Gospel Story Finder

These profiles can have a profound influence for good. Two months ago a young man named Zac—a freshman in college—saw an ad for mormon.org on television in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He connected with the Web site and was intrigued by the profiles of Church members. At our Web site he found the link that informed him where he could attend church. The next Sunday, dressed in a white shirt and tie, he attended church, was introduced to members of the ward, and enjoyed all three hours of meetings. He was invited to a member’s home for dinner, followed by his first missionary lesson. In less than two weeks, he was baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church.21 Welcome, Zac! (He is listening.)

Wilford Kimball was our bishop when I was an older teenager. He had two daughters who were my age, Ardyth and Virginia. Every, I mean every, Sunday evening we would go to Bishop Kimball’s house. Always they would be there. Always we would have refreshments. Never once did any of us feel unwelcome. It wasn’t just for a few months but literally for a few years. I don’t know how they ever afforded it, let alone put up with ten to fifteen teenage youths for two to three hours every Sunday night.
From the little group who attended those get-togethers there have been five or six bishops, several high councilors, two stake presidents, several counselors in stake presidencies, a General Authority, and wives of all these priesthood brethren. Bishop Kimball himself was later called as a stake president and then as a mission president, and there are some who were there who followed him and also became mission presidents. What a privilege to walk with Wilford Kimball and his wife in high places, their home.

The New Era has confirmed my belief in ESP—Extra Spiritual Protection. Since I came on my mission, the New Era has ranked second only to the standard works. It seems like every issue is designed with one of my problems in mind. I felt it was merely a coincidence until I picked up your April issue. It was my birthday, and the mission president called to tell me my father had passed away. Needless to say, it was quite a blow, but my district leader had given us the April magazine, and as I picked it up, it fell open to the article “What Is the Purpose of Suffering?” You can’t realize the strength it gave me to continue my work. I have since learned that my father knew he wasn’t going to be alive when I returned, but he didn’t tell me because he wanted to see me go on my mission. I want to thank Kenneth H. Beesley for writing the article. Every month I become more convinced that the New Era articles are inspired. I hope they can offer other people as much strength as they have me. My only regret is that the magazine comes out only once a month.
Elder Robert Jefferson Busch, Jr.England Bristol Mission

I’d like to give a view of what the Church is like over here in Vietnam. The base I’m at is a composite base with Air Force, Army, Navy, Seabee, and Vietnamese armed forces stationed here. There are Mormon members in each group. There is one Vietnamese member-family and they have several children, two of whom attended church this morning. They are certainly cute, and as are all Oriental children, they are well-mannered; but they are full of zest and giggle and wiggle as do all children. I haven’t learned all their names yet, but one of them is called Nga. Their father is an enlisted man in the Vietnamese Air Force.
You never know about this Church! While driving my jeep this morning, I picked up an Air Force sergeant who was walking toward the west side of the base where we have our meetings. I asked him where he was going and he said rather vaguely, “Over by the fire station.” I knew right away he meant where the Mormons were meeting because no American goes over to that side of the base on Sunday—everything is closed down. So I prodded him a bit to see how far I had to force him before he’d tell me he was a Latter-day Saint. I asked, “Where near the fire station?” “Oh, anywhere will be fine.” “Do you mean where the Mormons are meeting?” I asked. “Yes, I do,” he said in surprise. I held out my hand and introduced myself. We drove along and came upon another man walking. This time he was a young soldier in combat fatigues. He was carrying a zippered book that looked suspiciously like a three-in-one. As we pulled up, I called out, “Going to priesthood?” “Hey, yeah!” was the startled reply. He climbed aboard. After introductions he asked, “Where have you been stationed?” I said in Ohio. Then I said I had also been stationed in Puerto Rico, and his face lit up. “‘Hey, do you know President Burke Adams?” “Sure do,” I said, adding that I was his counselor for awhile. “That’s it,” he said. “I was in the Florida Mission and I met you in Puerto Rico. We even ate dinner together once.” So two and a half years later and 10,000 miles away, our paths crossed again. When we got to the meeting place, there were ten Mormon servicemen present. We had priesthood, Sunday School, and fast and testimony meetings. During it all I couldn’t help but wonder if Joseph Smith and those who were with him in New York on April 6, 1830, really knew what they were starting. Over a hundred years later and thousands of miles away, a small group of American servicemen, a couple of Vietnamese, and a Chinese were to meet in humble circumstances to enjoy the gospel’s message. Our meeting was no doubt being duplicated thousands of times in other parts of the globe. We sat on crudely fashioned benches worn smooth by the seats of combat uniforms. Here priesthood bearers sincerely confessed their weaknesses and their gratitude and in reverent silence partook of the sacrament while jet and prop-driven planes from the air base nearby roared overhead.
Virgil KovalenkoVietnam

And all of the Thordersons know that being different because of their values is more than all right—it’s the way to set a good example for others around you. Kurt said, “While we were growing up, Eric and I were the only LDS students in our high school, and we were in a graduating class of about 650. And then when I went to Wayne State, the only other Latter-day Saints out of 30,000 people were Eric and Dad (he works as an administrator there). It was hard, but it also made me stand up for what I believe.”

