Gospel Story Finder

I visited the hospital the other evening to see my desperately ill sister. Her husband and family were surrounding her bed, holding their family home evening, led by their fourth missionary son just returned from foreign fields. I joined them, and then went home rejoicing and thanking God for that kind of example, and met my own family who were waiting, and prayed that we might do a better job of practicing what we preach.

I visited her this morning and talked with her to the Lord, and in the spirit of that sobering experience offer my testimony this morning.

Toriki Chung Tien, 16, from Tubuai, said, “My little brother and I painted our grandfather’s graveyard house and helped our mother decorate his grave with pride and joy. Every time we talked about him and the blessings he performed, I felt his presence and my tears flowed. Thanks to the gospel and the Resurrection, I know that one day we will meet as a family and that I will find my grandpa who I miss so much.”

For the first 18 years of my life, I followed my parents and grandparents to church every Sunday. Witnessing their joy instilled in my heart the desire for own children to find joy in attending church and communicating with Heavenly Father. Growing up in the Free Church of Tonga, I saw how committed the ministers were in teaching us to always put God first in our lives. This brought great blessings to me. We migrated to Auckland, New Zealand, seeking a better life, unaware that God was preparing us for a greater purpose.

In 2019, one of the missionaries who found and invited us to follow our Saviour, Jesus Christ, told my wife, Lupe, and me a story. He said that in 1990, he and his companion knelt in prayer, seeking to know the will of the Lord. They were led to a particular street where they knocked on every door, but no one wanted to hear their message.

As they were about to leave, he felt impressed to go back and try again. Obedient, they began knocking on the same doors they had knocked on before, and when they got to the sixth house, I was sitting outside. So began my knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.

The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.

This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.

When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

With tears of joy, this former missionary, Tomasi Takau, shared his experience from over 30 years ago, blessed now to witness the fruit of his labour. Because of the prayers, faith, and courage of Elder Tomasi Takau and his companion, Elder Johnson, I served my own mission in Wellington, New Zealand, from 1991 to 1993, then met and married my wife, Lupe, in the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, and we now have four sons and a daughter, with two grandchildren and a third due later this year.

What a joy it was for Lupe and me to cross paths with Tomasi Takau’s son, who is now serving a mission in the Kingdom of Tonga. Looking into the younger Elder Takau’s eyes, I thank his father for bringing the joy of the gospel into my life and praying sincerely with his companion to know God’s will all those years ago, and I also thank this young man for answering the invitation from President Russell M. Nelson for every young man to serve a mission. “The worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 18:10).

My life changed because two missionaries had the courage to submit to the will of the Lord and to knock a second time. I know Heavenly Father hears and answers the prayers of His children. I’m grateful for my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I know we are led by a living prophet of God. Jesus Christ is the Saviour and Redeemer of the world. May we bind ourselves to Him who has all the power to heal, forgive, and bless our lives.

During my last two summers of high school, my parents sent me to work for my uncle in Idaho. He operated Budge’s Golden Sunshine Honey, a family business started by my grandfather.
My father knew what I was in for. He had grown up “working in the bees.” He wanted me to learn how to work as he did. The job was hard, and there were few benefits, except for one: occasionally, my uncle let me ride his motorcycle.
One day, I decided to go for a ride. The blue skies, the bright sun, and the wind blowing through my hair were exhilarating! For a moment, all the long hours of hard work seemed worth it. Suddenly, the motorcycle sputtered to a stop. I had run out of gas in the middle of nowhere! This happened before cell phones, so I was all on my own.
I thought that my uncle would be upset if I abandoned the motorcycle and walked back to town, so I decided to push the motorcycle home. It was well after dark by the time I reached town. The gas station was closed. I was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
As I pushed the motorcycle through town, I saw my uncle’s truck parked outside the movie theater. I found him and told him what had happened. His response surprised me.
“How could you run out of gas?” he asked.
He walked out to the motorcycle and flipped a switch. He then turned the key and kicked down the starter. To my surprise, the motor let out a roar!
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“There’s a reserve tank in case you run out of gas,” he said. “All you have to do is flip the switch.”
Embarrassed and humiliated, I rode the motorcycle home.

My sweetheart has done that. Through our many long years of postgraduate study, professional responsibilities, and a growing family, she did not complain. Recently I overheard a conversation she had with young mothers enduring similar stress. They asked her how she had managed with ten children and a husband whose time to help was so limited. Kindness was reflected in her reply: “Through our struggling years I didn’t expect much, so I was rarely disappointed.”
She is special. With her, it is easy to obey the scriptural injunction to “live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of [thy] life” (Eccl. 9:9).

Brother Miguel Troncoso from Santa Cruz, Argentina, was looking forward to hearing Elder Carlos H. Amado of the Seventy speak at his stake. But Elder Amado was scheduled to speak on a Tuesday evening, and Brother Troncoso, a high school teacher, had to teach a school class that night. Determined to attend the meeting, he and his family prayed for help.
Brother Troncoso said this about his experience:
“The day before the conference, I felt prompted to talk with the principal about leaving 20 minutes early. … Before I could say a word, she asked me if I would mind changing my Tuesday class starting time to two hours earlier than normal. …
“What a blessing this was to us. We arrived at the meeting in plenty of time and felt the Spirit in the presence of one of the Lord’s disciples. … In addition, we gained a testimony as a family that Heavenly Father knows our desires and hears our prayers.”

