Gospel Story Finder

My mother, Joyce Mary Field, was born in 1917 in Kexby, Lincolnshire, and her earliest memories focus on the fact that, as a child, she was always hungry. Her father had served in the Army during the First World War but was discharged after being gassed. He didn’t have a regular job and food for his three children often came from fish given to him by friends. “Mother and Father were poor,” she writes.

8
Traveled without finding water; Brother Sanders somehow left behind; men unsuccessfully searched for him (13 miles)
9
Found Brother Sanders five miles ahead of camp; brought him to camp on a mule (13 miles)

He often shares what he calls “Joy Moments” in his zone’s online chat, recounting spirit-led conversations he’s had with strangers. He shares gospel principles, his testimony of the Book of Mormon and the love of the Saviour, Jesus Christ. He extends invitations to attend church or meet with missionaries, often recording names and contact information and ensuring follow-up by teaching missionaries. One of the individuals he invited even attended his home ward—and Elder Brown had the opportunity to help teach him a lesson, an experience he describes as thrilling.

No doubt about it, I was a bit cocky and thought I was the best missionary to ever hit Switzerland. The Missionary Training Center had humbled me somewhat (the hardest two months of my mission), and in Switzerland my greenie trainer had done a good job of keeping me from rising over the Alps. I realized that I had a language to perfect and discussions to learn, but I was still living on past achievements, sports victories, and pre-mission status. This is probably why a few flames of refiners’ fire were thrown in my path.
After two months in the field, I received a new companion, only one month more experienced than I. We were both excited about the work and full of anticipation and energy. We learned how to teach with each other, practiced the language together, and enjoyed being new as a team. He had also been active in sports and other activities at home. I would relate to him all my hero stories, and if they weren’t too courageous in truth, I would make them sound fine and noble by adding a little spice. He must have thought I was the next one to be translated by the way I carried on about myself.
Both of us could settle for nothing but the best. This soon led to a feeling of pride and superiority. Everything we set out to do became a major competition. I would not be outdone. Whatever the occasion, I was determined to be the best.
It became a question of who would remember more of the discussions, who would get more mail, who could pray longer, who knew the gender to a particular German word, or who could ride his bike faster (that is, longer without something going wrong).
I suppose many companions (or marriage partners) get those negative feelings and think everything they do is better than what the other does. This was at a maximum with my companion and me. It got so bad, at times I would find myself hoping he wouldn’t get in the doors while tracting so I could prove to be better at the next house. I don’t mean to say that our interaction was total strife or anger, but it was not how we should have been acting as a missionary pair.
It was at this time that the Lord chose to send us his way of solving our problems. He placed before us a challenge capable of humbling us: Hans.
We met Hans at a street display. My companion saw him standing back timidly, hoping only to get a glimpse of what some silly Americans were doing. I suppose he must have been a bit surprised when my companion approached him and asked if he could explain what the pictures meant. Hans came and listened intently, and Elder Perkinson secured his address. We didn’t think about Hans until later when we were in that area again.
We made our way to his house on a cool September evening. I was amazed at the size and location of the place; it was a nice, well-to-do area. The condition of the house was another story: weeds, tires, oil spots, rubble, and piles of rotting trash were strewn about the front yard where a garden should have been. I thought that perhaps someone was moving or cleaning, but then again, what I viewed inside changed that opinion all together.
I pounded on the thin and knobless door as my companion tried to connect two wires together where a doorbell had once been. The house appeared to be vacant until a light from the top of the hallway came through a small window and a thin shadow made its way down the stairs. We heard a screech of wood on cement as our new investigator ripped the weakened door back from its frame. There in the bright porchlight stood our man, grinning with excitement at his first visitors in ages. As he opened the door, we were struck by an unsettling smell. This was certainly a challenge I had never expected to find on my mission.
I looked at Elder Perkinson, and he met me with the same puzzled face. We had no choice, so we walked into the front hallway.
The house must have been at one time stately and well-built, but the remains now disguised all appearance of quality. Boxes, trash, dirt, groceries (old and new), shoes, and assorted pieces of junk were scattered in piles along the corridor. The walls, which were once white, now had a coating of grime.
He led us to his room on the top floor, like a kid would show his friends his snake collection. He clearly had no awareness of the disorganized surroundings in which he was living. All of the rooms were filled with old items; however, his room was among the worst in the house. I gulped and tried to act nonchalant, but my eyes couldn’t avoid sweeping back and forth. If my mother had seen this, she would have thought my room back home was a king’s chamber.
There were no chairs, so we sat on the bed. Hans sat on a vacuum cleaner lying in the middle of the room. Undoubtedly it had been there for years without being used.
For the first time, I looked at this young man before me, and it all became clear. He sat there alone, scared, thin, and insecure. He was 33 years old, the age of many aspiring and influential men. I could see in his face the pain and suffering he had endured and the times he had been ignored and turned from. I couldn’t help thinking of the story “Cipher in the Snow.” Right before my eyes I saw that little bright-eyed, white-faced boy who fell in the snow on the way to school.