“Dad was my hero when I was growing up and my best friend when I became an adult. He was the ward clerk and the deacons quorum adviser. He taught us that we don’t need to receive credit from other people for what we do. To provide examples to us children, Dad would often talk about how businessmen were handling their affairs. He and Mother both taught us to be honest. And they both supported us by attending any athletic contest or event at school that we were in.

“My favorite babysitter was my grandaunt Bertha Irvine, my grandmother’s older sister. She was a personal secretary to Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow, Joseph F. Smith, Heber J. Grant, and George Albert Smith. Sometimes I went to her office in the Church Administration Building and sat at her feet while she worked. Or I would play outside and climb on the building and around its big pillars. We’ve had twelve prophets, and I’ve known and shaken hands with six of them. I never even dreamed that I would ever have an office in that very building, but I serve today with a number of men who knew Aunt Bertha well: President Kimball, President Benson, and President Hinckley. She worked with Elder Joseph Anderson for years in the office of our wonderful prophets.

“My experiences with Sunday School and Primary teachers were important to me as I was growing up. I remember the little red chairs we used to sit in and how church was always an exciting and pleasant place to go. I looked forward to summer Primary, when we would make things out of wood and out of paper. I loved that. As I think back and remember Sister Condie and Sister Anderson and Sister Barnes and some of the other lovely teachers I had, I can remember them more clearly than I can my school teachers. I won a copy of Huckleberry Finn because I had the best attendance record. I still have that book. I appreciate the teacher who gave it to me.

“I had a great experience when I graduated from Primary. Back in those days we each had a green bandalo. I had lost mine. I looked everywhere, including under my bed and through everything in the closet. Finally my mother said, ‘Why don’t you pray about it. Ask Heavenly Father to help you find it.’ So I went to my room and prayed. Even as I was praying, a voice seemed to say, ‘In the dresser, caught underneath the drawer.’ The dresser was in the hall because there wasn’t enough room in my tiny bedroom. When I pulled out the drawer and reached up inside, there it was, caught on a silver! That was the first direct answer to prayer that I can remember receiving. I was proud that I could wear my bandalo when I stood next to Bishop Rulon Sperry as he nominated me to graduate from Primary and to be ordained to the office of a deacon.

“Many summers my family went to Cedar City and stayed on my uncle’s farm. There was no electricity or water in the house, so we carried buckets of water into the house from outside. I experienced farm life as it really was in those days. Now my assignment is with the people in that very same area. It is special to go there—it’s like going home. Some of the people there remember my uncle and aunt and other families I knew.

“A special message that I give to all the children in the world is this: First, love Jesus. He especially loves children, and if children can learn to love Him, then when they are older, they will continue to love Him and understand Him. I think that little children sometimes understand Jesus better than older people do because children forgive so quickly and love so easily.

“Second, live the commandments. The people I know who are truly happy are those who live the commandments. Whatever Heavenly Father wants us to do—such as paying our tithing and going to church and being nice to our brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers—that’s what we should do.

“Third, obey Church leaders. When I was a Primary boy, my parents would always talk about our wonderful bishop, Bishop Sperry. When I was a deacon, my bishop was Rex C. Reeve, Sr., a man with whom I serve today. I have always loved those men. When I don’t have a Church assignment on Sunday, which isn’t very often, I attend my own ward. My bishop there is Ole Johnson, and I love him today just as I loved Bishop Sperry and Bishop Reeve when I was young. If we love our Church leaders and obey what they tell us to do, then we’ll never make serious mistakes.”

“Going to a new school is hard. I hope I can make some friends.”
“Hey, wanna hang out with us?”
“Sure!”
“Wow, I’m glad I won’t be alone today.”
For the first few days, things were going great until …
“Did you see her hair?”
“Look at his shoes; they’re so ugly!”
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
“This doesn’t feel right.”
“I don’t think I should hang out with those guys anymore, but if I leave, who will I hang out with?”
“I think I need to stop hanging out with them. I hope I’ll make new friends. But if not, I still want to do what’s right.”
It’s difficult for a while, but he’s still hopeful that he will make new friends.
“Hey, how’s it going? My name’s Antonio. What’s yours?”

