so that I could be more self-sufficient. The four of us have created a bond and friendship I never knew was possible during such a difficult trial. Their friendship has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
As Sister Elaine S. Dalton, former Young Women General President, said, “Your righteous influence and friendship can have an eternal effect not only on the lives of your associates but also on generations to come.”2 These ladies have made a profound impact not only on my life but on the lives of my children as well; they buoy me up and give me the strength to remain the mother my children need me to be.
Our bishop regularly checked on me and my children.
Though the bishop, ministering couple, and Relief Society president were called to serve our family, it never felt like we were an assignment. And so many others, who had no obligation whatsoever, have shown love to our family.
Two anonymous parties delivered gifts to my children at Christmas. The young men have done yard work, a ward member changed the locks on my doors, and a few others helped with my computer. We’ve received coupons to the pool, been treated to fun at a local water park, and been invited to numerous dinners and movie nights where we could relax with friends and be ourselves.
One sister, while babysitting my children, took them to the store to choose birthday presents to give to me. Another sister did the same with my children at Christmastime.
We’ve also received flowers or treats from people even when there hasn’t been a special occasion; they just wanted me to know I’m loved, thought about, and cared for.
I can testify that what President Jean Bingham, Relief Society General President, says is true: “Sometimes we think we have to do something grand and heroic to ‘count’ as serving our neighbors. Yet simple acts of service can have profound effects on others.”3
Even a small gesture helps me know that Christ hasn’t left me alone to deal with the unpredictability my life has become.
Photograph of simulated Bible scene by Welden C. Andersen
There is peace in Christ. When we sincerely and selflessly care for those around us who are struggling with major life challenges, we really can help them feel the unwavering love and peace of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
I know my Heavenly Father has blessed me and my little family as we made the trek away from family in Arizona to live among strangers in Idaho. Those strangers have become like family. Their Christlike love and examples have helped to keep us strong and where we need to be.
My children and I are eager to serve after seeing how much service impacted our lives. We are living testimonies of what can happen when disciples of Christ follow the pattern of ministering taught in Moroni 6:4: “Their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of their faith.”
I am grateful for my ward family, who remembered and nourished us so that we could keep our hearts turned to the Savior.

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

As I thought about Cindy’s question, I remembered that Dad had once said that the feeling of warning we get when we’re tempted is from the Holy Ghost as He tries to keep us from doing wrong. I should have had a lot more of that feeling the day I thought I had to have a piece of licorice. I’d helped myself to a dime from Mom’s purse without asking, and I’d hardly felt guilty at all when I handed it to the clerk at the store.
The very next day Mom said, “Little chickie, if you’ll run and post Dad’s letter, I’ll pop a peach cobbler into the oven for lunch.” Katie and Shauna had already gone to Aunt Shirley’s on an errand, so I was the only little chick left.
Then Mom looked in her purse and said, “Oh, oh. I was certain I had just the right change for a stamp, but there’s only a dime left.”
She took everything out of her purse and shook it. “Hmmmm,” she said, “it looks like I’ll have to write a check before I can mail Dad’s letter. We’ll have to forget about the cobbler, because while I’m out I might as well run my other errands.”
“Oh, Mom, you’ve already made me hungry for cobbler. Can’t the letter wait until tomorrow?”
“No. Daddy said we must get it in the mail this morning.”
“What’re we having for lunch?” I asked.
“Tuna sandwiches. Please stay close to the phone. Sister Heaton is going to call me. Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I get back.”
I felt awful as I watched her drive away.
That was last year. As I thought about it now that I was baptized, I knew it was important for me to tell Mom about it. I’d give her one of my birthday dimes, too, to help make things right.

