Gospel Story Finder

My mother didn’t get mad at me very often. She was a very patient and loving woman. But one day when I arrived home after school, she was particularly upset. You see, school had been out since the middle of the afternoon, and it was after 7:00 P.M. when I finally got home! She was very worried about me because she did not know where I was.
It wasn’t until I arrived home that I realized that I had forgotten to tell her where I was going. I quickly explained that after school I had walked the four or five blocks to the newspaper office downtown to ask for a job as a newspaper boy. I had seen other boys about my age, eight or nine years old, standing on street corners, selling newspapers, and that’s what I wanted to do. That very day they assigned me a street corner, and I was so excited to start selling newspapers that I completely forgot about how worried my mother would be. Mother forgave me, but I knew that I wouldn’t again make the mistake of not telling her where I was!

When I was a student at BYU, I lived in the basement of a sweet, elderly couple. One day, as I knocked on the door to pay rent, our landlady answered the door in tears. When I asked her what was wrong, she explained to me that her grandson (we’ll call him Jimmy) had just moved into the upstairs apartment and that she had discovered that he had been using his new-found freedom of living at Grandma’s place to party and smoke weed. Jimmy’s abuse of his grandma’s kindness infuriated me, and I determined that I would pay him an immediate visit to set him straight on behalf of his grief-stricken grandmother.

As I approached the door of Jimmy’s apartment, a small bird dove violently at my head. I ducked behind a car until I thought it was safe, but my second attempt was met with an even more vicious response from my feathered attacker. In my third attempt to rise from my place of safety, the ensuing attack was such that I fled for my life, still determined to return and give Jimmy a piece of my mind when the coast was clear.

I returned to my apartment to begin my studies for the day with a little time in the scriptures. I opened to Alma 17 and read of Ammon winning the heart of King Lamoni by offering to become his servant.[9] I felt humbled and moved to abandon my initial anger and to return to Jimmy in the spirit of friendship.

I did so (this time without a bird attack), and when he answered the door, I welcomed Jimmy to our apartments and asked him what he liked to do. It turned out that we both loved doubles volleyball, and we set a regular time to play.

Over time, all of us roommates befriended Jimmy. We had a lot of fun and some precious conversations and Jimmy eventually served a mission and went on to become a great husband, father, and leader. I’ve often been grateful that a little bird gave me the opportunity to pause and think about what might actually nurture and lift Jimmy.

Richard is a good example of another approach. Born in the Church, Richard was not active until he was well into his teens. At that time a series of challenging events provided him with the opposition necessary to turn him toward the gospel. After a few weeks of reading and prayer, Richard had developed a testimony of Christ and the truth of the Book of Mormon. People remembered Richard because of his testimony and commitment to it.

“I am so grateful for the Personal Progress program. I know that it has changed my life for the better. When you think of seven 10-hour projects, it seems like a lot, and you can get discouraged. But when you work on the projects one at a time, before you know it, you’re done with another project and can move on to the next.
“For one of my Personal Progress projects, I helped Grandpa clean his house. This was hard at first, but after a while it didn’t seem like a chore. As we worked, we really enjoyed talking to each other and got to know each other better. I’m glad I was able to strengthen my relationship with my grandpa. I really enjoy Personal Progress.”Tara Lunt, 16Duncan Ward, Duncan Arizona Stake

In the Philippines today we have more than 55,000 members of the Church. We have sixteen strong stakes and four missions. It is one of the more productive proselyting areas in the world. When the history of the work in the Philippines is written, it must include the story of Sister Maxine Grimm, a girl from Tooele, Utah, who served with the Red Cross in the Pacific campaign of the Second World War. She married an American army officer, and after the war they established their home in Manila. She did much to teach the gospel to others; she pleaded that missionaries be sent. Her husband had legal work done and did many other things to make it possible for the missionaries to come. It would have been much easier for them to have simply gone along their way, making money and enjoying the fruits of it; but Sister Grimm was unceasing in her efforts and pleas.

At the time, I had responsibility for the work in Asia and I carried her pleas to the First Presidency, who, in 1961, authorized the extension of formal missionary work to that land. In May 1961 we held a meeting in the Philippines to begin the work. We had no place to meet and received permission from the American Embassy to do so at the American Military Cemetery on the outskirts of Manila.

There, where are solemnly remembered the sacrifices of more than 50,000 men who gave their lives in the cause of freedom, we gathered together at 6:30 in the morning. Sister Grimm played a little portable organ she had carried through the campaigns of the Pacific War, and we sang the songs of Zion in a strange land. We bore testimony together and invoked the blessings of heaven on what we were to begin there. Present was one native Filipino member of the Church.