Lisa is a little embarrassed to remember that she and her friends used to laugh a little at the filmstrips they watched in seminary. That made her want to perform so that her character was believable. “I wanted to make this character real so that at least one person who watched it would stop and say, What is she really saying? What is she really wondering about? The whole cast set that as a goal.
“I did make fun of the filmstrips when I was in seminary,” said Lisa. “We had little jokes about what they were wearing and their hairstyles. I can remember when the wardrobe lady was dressing me and doing my hair. I thought, Now I know why we laughed. I would laugh sometimes at myself while I was doing it. It was a humbling experience. There is a message behind what the characters are wearing and how their hair looks. There is a message or a mood behind it all.”

Rachel put her key in the lock. Coming home to an empty apartment was the worst part of every day. It wasn’t really empty, but for the three long hours until Mom arrived home from work, it felt that way.
The first time she’d come home to the Mom-less apartment, Rachel had thrown herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep. But now, seven months later, instead of crying each day, she planned something to keep her busy until Mom came home. This helped a little, but down deep she was still afraid to be in the apartment alone.
Today Rachel had a video Mom had borrowed from the Richardsons, a family who lived downstairs. She took the tape out of the box, which was labeled “From Grandma, with love.” She loaded the tape into the VCR on her way to the small kitchen. She could see the TV while she fixed herself a snack.
The video began in the middle of the tape. A man was talking. How boring, Rachel thought. I wonder if there’s anything else on the tape.
She opened a jar of peaches and dished some into a plastic bowl. When she picked up the jar to put it back into the refrigerator, her elbow bumped the bowl of peaches, splattering peach halves all across the floor. The bowl landed upside down in its own puddle of peach juice.
“What a mess!” She glanced over at the TV. The man was still talking: “… young girls, learn from your mothers the important homemaking skills you will use in your own home.”*
Yeah, skills like how not to make a mess when you’re getting a snack, Rachel thought. As she worked, she began to scold herself again. Then the man’s words caught her attention once more: “Now I want to talk to you children who do not feel safe and who are frightened. … Sometimes you may feel all alone. You need to know that even when it seems that no one else cares, your Heavenly Father does, He will always love you. He wants you to be protected and safe.”
Who was this man? His kind eyes and smile sympathized with her and her loneliness. He told a story about Jesus blessing children while angels came down and fire surrounded them. The man continued: “I promise you, dear children, that angels will minister unto you also. You may not see them, but they will be there to help you, and you will feel of their presence.”
The words filled her heart with calm. Maybe it was true. Maybe angels were there to help her. Maybe the calm she felt right now was their presence.
Well, whatever this feeling is, I hope it won’t go away. It’s very nice, Rachel thought as she wiped up the floor.
By the time she finished cleaning up the peaches, she wasn’t hungry anymore, so she returned to the living room.
The man’s talk was over, and a very old man was on—he looked like a great-grandpa. Surrounded by children, he was singing a song Rachel had never heard. He kept repeating the words “Mormon Boy.” Afterward he said to the children, “I love you, and you, and all of you.” Rachel pretended he said it to her too.
Who were those men? Why did they make her feel so good? Were there really angels? What was a “Mormon boy”? Was it a nationality, like being a French boy? Maybe Mom could answer some of her questions.
But Mom was so tired after work that she only wanted to get supper over with and go to bed. Rachel didn’t want to bother her with questions.
After Mom went to bed, Rachel decided to watch the video again. Maybe that same good feeling would return.
Rewinding the tape to the very first, she lined up several dolls on the couch, and flopped down among them.
The man with the kind eyes spoke. “We shall now be pleased to listen to the closing remarks of President Ezra Taft Benson, our beloved prophet, which he has asked me to read. Following the presentation of his message, we shall see a delightful television clip of President Benson singing to the youth, whom he loves.”
Rachel told her dolls, “The grandpa who sings is a prophet!”
“… And as you listen, I pray that you will know that this is a personal message just for you.”
“He’s talking right to us,” Rachel told her companions.
“How I love you! How our Heavenly Father loves you!” were the prophet’s words.
The warmth of the message wrapped around Rachel. And for a moment, she was calm and happy again. From the bedroom, Mom’s voice interrupted. “Rachel! Turn off the TV and go to bed!”
Rachel sighed. To her dolls she said, “Come on, we’ll watch more tomorrow.”
The next morning Rachel tried to talk to her mom about the videotape. “Mom, are there really angels?”
“I’ve never seen any.” Mom still seemed tired.
“Are there prophets?”
“Oh, maybe there were back in Bible days. There aren’t any now.”