He related to us some of, the events of his life: his parents had died seven years ago, and he was left the house and all the bills to be paid. From other sources and from looking through some of his old school papers, we gained further insight into his earlier life. The marks and comments on his schoolwork didn’t seem too poor, but his writing and drawing ability didn’t increase from about the eighth grade.
We began the missionary discussion, and I had to concentrate to keep my eyes from wandering. My companion began with the Joseph Smith story, and I finished up with the second half of the discussion. I really felt proud of my companion, and I don’t think I could have done it without him. We felt good; we realized later that it wasn’t what we said, but rather the fact that we were interested in him that made us feel good. He hardly spoke but looked at us bright-eyed and was interested.
It was our practice to pray at the end of each discussion, but as I looked at the soiled carpet below me, I wasn’t sure what to do. I could see myself being stuck to the floor after the prayer, not being able to rise, but I couldn’t think of any valid excuse, so I closed my eyes and dropped. I believe my companion said the prayer, and something told me inside that this lonely man across from me was going to be baptized. It seemed to me then that it would take a miracle for Hans to become a Latter-day Saint and live as an example to others, but the thought remained.
The following Sunday he showed up for church. The meeting had just started, and I walked to the front door to check for late-coming members. There Hans stood in a thin, soiled, turtleneck shirt, shivering from cold and fright. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked as if he were turning to go away again. I called to him, and a big smile made its way across his lips.
We sat in the corner. As the service ended, I stood with our visitor in the foyer. The members were forming in groups all around us, as the Saints do in every ward in the world, but we weren’t getting too much attention. Then my companion and I thought up a good plan. All we had to do was to bring the members to him. We took turns bringing warm and talkative persons to meet him. As one of us introduced, the other looked for someone to talk to our investigator. The members didn’t talk long, but they were open and friendly. For Hans, it was paradise. He had never received so much attention and such feelings of love in his life. He asked us later that week if he could come every Sunday.
In the next two weeks, we taught him most of the discussions. After each evening, he would show us his entire collection of model airplanes, his 500 stacks of airplane magazines, and his photos of airplanes and everything with wings. That was one of his hobbies or fantasies. He had lived his whole life in a fantasy, because he never had enough faith in himself to actually do anything. We knew that the gospel could change him and would give him a good chance to improve his life. The members would accept and love him, and he recognized it.
We challenged him for baptism, and he accepted everything without question. Besides the regular commandments, we felt there should be a few other things to help him. For this reason we prepared the “B” or “Bath Discussion.” This included his house, his yard, and everything else that needed cleaning up. This didn’t appear easy, and we tried to think of the best and most tactful way to say it. I remember rehearsing a dialogue all day, but we ended up just giving it to him straight. He took it surprisingly well.
The week before the baptism was a trial and tribulation for both Hans and us. I don’t know who’s to blame, but someone didn’t want us to baptize Hans. Both my companion and I got terribly sick; his wheel got stuck on my fender while we were riding and all his spokes flew out; I got hit by a train, and came within inches of being killed; and finally we had to look for a new apartment and didn’t know where we were going to stay until the last day. We baptized Hans, however, just three and a half weeks after our first visit. He came to the church showered and shaved and even wore a new pair of socks. I hardly recognized him. We could already see a part of our vision coming true. I had the great opportunity of baptizing him. He had never worn a tie, so we told him he could go without. Having him stand there in those pure white clothes was fancy enough for us.
As with all baptisms, the real work begins afterwards. We began that Saturday with the cleaning of his house. We worked like dogs, digging out the dirt, junk, and refuse. A sister in the ward, who lived just a few blocks away, came to help. I’ve always admired the courage of pioneer women, but I’ll never forget this act of kindness and fortitude. She started washing dishes and then cleaned out the cupboards. She kept scrubbing and washing till all was spotless.
“This is brotherly love,” I told myself. “This is how the Lord expects his children to help one another.”
Hans continued to improve and came to church every week. A year later I saw a picture of him in a suit. He looked fantastic.
I learned a lot of things from Hans and this whole sequence of my mission. I realized how important each one of our Father in Heaven’s children is, and how the gospel can help anyone in any situation. As my mother once wrote in a letter, “The gospel is a hospital for the sick and not a museum for the whole.” It was certainly true in this case. I know our Heavenly Father helped us in the changing of this man’s life.
The vision of Hans didn’t end there, however. He became, in his own little way, an example to his fellowmen. One month later we visited a lady across the street from Hans. She had seen the change in the house and in Hans himself and knew it had to be the Mormons. She called the same member who had helped us with the cleaning and told her to send the missionaries. Five minutes from the time we entered the home of this great family, we had challenged them to be baptized. What a thrill it was to know that Hans was the one whom the Lord chose to show them the fruits of the gospel.
It all started with Hans. We helped him to find a new life and he helped us as companions. From this time on, it was no longer a question of outdoing each other or being the best, but rather how we could help Hans or the other investigators. He was an example for us of true humility and how the Lord blesses his children.
I know now that the Lord loves us and wants us all to be happy, even the meek and the poor in spirit.