Just three years ago, at this same time of year, I had this great principle demonstrated to me at the hands of the Lord in a very special way. The Portland Oregon East Stake has been developing a dairy farm over the past half dozen years or more. It is located on an island in the Columbia River and is one of the largest single-stake projects in the Church. This fact, coupled with the need to develop the project almost from scratch, has placed a heavy burden upon our people, both in time and in money.

With a new project, we had run in the red each year, but 1977 was to be our turnabout year. The final result depended upon harvesting about seventy-five acres of corn, which was to be made into silage for feed. Unseasonably, it had rained almost every day during the month of September, and by the first day of October, our scheduled harvest date, I knew the crop was in trouble. We have a very high water table on the island, and when the ground gets saturated with too much water we get so much mud our harvest equipment cannot get into the fields without sinking. Once the land is saturated, it takes about a month of dry weather to make the fields passable to vehicles. During the winter months and right up until June, the corn ground is entirely under water.

I visit the farm about once a week, so I keep a pair of rubber boots in my car. I drove to the farm that October day and decided to pull on my boots and walk down into the corn fields. I immediately found even the road turned to mud and puddles. In places the mud came near the top of my eighteen-inch-high boots, and I don’t really know why I continued walking. It was a dark gray, overcast day, and drops of rain were splashing in the open puddles everywhere. The farm crew told me they had taken a corn chopper down into the fields a few days earlier but had it down to the axles in mud somewhere in the long corn rows.

As I walked I noticed that the corn itself was a fine crop, with row after row ten to fourteen feet high. Now, I rarely get depressed, but I was feeling really low that day. I knew how hard everyone had worked and what it meant to lose that fine crop. I eventually came to the spot where the chopper had gone in, and looking way down the rows I saw it sunk deep into the mud. For some reason I decided to walk to the chopper, and as I entered the rows and splashed on through the mud and water, I was startled to hear a voice. I am sure that the voice came to me only in my mind, but I could hear the voice and admonition of President Kimball. He said softly, "Is any thing too hard for the Lord?" (Gen. 18:14.) Now, like you, I have heard him say that many times, but I did not fully focus upon it before this time. I smiled to myself as I walked and said, "Yes, President, I believe this mess may be too hard even for the Lord."

As I neared the chopper, I was impressed to climb up on it and upon doing so found my head was about two feet above seventy-five acres of that tall, splendid corn. As I looked about in discouragement, the voice seemed to come to me again, but this time in a more serious tone, "President, is there anything too hard for the Lord?" At once I felt ashamed of my attitude of depression, and soon I was no longer looking down but up into the sky. Before I realized it, I was talking, yes, pleading aloud with the Lord in faith. When I had finished, I had committed that crop and the harvesting of it into the hands of the Lord and had done so by the power of the priesthood of God. I recall that as I climbed down from the chopper, tears were still streaming from my eyes. I grew concerned as I slowly walked away considering what it was that I had just done. Yet I knew that I had done it in total faith, that there was a proper need, and that it was a righteous request of the Lord.

Because of the spiritual nature of my experience, I think I had decided not to tell anyone of it. But the very next Sunday I was sitting on the stand during one of our ward sacrament meetings. I was not scheduled to speak, but the bishop got up with about ten minutes remaining and said, "I feel President DeHaan has had a spiritual experience that he needs to share with us." I got up reluctantly, knowing what it was I had to relate. I did so and asked the congregation to join me with their faith. Now, we have Saints with great testimonies in our stake, and my experience spread rapidly throughout the wards. I learned several weeks later that members were even telling their nonmember friends to go ahead and plan picnics and outdoor activities, because even in Oregon it was not going to rain throughout October. On the day following my experience in the corn fields, the sun came out for the first time in nearly thirty days. Then the next day we had sun, and the day following that. Before long the temperature was back into the high seventies. Every day for the next three weeks the weather forecast called for rain, but each day no rain fell.

I recall that about two weeks later I flew to Seattle, about two hundred miles to the north, on business. It rained very hard there all day, and as I made the return trip to Portland it rained all the way until we reached the Columbia River, which surrounds our farm. Miraculously, the clouds parted and the rain ceased. That day I cut a little weather map from the newspaper showing the rain ending at the river and put it on our refrigerator as a reminder to keep my faith. Three weeks after my original experience in the fields, I drove to the farm once again. I put on my boots and went back into the corn. This time the ground was soft but firming. That was on a Friday, and our fine farm crew was already making plans to begin the harvest on the following Monday.