That was the beginning of something marvelous, the commencement of a miracle. The rest is history, discouraging at times and glorious at others. I was there for the area conference held several years ago with President Spencer W. Kimball and others. Some 18,000 members of the Church were assembled in the great Aranetta Coliseum, the largest meeting place in all the Republic.

I wept as I thought of the earlier years, and I remembered with appreciation the woman who largely forgot her own interests as she relentlessly pursued her dream of the day when the Church would be strong in the land which she then lived, bringing happiness of a kind previously unknown to thousands of wonderful people.

He was always tall. “By the time I was 13, I was already 182 cm (six feet). But my real growth spurt didn’t begin until my sophomore year in high school.” He reached his full height by his senior year, and, as with most tall kids, it was assumed he would play basketball. That was not to be.
“I never really liked basketball,” he noted. “The other kids and the coaches always kind of made fun of me, telling me I couldn’t jump.”
His mother urged him, instead, to try a local recreation league volleyball team. “I had never had so much fun in any sport before,” Chambers says. “I was hooked! Even though I wasn’t very good, I went home and told Mom that volleyball was the sport for me!”
Great club coaching helped him find his footing in the game, and because of his prodigious height, they made him a middle blocker. Finally, the burden of being tall began to pay-off. After a season of club volleyball, he was anxious to join his high school team and test his new skills. But disaster struck in his very first scrimmage.
“I jumped and extended myself to try and block a ball, and when I came down, I landed on the foot of the guy on the other side of the net and broke my ankle,” Chambers recounted. “I had to wear a boot everywhere after that and I didn’t get to play at all my freshman season.”
“It was frustrating to have made progress in this new sport I really liked, then lose that whole season.”

Forgive me for a personal conclusion, which does not represent the terrible burdens so many of you carry, but it is meant to be encouraging. Thirty years ago last month, a little family set out to cross the United States to attend graduate school—no money, an old car, every earthly possession they owned packed into less than half the space of the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Bidding their apprehensive parents farewell, they drove exactly 34 miles up the highway, at which point their beleaguered car erupted.
Pulling off the freeway onto a frontage road, the young father surveyed the steam, matched it with his own, then left his trusting wife and two innocent children—the youngest just three months old—to wait in the car while he walked the three miles or so to the southern Utah metropolis of Kanarraville, population then, I suppose, 65. Some water was secured at the edge of town, and a very kind citizen offered a drive back to the stranded family. The car was attended to and slowly—very slowly—driven back to St. George for inspection—U-Haul trailer and all.
After more than two hours of checking and rechecking, no immediate problem could be detected, so once again the journey was begun. In exactly the same amount of elapsed time at exactly the same location on that highway with exactly the same pyrotechnics from under the hood, the car exploded again. It could not have been 15 feet from the earlier collapse, probably not 5 feet from it! Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.
Now feeling more foolish than angry, the chagrined young father once more left his trusting loved ones and started the long walk for help once again. This time the man providing the water said, “Either you or that fellow who looks just like you ought to get a new radiator for that car.” For the second time a kind neighbor offered a lift back to the same automobile and its anxious little occupants. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the plight of this young family.
“How far have you come?” he said. “Thirty-four miles,” I answered. “How much farther do you have to go?” “Twenty-six hundred miles,” I said. “Well, you might make that trip, and your wife and those two little kiddies might make that trip, but none of you are going to make it in that car.” He proved to be prophetic on all counts.
Just two weeks ago this weekend, I drove by that exact spot where the freeway turnoff leads to a frontage road, just three miles or so west of Kanarraville, Utah. That same beautiful and loyal wife, my dearest friend and greatest supporter for all these years, was curled up asleep in the seat beside me. The two children in the story, and the little brother who later joined them, have long since grown up and served missions, married perfectly, and are now raising children of their own. The automobile we were driving this time was modest but very pleasant and very safe. In fact, except for me and my lovely Pat situated so peacefully at my side, nothing of that moment two weeks ago was even remotely like the distressing circumstances of three decades earlier.
Yet in my mind’s eye, for just an instant, I thought perhaps I saw on that side road an old car with a devoted young wife and two little children making the best of a bad situation there. Just ahead of them I imagined that I saw a young fellow walking toward Kanarraville, with plenty of distance still ahead of him. His shoulders seemed to be slumping a little, the weight of a young father’s fear evident in his pace. In the scriptural phrase, his hands did seem to “hang down.” In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Christ is our best example of service. He served others throughout His life. When I serve others, it makes me feel good. The other day we were going to give a rocking horse to a boy in our ward, but it had to be put together. I was excited to do this because I could picture the joy on the boy’s face when he got on the horse. When the horse was assembled, I helped Mom put it in the car to take to the boy’s house. Sometimes I complain about doing things like this, but when they are over I’m glad that I did them, and I’m happy.