I am 12 years old and go to an elementary school. Even though there are mostly little kids there, swearing is still a problem. Thank you for the article “No Cussing Club” (Mar. 2009). It is good to know that I am not the only one dealing with cussing. The article had good suggestions on how to help.
Andrew H., Idaho

In the same way, the Church has taught him to play as a member of the Lord’s team. “The Church has taught me to teach and care for others, to always watch for when people need help. There’s no better place to learn to live the gospel than in the Church. The Lord wants all of us to practice the gospel. That’s why I’m going on a mission.”
Raphael will be giving up a college athletic scholarship to do so. Recruited by several schools, he was tempted to accept a scholarship from one of them. But at this point in his life, he would rather serve on a mission than serve on a volleyball court. He knows he is making the right choice.
“As much success as I have had in sports,” he says, “I want to do better as a missionary. I feel that no matter where I go, I can do well—if I let the Lord coach me.”

Missionaries in El Paso, Texas, know the Spirit can teach you how to do anything—even how to cut hair. The elders wanted to help a local homeless shelter by giving haircuts to the people there, but they didn’t know how. A few ward members volunteered to show them the basics and then the elders went to work.

They aren’t professionals, but they believe the Spirit guides them as they serve so they can do a good job. Word has gotten out about the missionary-barbers, and now the elders are greeted with long lines of clients when they go to the shelter. And not only do they give good haircuts, like most good barbers, they also give their customers an earful—about the gospel of course!

My family has a problem with small things like not turning off the lights and leaving on the water when we brush our teeth. When I read the July FYI I knew I could help save the earth. I made a copy of the article, then cut out each section and put them around the house. Thanks!
Anne ParkerSalt Lake City, Utah

Relief Society Sisters Knit Warmers for Penguins
A team of Relief Society sisters from the Coffs Harbour Branch in New South Wales has pulled out their knitting needles in response to a cry for help from the fairy penguins of Phillip Island.
“Nature reserves in this area use the knitted sweaters for the rehabilitation of oil-damaged penguins. Oil spills kill many penguins there each year because the oil damages the penguins’ feathers, making them susceptible to poisoning and drowning,” says Marion Braun of the Coffs Harbour Branch.
The Bass Strait of Australia, separating Tasmania from the mainland, is a major shipping thoroughfare. Occasional seafaring mishaps can be disastrous to the fairy penguins, so called because they are the smallest penguin species in the world.
The penguin sweaters are stored in oil-spill-response kits positioned in critical locations around Tasmania. In the case of an oil spill, little penguins are usually far too ill to be cleaned with water and mild detergent right away, and the scrubbing can be quite stressful. Instead, rescuers slip the oil-coated birds into wool sweaters, which prevent them from preening themselves and possibly swallowing toxic petroleum-based oil as they regain needed strength. The sweaters also serve to keep the penguins warm until their bodies are once again producing the natural oils (removed by the cleaning) necessary for their insulation and waterproofing.