The pony’s brown hair was like a short-bristled brush, heavier and stiffer than Brian had imagined. And now that he was standing next to it, the pony seemed quite tall. Brian had to look up to see her eyes. “You wouldn’t seem so big to the other boys in my class,” said Brian, remembering how small he was compared to them. It was hard sometimes to be the smallest boy in class. The little horse suddenly jerked its head back and pawed the soft dirt. She’s almost as excited as I am, Brian thought.
The booming loudspeaker suddenly broke into Brian’s thoughts. “The next rider will be Jimmy Nelson, coming out of the white gate.” Brian scrambled up the sides of the red gate to watch. Jimmy sat three seats ahead of him in school. He was the biggest boy in the class, a great ballplayer, and had a horse of his own. If anyone can ride one of the wild ponies, it’s Jimmy, Brian decided. None of the other boys had been able to stay on their ponies, and only he and Jimmy still had a chance. He watched his friend settle down on the animal and grasp the wide leather cinch fastened around the horse’s middle like a belt.
Jimmy looked confident as he told the cowboys working in the chute that he was ready. The bell rang and the boy shot out of the gate on the brown and white pony. In an instant the pair were jouncing up and down. The pony kicked, twisted, and turned, trying to throw the rider from its back.
The crowd cheered as Jimmy hung onto his bucking mount. Suddenly the little horse reared back and violently rocked forward. Jimmy sailed straight over the horse’s head just as the buzzer went off. He landed on his shoulders in the soft brown dirt. But before the pickup cowboy arrived to help him, Jimmy was up, shaking his head and kicking the dirt in disgust. The crowd clapped for Jimmy’s good try as he walked across the arena.
Now Brian began to wonder if he should have signed up to ride in the Little Buckaroo Rodeo. He had been around horses before, but he hadn’t had much experience. If Jimmy Nelson can’t ride his horse, how can I ever stay on for eight seconds? Brian asked himself. He knew that all he had going for him was a powerful desire. “I’m going to try and hang on, and I’ll do it!” he declared under his breath.
“OK, son, it’s your turn,” said the big cowboy who was working the red chute. Then smiling at him, the man added, “Just remember to hold on with all your might and lean back as far as you can.”
Brian scrambled up the sides of the metal chute and stood for a second looking down at the pony. “I’m going to do it,” he told the little animal. “You’d better understand that right now.” He climbed over the top rail, kicked his leg out, and settled down on the pony’s back that was so broad Brian’s short legs didn’t come halfway down its sides. As he put his full weight on the pony, it jumped.
Brian slipped his left hand under the leather strap, and jammed his cowboy hat on his head with the other hand. Then he slipped his right hand under the belt and the big cowboy pulled it tight.
The announcer called Brian’s name and the boy leaned back and threw his legs up on the horse’s shoulders. “Let go if you start to fall off,” the cowboy warned him. He smiled and winked at Brian and asked, “Ready?”
“Ready!” shouted Brian as he grasped the strap with all his might and leaned back as far as he could. The bell rang and out jumped the pony. Brian imagined he was sitting still and the world around him was jumping up and down and spinning around. The little horse kicked and bucked as hard as she could, but this rider was not going to lose his hold. Up went the horse and up went the rider. The pony spun and kicked again, but Brian stuck to her like glue. Finally, the pony gave a violent heave and Brian’s cowboy hat went flying into the air. Although he slipped over a little to one side of the horse, the boy hung on with all his might.
After what seemed like an hour of roller coaster riding, he heard the buzzer sound, and then he let go and “bit the dust!” Slowly Brian got up, brushed the dirt from his face and clothes, and looked around, not sure where everything was. The pickup man pointed over to the side of the arena. He handed Brian his hat and said, “That was an awfully nice ride, cowboy; you had a real mean horse.”
Brian could hear the crowd cheer for him as he made his way from the arena. He was still spitting dirt as he looked up into the thousands of faces in the stands to see if he could locate his family. Then he saw them wildly waving their hands at him and smiling. Brian grinned and waved back.
“The winner of the pony bareback-riding event is Brian Johnson,” the announcer called.
The littlest cowboy had won!

“A young mother on an overnight flight with a two-year-old daughter was stranded by bad weather in Chicago airport without food or clean clothing for the child and without money. She was . . . pregnant and threatened with miscarriage, so she was under doctor’s instructions not to carry the child unless it was essential. Hour after hour she stood in one line after another, trying to get a flight to Michigan. The terminal was noisy, full of tired, frustrated, grumpy passengers, and she heard critical references to her crying child and to her sliding her child along the floor with her foot as the line moved forward. No one offered to help with the soaked, hungry, exhausted child.

“Then, the woman later reported, ‘someone came towards us and with a kindly smile said, “Is there something I could do to help you?” With a grateful sigh I accepted his offer. He lifted my sobbing little daughter from the cold floor and lovingly held her to him while he patted her gently on the back. He asked if she could chew a piece of gum. When she was settled down, he carried her with him and said something kindly to the others in the line ahead of me, about how I needed their help. They seemed to agree and then he went up to the ticket counter [at the front of the line] and made arrangements with the clerk for me to be put on a flight leaving shortly. He walked with us to a bench, where we chatted a moment, until he was assured that I would be fine. He went on his way. About a week later I saw a picture of Apostle Spencer W. Kimball and recognized him as the stranger in the airport.

“Several years later, President Kimball received a letter that read, in part:
“‘Dear President Kimball:
“‘I am a student at Brigham Young University. I have just returned from my mission in Munich, West Germany. I had a lovely mission and learned much. . . .
“‘I was sitting in priesthood meeting last week when a story was told of a loving service which you performed some twenty-one years ago in the Chicago airport. The story told of how you met a young pregnant mother with a . . . screaming child, in . . . distress, waiting in a long line for her tickets. She was threatening miscarriage and therefore couldn’t lift her child to comfort her. She had experienced four previous miscarriages, which gave added reason for the doctor’s orders not to bend or lift.
“‘You comforted the crying child and explained the dilemma to the other passengers in line. This act of love took the strain and tension off my mother. I was born a few months later in Flint, Michigan.
“‘I just want to thank you for your love. Thank you for your example.’”2