One day while on a mission in Scotland, David O. McKay was walking around Stirling Castle with his companion, Peter G. Johnson. He said it was at the beginning of his mission, and on that day he had been snubbed while tracting. He was discouraged and homesick. He noticed a building that was half-finished. There was an inscription above the front door, carved in stone, that became a motto for his life: “What E’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part” (see CR, October 1954, p. 83).
And so let us find godliness and contentment in what we have and who and where we are at this time in our eternity. Let us add our part the best we can.

After college I finally found my first job as a music therapist at a large institution for the mentally handicapped. My first day on the job was memorable. After a quick tour, my supervisor handed me a long list of patients I was assigned to work with. First on that list was a 12-year-old girl named Bonnie.
When I walked into her room for the first time, I saw Bonnie staring back at me from her hospital bed with bright eyes. Her smile set off an explosion of warmth in sharp contrast to the collection of plastic tubes, blinking lights, and gray machines surrounding her. It seemed odd that Bonnie would be placed in an institution for the mentally handicapped. She seemed so bright and full of life. I was puzzled.
Bonnie’s story was sad but eventful. Born with a rare terminal illness involving her lungs, she needed life-support machines in order to breathe. Even though her intelligence appeared normal, the doctors encouraged her family to have Bonnie institutionalized so that she might receive the best medical care possible. A short time later, her family was forced to move across the country due to a work transfer. Then, much to the surprise of everyone, she survived her first year. She also pulled through a second; then 5, 10, and now a full 12 years. Bonnie’s will to live was extraordinary.
Over the weeks, we became best friends. I learned of her affection for turtles, calico kittens, mysteries, stuffed animals, and strawberry ice cream. Above all, Bonnie liked to sing. Her voice was like a bell, ringing a message of joy to all who heard it. She learned to read music, play the autoharp, and harmonize when we sang together.
Bonnie had spent her entire life inside the hospital. She longed to find out what wind and rain might feel like on her face. She dreamed of walking barefoot and picking pretty flowers. Her greatest wish was to be free from the noisy, sterile machines that kept her alive.
About Thanksgiving time, Bonnie took a turn for the worse. Her breathing became labored. Now she was only able to sing for short periods of time or not at all. I tried to cheer her up by asking her to choose a favorite song. Her answer that day, however, had nothing at all to do with singing.
“I’m going to die soon,” Bonnie said, “and I’m afraid. What do you think death will be like?”
I tried to explain the plan of salvation. I told her that she had been sent to earth for a special purpose—to obtain a body, to experience the joys and pains of life, to learn about keeping the commandments, and to learn about God’s plan for her.
I also explained that she didn’t need to fear death. When it was her appointed time, our Heavenly Father would send for her. Peacefully, her spirit would leave her body and be ready to return to his presence. When she arrived, there would be loved ones to welcome her. In her new heavenly home, she would be strong and healthy, with no pain, tubes, or machines.
Bonnie looked at me with piercing eyes, thinking. A feeling of peace filled the room. She heard and believed. It reminded me of the Primary song “I Am a Child of God.” I sang it to her. She was so touched by the words that she refused to let me leave until I taught it to her.
Over the next few weeks, this song became her own special anthem. When the pain was terrible, she sang this song to herself. She said she could feel Heavenly Father’s arms around her whenever she sang it.
One chilly morning in December, I entered her room and suddenly knew that Bonnie had died. I saw an empty bed with clean folded sheets and blankets stacked on top of it. The machines had been turned off. Bonnie’s journey to her heavenly home had finally come.
I was stunned. Then sadness began to consume me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was afraid. What if there was no life after death? If there truly was a God, then why did children like Bonnie have to suffer and die? My soul hurt.
Then I remembered Bonnie and her sweet voice, pure and true. I saw a young face racked with pain, clinging to hope with eyes full of faith. She was singing to me with all her heart, pushing away all doubts and fears. She knew of God’s plan for her.
Peace then came, replacing my doubts and fears with truth. I knew then that Bonnie had not only found the way but also helped me find it again.
Bonnie’s funeral was two days later. I was asked to sing. When I walked into the room, one of the nurses whispered that Bonnie’s family was sitting on the front row, having just flown in. The funeral service was simple. Some doctors, nurses, and therapists spoke of the special times they had shared with Bonnie.
When it was my turn to sing, I walked to the front with a prayer in my heart that the words to the song, Bonnie’s anthem, would be a source of comfort to her family.
Lead me, guide me, walk beside me.
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.
(Hymns, no. 307).
I could almost hear Bonnie singing along with me. Then the meeting closed. I stood in line to pay my respects to the family. As I stretched forth my hand, Bonnie’s mother took me aside. With emotion in her voice, she asked, “How did you know?”
I answered softly, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
She spoke again, “How did you know we were members of the Church?”
I was left speechless as she explained that their family had been taught the gospel during the past few months. They had been baptized only the month before.
I told Bonnie’s mother of her daughter’s questions regarding the plan of salvation. I told them how the song had comforted her in difficult times and how she had felt the Spirit of the Lord bear witness to her of the truth. While her family had been studying and praying to know if they should join the Church, Heavenly Father had provided a way for Bonnie to learn those same principles. The Lord had begun to prepare them to become an eternal family.
We hugged one another and cried as we realized the magnitude of what had just happened. They talked of plans to go to the temple and have Bonnie’s work done. Then their entire family could be sealed in the temple.
I know that Heavenly Father loved Bonnie, his precious daughter, whose simple short life had brought so much joy to those she knew. He knew her as an individual. He was aware of her suffering, trials, even her innermost fears. In her time of need, she heard the peaceful voice of the Spirit of the Holy Ghost bearing witness of God’s glorious plan of salvation, along with her own family, even across an entire continent.