“Mom! Mom! They’re selling ice cream after school this week!” Wade jumped into the car with excitement in his voice. “Could I take a dollar from my bank and buy one tomorrow? Please?”
Mom laughed as Wade bounced on the backseat of the minivan. “You decide how to use the money in your spending bank,” she said. “If you want to use it for ice cream, you go right ahead.”
“All right!” Wade cried. As soon as they arrived home, he ran to his room, removed a dollar from his spending bank, and carefully zipped it into his backpack pocket.
After school the next day, Wade went to the front hall where the student council helpers sat at a table. Pictures of each kind of ice-cream bar were taped to the table. What to choose? It was hard to decide between the chocolate bar, the orange bar, the nutty cone, the red rocket, and the vanilla ice cream covered with bits of candy bar. He finally chose the nutty cone and opened it up.
On his way out to the car, he went to the music room to pick up his instrument so he could practice at home. His music teacher, Mr. Nolan, was straightening chairs and music stands.
“Wade, how nice of you to get me ice cream!” he joked, reaching toward the cone. “Just what I could use after a long day.”
Wade laughed. “I bought this one for me,” he said.
Mr. Nolan made a silly sad face. “Oh, too bad,” he sighed. Then he laughed. “Enjoy your ice cream!”
Wade waved good-bye to him and skipped out to the car. “I got ice cream, Mom!”
He told her about Mr. Nolan and his silly face. “Maybe he really would like some ice cream,” Wade thought. “Mom,” he said, “could I use another dollar to buy Mr. Nolan ice cream tomorrow?”
“It’s your money, Wade,” said Mom with a smile.
As soon as he got home, Wade ran to his room again. He pulled another dollar from his bank and again put it into his backpack pocket. “What kind of face will Mr. Nolan make when I hand him the ice cream?” Wade wondered. He could hardly wait to see.
As soon as class ended the next day, Wade quickly gathered his books and walked down the hall to the ice-cream table. Today he didn’t stop to think about which flavor to buy. Mr. Nolan had seemed to think the nutty cone looked good. “I’ll take one cone,” Wade said.
He didn’t open it this time but zipped down the hall toward the music room. Sure enough, Mr. Nolan was there straightening chairs again. “Oh, you brought me more ice cream!” he said.
This time Wade walked right up to Mr. Nolan. “Yep, I did!” he announced and handed Mr. Nolan the cone.
Mr. Nolan didn’t make a silly face at all. Instead, he looked very surprised.
“Is this really for me?” he asked.
“Yep,” Wade said.
“How much do I owe you?” Mr. Nolan asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Wade said. “I got it for you.”
“Why, thank you very much,” Mr. Nolan said with a smile.
Wade felt wonderful from the tips of his sneakers to the top of his head. He couldn’t contain the grin on his face.
“You’re welcome,” he called as he grabbed his instrument and trotted out to the car where his mother was waiting. He was still smiling as he opened the door.
“How did it go?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Wade said. Then he thought for a second. “You know what, Mom? I think getting ice cream for Mr. Nolan was even better than getting it for myself!”

I’m the only priest in my ward, so I bless the sacrament every week. I was a little nervous the first time because everyone’s attention was on me. But I practiced and prayed that God would help me not feel so nervous.

I recall reading the story of Commander William Robert Anderson, the naval officer who took the submarine Nautilus beneath the polar ice from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean, a daring and dangerous feat. It recounted a number of other exploits of similar danger and concluded with a statement that the commander carried in his wallet a tattered card that had on it these words: “I believe God will always make a way where there is no way.”