When I was almost eleven, Papa was badly hurt in a mowing machine accident. He had been hurrying to put up his last cutting of hay so he could take a bricklaying job on the new library building. Papa was pleased when they offered him the job. He knew the extra money would come in handy, especially around Christmastime.
Now here he was in traction, one leg suspended from a pulley. But at least he was alive. Whenever he started feeling sad about losing the library job, we’d remind him of how glad we were to have him home.
“Harry, Francis!” he said to Mama. (Harry was papa’s favorite word for emphasis) “I had such wonderful plans on what I was going to do with that extra money.”
“Now, George, there’s no need to worry,” Mama consoled. “You’re alive and getting well, and we’re mighty glad for that. We got along without anything extra last year and the year before that and all those other years. Things are going to be all right.”
“But, Francis, I’d planned to put in those new kitchen cupboards you’ve been wanting for so long. This will put a crimp in Christmas.”
Mama silently regarded Papa’s leg hanging from that ridiculous contraption above his bed. He was a real Christmasy man, and he and Mama always went shopping together. When Mama realized that he wouldn’t be able to go this year, she said, “I’ll tell you what, George. This year we’ll do our Christmas buying right here in this room.”
“Harry, Francis!” Papa shouted. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Mama went to the book cupboard and got out the mail-order catalog. “This will be a mail-order Christmas, and you, George, will be the shopping supervisor.”
We weren’t the kind of folks who got lots of presents, but what we did get, we really enjoyed. After supper that night, we drew names for gifts, and Mama told us how much each one of us could spend.
Teena, who was only four, held up her slip of paper and asked, “Whose name did I get, Mama?”
Mama looked at the paper and then whispered something in Teena’s ear. Teena giggled.
This was in mid-November. For the next week or so the mail-order catalog was pored over every minute that we were out of school. When our minds were finally made up, we went, one at a time, to the chair beside Papa’s bed. With a clipboard propped up in front of him, he made out the order, then told Mama the total amount so that she could make out a check. Only Papa knew what the order contained.
The envelope was sealed and mailed just before Thanksgiving. When nothing arrived within two weeks, we became anxious. Days came and went, but still no package.
The week before Christmas Papa had his cast removed, and he was able to hobble about on crutches. Uncle Ed brought us a tree, and we decorated it. The day before Christmas we received a notice from the mail-order company saying that our letter had been missent and that they had just received it. They were sorry about the delay but assured us our order would arrive within a few days.
What a disappointment! My sisters and I felt like sitting down and bawling. We knew now that there would be no presents on Christmas morning. Mama and Papa felt just as bad as we did, so there was no use making a scene. Instead of just moping around, we decided to decorate the house extra special with evergreen boughs sprinkled with glitter.
As we prepared to leave the house to climb the hill after the boughs, Teena begged to go with us.
“You’re too little,” I said.
Her face crumpled like she was going to cry, so Francene said, “Ah, let her come. She’ll be all right.”
Later as we were returning down the steep trail with our arms full of boughs, Teena skidded on a pebble. She couldn’t stop, and fell over the embankment onto a pile of rocks. Francene, Mary Ellen, Doris, and I scrambled down to where she lay, limp and lifeless. Blood from a small cut was already matting the curls on her forehead.
“Oh, Teena! Teena!” Francene sobbed as she pressed her mitten against the cut. Tenderly she lifted her into her arms.
Mary Ellen tied her scarf around Teena’s forehead, and we sorrowfully picked our way down the last little pitch of the hill to the house. None of us spoke, because we were all silently praying.
Mama met us at the door. As Francene laid Teena on the bed, Papa and Mama bent over her.
“Her breathing is shallow,” Papa said.
“We’d better call the doctor,” Mama’s voice quavered.
The doctor said to bring Teena to the emergency room at the hospital. Papa stayed with us, and Mama and Francene took Teena to the hospital. After what seemed hours, Francene came home alone. Mama and Teena would be staying at the hospital overnight.
What a Christmas Eve! I sat in front of the fireplace with my chin cupped in my hands and a lump in my throat. I was certain that in all the world no one had so many things go wrong as we did. Then Papa sat down in his reclining chair, and Mary Ellen, Doris, and Francene pulled their chairs up beside mine. Quietly, Papa began to tell us again about a Christmas Eve almost two thousand years ago when a little baby was born in a stable, because there was no room at the inn.
As Papa talked, I thought about how differently we lived. We had never had to sleep in a stable. The lump in my throat began to go away, and as Papa told about the wicked king who wanted to destroy Baby Jesus, our troubles grew smaller and smaller. A peaceful feeling filled the room. Then Mary Ellen played the organ and we sang until bedtime. After kissing Papa goodnight, we snuggled down in our beds to sleep.
Christmas morning, Francene and I went after Mama and Teena, while Mary Ellen and Doris fixed dinner. Never could there have been a more uncluttered Christmas day—no wrappings and no litter. It was just a beautiful, relaxed, and happy time because all of us were together. Teena was a bit woozy, but the doctor said she would be just fine. And we discovered that day that the very greatest gift of all was love. Oh, how much we enjoyed each other! Papa even clowned around on his crutches to make Teena laugh. We felt more than ever before the love of our Savior and gratitude for His gift of everlasting life.
The mail-order package? It arrived four days after Christmas. But even the excitement of opening those long-awaited gifts couldn’t compare with the memory of our unforgettable Christmas just a few days before.