“Oh.” She decided to say no more about the video for a while.
That day after school, and the next several days as well, Rachel dreaded coming home from school until she remembered the talk. Sometimes she kept the talk on in the background as she did her chores or her homework. Other times she arranged her dolls on the couch and sat with them, listening.
Rachel was happy when she listened to the talk, although there was a lot she didn’t understand. What were Latter-day Saints? What was a Book of Mormon? The prophet wanted them to read it. What about Primary? Sacrament meeting? He wanted her to attend, but she didn’t know what they were. He also said to pray, something Rachel and her Mom hadn’t done in years, although they used to back when Daddy was still alive.
Rachel began praying each night, which made it easier to keep hold of the special feeling the talk gave her.
Mom noticed a difference in Rachel. “Something good must be happening at school. You’re a lot happier lately.”
Before bedtime on Friday, Mom had news that abruptly ended Rachel’s happiness: The Richardsons were being transferred.
“Would you return their video in the morning?” Mom asked. “They’re leaving tomorrow.”
“But that’s so soon!” Rachel exclaimed. “I wasn’t exactly done with it.”
“Well, honey, it’s just a video. I’ll get another one after work tomorrow.”
“But I want this tape.”
“What’s on it?” asked Mom.
“I don’t know what it’s called. Their grandma copied it for them off the TV.”
“If you find out what it is, maybe we can copy it from the TV ourselves sometime,” Mom suggested.
What a simple solution! “That’s a great idea, Mom,” Rachel said. “Thanks! Good night.”
The next morning Rachel woke up extra early so that she could watch the video before returning it. She closed her eyes tight, trying hard to memorize all her favorite parts. She fast-forwarded the tape to President Benson’s singing and his words, “I love all of you.” She whispered, “I love you, too,” rewound the tape, and ran downstairs to the Richardsons’.
Their door was wide open. Two men were carrying a sofa from the nearly empty apartment. Rachel followed them out to a truck parked at the curb. “Where are the Richardsons?”
“They’ve gone ahead in their car,” one of the men answered. “Didn’t you get to say good-bye to them?”
Rachel shook her head. Holding up the video, she added, “I was supposed to give them this. It belongs to them.” She hesitated. “And I wanted to ask them the name of the program on it so that I could tape it off the TV sometime.”
“Well, I’ll see them in just a few hours. I’ll give it to them and ask them to write and tell you the name of it.”
“Thank you very much.”
A week passed. Each afternoon before climbing the stairs to her apartment, Rachel checked the mailbox for the Richardsons’ letter. Every day it grew harder to recall her favorite parts of the talk. Every night she prayed that the Richardsons’ reply would come.
When Rachel woke up Saturday morning, she said to her dolls, “I just know the letter will come today!”
As she and her mom spent the morning doing housework, Rachel kept peeking out the window. “I’m waiting for the mail,” she explained. “The Richardsons are going to send me a letter that tells the name of their video so we can tape it off the TV.”
“They may not have had time to write yet, what with moving and unpacking and all,” Mom said gently.
Rachel’s heart sank. She let the curtain fall back into place and began folding clothes. Mom was probably right; the Richardsons would be too busy to write.
In spite of this, Rachel checked out the window once more. “The mail truck’s pulling away!” She ran out the door and down the steps to the cluster of mailboxes. Unlocking theirs, she reached inside for the mail.
“A bill, an advertisement, another bill—that’s all! That can’t be all!”
“Is something wrong?” said a voice behind her.
“Can we help you?” another voice joined in.
“Oh, I was hoping for something to come in the mail today, but it didn’t, after all.” Rachel turned around to face two strangers. Schoolteachers? She thought. Why are they wearing name tags?
“Do you live here?” one of the ladies asked.
Rachel nodded.
“Do you know the Richardsons?”
Again Rachel nodded.
“We stopped by to visit with them, but apparently they’re gone.”
“They moved last week,” Rachel said.
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t know, but my mom might be able to find out. You can come ask her.”
While talking to the ladies, Rachel had glimpsed “Latter-day Saints” on the little name tags! “Do you know a really old man, a prophet, named Ezra Taft Benson? I heard a talk by him, but someone else read it for him, and I wonder …”
The ladies smiled at her, then at each other as they followed Rachel up the stairs to her apartment.

When I was in first grade, I had a spelling test every Friday. One week I practiced really hard, but I still couldn’t get the word poisonous right. When it was time to take the test, I decided to write the word poisonous on the back of the paper I used to cover my test. I quickly put the paper in my desk so that I wouldn’t be tempted to cheat, but I secretly took it out again when it was almost time for the word poisonous.
As I thought about the word poisonous, I had a strong feeling that cheating was poison to my spirit. So I put the paper back in my desk for good! I still didn’t spell the word poisonous right, but I felt great and peaceful inside about not cheating and for choosing the right.