That same day an acquaintance of mine from a local television station called. He said, "I understand the Mormons are developing a fine dairy farm on Sauvies Island." I answered in the affirmative, and he inquired, "Is there a story there?" I told him there was, but I knew he could never capture the real story. That very Monday, as we began our harvest, we had a camera crew on the farm for several hours, and we did get some fine publicity for the Church.

With the loyal assistance of many of the members, we worked day and night for the next five days. By the following Saturday, all of the freshly chopped corn was safely in our silage pits, and we finished covering it over with plastic. At last we had the feed needed to get us through the winter. Within an hour after having covered the crop, the heavens just seemed to open and commenced one of the heaviest and longest downpours I can remember. The fields from which the corn had just been removed were flooded and remained under water from that day until the following June. As I stood in the rain with feelings of gratitude that I’ll never be able to adequately describe, it seemed to me that the Lord had just saved it up until our spiritual understanding had been fulfilled.

Here is an example of the kind of Christlike ministering that happens among members of the Lord’s Church. A student at Brigham Young University recently wrote:
“I was going through a really rough time. One day I was really struggling and on the verge of tears. I pleaded and prayed silently for strength to continue. In that exact moment, my roommate sent me a text expressing her love for me. She shared a scripture and bore a testimony. It brought me so much strength and comfort and hope in that moment of despair.”

I grew up in Zwickau, in the former East Germany. When I was about 11 years old, my father fell under increased scrutiny as a political dissenter, and my parents felt that the only safe choice for our family would be to flee to West Germany. It was decided that the safest plan was to leave at different times and follow different routes to the West, leaving all our belongings behind.

Since my father was at greatest risk, he took the quickest journey, through Berlin. My older brothers headed north, and each found his own way west. My sister—who would have been the age of many of you here today—together with Helga Fassmann, her teacher in Young Women, and some others took a train that passed briefly through West Germany. They paid a porter to unlock one of the doors for them, and after the train crossed the West German border, they jumped from the moving train to freedom. How I admired my sister for her courage.

I was the youngest child, and my mother decided that she and I would walk across a mountain range separating the two countries. I remember that she packed a lunch as if we were going for a hike or a picnic in the mountains.

We took a train as far as we could and then walked for long hours, getting ever closer to the West German border. The borders were tightly controlled, but we had a map and knew of a time and a place where it might be safe to cross. I could sense my mother’s anxiety. She observed the area intensely to see if we were being followed. With each step, her legs and knees seemed to become weaker. I helped carry her heavy bag filled with food, vital documents, and family photos as we climbed up one last, long hill. Surely, she thought, we had passed the border by now. When she finally felt safe, we sat down and started to eat our picnic lunch. For the first time that day, I’m sure, she breathed more easily.

It was only then that we noticed the border sign. It was still far ahead of us! We were having our picnic on the wrong side of the border. We were still in East Germany!

Border guards could show up any moment!

My mother frantically packed up our lunch, and we hurried up the hillside as quickly as we could. This time we didn’t dare stop until we knew with certainty that we had reached the other side of the border.

Even though each member of our family had taken very different routes and experienced very different hardships along the way, eventually all of us made it to safety. We were finally reunited as a family. What a glorious day that was!

I grew up in a comfortable environment in Logan, Utah. I had no childhood worries about food or shelter or education. But perhaps because life was easy, I needed something to hold on to that would anchor me.
For me that anchor was the priesthood of God. I was in an unusual situation when I was growing up. My dad was called to be the bishop when I was a year old, and he was my bishop for 19 years. His fatherly and spiritual guidance was a tremendous help to me.
I think that is mostly why I looked forward to receiving the Aaronic Priesthood on my 12th birthday. I remember the special day I felt my father’s hands on my head as he ordained me. After that, I advanced through the offices of the Aaronic Priesthood and received callings I enjoyed very much.
Passing the sacrament was very special to me. You could see people commit themselves to obey the Lord and keep His commandments as they partook of the emblems of His body and blood.
As time progressed, I graduated from high school, and then after a year in college, I was called on a mission. I enjoyed every minute of it and loved my companions. One in particular was a strength to me. I learned much from him as we fulfilled our responsibilities.
Because the country was at war, when I returned from my mission I joined the United States Marine Corps. When the war was over, I returned to college, married, and started a family. Successive professional moves took me to many places across the United States, where I learned much as I served in many priesthood callings. I finally landed in Boston, Massachusetts, where I served as a stake president. It was from there that I was called to be an Assistant to the Twelve and then, after 17 months, to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
What have I learned as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve?
I’ve learned that there is a guide, an anchor, and a protection in the priesthood.
The priesthood has always existed. Before Adam came to earth, he had the priesthood. As Adam’s posterity scattered with the priesthood, it became necessary to organize how the priesthood was administered. The Lord did that by calling Abraham to preside over his family of priesthood holders. This organization continued under Isaac and Jacob, whose name was later changed to Israel.
Centuries later, the children of Israel found themselves in captivity. The Lord sent Moses to deliver them, but when he did, they proved themselves not ready as a people for the Melchizedek Priesthood. So they were left with the Aaronic Priesthood until the time of the Savior.
I find it very interesting what the Savior did first as He began His ministry. He organized the Melchizedek Priesthood. He called twelve Apostles and taught them the laws and order of the priesthood. He called Peter to be the chief Apostle, establishing a line of authority in His Church. In that day and this, it is Jesus Christ who selects His chief Apostle to preside over the Church, and it is the Savior who directs him in his priesthood duties.
So the priesthood has a direct line from our Lord and Savior through the chief Apostle to the other Apostles and on to the other priesthood holders in the Church. Keys of authority are given to the Apostles, and as long as those keys are on the earth, we will be guided by the Lord Himself. This divine direction protects us and assures us that the Church will not vary from the truth. It will remain consistent because it is not directed by any earthly being. It is directed by the Lord.
The greatest advice I have for you young men is to study the doctrines of the priesthood, understand the power you have in exercising your priesthood, and learn how it can bless your lives and the lives of others.
I promise if you’ll learn the doctrines of the priesthood and fulfill your priesthood duties, the priesthood will be a sure anchor that will keep you spiritually safe and bring you great joy. Be a true priesthood quorum. Reach out to your friends and bring them into your quorum. Create a brotherhood in your quorum that will be a permanent foundation for your lives.