But seriously, here's a story by an unknown author which I like because it shows how a dad was able to help a mom "endure it well" because of his own willingness to "endure it well."
Burnt BiscuitsWhen I was a kid, my mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. And I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening, my mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my mom and ask me how my day was at school. I don't remember what I told him that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that biscuit and eat every bite!
When I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."
Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He said, "Your Momma put in a hard day at work today and she's real tired. And besides - a little burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!"

James Edward Talmage was 13 years old when his family emigrated from their native England and settled in Provo, Utah.
Intelligent and thirsty for knowledge, James was a part-time member of the faculty of the Brigham Young Academy in Provo, Utah, by the time he was 17. He went on to study chemistry and geology at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania and at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland. Membership in many prominent scientific societies gave James Talmage access to important people and publications and helped him combat much of the prejudice faced by Latter-day Saints at the time.
In 1888 he married Mary May Booth. They became the parents of eight children. From 1894 to 1897 he was president of the University of Deseret in Salt Lake City (now the University of Utah). During that time he bought one of the popular new chain-driven bicycles and rode it often. One evening he arrived home an hour late for dinner, bruised, bloodied, and dirty. Near his home was a single-plank bridge across a ditch. Normally, he dismounted and crossed on foot. But this time he felt he could ride across. He kept at it, crash after crash, until he mastered the maneuver.
Elder Talmage was an effective lecturer, and some of his talks and lessons became the basis of some of the books for which he is well-known, including The Articles of Faith. Prior to his call to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1911, the First Presidency had asked him to write a book on the life and ministry of the Savior. Later, a room was set aside in the Salt Lake Temple where Elder Talmage could concentrate on his writing. His 700-page book, Jesus the Christ, was published in 1915 and has been reprinted several times since then.