“Brother Ng,” the man’s voice began. Being addressed as “brother” by a gwailouh (foreigner) caught Ng Kat Hing’s attention. A group of clean-cut Americans wearing dark suits had wandered into the furniture store where he was employed, and their unusual appearance fascinated the 25-year-old Hong Kong native. But he was even more intrigued by being called “brother.”
When Ng Kat Hing questioned them about the title, one of the Americans, who wore a name tag identifying him as President Heaton, asked, “Do you believe there is one Father in Heaven?”
When he nodded, the man continued, “Then we are brothers, and I will call you that.”
Forty-three years later, Brother Ng still recalls his response. “I was touched, and in that moment, a little bit of the restored gospel was manifest to me. I wondered about it all that day and through the night. Four days later when the man called back to confirm the furniture order, I knew I wanted to know more.”
Although Grant Heaton, president of the newly opened Southern Far East Mission, was merely looking for advice about teakwood furniture that August day in 1955, he found much more than that in Ng Kat Hing. He found a language teacher, a convert, a missionary, a Church leader—a true pioneer.
“Brother Ng and his family are real pioneers of the Church in the Hong Kong area,” remarks Elder Jacob de Jager an emeritus member of the Seventy, who, while President of the Asia Area, worked closely with Brother Ng. In fact, Brother Ng was Elder de Jager’s Cantonese teacher. “He has great experience and wisdom and reaches out to people in a natural way. This was especially evident when Brother and Sister Ng were serving as temple missionaries in the Taipei Taiwan Temple, where they were of great help to the Cantonese-speaking members.”
Reaching out to people has always been one of Brother Ng’s talents. In fact, it was his willingness to serve others that put him in even closer contact with the missionaries. After ordering furniture for the mission home, Brother Ng agreed to help President Heaton find someone to teach Cantonese to the missionaries. He talked to several friends, but none of them could help. So he quit his job at the furniture store and taught the missionaries himself. Married and the father of four young children, Brother Ng took a cut in salary with the job change. But he believes it was well worth it.
“I learned the truth,” Brother Ng states simply. “That was a good deal, right? Nothing is more important than that.”
The men took turns learning and teaching. Brother Ng presented basic language lessons, and the missionaries taught gospel discussions. At that time, investigators were taught a total of 18 discussions, so Brother Ng went through several sets of missionaries before hearing all the lessons.
“It took quite a while,” he acknowledges, “but by the time I was baptized, all my questions were answered. I had a strong foundation and a strong testimony.”
Brother Ng was baptized on 31 May 1956. He was one of the first converts after missionary work resumed in Hong Kong following the Korean War.
But Brother Ng’s search for truth had started years earlier. His grandmother, a Buddhist, had begun attending Christian churches shortly before her death, and Brother Ng often accompanied her. “I was looking for a god who was different than the one I’d been taught about while growing up,” he remembers. “But the pastors and preachers at those meetings were difficult to approach, and they were more concerned with donations than with answering my questions.”
Brother Ng’s questions went unanswered until he met the missionaries. “From the beginning, I learned about our Father in Heaven and his son, Jesus Christ. The missionaries taught of our relationship to these beings. And they continually talked of being children of God,” he remembers.
The gospel changed Brother Ng’s life. “My wife tells me I was entirely different after joining the Church,” he says, laughing. “My temper became smooth. My finances were better because I paid tithing. I didn’t worry about food or shelter because I kept the commandments. A happy life followed.”
After seeing the difference the gospel made in her husband’s life, Sister Ng Pang Lai Har also investigated the gospel. Missionaries often visited their home, teaching her husband one of the new member lessons, then teaching her one of the 18 discussions.
Ten months after her husband’s baptism, Sister Ng was baptized. Brother Ng had the privilege of baptizing their seven children as they reached age eight.
Brother Ng’s family is important to him. His dark eyes sparkle as he speaks of the joys of being a husband, father, and grandfather. Highlights of Brother Ng’s life include the temple marriages of all seven children as well as the sealings of each of the children to him and his wife.
“We were not sealed to all our children at once,” he explains. “Traveling to the temple, either in Tokyo or in the United States, was very expensive.” After saving for years, Brother and Sister Ng were sealed in the Provo Temple in 1974. Subsequent temple trips have strengthened the couple’s dedication and commitment to temple work. From 1986 to 1987, they served as missionaries in the Taipei Taiwan Temple.
The high point of their temple service is their most recent calling—president and matron of the Hong Kong Temple, dedicated in May 1996.
“My wife and I were thrilled with the announcement of the temple. We were planning on becoming temple workers, maybe even working three or four times a week,” President Ng says. “We’ll work more than that now!
“I was frightened with the calling at first and very humbled. I had feelings of unworthiness. But after praying, I felt confident that Heavenly Father would give us the spiritual strength and guidance we need to fulfill this calling. We are so grateful for this opportunity.”
President Ng’s service in the Church actually began before his baptism. In addition to teaching the missionaries, he helped translate Church materials, and he was serving as an assistant in the branch Sunday School superintendency when he was baptized. Since his baptism, he has served at various times as branch president, district president, stake president, stake patriarch, counselor to the mission president, and regional representative.
To each calling, President Ng has brought a lively wit and loving warmth. Individuals matter to this leader, who hopes to see the Church grow in Hong Kong.
“There is much pressure and stress in life,” observes President Ng. Concerns about the future, coupled with materialism, which often exists in a growing economy, are challenges that members deal with daily. “Everyone is working so hard for money. We often spend so much time worrying about temporal things. The gospel brings a balance,” President Ng explains.
President and Sister Ng worked together to establish balance in their home. They worked out a plan and followed it closely. They emphasized wise use of financial resources, family unity, and Church activity. “We made time for our children, for each other, and for Church callings,” he continues. “People say they have no time, but that is just an excuse. They have the time for the things that are important in their lives.”
Another thing President Ng has always made time for is missionary work and watching the gospel affect others’ lives the way it has his own. He knows the impact of our knowledge of a loving Father and a worldwide family.
“We are all brothers and sisters,” testifies President Ng. “We need to share that knowledge with others so they can join our family and we can welcome them home.”