The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed they were so relieved.”

Illustration by Taylor Callery
Sister Vida Osei of Ghana wanted to learn to read and write English. She had tried community programs a number of times but had become discouraged and quit within weeks. Then one Sunday while attending meetings at the Second Branch, she learned that the Asamankese District was sponsoring an English literacy program. She decided to take a chance and enroll.
She soon found that this program was different. She would be able to attend with friends from church. Scriptures are used as study materials, so she would learn English and the gospel at the same time.
Two months after starting the class, Vida gave her first prayer in a class—ever. Three months after starting, she gave her first-ever talk in sacrament meeting, partially in Twi, a local African language, and partially in English. Four months after beginning, she began writing in a tattered notebook the orders, costs, and prices for her work as a self-employed seamstress. She made fewer mistakes with customers, got lower prices from vendors, and made more money than she had before in any previous month.
“I was too shy to attend a literacy class with just anyone,” she said. “But when the literacy class was held at the meetinghouse with members I knew, it gave me the courage to try again. And now I can read the scriptures and improve my business by reading and writing English.”
In sub-Saharan Africa, many people, especially women, do not know how to read and write. Illiteracy is so widespread that an old African proverb says, “If you want to hide something, write it in a book.” For Latter-day Saint women like Vida, however, literacy is on the rise.
Limited infrastructure and limited public education in most sub-Saharan countries means limited opportunities, especially for girls. Because of the high cost of schooling and girls’ restricted status in society, to many people reading seems an unattainable skill. In Ghana, for example, although English is the official language, estimates say that less than half of adult women speak English. In rural Ghana, two-thirds of adult women are illiterate.
“Most adult women in our towns and villages do not speak English,” says Seth Oppong, president of the Abomosu District in the Ghana Accra West Mission. “Our local language, Twi, has been a verbal language for centuries. Only recently has an alphabet for Twi been created, so few people read it, either.”
“Sisters must rely on others—mostly their husbands if they are married, or on word of mouth from friends if they are not married—to understand gospel principles and Church policies,” explains Georgina Amoaka, the district Relief Society president. “Many have great desires to serve, but they cannot read manuals or magazines so their opportunities to participate at church are limited.”
Since women do not speak English in their homes or at the market, Church participation provides their main incentive to learn the language. Yet both long-time members and new converts may encounter family resistance concerning literacy programs. The district council discussed this concern, and then President Oppong spoke to priesthood and auxiliary leaders in each branch about a district-wide approach to literacy training. While open to all women in the community, the program would focus on women in the Church. Rather than inviting individuals separately, invitations would be extended to attend in groups—for example, Relief Society and Primary presidencies would attend together so they could support each other.
Based on discussions with the branches, district leadership decided to hold literacy classes at each branch on Sundays as well as twice during the week. After a concentrated six-month effort, certificates of completion would be awarded to those who attended regularly and completed required homework.
“One of the challenges was to find a way to teach reading and writing to people who have only a spoken language,” explains Elder Jim Dalton, a senior missionary serving in the district. “Because of Twi’s long tradition as a spoken-but-not-written language, most people who speak it don’t know how to write it, so we had to start with learning to write.”
Ransford Darkwah of the Abomosu District high council worked with two returned missionaries, Francis Ansah and Cecelia Amankwah, to use a locally produced manual. Participants were shown pictures and asked to write about what they saw. This helped them develop basic writing skills while learning to think in English. Once some basic abilities were in place, more advanced learning resources could then be used.
Before the program began, literacy specialists trained instructors not only in learning methods but also in how to teach practical hygiene and family life skills. But even the best training couldn’t have foreseen some of challenges encountered once classes began: frequent power outages in the area made evening classes difficult to conduct, rumors that unruly gold miners were roaming the streets at night created anxiety, and occasionally those with keys were unable to arrive on time to open church buildings.
Once again, the district council discussed what needed to be done. In response to their counsel, groups of participants began coming to class together. They were given flashlights to help them safely walk along footpaths. Local leaders authorized use of generators to power lights at church buildings at night. Well-trusted members who lived near buildings were entrusted with keys so they could open buildings on time.
Sixty-one members and investigators began the program. Forty-three completed all of the sessions and homework. At graduation, they were invited to give short presentations.
“Before the literacy program began, I could not read at all,” said Sandra Obeng Amoh of the Sankubenase Branch. “When my husband traveled for work, I never had family home evening. Some weeks ago when he was gone, my oldest son helped me read the manual and I gave a lesson in English to my children. Since then I have done so every week that my husband is not at home.”
Prosper Gyekete, who despite limited English skills has remained a faithful member in the Abomosu Second Branch, read a three-sentence testimony he wrote himself. He said he could not read or write before the class but now he can help his young children with their homework. “Thanks to what I have learned,” he said, “I can be a better father.”
“Now I can read the scriptures by myself,” said Kwaku Sasu of the Kwabeng Branch. “Before, I knew the Book of Mormon was true even though I could not read it. Now I know it is true as I read it. My testimony is growing and growing.”
The members of the Asunafo Branch Relief Society presidency said they dedicated each Thursday to speaking to each other only in English. “It made some conversations longer that day because we could not think of the right words to say to each other,” said Evelyn Agyeiwaa, Relief Society president. “But we soon began translating for each other, finding the right words to say. Because we were learning together, none of us was embarrassed or afraid to say the wrong words. We simply helped each other.”
Women who completed the Abomosu District literacy program said they felt better about themselves and were more likely to participate in church. They became more willing to accept callings, read the scriptures, and teach both at church and at home. Some men also completed the program. Mostly subsistence farmers, they said they are now better able to calculate costs and sales of their produce, help children with their homework, and read the scriptures on their own and with their families.
Encouraged by the success in Abomosu, the neighboring Asamankese District has launched its own literacy program.
“Being able to read and write is changing our lives and the lives of our children,” said Gladis Aseidu of the Sankubenase Branch. “Words are changing our world, and we thank our Father in Heaven.”