Photographs courtesy of the Lewis family and by Richard M. Romney and Donal Pearce
Blake Lewis, 17, was among the leaders at the Utah 6A state high school cross-country championships, and his best friend and teammate, Sean Rausch, 18, was right behind him. “Our team, Riverton, had never won state before, and we were going for it,” Sean says.
The race was intense, but Riverton was doing well. With only 200 meters (220 yards) left in the three-mile race, the first runners were about to leave the hills and grass behind, make a sharp turn, and enter the stadium where they would sprint to the finish.
Then, Blake fell. Not from a trip or a stumble. He collapsed. The tibia bone in his lower leg had snapped.
“I came around a corner and saw Blake lying on the ground, holding his leg and screaming in pain,” Sean remembers.
Even though Sean was a senior and this was his last chance to race at state, he didn’t hesitate. “I had no thought of leaving Blake and just finishing the race,” he says. “He wanted to finish and so did I, and I was ready to help him the whole way. So, I put him on my back and carried him to the finish line.”
Two hundred meters is a long way to carry somebody that’s your same height and weight. “I wanted to comfort him,” Sean says. “So, I kept reminding him of the years we’d been running together, of the 1,250 miles (2,012 km) we’d run together over the summer.”
In between Blake’s groans, Sean kept repeating, “We’re a team, and we’re a family.” An official rushed up to tell them giving assistance to another runner wasn’t allowed, but Sean said it didn’t matter. “We’re in this together,” he said, “and we’re going to finish it together.” The official disqualified them both, but allowed them to continue.
At the end of their ordeal, Sean gently set Blake down so that he could step—actually, hop—over the finish line. Then Blake, with help, climbed into an ambulance.
The Riverton men’s team took third place as a team, but they didn’t celebrate. Instead, they kneeled and prayed for Blake. And when the women’s team found out about Blake, they did the same.
“I was in the hospital when I heard they had prayed for me,” Blake said. “That was so emotional, that my teammates would do that for me.”
“We prayed that Blake would be all right, and that nothing too serious would result,” Sean says. And he believes the prayer was answered. “The doctor said the injury could have been a lot worse if Blake had tried to finish the race on his own.”
“And the doctor told my mom it was a miracle that it was a clean break, lined up so straight that no surgery was necessary,” Blake says. “Otherwise they would have placed a metal rod in my leg, and running would have become painful.”
Websites, TV stations, and newspapers across the USA featured accounts of Sean carrying Blake to the finish line. A social media video went viral, and the story popped up in Asia, Australia, South America, and Europe.
“I think our story became popular because people like to be reminded there’s still good in the world,” Blake says. Sean agrees: “It’s nice to see that a simple act of kindness can touch so many lives.”
The local community also celebrated Sean’s good deed. At Riverton’s annual Veteran’s Day celebration, which features a 5K and a one-mile run, Sean was recognized as a “local hero,” and Blake was invited to sound the horn to start the race.
In a short speech, Sean said, “I’m not a hero. I was just taking care of my brother.”
Both young men feel their experience reinforced gospel principles to them.
“We all have hardships in our lives,” Blake says. “But just like Sean was there for me, the Savior is there for us. If we let Him, He’ll pick us up and help us finish.”
“If any one of us on the team went down,” Sean says, “the rest of the team would be there for him.” The same is true for his priesthood quorum. “We’re always there as a team, serving together. For Mutual, Church meetings, sacrament, and any service that anybody needs, we’re always trying to help and support each other.”
“When we run, we always set goals, then train to meet those goals,” Blake said. “If you don’t train, you’re not going to get better. Our ultimate eternal goal is to have eternal life and to return to our Heavenly Father. So, we have spiritual goals, and we train through prayer, scripture study, service, staying worthy, repentance—so that we can make it to the spiritual finish line.”

What can you do with five wooden cubes and five minutes?
That’s easy. Create a walking, talking Mormonad.
Instead of putting on road shows, the teens of the Ogden Utah Burch Creek Stake, took on the challenge of doing something different. They had a Mormonad night. The Young Women and Young Men leaders found that with such a large stake (11 wards and 600 young people), it would be impossible to get through regular road shows comfortably in one evening. So another kind of creativity took over.
“We presented the wards with the idea of putting on five-minute skits or commercials about gospel subjects. We got the idea from the Mormonads in the New Era” said Nila Dayton, stake cultural arts specialist. “We gave each ward five wooden cubes that they had to use in some way.” The cubes were big enough to sit or stand on and became the basis for the simple, portable scenery.
There were a few other rules as well. The wards were given just three weeks to prepare. This avoided the lengthy and exhausting preparations that sometimes go with road shows. The curtain would not be closed between skits, so all scenery and props had to be carried on and off with the actors. And each ward was encouraged to include a song and a dance.
How did it go? In most of the wards, the young people really took over. Andrew Noyes of the 74th Ward said, “About ten of us showed up to the planning meeting. We kept thinking of fun commercials and how we could change them. Then we started writing lyrics to go with a song. We were writing new verses right up to the night we had to put it on.”
“We liked being so involved,” said Kathryn Norton of the 77th Ward. “We liked having a say instead of the leaders doing so much of it.”
Nolan Godfrey of the 60th Ward said, “It was a lot easier and more relaxed.” His friend Andy Mair added, “There wasn’t as much stress because we were just doing it for fun.”
These teens know how much a clever jingle can stick in your mind. On this night, a few familiar tunes had new and improved lyrics. The Mormonad night was packed to the back of the cultural hall. The skits were fast and fun, and most important of all, they each made a good gospel point.

At times the call to service extended to a member of the Relief Society is a bit unusual. Such an assignment I share with you in closing.

When I was bishop of the Sixth-Seventh Ward in Salt Lake City, back when we had a Relief Society Magazine, I noted that our record for subscriptions to that publication was low. Prayerfully my counselors and I analyzed the names of the individuals whom we could call to be magazine representative, and the inspiration dictated that Elizabeth Keachie should be given the assignment. She responded affirmatively to the call. She and her sister-in-law Helen Ivory, also a member of the ward, commenced to canvass the entire ward, house by house, street by street, and block by block. The result was phenomenal. We had more subscriptions to the Relief Society Magazine than had been recorded by all the other units of our stake combined.