The children of the Calderón family started a great transition for their family. Jared, age 15, was the first to join the Church, followed a year later by his sister, Angie, 13. Their parents joined the Church three years after Angie’s baptism.
At first this family from Costa Rica had no idea how much the gospel of Jesus Christ would change their lives. They were introduced to the Church by a family member in 2002, and for many months afterward the Calderóns regularly invited the missionaries to their home so they could learn more. As they did so, the family experienced a transformation—a true conversion.
Before the family joined the Church, the Calderóns were concerned that Jared and Angie were having a hard time getting a moral and spiritual education in a world that downplays religion.
The gospel, the Calderóns found, had answers to the problems they were facing. “When we came to understand the gospel and started applying its teachings, that knowledge changed the way we lived,” says Brother Calderón. “We learned who we are and how we can return to our Heavenly Father. Because of what we found, we have lived a richer spiritual life.”
It wasn’t always easy to accept readily what they were learning from the missionaries, but as they tested gospel principles, they gained a testimony of them. “As we learned about gospel standards,” says Sister Calderón, “we tried to stay within the boundaries of worthiness. I gave up drinking coffee. (And I drank plenty of coffee before then!) We made goals as a family to not swear, to speak kindly to each other, and to keep other good principles.
“The main sacrifice we made was our pride,” she continues. “We had to learn to be humble, but as we’ve tried to learn and live with humility, we’ve received many blessings and experienced great progress as individuals, as a couple, and as a family.”
Jared Calderón was the first of his family to join the Church; he was baptized in June 2003. Angie followed in July 2004. Their parents were baptized in April 2007. And finally, shortly after the youngest member of the Calderón family, James, turned eight in 2007, he was baptized.

Alison listened eagerly as the bishop announced that their ward would be having a Christmas open house this year. “We want it to be a special evening,” he said. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to invite friends and neighbors.”
Alison loved the Christmas holidays. She liked shopping for presents for her family and friends and singing Christmas carols. And she loved reading the story of Jesus’s birth and thinking of Him as a small baby.
The bishop’s next words caught her attention. “Because of the open house, we won’t be having our traditional ward Christmas party this year.”
Alison frowned. “No party?” she whispered to her mother. The ward Christmas party was one of her favorite parts of the season.
Mom put a finger to her lips.
“Some of our friends and neighbors do not understand that we are Christians,” the bishop continued. “We want them to know that we believe in Jesus Christ.”
Alison thought about that. She remembered when her best friend, Erica, had said that Mormons weren’t Christians. She didn’t understand what Erica meant, so she had asked her parents about it.
“A lot of people focus on the name ‘Mormon’ or ‘Latter-day Saints,’” Mom had explained. “They forget that our Church is named for Jesus Christ.”
The next day at school, Alison had told Erica the first article of faith: “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.”
But Erica had just shrugged. “Then why don’t people call you Christians instead of Mormons?” she asked.
Alison turned her attention back to the bishop.
“The open house will focus on Jesus Christ,” he said. “We’re asking families to bring nativity sets, and we will have a live reenactment of the Nativity scene.”
As the time drew near for the open house, Alison started getting excited. Mom and Dad invited an elderly neighbor to go to the open house. Alison invited Erica.
The night of the open house, Alison helped Mom wrap both of the family’s nativity sets in newspaper. Then Mom and Dad drove her to pick up Erica.
When they got to the church, Alison and Erica looked at nativity sets from Japan, Austria, the Philippines, and many other countries.
Then the girls went outside where the young men and young women were acting out the Nativity. There were live cows, sheep, and even a nanny goat. “Everything but a camel,” Alison said.
The bishop asked everyone to gather in the chapel. Alison and Erica sat with the Primary children. The children sang “Picture a Christmas”1 and “The Nativity Song,”2 and the ward choir performed parts of Messiah.
“That was really great,” Erica said on the ride home. “I wish my parents could have come.”
“Maybe next year,” Alison said, smiling. She thought about the open house and realized she hadn’t missed the Christmas party after all.