Ashley counted the days as her fingers ran across her braille calendar. Only five more days until her eighth birthday!
“Five days is too soon!” Ashley said to herself. “How can I ever do it?”
Like most children, Ashley looked forward to her birthday each year. She loved the excitement of birthday parties, cake, ice cream, and, of course, gifts. But even the thought of gifts wasn’t enough to make her want her birthday to come this year. I’ll never be able to do it—never! she thought with despair. I’m too afraid.
Ashley was born blind. She had never seen even the ordinary things that other people take for granted, like grass, flowers, and trees, houses, schools, and buses. She had never even seen her family. But she had felt their faces often, and in her mind she knew what they were like. Mom was beautiful and Dad was strong and handsome. Her brother Jake was always smiling. Josh was more serious but was always kind.
All her life Ashley had to work hard to do things that were easy for others, like walk from one room to another without bumping into walls or furniture. Getting herself dressed and her hair combed each morning was a job in itself. Each day was filled with new things to learn.
With the help of her family, though, Ashley had learned to be very independent. She tried to face each day with a smile, and she met each task as a challenge to be mastered.
But the thought of going into water even a few inches deep terrified her. She took showers, never baths, because bathtub water scared her. Thoughts of dangling her feet in a stream or a swimming pool sent her into a panic. So although she wanted with all her heart to become a member of the Church, the idea of getting baptized was almost more than she could bear.
“Five more days, just five more days,” Ashley said again. She knew that her parents wouldn’t make her be baptized until she had overcome her fear, but she didn’t know how to do that. How can I ever go into water that deep, let alone be put under it? She started to shake just thinking about it.
She heard her mother come into her room and felt loving arms go around her and hold her tight. After a few minutes, Mom said, “Thinking about being baptized again?”
Ashley nodded. “My birthday is only five days away, and I really do want to be baptized, but I get so scared just thinking about it!”
“I’m sorry this is hard for you,” Mom said. “Do you think talking to Bishop Felix would help?”
Ashley remembered how worried she had been about her baptismal interview, but the bishop had made her feel at ease and had even made her laugh. Maybe he could help her. “Do you think I could talk to him tonight? I don’t have much time left.”
“We’ll see what we can do.” Mom gave Ashley a reassuring squeeze.
As Dad went with her into the meetinghouse that evening, she felt nervous. “Here’s the bishop’s office,” Dad said. “Would you like me to come in with you?”
“Yes, please.”
Soon she heard Bishop Felix say, “Hello, Ashley. Come right in. It’s nice to see you.”
Just by hearing his voice, Ashley knew that she had made the right decision. After a short prayer by Dad, Ashley started to explain her problem. Afterward the office was quiet for a few minutes. She knew Bishop Felix was thinking.
“Ashley,” he finally said, “I’m glad that you came to me with this problem. I know that you understand the importance of being baptized and that you have a strong desire to be baptized. And I can understand your fear of water, even the baptismal water. It’s wonderful that you and your parents have discussed the problem and prayed about it. That’s the first step, and you have taken it. Prayer is a powerful tool, but sometimes it, too, needs strengthening. I’m sure you know what fasting is,” he said.
Ashley nodded. “It’s going without food and water.”
“That’s right. But when we fast, we should fast for a specific purpose or blessing. And we should let Heavenly Father know what that purpose is. Fasting with prayer is a very powerful tool.”
“Do you think it would help me?” Ashley asked hopefully.
“I’m sure it will.”
“The whole family will fast and pray with you,” Dad said, squeezing her hand.
“I’d like to fast and pray with you, too,” Bishop Felix offered.
Ashley had faith in prayer, so if fasting strengthened prayer, she knew it would work. “Thank you,” she answered. “With everyone’s help, I’ll try it.”
As she and Dad left the church, Ashley felt good inside, almost peaceful. She knew getting baptized would still be a hard thing to do, but her faith was strong.
All the rest of the week, Ashley was prayerful about her baptism, and it wasn’t quite so frightening. She and her parents planned a short program, with both Bishop Felix and Dad speaking before the service. Afterward they would have birthday cake and ice cream for refreshments at home. Mom had already made Ashley a beautiful white dress to wear.
Soon it was the day before her birthday. After a light supper, her family began their fast with a prayer that she might overcome her fear of the water, at least while she was being baptized. And that night as Ashley knelt to pray by her bed, she felt very humble. She still feared the water, yet she knew deep down that Heavenly Father loved her and would help her.
“Happy Birthday!” Ashley woke to the family singing.
She could tell by the sounds of their voices that they were all smiling. They knelt by her bed for their morning family prayer. Mom said the prayer and asked Heavenly Father to be with their family that day as they fasted and prayed for Ashley and for her to have the courage and strength to enter into the waters of baptism. As Ashley said “Amen,” her stomach growled.
Instead of reading the scriptures around the breakfast table, the family sat in the living room. As they read, Ashley heard another stomach growling. It made her feel good to know that her family loved her enough to fast for her.
All day long Ashley’s stomach begged for food. She hadn’t realized before how hard fasting could be. But when thoughts of hamburgers, french fries, and pepperoni pizzas kept popping into her head, she pushed them out with a short prayer. With each prayer, Ashley felt stronger.
Finally it was time to leave for the church. Fear started to creep into Ashley’s heart. “Dad and Mom, could we say another prayer before we leave?”
The family knelt on the floor in a circle, holding hands. “Dear Heavenly Father,” Ashley started softly. “I’m thankful for this special day and for my family. Please help me so that I won’t be afraid to be baptized.”
As Dad guided Ashley down the baptismal font steps, she could feel the water covering her feet. Then it was up to her knees. She had never been in water this deep before, but she wasn’t afraid. The water was up to her waist when they stood in the middle of the font, yet she felt no fear. She listened to Dad and concentrated on the words as he spoke the baptismal prayer. Then he laid her gently into the warm water.
Instead of fear and panic, she felt peace. As Dad lifted her out of the water, her heart was bursting with joy, She had been baptized! She knew that fasting and prayer had helped her overcome her fear.
What a wonderful birthday gift from Heavenly Father! she thought. It’s the very best gift I could have received!