“Cut your headlights. That must be him. Yep, ’80 rust bucket with an exhaust system loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Okay, he’s far enough ahead of us now. Pull out and follow him,” she said.
“Okay, so we followed him to this church and watched him go in. Now what? We know he hauls himself out of bed at an insane hour every morning to go to this church. You’ve seen what you wanted. Let’s go.”
“No. I want to wait a while and see if anybody else shows up. Then I’m going in to see what’s inside.”
“You’re going in? He’ll recognize you and know something’s up.”
“Don’t worry, baby brother. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing my black wig today. I always wear my blonde wig to school. Anyway, I don’t exactly have the kind of face that will turn any heads. He’ll never know.”
“This is so stupid. If you’re that interested in this guy and his church, why don’t you just ask him what you want to know?”
“Listen. Anyone can mouth scriptures and high-sounding ideas. But does he really believe what he said last Wednesday. I want to know what this guy and everybody else inside are like when they don’t have an audience.”
“You can’t disgrace the Church by doing the right thing. I hear you substituted for the Gospel Essentials teacher this morning.”
Keith shrugged. “Another disaster. I was supposed to be giving a lesson on the importance of baptism, but halfway through the class this black-haired, skinny girl comes in and sits on the back row. All of a sudden the lesson plan goes completely out of my head and I start talking about the plan of salvation. About a half hour of this andshe excuses herself and cuts out of class.”
The bishop raised his eyebrows. “Sometimes that happens to me too. I feel impressed to teach certain principles at certain times.”
But Keith didn’t hear the bishop. “I drove away the only investigator that’s come to that class in a month.”
“Well, how’d it go? You look like you’re hyperventilating and your eyes are red. Should I call the doctor?”
“No, just give me a few minutes. I’ve decided I’m going to need your help tomorrow, though.”

“I fared much better at fast-pitch softball. My most memorable experience in softball was a thirteen-inning game I pitched in Salt Lake City on a hot Memorial Day. The game was scheduled for just seven innings, but the tied score could not be broken. In the last of the thirteenth, with two men out and a runner on third, the batter hit a high pop fly to left field. The catch was certain, I thought. And yet the ball fell through the hands of the left fielder. For thirty-eight years I have teased my friend who dropped the ball. I have promised myself I will never do so again. I’m not even going to mention his name. After all, he, too, remembers. It was only a game.”1

My sister-in-law Janey (name has been changed) was raised in the gospel and was a very committed member of the Church. After her seemingly happy temple marriage dissolved, people in her small community began to spread rumors and make judgments about her. She distanced herself from many of her friends and eventually the Church.
She started dating a young man, Andy, who soon moved in with her. I worried about what to tell my kids. My three young daughters loved their aunt Janey. Not only are our families very close, but she was their dance teacher, so they saw her several times a week.
For many months, they thought that Andy was visiting a lot, but I finally had to tell them that Janey and Andy were living together. I explained that the choice they made was a serious sin. My daughters seemed to understand, and we had a good discussion about the importance of living gospel principles.
Then a bomb hit. Janey happily announced to the family that she and Andy were expecting a baby. Again I worried about how this news would affect my children. Did they realize that this is not how Heavenly Father wants His children brought to earth? If they were around this situation, would they think it was acceptable and normal?
I fretted for weeks, not wanting to tell my children of this newest development. A month later Janey and Andy decided to get married. Why hadn’t they waited to announce the pregnancy until after they were married?
Resentment boiled up inside me. How could I love Janey but not what she had done? How could I teach my kids to continue to love their aunt but not the choices she had made?
I wondered if Janey had gone through something similar. Had she regretted her choices but, unable to change the consequences, accepted them and decided to move forward?
I felt shame at my harsh judgments and at my inability to love the way Jesus Christ expects us to love. As I reflected on the Savior’s life, I remembered that He always sought out the sinners, teaching them through His words and example, and loving them. It was this love that softened hearts and changed people.
I realized that too often I loved people as long as they were acting the way I thought they should, but as soon as they made a mistake, I condemned them in my heart. What a hypocrite I was! I realized I needed to repent. I needed to learn to love the sinner without endorsing the sin. Finally, I was able to release the anger I held against Janey and truly love her again.
I had another good discussion with my children. I emphasized the importance of getting married before having a baby. We were able to look forward to the birth of a new baby in the family. We all wanted to support Janey and share in this special time of her life. My kids realize that Aunt Janey did something wrong, but they still love her and Uncle Andy and hope their beautiful family will someday decide to come back into the waiting arms of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