In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”

They were the last two on the bus, and with luck there were two seats left. One was by a middle-aged Latin. His suit suggested a businessman. But Elder O’Neal stared at the man’s obvious mismatch of green pants and a blue striped jacket. The other seat, much farther back, was by a teenage girl in her school uniform, a wrinkled, white blouse and a green and red plaid skirt.
“I’ll take that one,” Elder Everritt said, pointing to the seat by the businessman. “You take the other one, elder. And remember, arm’s length.” Elder O’Neal stared at him for a moment and then started down the aisle, wending his way through the obstacle course of sacks, boxes, and chickens.
Kevin sat down beside the girl who watched him until their eyes met. Then blushing, she quickly turned away to stare out the window. The seat in front of them was so close that it didn’t leave room for Kevin’s legs. So he sat with his feet out in the aisle.
“What is your name?” The girl next to him had touched him on the shoulder.
“What?” he asked, not sure if he should look at her.
“What is your name?” she asked again.
She spoke with a strong Spanish accent. He smiled.
“No,” he said in English, “you have to accent the next to last word. Like this. What is your name?”
“A-lane,” she said answering him. He didn’t understand until she wrote Helen with her finger on the back of the seat in front of them. “What is your name?” she asked once again.
“Kevin O’Neal, Elder Kevin O’Neal,” he said correcting himself. “How’d you get an English name like Helen?” he asked her.
She stared back at him with the same look he’d given the man at the bus station. He realized that, like the shoeshine boy, she only knew one phrase in English.
“Speak to the Latins in their own language,” his Missionary Training Center teacher had said. “You can’t imagine how much they love it when a North American takes the time and effort to learn their language.”
“Okay,” Kevin thought. “I’ll try speaking to her in Spanish.” The girl had already turned to look out the window when he tapped on her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said in Spanish. “I speak a little bit of Spanish.” The girl turned back to him with a smile. Kevin quickly turned to see if Elder Everritt was watching. But Elder Everritt was busy talking to two women in front of him. One was a middle-aged woman who could be the businessman’s wife. The other was much older, with steel-gray hair and deep wrinkles in her dark brown face. If Elder Everritt was talking to those women, it should be okay to talk to the girl. “How did you get an English name like Helen?” he asked in his best Spanish.
“Oh, my name isn’t Helen,” she said pronouncing Helen wrong again. “It’s Elena. That’s Spanish for Helen, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. Her Spanish was spoken at a normal rate, which seemed rapid to him, hard to understand.
“What’s your name again?” Elena asked. “I didn’t understand you when you spoke in English.” Seeing his difficulty in understanding, she had slowed down, pronouncing each word more clearly.
“Elder Kevin O’Neal,” he said answering her question.
“Aldare, that’s a funny name.”
“It’s not a name. It’s a …” He couldn’t think of the word so he said, “My name is Kevin, really.”
“Kaybeen. I like your name. Do you like mine?”
He wasn’t sure if he should answer that. “Yes,” he said out of habit.
“What are you doing in my country?”
“I don’t know,” he said, amazed at his inability to say anything intelligent. Elena looked at him puzzled.
“Why don’t you know? I don’t understand.”
“Really, I’m a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said, repeating the line he’d memorized at the Missionary Training Center. “He is my companion,” he said pointing at Elder Everritt who was busy talking to the businessman again.
“That’s neat,” she said. “What do missionaries do?”
He didn’t know how to answer that.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to answer, she asked, “Do you like my country?”
“No,” he said and was sorry.
“Why not?” Elena asked with a frown.
“It is so … it is very …” How do you say strange in Spanish? he asked himself. “It is very different,” he said at last.
“What’s so different about it?” Elena asked.
Kevin knew he’d never be able to explain that. “I don’t know,” he said staring down the aisle. Elder Everritt turned around and waved. He was mouthing something, but O’Neal didn’t understand. Elder Everritt pointed at the businessman and then at Kevin. Kevin shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know what Elder Everritt wanted. Elder Everritt gave up and turned back to the businessman.
“I’ll bet your father sent you,” Elena said staring at the businessman. “To get rid of you. All fathers are alike. Mine doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not true,” Kevin said.
“How do you know? You don’t know my father.”
“I know my father.”
“What’s your father like?” Elena asked.
“He saved my life once.”
“How? Did he do a brave thing?”
“Yes,” Kevin said. “He did a brave thing. He told me I couldn’t go to a party.”
Elena was confused. “But that’s mean,” she said. “Tell me how he saved your life.”
“Let me tell you something else first,” Kevin said. “He asked me not to have certain friends, not to say profane words, not to rebel, not to do this or that. Is that like your father?”
“Yes,” Elena said. “He’s very mean to me.”
“He told me not to go to a party with my friends. He said he loved me, but I didn’t believe him. And I hated him.”
“You were right to hate him,” Elena said. “That was very mean.”
“No, I was wrong. Very wrong,” Kevin said strongly. “He really did love me.”
“I don’t understand,” Elena said. “He didn’t let you go to a party. How is that love?”
“At the party somebody put … put something in the drink. What do you call it?”
“¿Alcohol?” she asked.
“No, that was the drink,” he said feeling ashamed.
“¿Veneno?” she asked.
He didn’t understand that word, so he said, “No, it makes you crazy.” Then in English he said, “Drugs.”
“Oh, drogas,” Elena said starting to understand.
“Three of my friends died in a car,” he told her. “If my father had let me go, I would be dead also. Now do you understand how I know he loves me?”
“Yes,” Elena said. “He let you hate him in order to save you.”
“If my father asks me not to do certain things because he loves me, then why do you think your father asks you not to do them?” Kevin was amazed; the words were coming much more easily now. It was as if he were speaking in his own language.
“Maybe because he loves me,” Elena said answering his question. “Are you really sure?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Kevin said. “And at the same time, tell him you love him.”
The bus stopped. It had reached its destination and was backing into its stall. The passengers began to stand up and get off the bus. Elena stood up and slid past him.
“I don’t know if what you say will work,” she said, “but I’ll try it anyway.” She smiled at him. “You know? Now I know what you missionaries are doing in my country.” Then she was gone.
As Elena left, Kevin said to himself, “So do I now. So do I.”