In 1947 Elder Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, called my grandfather, James H. Walker, to be president of the Taylor stake in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. Until that time my grandmother, Fannye Walker, had served for many years as the stake Young Women president. She loved this assignment.

When Elder Benson extended the call to President Walker, he said that President Walker’s wife should not continue to serve as stake Young Women president so that she could support him in his responsibilities and so that others outside their family could have the opportunity to serve. Grandma was unhappy. She loved the young women, loved her calling, and wanted to continue to serve in that capacity.

Years later President Benson recounted the experience to me. He said, “Your grandmother was very disappointed when we released her. But the next time I saw her, she told me that she understood and accepted the need for her to be released.”

I had been on my mission in my home country of Peru for several months when I met Santiago. He attended a Sunday School class for new members, but he had not been baptized. Nor had he taken the missionary discussions. I learned that he had a speech impediment that made him feel insecure because he had difficulty communicating.
For most of his life, Santiago had been able to speak clearly and had been blessed with a beautiful singing voice. But then he suffered a stroke. After a long time in a rehabilitation center, he had learned to walk again, but he still had trouble speaking.
We were thrilled when Santiago decided to meet with us. During our first visit, he tried to talk, and we tried to understand. He especially enjoyed reading aloud from the Book of Mormon. We loved and admired him.
One day while we were discussing gospel ordinances, Santiago said he was ready for baptism and confirmation. After we had finished the discussion, he stood up, eyes shining, and with great difficulty asked, “Elders, after I’m baptized, will I be able to talk normally again?”
I was taken aback for a moment and at first didn’t know how to answer. But responding to the influence of the Spirit, I said confidently, “Yes, if you have enough faith, the Lord will grant your desire.”
On the day of his baptism, I remembered Santiago’s question when he was asked to bear his testimony. Realizing that some of the Lord’s promises aren’t fulfilled immediately, I wondered if Santiago would feel disappointed if his ability to speak didn’t immediately improve. In the days that followed, he still struggled to talk, but he didn’t seem to be concerned.
I was soon transferred and didn’t see Santiago again until the end of my mission, when I went to say good-bye before returning home. My companion and I didn’t find him home and started to leave, when suddenly we heard a strong voice calling to us. It was Santiago!
We entered his house, and he talked about how happy he had been as a member of the Church. After a few minutes I realized that he was speaking almost perfectly. Surprised, I said, “Santiago, you talk fine now!”
He said he knew the Lord would grant his desire. So he showed faith and did his part, reading aloud from the Book of Mormon and doing exercises his doctor had recommended. “The Lord has seen my efforts and has given my voice back to me,” he said. “And it won’t be long before He blesses me with the ability to sing again.”
I could not hold back my tears. That day Santiago taught me a great lesson. The promises of the Lord aren’t always fulfilled quickly, but they are fulfilled nonetheless.

Here is another example:
A single mother of two small children recently came down with chicken pox. Of course, it wasn’t long before her children got sick as well. The task of caring for herself and her little ones alone was almost too much for the young mother. And, as a result, the normally spotless house became cluttered and messy. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, and laundry piled up everywhere else.
While she was struggling with crying children—and wanting to cry herself—a knock came at the door. It was her visiting teachers. They could see the young mother’s distress. They could see her house, her kitchen. They could hear the cries of the children.
Now, if these sisters had been concerned only with completing their assigned monthly visits, they might have handed the mother a plate of cookies, mentioned that they had missed her at Relief Society last week, and said something like, “Let us know if there is anything we can do!” Then they would have cheerfully been on their way, thankful that they had 100 percent for another month.
Fortunately, these sisters were true disciples of Christ. They noticed their sister’s needs and put their many talents and their experience to work. They cleared up the chaos, brought light and clarity into the home, and called a friend to bring over some much-needed groceries. When they at last finished their work and said their good-byes, they left that young mother in tears—tears of gratitude and love.
From that moment on, the young mother’s opinion of visiting teaching changed. “I know,” she said, “that I am not just a check mark on someone else’s to-do list.”