I congratulated Elizabeth Keachie one Sunday evening and said to her, “Your task is done.”

She replied, “Not yet, Bishop. There are two blocks we have not yet covered.”

When she told me which blocks they were, I said, “Sister Keachie, no one lives on those blocks. That area is all industrial.”

“Just the same,” she said, “I’ll feel better if I can go and check them myself.”

Sister Keachie and Sister Ivory, on a rainy day, covered those final two blocks but discovered no homes. As they were about to discontinue their search, they noted a driveway which was strewn with mud puddles from a recent storm. It was next to a foundry. Sister Keachie gazed down the driveway perhaps 60 feet and could just make out a garage with a curtain at the window.

Deciding to investigate, the two sweet sisters walked through the mud to a point where the entire garage could be seen. Now they noticed a door, not visible from the street, which had been cut into the side of the garage. They noticed a chimney with smoke rising from it.

They knocked at the door. A man of about 65 years of age, William Ringwood, answered. They presented their story concerning the need of every home having the Relief Society Magazine. William Ringwood replied, “You’d better ask my father.” Ninety-three-year-old Charles W. Ringwood then came to the door and also listened to the message. He subscribed.

Elizabeth Keachie reported to me the presence of these two men in our ward. When I requested their membership certificates from the Membership Department at the Presiding Bishopric’s Office, I was told that the certificates had remained in the lost file of the Presiding Bishopric’s Office for many years.

On Sunday morning Elizabeth Keachie brought to our priesthood meeting Charles and William Ringwood—the first time they had been inside a chapel for a long while. Charles Ringwood, 93, was the oldest deacon I had ever met, and his son was the oldest male member holding no priesthood I had ever met.

The elder Brother Ringwood was ordained a priest and then an elder. I shall never forget his interview with respect to seeking a temple recommend. He handed me a silver dollar which he took from an old worn leather coin purse and said, “This is my fast offering.”

I replied, “Oh, Brother Ringwood, you owe no fast offering. You need it yourself.”

“I want to receive the blessings, not keep the money,” he responded.

It was my opportunity to take Charles Ringwood to the Salt Lake Temple and to attend with him the endowment session. That same evening Elizabeth Keachie served as proxy for the deceased Sister Ringwood.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, Charles Ringwood said to me, “Bishop, I told my wife just before she died 16 years ago that I would not delay in getting this work done. I am happy this has been accomplished.”

Within two months, Charles W. Ringwood passed away. At his funeral service, I noticed his family sitting on the front row of the mortuary chapel, but I also noticed two sweet ladies sitting near the rear—Elizabeth Keachie and Helen Ivory. As I gazed upon those two sweet women, I thought of the 76th section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end. Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.” I testify that we can find joy in service.

Christian loves his grandmother very much and visits her every Sunday afternoon. “He is very special to me,” she says. “He is always obedient and kind.” She recalls an incident that happened several years ago, while she was tending Christian and Itzel. A pot on the stove exploded. Seeing Itzel’s fiery-red face, Sister Chavarín thought that her granddaughter had been badly burned, so she threw cold water on her. Christian calmly explained that his little sister wasn’t burned at all. Her face was bright red because she had gotten into her mother’s makeup.