One of the most extraordinary experiences took place when I was 19 years old. I was released from serving as a counselor in my branch presidency so I could accept an assignment as chairman of family history for the mission. We were preparing for a visit from George H. Fudge of the Church’s Genealogical Department in Salt Lake City; he was hoping to microfilm some of the vital records of Uruguay. I was asked to help make the arrangements.
That night I prayed fervently for the ability to do what I had been asked. Later I noticed a newspaper headline that read, “Genealogy in Uruguay.” The story told about an upcoming meeting of Uruguayan genealogists. Then I saw that the newspaper was several days old. The meeting had already been held, but I decided to visit the address in the story anyway.
On the evening I decided to make my visit, I was also assigned to supervise a youth gathering and had to stay at the meetinghouse until 9:30 P.M. I didn’t have the money for bus fare, so I walked to the place where the meeting had been held. By the time I reached the address, it was late. I rang the bell, hoping for the best, and a few minutes later a man opened the door.
I introduced myself, and the man graciously allowed me to come in. What he said next filled me with surprise: “I am glad you came this late because I just arrived. Had you come a few minutes earlier you would have found an empty house.” I soon learned he was part of the only group of genealogists in Uruguay. I also found out that the newspaper had published the story about the meeting despite having been asked not to do so.
I was able to set up a meeting for Brother Fudge with this group of eminent genealogists. They opened the archives to him. At his request, some of the indexes of family history records in Uruguay were microfilmed. I believe these were the first records microfilmed by the Church in Uruguay.

When I was a young woman, my world was my family and friends. But when I found the gospel of Jesus Christ, much of this world was lost to me. Friends teased me because I lived the Word of Wisdom, honored the Sabbath, and tried to keep the commandments. Schoolmates cut off friendships with me. My parents at first refused to give me permission to be baptized, and my father even stopped speaking to me. For a young girl, such personal losses might be considered quite a sacrifice. But God knew that these “sacrifices” for His Church and kingdom would in reality bring not loss but gain.
The Lord taught: “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal” (John 12:24–25). We are accustomed to defining our losses as sacrifice and our increases as gain. But often our losses are actually the beginning of what will later be a great harvest.
A famous doctor once visited a dejected and despondent old woman. He found that she was alone and separated from the world but that she also had a beautiful greenhouse where she raised African violets. The doctor gave the woman a prescription. She was to subscribe to her church’s newsletter, and whenever there was a baptism, marriage, sickness, or death, she was to send an African violet. Following the doctor’s instructions, the old woman gave away hundreds of potted plants. At her death the newspaper headline read, “The Queen of African Violets Passes Away and Is Mourned by Thousands.” What turned this dejected old woman into someone loved by so many? It was giving to others, not keeping for herself.
Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.
Do we sometimes hold onto our one grain of wheat, not willing to impart it, so that in the end it remains just a single grain? Or do we trust that, planted and cultivated, this single grain can become fruit? Giving up friends, possessions, or dreams can certainly be a trial. But I have learned that, with faith in God’s plan for us, we can confidently plant our grain of wheat, trusting in the bountiful harvest to come.

Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I can still picture them. Those unforgettable, incredibly quiet Sundays spent outside in a neighborhood filled primarily with Latter-day Saints—and I wasn’t one of them.
I used to imagine a tumbleweed rolling slowly down my street as they did in old Western films, indicating that no one was around. I knew where my neighbors were (at church), I understood why my friends couldn’t play on Sundays, and I knew why only my family would be outside doing yard work on a blistering Sunday afternoon. At least, I thought I knew. Little did I realize that seminary and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would give me true insight and change my life for the better.
Fast-forward a few years from those childhood days: I was baptized when I was 11 years old. I’m not sure if an 11-year-old can choose to be baptized for the wrong reasons, but I believe I did. I didn’t fully understand the role of the Holy Ghost, and all I remember about my baptism was thinking, “I will finally be like my friends.”
To my dismay, I was still nothing like them. I assumed that once I was a member of the Church, my family would automatically attend church with me. When I realized my family was not going to attend church, I wondered if my friends knew how lucky they were. They would talk about how they didn’t like going to church or how they seemed to dread saying family prayers. I wanted so badly to tell them they shouldn’t be wishing away something so precious. I knew they had something special.
Yet I also didn’t fully embrace all that the gospel and the Church had to offer, even though I was baptized.
Then one day when I was a freshman in high school, something happened that changed everything: I ran into Brother Esplin.
“Excuse me,” he said as I tried to walk past him.
“Yes?” I replied.
“I’m Devin Esplin, Melissa Esplin’s husband. My wife talks about your volleyball potential all the time, and I just wanted to formally introduce myself.”
I stood there silently until a lightbulb finally went off in my head.
“Oh! Right, I love Coach Esplin!”
“Me too!” he said. “Anyway, I’m the seminary teacher here, and I was wondering if you would like to transfer into my class.”
“Well, I would, but I can’t,” I replied. “But I promise that next year I will!”
“I sure hope you do. It will be a great experience.”
“I will! I promise,” I said as I walked away. As I walked back to class, I couldn’t hide the smile on my face. This was my opportunity to find out for myself what the Church had to offer. This time I was going to learn about the Church for the right reasons. I was given a second chance, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.
My sophomore year was incredible. I was so excited to go to seminary and learn! The first few weeks were pretty crazy. I felt like a little child—I had a lot to learn. People would use words like repentance and the Atonement, and I felt ashamed because I had no idea what those terms meant. Mercifully, my class helped me learn and never made me feel like an outsider.
As the year progressed, I found myself craving more knowledge. I was amazed by the things that my peers would discuss. I learned that I wasn’t the only one who suffered trials. I was saddened that I had made it so far in life without focusing on the Savior and the gospel. As I began to understand what being a Latter-day Saint is all about, I knew I never wanted to give it up.
My junior year was the major turning point of my life. Because of seminary, I read the Book of Mormon for the first time. As I studied daily, my testimony grew, and I grew closer to my Heavenly Father. I learned that I can strengthen my testimony every day. I understood that I’m never alone.
Seminary is a blessing that has altered the course of my life forever. Every day, I now think about how grateful I am that I have my Savior to get me through trials and temptations.

On her way home from practice, Jillian saw her friend Mei. They were in the same Primary class. But Mei hadn’t come to Primary for a while.

Jillian smiled at Mei. “Hi, Mei! I’ve missed you at Primary. Are you OK?”

Mei stared down at her shoes. “My mom doesn’t want to go to church.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know.” Mei lifted her head. “Well, I have to go.”

Jillian waved and watched Mei walk away. How can I help Mei? she wondered.

When Jillian got home, she played some Primary songs on her ukulele. Then she invited her brothers to sing along. They sang until Mom called them for dinner.

“I’m going to visit Sister Aurea tomorrow,” Mom said.

“Sister Aurea is Mei’s mom, right?” Jillian asked. “Can I go with you? Mei hasn’t been coming to Primary. And when I saw her today, she seemed kind of sad.”

“Sure, you can come,” Mom said.

“I’ll bring my ukulele! I can play Primary songs. I bet she misses singing them,” said Jillian.

When they got to Mei’s house the next day, Jillian gave Mei a big hug. While their moms talked, the girls went outside. Jillian played her ukulele, and Mei picked the songs. They had fun laughing and singing together until it was time for Jillian to go.

“It was great to see you,” Jillian said. “We’ve missed you in Primary.”

“Yeah, I wish I could come. Maybe I’ll ask my mom again.”

The next Sunday, Mei was at church. Jillian sat beside her. “I’m so happy you could come,” she said.

Mei grinned. “Me too.”

That night as she lay in bed, Jillian thought about Mei and her football team. She was happy to be part of a team, just like she was happy to be part of Primary. They all helped each other. Jillian was glad she could help her friends, whether it was at church or on the field.