It was impossible to cheer up Aunt Mabel. I’d been with her all day, and she hadn’t even come close to smiling. I handed the mail to her and said, “A magazine and a letter from Cousin Ellen.”
“But no surprise package from anyone,” Aunt Mabel said. “What a bad day.” She set the mail on the table in the dark hall and turned to me. “Shall we go for a little walk, Judy?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, happy to get out of her gloomy house. When we stepped outside, I smiled up at the blue sky. “What a bright, sunny day,” I said.
Aunt Mabel glared at the sky. “It’s too bright. It makes me squint. Now I’ll get more wrinkles. What a bad day.”
I looked down and saw something shiny on the sidewalk. “Look! A penny,” I said, stooping to pick it up.
“Too bad it’s not a dime or a quarter,” Aunt Mabel said.
We walked to the park and Aunt Mabel sat on a bench under a big, leafy tree. “Isn’t it nice here in the shade?” I asked.
Aunt Mabel shook her head, gazing uneasily at the branches.
“Those leaves are probably full of caterpillars, and one might fall on me. What a bad day.”
I sighed and sat next to Aunt Mabel, but no caterpillars fell from the tree. After a few minutes, Aunt Mabel stood up. “Let’s be on our way,” she said.
We walked beside a garden that was filled with big yellow and orange flowers. “Mmmm,” I said. “Don’t those flowers smell sweet!”
Aunt Mabel rubbed her nose. “Makes my nose twitch,” she said, hurrying past the garden. “What a bad day.”
I slowed down and breathed in the sweet fragrance. My nose wasn’t twitching. I watched Aunt Mabel walk along the path and wondered how I could cheer her up. Skipping along, I caught up with her. “At least the sun’s not in our eyes, now,” I said, watching our shadows stretch before us.
Aunt Mabel buttoned her sweater. “Now the sun is hot on my back, but I’m cold in front. What a bad day.”
“We’re almost home,” I said as we turned the corner and Aunt Mabel’s house came into view. “You have a pretty house.”
Aunt Mabel looked up at her house. “It’s old,” she said. “The floor boards creak and groan.”
We climbed the steps and sat on the porch swing. “Shall I get us some lemonade?” I asked. Aunt Mabel nodded.
I carried two glasses of lemonade out to the porch. I knew what Aunt Mabel would say, and sure enough, after one sip she said it: “This lemonade is too sour. What a bad day.”
I was thirsty and drank mine right down. I thought it tasted pretty good. At last Mom’s car pulled up in front of the house, and I jumped up to leave.
“Did you have a nice visit?” she asked. I just shrugged. I didn’t want to lie and say I’d had a great time.
Aunt Mabel stood up and kissed Mom on the cheek. Then she gave me a hug. I hugged her, too, and she said, “Ouch! Watch out for these old bones!” I backed away.
“Did you have a good day visiting with your niece?” Mom asked her.
I waited for Aunt Mabel to tell Mom what a bad day she’d had.
“I had a very good day,” Aunt Mabel said. “It was nice to have someone to tell my troubles to.”
Mom and I got in the car, and before we drove away, I waved to Aunt Mabel. She waved back, and I was sure she actually smiled at me.
“You certainly cheered Aunt Mabel up,” Mom said.
“Yes,” I said. “What a bad-good day we had.”

I also think it’s essential that our spiritual side be developed along with our craftsmanship. Fifteen years ago I had a conversation with Elder Boyd K. Packer. He said, “As an artist what is your concern?” and I said, “My problem is that I watch the non-LDS artists paint 50 paintings a year and I paint 25 because I have made a commitment that I will seek first the kingdom of heaven. I will be active in the Church, and so I’ll be Young Men president and take my kids around to collect fast offerings and go to Mutual and go home teaching and all those things that eat up one’s time, while other artists can paint twice as much as I do. And because the more you paint the better you get, they just keep on outdistancing me.”

He said, “Why do you fail to recognize that with the help of the Spirit, which is what you’re spending all that time being active in the Church attempting to obtain, you can accomplish more in 10 paintings than another painter can in 30 or 40? It’s not the quantity of paintings, but the quality of the spirit within you that will move you to do good work.” And his words just went right to my heart.

President Paulo Kretly of the Mozambique Maputo Mission shared this experience: “It is common in Mozambique [for] couples to live their lives together [without being married because] African tradition require[s] an expensive dowry to marry, a dowry most couples can’t afford.”
Members and missionaries thought and prayed about how to help.
The answer to their prayers was that they would emphasize the law of chastity and the importance of marriage and eternal families. And while helping couples to repent and legally marry, they would teach of the happiness that only comes through following Jesus Christ.
This is a picture of couples from two different cities in Mozambique. Married on Friday, they were baptized with their older children on Saturday. Friends and family were invited to “come and see,” and hundreds did “come and see.”
Following the baptism, one sister said, “We needed to choose whether to follow the traditions of our fathers or to follow Jesus Christ. We chose to follow Christ.”