A good example of compassion and service making a difference is the example of Don and Marian Summers, which represents the experiences of many other missionary couples. While serving in England, they were asked to serve the last six months of their mission in the Swindon Branch to teach and assist in activating members. For eighty years Swindon had been a branch with a faithful few and with many good members becoming less active.
Don and Marian recently wrote me, recalling the following:
“Our first visit to Swindon Branch was a bit disheartening as we met with the Saints in a cold, rented hall. The congregation numbered seventeen, including President and Sister Hales and four missionaries. Still wearing our winter coats, we all huddled around a small, inadequate heater while we listened to a Sunday School lesson.”
The letter continued:
“A branch member approached me one day: ‘Elder Summers, can I give you a bit of advice? Never mention the word tithing to the Swindon members; they really don’t believe in it, and all you will do is upset them.’”
Brother Summers said, “We did teach tithing and all the other gospel principles. With example and the encouragement of a branch president, there was a change of heart, and faith and activity started to increase. The membership records were completely updated as we visited every member’s home. When the leaders started caring, the members began to respond, and a whole new spirit pervaded the branch. The members became excited again about the gospel and helping one another.
“Firesides were held in our homes, and we worked closely with stake and other proselyting missionaries. We made a promise to the Lord that we would not let one new or reactivated member fall into inactivity while we were in Swindon.
“One young couple had a difficult adjustment to make as their customs, manners, and dress were different. They became offended at suggestions for changes. The couple twice wrote to the bishop [since by then it was a ward] and asked to have their names removed from the Church records. In the last letter they forbade any of the members to visit them, so Marian and I went to the florist and purchased a beautiful plant of chrysanthemums and had it delivered to the young couple. It was a simple note: ‘We love you; we miss you; we need you. Please come back.’ Signed, Swindon Ward.
“The next Sunday was fast and testimony meeting and our last Sunday in Swindon. There were 103 members in attendance compared to seventeen six months before. The young couple was there and, in bearing his testimony, the husband thanked the Swindon Ward for not giving up on them.”

Mildred Coloma Rivera was born on April 17, 1941, and grew up in rural San Manuel, Tarlac. She came from a large family, with her parents engaged in tedious farm work. “We were a poor family,” she recalls, “and we struggled economically, so I looked for opportunities to earn.”
In 1961, Mildred started working for an American family at Clark Air Base in Pampanga. The Apel family were Latter- day Saints and Mildred was intrigued by the family’s faith. She told the family head, Charles Apel, that she wanted to come to Church with them on Sunday, to which Brother Apel replied positively.
Mildred liked what she saw and felt. “I knew right away the Church was true,” she affirms, “and I was interested in the Church because of the friendliness of the Apel family and also the members.” She was taught gospel principles by members of the small Church unit in Clark, as there were no missionaries available in that area.
Mildred soon gained a testimony. “I want to be baptized,” she excitedly told the Apels. The Church was so new in the Philippines that the pioneering missionaries—who had been given authority to baptize converts—were too far away in Manila to know about Mildred and her request. Thus, unit leaders in Clark had to get special permission from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City to baptize her.
Mildred waited patiently and prayed for a positive response. Her prayers were answered when permission was granted to hold a baptismal service, which took place on August 5, 1961. On that day, Mildred Coloma Rivera was baptized by Brother Paul Sharp, becoming one of the very first members of the Church in the Philippines.
“I felt so elated that I kept thanking God for being baptized,” Mildred joyfully remembers. Sister Rivera became one of the pioneer members of the Angeles Branch and grew in her testimony of the restored gospel as she prayed, read the scriptures, and attended Church services.