I hold in my hand a copy of the Book of Mormon. This is my 1970 vintage edition, and it is precious to me. By its appearance it is tired and worn, but no other book is as important to my life and my testimony as this one. Reading it, I gained a witness by the Spirit that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that He is my Savior, that these scriptures are the word of God, and that the gospel is restored. Those truths rest deep within me. As the prophet Nephi said, “My soul delighteth in the things of the Lord.”
Left to right: Elder Ronald A. Rasband, young missionary; President Harold Wilkinson, president of the Eastern States Mission; and Elder Marion D. Hanks, General Authority Seventy.
Here is the back story. As a young missionary, I took the counsel of Elder Marion D. Hanks, who visited us in the Eastern States Mission. He was the former president of the British Mission, and two of his missionaries are on the stand this day: my dear Brethren Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and Elder Quentin L. Cook. Just as with his missionaries in England, he challenged us to read an unmarked copy of the Book of Mormon at least two times. I took up the task. The first reading I was to mark or underline everything that pointed to or testified of Jesus Christ. I used a red pencil, and I underlined many passages. The second time, Elder Hanks said to highlight principles and doctrine of the gospel, and this time I used blue to mark the scriptures. I read the Book of Mormon twice, as suggested, and then two more times, using yellow and black to mark passages that stood out to me. As you can see, I made many notations.
There was much more to my reading than just marking scriptures. With each reading of the Book of Mormon, front to back, I was filled with a profound love for the Lord. I felt a deeply rooted witness of the truth of His teachings and how they apply to “this day.” This book fits its title, “Another Testament of Jesus Christ.” With that study and the spiritual witness that was received, I became a Book of Mormon missionary and a disciple of Jesus Christ.

You know you’re in for a good service project when a facilities expert has to be consulted beforehand to make sure your intended activities don’t knock out a fuse. The combined young women from a stake in Nevada, USA, had an ambitious goal: to create 100 pillowcases from scratch and donate them to local charities, ranging from the children’s ward in hospitals to homeless shelters. As a bonus, they’d also learn sewing skills.
They certainly had strength in numbers: 130 young women from their stake showed up for the activity. In addition, they had a Relief Society sister assigned to teach and work with them one-on-one as they tackled the big sewing project.
The 130 sewing machines were spread out among four Church buildings, filling gymnasiums, stages, and lobbies in a strategic electrical arrangement planned out by a facilities specialist ahead of time.
As the night unfolded, the young women soared past their goal of 100 pillowcases almost before the sewing machines had warmed up. By the end of the evening they had cranked out over 600 pillowcases, all of which were donated to local charities. The young women had an absolute blast. “It was fun sewing the pillowcases and imagining the reactions of the children who would receive them,” says Kaelamae T., a 14-year-old in attendance.