Julie bit her lip as she walked home with her new friends. She didn’t know what to tell them about the Church.
“My dad says you Mormons are different from the rest of us and that you aren’t Christians,” Tiffany told her. “He said that you believe in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon but not the Bible.”
“That’s what I’ve heard, too,” Meghan added. She pointed to the blue book Julie had tucked under her arm. “I don’t see you carrying the Bible to school, just your Book of Mormon.”
Julie wanted to avoid an argument, but she had to stand up for what she knew was right. “Members of the Church are Christians. And I brought my Book of Mormon to school to show Miss Hall. She asked to see it after I did my history report on Joseph Smith last week.”
“See?” Tiffany smirked. “You do believe in Joseph Smith.”
“That’s right. I believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I also believe in Jesus Christ as the Savior.”
“Then why aren’t you called Christians like other people?” Meghan asked. “Why do people call you Mormons?”
Julie choked back the angry words that hovered on her tongue. “I have to get home. I promised Mom I’d watch Benny while she goes to the store.”
As Julie hurried ahead, she heard whispers floating behind her. She swiped at the tears that trailed down her cheeks and wished for the hundredth time that her family hadn’t had to move here for her father’s job. It had been hard to leave her friends in California. Tiffany and Meghan were the first friends she’d made here, and now it looked as if she might lose them.
Julie wiped away the tears as she opened the kitchen door, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice she’d been crying. But her mother took one look at her and sat down at the kitchen table, gesturing for Julie to join her. Soon the whole story was spilling out.
“Maybe Tiffany and Meghan simply don’t understand,” her mother suggested.
“But why did they say that we aren’t Christians?”
“A lot of people think that. They don’t understand that just because we believe in the Book of Mormon, it isn’t Mormon’s Church. It’s Jesus Christ’s Church.”
Julie thought about it that afternoon as she did her homework. She tried to concentrate on it, but she couldn’t forget the things her friends had said. If only she could help them understand!
“Julie, what’s this?” Benny asked.
She looked up and saw the small card he held up to her. “It’s an Articles of Faith card.”
“What are Art-Arti-Articles of Faith?”
“They explain what Church members believe in.” She jumped up, crossed the room, and kissed her little brother. “Thanks, Benny—you’ve just given me the answer to my problem!”
The following day, she passed Tiffany and Meghan on the way to art class. She smiled at both of them. “See you after class,” she said.
When the bell rang, Julie found Tiffany and Meghan waiting for her in the hallway.
“Let’s walk home together,” Julie suggested.
Tiffany and Meghan exchanged looks. “OK.”
Julie waited until they were outside before beginning. “Yesterday you said Mormons are different. You were right. We are different.” She took a deep breath and began reciting the first article of faith: “‘We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.’”
“You believe they are three different persons?” Meghan asked.
“That’s right.”
Tiffany frowned. “But aren’t they all the same?”
Julie paused, praying that she could find the right words. “They are one in purpose, and They work together, but They’re three distinct persons.”
“What about Mormon?” Tiffany asked. “The man your church is named after. Who’s he?”
“The real name of the Church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but sometimes we’re called Mormons because we believe that the Book of Mormon is scripture, just like the Bible. In fact, we say that it is ‘Another Testament of Jesus Christ.’ You see, Mormon lived a long time ago on the American continent, and he kept a record of his people and how they lived the gospel of Jesus Christ. His son, Moroni, appeared as an angel—”
“An angel?” Meghan interrupted. “Like a Christmas angel? In a long white robe and halo?”
Julie smiled and shook her head. “Moroni appeared to Joseph Smith and told him where the golden plates that Mormon’s history was written on were buried. Eventually Joseph Smith translated the golden plates and called it the Book of Mormon.”
“Hey, this is exciting,” Meghan said.
“Do you have any more of those things that you believe in?” Tiffany asked.
“They’re called the Articles of Faith. There are thirteen in all.” Julie reached inside her pocket, pulled out two small cards, and gave them to her friends. “Here.” She watched as Tiffany and Meghan looked over the cards.
“Do you know all these by heart?” Tiffany asked.
“Uh-huh. I memorized them in Primary.”
“What’s Primary?”
“It’s a little like your Sunday School. We have class on Sundays and sometimes an activity during the week.”
“Maybe I can come with you sometime,” Tiffany said.
“Me, too,” Meghan chimed in.
Julie smiled at them. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Kathy and I first met Beatrice Magré in France 30 years ago. Beatrice recently told me of an experience that impacted her spiritual life shortly after her baptism as a teenager. Here are her words:
“The youth of our branch had traveled with their leaders to Lacanau Beach, an hour and a half from Bordeaux.
“Before returning home, one of the leaders decided to take a last swim and dove into the waves with his glasses. When he resurfaced, his glasses had disappeared. … They were lost in the ocean.
“The loss of his glasses would prevent him from driving his car. We would be stranded far from home.
“A sister filled with faith suggested that we pray.
“I murmured that praying would avail us absolutely nothing, and I uneasily joined the group to pray publicly as we stood waist-deep in the murky water.
“Once the prayer was over, I stretched my arms to splash everyone. As I was sweeping the ocean’s surface, his pair of glasses rested in my hand. A powerful feeling pierced my soul that God does actually hear and answer our prayers.”
Forty-five years later, she recalled it as if it had happened yesterday. Beatrice had been blessed, and she knew that God knew that she knew that she had been blessed.

Karen said she thought writing to her parents and sharing her experiences at the conference with them was a good idea. They aren’t members of the Church, and she wanted to share some of her enjoyment with them. She was first introduced to the Church by her next-door neighbors, who invited her to a home evening, then to worship services. “Now I go to church every Sunday, even though I’m not a member yet,” she said. “I do my seminary, too. Having friends who are members has given me a place to turn for support.”

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.