At age 25, I found myself in a verbally abusive relationship. I’d become less active in the Church, but when I finally left my boyfriend, I decided to go back to attending church regularly. I wanted to be on the straight and narrow path again. Little did I know, though, that when I made that decision, I was already pregnant.
I decided to stay true to my choice to be active again in the Church, but I didn’t really want to be pregnant and go to church where I lived. I wanted to attend a ward in a different city, so I went there one Sunday. It was the day of the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. As the children talked about how Heavenly Father always loves us, I felt His love too. That message was a great blessing for me that day.
After the meeting, I asked the bishop if I could attend that ward given my situation. He advised me to go to the ward within my boundaries. I didn’t want to, but he assured me I’d be OK, and I was.
When I told my bishop about my pregnancy, he was so helpful. It was a blessing to meet with him regularly. As I talked with him about my options for the baby, he wanted me to know that he was there to represent the Lord in my repentance process but would not tell me what decision to make about raising or placing my baby. As we were studying Doctrine and Covenants 9:8–9, my bishop asked me to pray and tell Heavenly Father what I really wanted—he encouraged me to make a decision and seek confirmation from the Lord.
So I went home and prayed. I told Heavenly Father all the amazing reasons why I would be the best mom for this baby, and I asked to know if that decision was right. The next day, everything in life felt like it was falling apart. For instance, I lost my medical insurance, and my car broke down.
At church the following Sunday, I told my bishop how life seemed to fall apart after I prayed about my decision. Because of what had happened after my prayer, my bishop suggested that I consider a different decision and seek confirmation about it instead.
While working with my bishop, I had considered placing the baby for adoption and had narrowed down the potential adoptive families to two couples. The bishop suggested that I select one of the two couples and pray about that decision to ask if this little guy needed to go with them.
I went home and reluctantly prayed, asking Heavenly Father if the couple I had chosen were the ones my child needed. The next morning, a connection my sister made led to a miracle solution for my insurance. I felt this was a confirmation that adoption was the right path for me, and I remember thinking this child could have so much more with a different family.
I knew that Heavenly Father would help me with this decision. Part of me hoped this choice would be like the story of Abraham and Isaac (see Genesis 22)—that when it came time for me to place my son for adoption, God would tell me I didn’t need to do it anymore. But He didn’t. I needed to place my son with a wonderful family.
As I sat in the hospital with my new little bundle of joy, I turned on the TV. General conference happened to be on. I heard a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles entitled “None Were with Him.” He taught that “because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so.”1 I closed my eyes and told Heavenly Father that I felt so alone, and then I felt so much love from Him.
After the placement, I felt completely empty. But in the back of my mind, I still knew I wasn’t alone. I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were with me, as Elder Holland had taught. I prepared for the temple and received my endowment. I was obeying the commandments, and I was determined I would never let myself be deceived into wrong choices again.
But years later, I was deceived again and ended up in another abusive relationship. When I broke away, I found out I was pregnant again. I didn’t want to place the baby. I was older than before, and I felt like I could be a good mom. I met with my bishop and a social worker. I started following the same process that I had before in praying about adoption, but nothing ever seemed to click. It always felt difficult.
I still went to church. Sometimes ward members would say they were surprised to see me there pregnant, which hurt a little. But I still went every week. I wanted people to see that what I had done reflected a choice I had made but that it didn’t define who I was. I worked with my bishop to move forward.
As my due date grew closer, I started to panic. With my first baby, I’d had a plan, but this one was so different. I didn’t feel like I was receiving a strong answer regarding any option for my baby. I let the couple whom I had placed my first baby with know that I was pregnant but unsure of whether I would place, and that if I did place, I would want them to raise this baby as well.
After I had the baby, I still felt unsure. Then my doctor came in to check on us and said, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to have children again, so love this little one.” While that may not be the answer for everyone, I felt the Spirit confirm that this was the right choice for me. After panicking for nine months, I felt peace. I let the couple know that I had decided to parent my daughter.
I wanted to be the best mom I could be, and I knew that the only way to do that was staying close to family and the Lord’s Church. I knew that what I had learned in the gospel of Jesus Christ would help her like it had helped me.
With my pregnancies, was one decision easier than the other? No. Both options were hard—just different kinds of hard, as were the joys. With my daughter, she is an incredible delight to me. Yet being a single mother is hard. With the son I placed, I still think about him and hope he’s happy throughout his life, but I am not as involved in his day-to-day happenings. When I was pregnant with him, I couldn’t see what Heavenly Father had in mind for him. But now I can see it, and I know he’s where he needs to be.
We can’t know beforehand what placing or single parenting will be like. But we can always trust in the Lord.
As part of my repentance, I remember hearing my bishop say, “Your sins are forgiven.” I felt such great relief, and I realized that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is real. I would remember my sin, but from that moment on, my Savior, Jesus Christ, would remember it no more (see Doctrine and Covenants 58:42). I knew that He wanted me to move forward to become a better person, to become what He sees I can be. That’s what I strive to do every day—to become even closer to Him and to hold ever tighter to the iron rod (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24; see also 1 Nephi 11:25).
One of my favorite scriptures reads, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). I am grateful for Heavenly Father’s plan of redemption.
I currently serve as my ward’s Young Women president. One principle I try to help the young women learn is that regardless of any choices they make, there is no place where they are out of Heavenly Father’s reach. As Elder Holland taught: “However many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don’t have, or however far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines.”2
I hope that the young women in my ward—and everyone—remember that truth. It has blessed my life immeasurably, and the joys I now feel in living the gospel have become an even greater strength to me.

At one time in my life, I reached a point of personal discouragement when I questioned my abilities and was filled with self-pity. I went to my office one night. It was dark, and I lay on the floor sobbing. I stopped crying because I finally became physically exhausted. As I lay there in the quiet, in the dark, by myself, the scripture “Love thy neighbor as thyself” came to mind. That message could not have come more strongly if the Savior himself had stood before me and spoken the words. The emphasis was not on “love thy neighbor”; it was on loving thyself. Before we can love our neighbors we must love ourselves and see ourselves as God sees us. If we cannot love ourselves, we will find it difficult to love our Heavenly Father and our neighbors. Loving oneself is, for me, an essential key to loving God, life, and others.