I have been a member of the Church now for one year, and I still have a lot of questions. Last Sunday I was called to be the teachers quorum president, and I wasn’t too sure of all the duties and responsibilities of a teacher. On Monday I received the May issue of the New Era. The article on the role of the teacher really answered a lot of my questions as did Brother Backman’s answer in Q and A. It came just in time!
Buzzy JohnsonSouth Pasadena, California

After my 16th birthday, I decided it was time to get a job. The search began and ended with a neighborhood pharmacy and candy store where my brother and I had spent most of our allowances as children. The store owner was a grandfatherly man with a quiet disposition. To my surprise, he gave me an interview and offered me the job a few days later. I decided then I would try to learn as much as possible from the experience. Little did I know the lessons I would learn would be about more than medicines and business.
After working at the pharmacy for about nine months, I realized I had learned much from the great example of the store owner. Many people came to the pharmacy lacking money to pay for the medicine they needed, and he would quietly assure them a payment or two could wait. He knew most of the customers by name and would constantly listen to stories about their latest trip to the hospital or look at pictures of their grandchildren. If an employee needed time off for vacations, illness, or, in my case, a school dance, he did all he could to let us off work, even if he had to work extra hours himself.
One night, very close to Christmas, I had been counting money from the day’s sales when a rush of customers came in. I put the counted money in one of the store sacks under the counter, planning on retrieving it when things slowed down. For the next half hour, I rushed around dealing with frazzled holiday shoppers and constantly ringing the cash register.
Finally, my boss closed the door behind the last customer and turned off the main lights. With a sigh of relief, I took off my apron and reached to get the money. It was gone. I muttered a quick, very shaky prayer and looked again. Still no money. My mind began to race. Had I left it at the back register? Frantically, but trying to look calm and unconcerned, I checked all over the store. It was no use. The money for nearly the entire day—checks, charges, and cash—was gone.
With great fear, I went to my boss and told him the situation. Without a word, he began to search. Tears came to my eyes with a feeling of hopelessness. Nearly a thousand dollars was missing. After a terrible hour of searching, my boss told me to go home.
That night, I sleeplessly tossed and turned as my mind attempted to solve the mystery of the missing money. As the money stayed lost, I knew I would not only lose my job but would have to find a way to pay back the lost money. I knelt down and prayed that the money would be found and that my boss would have an understanding heart.
At 7:00 A.M. the next morning a phone call came. “The money has been found,” my boss said.
With a sigh of relief, I asked, “Where was it?” not sure I wanted an answer.
“It looks like you put it in a sack and then gave the sack to one of our customers, a man who didn’t open it until this morning.” Never in my life have I felt quite so stupid. Our conversation continued, and I very awkwardly attempted to apologize for such a mindless mistake. As I was about to ask when I could pick up my last paycheck, my boss said, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”
I arrived five minutes early to work that Saturday, a little nervous and ready for humiliation. However, my boss, whom I expected to meet me at the door with a “you’re fired!” statement, wasn’t even there. None of the other workers said a thing about the money incident. Apparently, they didn’t know about it.
An hour before closing, he finally came in. The moment I had been dreading had finally arrived, and I clenched my teeth for the blow. Before giving him a chance to speak, I blurted out, “Sir, you can fire me if you want to. I definitely deserve it.” He just stared at me for a moment, then said, “Why would I do that? Maybe be just a little more careful with the money, hey?”
Tears came to my eyes in gratitude to the honest customer who returned that large sum of money and also to my kind boss who followed the example given in the Book of Mormon: "I did frankly forgive them all that they had done" (1 Ne. 7:21). I attempted to thank my boss, but he walked away and never mentioned my mistake again.
When I left the pharmacy for another job, I realized I had learned many valuable lessons about business and medicines. But the most important, lasting lesson learned in the two years I worked there was from the examples of those two Christlike men the night I gave the money away.

Roger pointed to Kathy. “Okay, greenie, you’re the newest member. In two minutes or less, why did you join the Church?”
Kathy stared at the fire, watching the little sparks jump in the air and burn themselves out. She appeared to look at Roger, but with a serious look seemed to see beyond Roger or anything else in the radius of the campfire.
“I’ve never been a happy person. I really don’t know why. Maybe I thought no one really cared. The elders were interested in me as a person. One was from Maryland, the other from England. That’s a long way to come to give me a message.
“I listened and knew it was true. I am happier. And I’m beginning to understand why. Without the Church in my life, something was missing. And if it hadn’t been for those elders sacrificing to go on a mission, it would always have been missing.”