Golf is a popular sport in Japan, so I started playing it when I was 14 years old as a way to spend time with my father. It was fun from the start, and eventually I started to practice on my own and played on the golf team at my high school. I became friends with my teammates and coaches, who encouraged me to pursue my dream of becoming a professional golfer.
I worked hard, not just on my game but on my studies, graduating near the top of my high school class.
When I first entered college, I had a great relationship with my golf coach and teammates. They were better than I was, so I did all I could to keep up with them. Some of the team members commented on my unique first name, Shuho. I told them that my Korean maternal grandmother gave it to me and that in Korean it means “beautiful mountain.” From that point on I felt like their attitude toward me changed, tainted by a generations-long tension between some in Japan and Korea.
They began calling me “the Korean kid” and said I would hurt the good name of the university. Rather than allowing me to practice golf with them, they made me clean the toilets.
It became increasingly stressful to be around the team. Being away from home, I felt like I was on my own. I tried to hang on to my dream and return to the good favor of my coach and team, but after two years, I couldn’t tolerate their harsh treatment anymore, so I returned home.
This was a dark time for me. The stress was having psychological and physical effects. My self-esteem had taken a beating for two years. My dream to be a professional golfer was at an end. I didn’t know where to go with my life. And I was angry. I was angry at everyone: the coach, my teammates, and my parents. I was so angry, my thoughts scared me. I had no friends, and I felt I was unable to trust or associate with other people. For six months, I only left home to work out at the gym.
During this dark part of my life, I made friends with Justin Christy, whom I met at the gym. When I first saw him, I thought he was a foreign-exchange student. I was hesitant to talk to him until I saw him talking to someone at the gym and was surprised to hear that he spoke Japanese. I still felt unable to trust other people, but he suggested that we train together. There was something different about him that I didn’t understand at the time. I was calm when I was around him. I started to look forward to our training time together. I had found someone I felt I could trust as a friend.
After training together for several months, Justin invited me to a dinner group that he went to on a regular basis. I was hesitant, but after several invitations I decided to go to what ended up being a young single adult dinner at the home of Richard and Corina Clark. They greeted me warmly when I entered their home, Brother Clark in Japanese and Sister Clark in English. I didn’t understand what she was saying, but I attempted to respond to her. Even though several people there didn’t speak Japanese, they were a fun-loving group who were warm and friendly. There was lots of laughter.
I began attending other young single adult activities and had never had so much fun with other people in my life. I wondered what it was about these people that made them so nice and friendly.
Around this time Justin asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I was surprised to find that my goals had started to change. I told him I wanted to learn to speak English and I wanted to be a friend to all, just like him. He told me of the free English classes at his church. I went to the English class and met the missionaries. Even though I had never thought about God, I felt like I should listen to the missionaries. They taught me the fundamentals of the gospel and called me almost every day. They became my good friends, which made me really happy because I didn’t have very many friends yet.
I started meeting many members of the Church who went to the missionary lessons with me and became good friends with them. They taught me the gospel and set the example for me. Justin talked to me about the Book of Mormon and told me stories from it so that I wanted to read it for myself. Another friend, Shingo, who is very detail-oriented, discussed doctrines with me in a way that was easy for me to understand. He always bore his testimony at the end of our conversations.
I had found something I believed in and a place I felt I belonged. After I was baptized and confirmed, I started to think about serving a mission, but I was worried about dedicating two years to it. I talked to a lot of people about serving a mission, especially my returned missionary friends. I thought a lot about it, and I realized that the gospel was the only thing that could have saved me.
I know that God has given me everything: my dreams, hope, friends, and especially love. The gospel helped me come out of darkness into the light.

When I was a 16-year-old high school student in Seoul, Korea, a Latter-day Saint classmate invited me to a branch activity. I was amazed at how many people greeted me as if I were an old friend. I thought, “What a wonderful church this must be to have such kind members!”
That Sunday I returned and was again greeted warmly. I was also introduced to the missionaries, and they soon began teaching me the gospel. Two months later I was baptized and confirmed. I didn’t yet have a deep understanding of the gospel, but I felt good about the principles I had learned. I especially liked the plan of salvation and the doctrine of eternal progression. It was comforting to know that if I would do all I could for myself, the Savior would do the rest. But the warmth of the members was what really led to my conversion.

“Ana, Ana, wake up!” The urgent cry finally woke me, and I instinctively jumped out of bed. From outside came more anguished words from my sister’s husband—“Hurry! We’ve had an accident. Your sister is in the hospital!”
It was 1977. Only four years earlier I had left Costa Rica to live in Los Angeles, California. Now my sister was close to losing her life, thousands of kilometers away form the rest of our family.
After making our way to the medical center, we climbed the stairs, took an elevator, and located the intensive care unit. We opened the doors, and there, surrounded by doctors and medical equipment, was the inert body of my sister.
A nurse saw us and led us away. We waited in the cold hallway all night long, feeling no comfort from the stark walls as the hours ticked away. When the doctor finally met with us, his prognosis was not encouraging.
As I sat there on a cold bench, my thoughts turned to the power of the priesthood. My sister was not a member of the Church, but oh, how I wanted her to have a blessing! I called by bishop and asked if he would administer to her. When he assented, my heart overflowed with gratitude. I knew that everything would be all right.
A short time later, he arrived and gave my sister a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. I was told that “the Lord knows where your sister is most needed.” Of course, I believed that she was most needed here. She had three small children to rear.
Two days after the accident, my sister died. The Lord took her home.
What I remember now is the serenity that took possession of me during those difficult hours. Exactly one year after her death, I did vicarious work for her in the temple. I have no doubt that the power of the priesthood is real.