Through the front door of the modest, but neat, row house at 50 Rock Street in Lowell, Massachusetts, comes the exotic aroma of Asian food. Two little Cambodian girls sit on the front steps flashing smiles that are even more inviting than the wonderful fragrance that fills the warm, humid midafternoon air. Step into the living room and you are immediately impressed with the strong sense of family community. The walls are lined with poster-size photographs of relatives: exquisite Cambodian brides in ceremonial costumes juxtaposed among Americanized Asian youth proudly standing by their Trans Am automobiles. A dozen friends, neighbors, and cousins are comfortably seated on well-worn sofas and the floor, happily talking as they watch a Cambodian video. Children seem to outnumber adults three to one but play contentedly among themselves.
The kitchen is a bustle of activity. Fifteen-year-old Savy is at the table grinding a small mountain of garlic and curry with an oversize mortar and pestle. Nineteen-year-old Soph is mixing a crowd-size pot of prohok (seasoned fish) and squash soup. Others chat and laugh while working among boxes of Thai noodles, limes, and all sorts of exotic spices.
This could be the home of any one of thousands of southeast Asian families that have settled in this melting pot city of 100,000. But 50 Rock Street is the home of Chea Touch (pronounced Cheea Tooch), a 12-year-old Cambodian boy and recent convert to the Church. Although a member of the Billerica (Massachusetts) Ward for less than a year, and the only member of his family to join the Church, this remarkable young man has been directly responsible for the baptisms of 15 other Asian friends.
“It has not been easy for my family and me to come to a new country. There are many things we don’t understand, and we have many struggles. The elders have shown us that they care about us and they want us to be happy,” relates Chea. He adds, “I’ve always known I have a Heavenly Father who loves me. It’s been wonderful to learn more about him and know what I must do to return to him. I want my friends to know the truth so they can have the happiness I do.”
Chea’s efforts, combined with those of the stake and full-time elders assigned to this area, have resulted in a total of 150 convert baptisms in eight months.
Our story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At that time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.
Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues, “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in an 11-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia after suffering through long days of fear and hard work on a rice farm. The Touch family does not like to speak about the events in their past life. It is painful to recall the tortures and brutal slayings. Seven of their children died in Cambodia.
Chea and his remaining family were able to escape one night in 1979 after the Khmer Rouge was overthrown by the Vietnamese forces. They trekked through the mountains and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is six, and Dani, age four.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attend church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined.
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would hop over the back fence and climb the stairs to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “After fixing himself a piece of unbuttered toast, he would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
With a twinkle in his eye, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”
Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his newfound knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”
For Chea it is not a sacrifice but a real joy to share Heavenly Father’s message. “Each time I go with the elders I seem to learn something new. I enjoy learning about how to return to Heavenly Father—what I must do and what I must avoid.”
Irene Danjou, Chea’s former Primary president, beams as she remembers, “Each Sunday he would bring a different friend to church. He’d introduce them to me, spell their names, tell me their ages, and sit with them until they felt comfortable. Then he would go to his own class. He did this every week for a whole year!”
One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, sitting on my hardwood rocking chair, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts gathered. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ [3 Ne. 27:7] I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his million dollar smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yep, Chea, sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.
Chea will be entering the sixth grade this fall. He loves to fish and play basketball and enjoys video games. Like other Cambodian youth in America, he plays an important role in helping his parents learn their new language and culture. The adults spend long hours working to make ends meet and don’t have much free time to learn English. The youth, on the other hand, pick up the language quickly and bring it home. Chea’s been particularly fortunate. Along with his regular public school classes, he’s in a special program at the Sylvan Learning Center in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Director Joan O’Brien sees Chea as a unique child. “I think he’s a youngster who will be a real leader in the Cambodian culture. He’s like a pitcher that cannot be filled.”

We had Mrs. Jacobson over for Christmas dinner last year. I now have someone to visit with when I feel depressed, like the other day when I went out with Dave and I spilled spaghetti all over and felt like climbing under the table. I told Mrs. Jacobson about that, and she told me about how once when she was dating her husband, he came to visit her one evening. She thought he was coming a half hour later than he did. He came to the door while she was in her room. Mrs. Jacobson’s sister invited him in to sit down and started to go up the stairs to announce that he was there. Mrs. Jacobson came out of her bedroom door, intending to go downstairs and borrow a necklace. She started singing a song and was halfway down the stairs when she saw the young man grinning up at her. I guess everybody does things like that sometimes.