The night after Uncle Ben came to visit Grandpa, we saw the campfire. It was just a pinpoint of light up on the shadowy hills across Grandpa’s little valley.
“It must be some sheepherder’s camp,” Grandpa said. “I can’t think of why anybody else would have a campfire so high up, can you, Ben?”
Uncle Ben was a bit slow to answer. “Well, now, in the old days—”
In the darkness, I heard Grandpa chuckle. “In the old days you’d say that it was rustlers. Nowadays, a body would expect it to be poachers, right? Well, I think that it’s a sheep camp.”
My brother, Lucas, spoke up. “Can we go see the camp? We’ve never seen a sheep camp, have we, Jerry?”
The thought of what might be up there made me hesitate. I wasn’t a bit anxious to find out whose campfire it was. But Grandpa cleared his throat and spoke up before I could say so. “Well, now, a couple of bright city lads like you might be able to find the sheep camp, come daylight. Don’t you think so, Ben?”
“If it is a sheep camp,” Uncle Ben replied.
“It’s certain that they’d hear the herder’s dog barking before they reached the camp,” Grandpa went on, “and maybe a tinkling sheep bell.”
“It could be a long hike,” Uncle Ben said.
“What’s wrong with the boys riding Old Salt?” Grandpa suggested. “They’ve been trotting that old horse around every day and seem to ride him well enough. They can’t get lost. Old Salt can find his way home from anyplace.”
I couldn’t believe how everything was being decided for Lucas and me. It was true that we’d been learning to ride during our summer vacation at Grandpa’s ranch. But we’d never ridden through trees that could brush us off or to any place where there might be danger.
It was the thought of danger that made me upset—upset at Grandpa for not asking how I felt about going and miffed at Lucas for bringing it up.
At bedtime I really lit into Lucas.
“Maybe I don’t want to go,” I told him.
“Why did you have to bring it up, anyway?”
He just shrugged his shoulders, as he always did, and said, “I just felt prompted to ask.”
Ever since our Primary lessons on promptings and whisperings of the Spirit, Lucas had used that same excuse for a lot of things that he did. But I didn’t buy it. Why should he be prompted any more than me? I wondered. I turned my back on him and jerked the quilt up over me. I knew that I’d have to go because Grandpa wouldn’t let Lucas go by himself, but it was against my liking.
The next morning when we mounted up and started out, I had to tell myself that Lucas probably needed to cling to the saddle horn more than I did and that I knew enough to keep my feet out of Old Salt’s flanks better than he did. But I didn’t think that my legs would get so tired holding them away from Old Salt’s sides. Charley-horse cramps behind my shins started right away, and they got worse the farther up the hill we rode. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Stop and let me off!” I wailed.
Lucas tried to maneuver the horse up to a big rock, but I couldn’t wait. I slid off over Old Salt’s rump. My legs were so wobbly that I crawled to the shade of a cedar tree, sat down, and rubbed them. Then I stretched out, closed my eyes, and didn’t care if I ever got up again.
Lucas slid off the horse, and after a while he said, “Shouldn’t we be hearing the herder’s dog?”
Suddenly I could almost feel the silence. I didn’t even hear Old Salt stomping to discourage the flies. I scrambled up.
“Where’s the horse?” I yelped. “Lucas, where’s Old Salt?”
Lucas started running and looking among the thick cedars.
“Didn’t you tie the reins to a tree or something?” I hollered at him. “Didn’t you even drop the reins over his head?”
Lucas came back looking pale. He hadn’t.
I groaned. That old horse was probably halfway home by now. I started downhill.
“I think that we should go on up a way,” Lucas said, hesitating.
I was still burning at his carelessness. “Well, I’m not going to!” I yelled.
Lucas chewed at his lip a moment, then shrugged and started on up the hill. I watched him wind his way through the cedar trees without looking back.
“There might be rustlers up there!” I hollered after him. “Or poachers!” Soon Lucas was out of sight. And soon the little rocks that his climbing dislodged stopped rolling. I began to feel a long way from Grandpa’s ranch.
From high up the hill, there was a cry. My scalp tingled. Is Lucas in danger? I wondered. I sure don’t want anything to happen to him. He’s my best friend.
I took out after Lucas, climbing as fast as I could. My throat and lungs began to hurt. I stumbled, and my legs felt weak. I prayed silently.
There was no breath left in me when I broke out of the cedars into a small clearing and heard Lucas say, “Lady, what are you doing here?”
To my surprise, a woman was sitting on a sleeping bag beside the cold ashes of a campfire. Her open backpack and a hiking shoe were on the ground next to her. And one leg of her jeans was torn open to the knee. I felt a little sick when I noticed her leg. It was swollen and as big around as the trunk of a small cedar tree.
“I think it’s broken,” she was telling Lucas. “I’ve been praying that someone would come to help me.”
“We saw your campfire,” Lucas explained, “and we thought that it was a sheepherder’s fire.”
“How glad I am that you decided to take a hike today,” she said, wincing a little.
“Oh, we rode,” I told her. “But our horse got loose down below.”
I didn’t lay any blame to Lucas about the horse. I even told the lady that maybe it had been a good thing. When Old Salt got back to the ranch, Grandpa and Uncle Ben would surely come looking for us. And when they did, we would somehow get her safely down the hill.
She gave me a little smile. “I’m sorry that there’s no sheep camp.”
I saw Lucas shrug. Suddenly I began to wonder if Lucas really had been prompted. Maybe this was the way everything was supposed to work out. I felt a strange warmth inside as I hung my arm over Lucas’s shoulder, and I liked the feeling.