These feelings bring a stake president to reach out, and miracles follow. A stake president from South America recounted an example of how this love moved him to seek after one who was lost:
“I had a strong impression that I needed to try to find a brother who had served many years before as my missionary companion. He was married and less active in the Church. His membership record was in a small unit 150 kilometers [93 miles] from the stake center. I traveled there and spoke with the branch president, who told me that my former missionary companion was living far out in the country. The president gave me directions to the small village. After a while the asphalt road turned into a dirt road. After many more kilometers, I realized I was lost. I stopped the car and was about to give up. It was a very hot day, and the car had no air conditioner. The dust from the road was difficult for my wife and children. I knelt on the road and asked for help from the Lord.
“Some hours later, we arrived in the small village and found my missionary companion. I invited him to come back. He became active in the Church and served in many leadership positions. His son served an honorable mission, and today my friend and former companion is a counselor in the bishopric.”

One way we cultivate righteous thoughts is by keeping in mind our purpose in mortality. For example, one woman found that she felt discouraged, particularly when she compared her life with the lives of others who had more wealth and material possessions than she had.

But she decided to control her thoughts, and she made an effort to focus on the kind of person she wanted to become instead of being concerned about the things she did not have. She prayerfully studied the scriptures, concentrating on the Savior’s life and on making her life more like his.

As she did this, she became more sensitive to the needs of those around her. She found that her testimony and her family became more precious to her. She began to admire Christlike character in others more than she had admired worldly wealth. Her new outlook on life helped her feel much happier.

Another great example from the scriptures is Nephi. From him, I learned to trust the Lord rather than complain. Let me explain. When I left the Philippines to get a master’s degree at Brigham Young University, I promised that I would come back. When the time came for my family and me to return, the decision was not easy because I thought that opportunities in my home country were not as promising or rewarding as those in the United States. But because I had given my word, my wife and I decided to exercise faith as Nephi and do what the Lord would have us do.
Even though I had already worked before, I had to start over financially. Money was scarce, and opportunities took time to bear fruit. Then all three of our children got sick, and our savings disappeared. It was one of the toughest times of our lives.
Our youngest son developed a type of tuberculosis. He had to have medicine that was expensive, and he had to take it for nine months. I remember looking in my wallet, and there was no money. My wife asked me how we would be able to feed the children.
During those times, you ask questions. And if you’re not careful, you can become like Laman and Lemuel and start murmuring and become bitter. You feel like life is unfair. It would have been easy for me to think: “I’m a returned missionary. I served the Lord. We pay our tithing. We serve in the Church. Where are the blessings?” But we remained active, we served in our callings, and we got by. My brother and his wife helped us financially, and I finally found a job. It was barely enough, and it paid less than what I had earned before I left for school. I felt I was a failure.
Finally, after several years, my wife and I decided that wondering and worrying weren’t helping. We said, “Let’s stop murmuring, trust in the Lord, and be happy with what we have.” And right after that, things turned around. I got several job offers and was able to choose the best one. I was called as the bishop of our ward. It seemed the blessings just flowed.

Or, for another example, take the Second Ward girls who go to Monrovia Jr. High. A couple of years ago, Monya Baker, now 13, was the first Latter-day Saint ever to attend the school. She and Cay Parry, 14, the Mia Maid president, recalled the early days at Monrovia.
“At first it seemed like everybody was watching, judging the Church by me,” Monya said.
There were questions. “You can’t drink iced tea? Oh, you poor thing.” “Why are you dancing? Mormons can’t dance.” “Aren’t you the ones that don’t believe in Christ?” “Are you the religion that kisses snakes?”
But slowly, just by being themselves and holding to what’s right, Monya and Cay let people know they’re normal.
Some time after Monya broke the ice at Monrovia, several other Latter-day Saint families moved into the area. Now there are eleven Latter-day Saints attending the school, and it seems just about everybody knows who they are. This year, eight of eleven students in the school’s gifted program are LDS. Four of the members of the school’s math team are LDS. Several of the LDS students have advanced so far in their studies that they go over to the high school for some of their classes. Others have acted in community theater productions. There are LDS kids on the softball and volleyball teams. There’s one on the football team. Church members have been president of the student council, have won spelling bees and county science fairs, and, in short, have made themselves familiar to the student body.
“And no,” Cay laughed, “we’re not the ones who kiss snakes.”