Gospel Story Finder

One family that has felt the effects of following this counsel is that of Bishop Richard Auger of the Banbury Ward; his wife, Gill; and their two daughters, Hannah and Charlotte, both recently married in the London England Temple. Bishop Auger, an inspector with Thames Valley Police, is very aware of the world’s poor standards and their effects on youth and their behavior. “Gill and I used For the Strength of Youth to learn about parenting so we could be consistent and based on the scriptures,” he says. “Throughout the girls’ teenage years, we used it as a ready guide and in many different ways. When the girls wanted to shop for their own clothes, it was a worry to us, so we sent them out with the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could refer to it when making choices.”
Hannah, 21, says, “We kept the booklet in our purses as it states clearly what is and what isn’t appropriate.” The sisters learnt they could make some clothing more modest with a little sewing or by adding accessories. Charlotte, 19, adds, “Hannah and I never felt that our parents made decisions for us. We knew that our parents followed the prophet and the Savior, and so by following our parents, we would always be living the teachings of the Savior too.”

With his confidence in himself established on a spiritual basis, Peter was ready to work toward going on a mission. After submitting his papers and undergoing a special interview with Elder Thomas S. Monson, Peter received his call to the Northern California Mission.
Up until then Peter had always worn dark glasses in an attempt to cover the slits that had been sewn closed over his eyes to compensate for his lack of eyelids. He had been so self-conscious of his appearance that he never went anywhere without his glasses. On the way to his mission interview, he took his dark glasses off and never wore them again. Surgery later corrected the problem with his eyelids.
His new attitude about himself helped him serve a successful mission. He was able to influence people and encourage them to become members of the Church.

Pornchai Juntratip carefully walks into the room and senses the location of his visitor. He smiles, brings the palms of his hands together, bows his head, and offers the traditional Thai greeting: “Sawat dee khrap.”
Brother Juntratip is a slim, delicate-looking man whose youthful face belies his forty-six years. Visitors sense an ethereal quality about Brother Juntratip, who has been described as “a man without guile, untouched by worldly influences.” A Church translator in his native city of Bangkok, Thailand, Brother Juntratip has achieved much in his life despite losing his sight in his teenage years.
“I was about eight or nine years old when I lost the sight in my right eye. But it wasn’t until I looked through binoculars that I realized I could see only through my left eye. I lost the use of that eye when I was about fourteen years old. Now I can see only the difference between light and dark.”
But having lost the ability to see with his eyes, Brother Juntratip has been able to develop the ability to see with the Spirit.
“I was in my late twenties when I first met the Latter-day Saint missionaries. They were bicycling by the house one day and saw me. They stopped and introduced themselves and asked if I had ever heard of the Church. When I said no, they told me about Joseph Smith and the First Vision.
“From what they told me, I felt that Joseph Smith was a good man who had done nothing wrong. At their suggestion, I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father to know if what they had told me was true. When I got up from my knees, I had this soft, warm feeling down my spine.”
The elders arranged to come again, this time bringing Braille editions of the Book of Mormon and The Articles of Faith by Elder James E. Talmage—both in English.
But Pornchai says he had been prepared for this moment. His father, a bank clerk, started teaching him English when Pornchai was nine years old. When he was ten, he began working with a tutor. Later, he enrolled in a four-year high school correspondence course offered by a college for the blind in the United States. He had completed the course and received an American high school diploma shortly before the missionaries stopped to talk to him.
“When I look back on those years, I realize that everything fitted into place,” says Brother Juntratip. “Not only was I able to read the books the missionaries gave me, but I think I was also prepared spiritually to receive the gospel message.
“I grew up observing the customs of two religions. Like most Thais, I was raised a Buddhist. My parents, being of Chinese descent, would observe Chinese religious customs, such as the new-year festival, the ancestral festival, and the new-moon festival.
“But I had read of Jesus Christ, and as a small boy—a long, long time ago—I had watched movies in which the Lord was depicted, like The Ten Commandments and The Robe. And I believed in God. I told myself that there must be a God, because if there were no God, who created the universe and all the good and beautiful things in it? There had to be an omnipotent Being.”
Brother Juntratip was baptized on 6 December 1976, at the age of twenty-eight.
By then, his parents had died, but he faced opposition from his two younger brothers. “They were university-trained engineers, and their only religion was materialism. They couldn’t understand what I was doing.”
Three years later, they opposed his decision to attend Brigham Young University—Hawaii Campus. “My brothers were sure I’d fail,” recalls Brother Juntratip, “and they didn’t want the embarrassment of having to bring me home.” To try to keep him from going, his brothers took control of a piece of property his mother had left him. He had planned to sell the property to acquire money for college expenses. But his brothers said they would hold the property so that if he failed, they could sell it and use the money to bring him home.
But Brother Juntratip still went ahead with his plans and enrolled at BYU—Hawaii. He wrote to an airline company asking them to let him fly half-fare. They responded by giving him a free ticket.
Pornchai studied English literature at the university, taping the lectures and also listening to taped versions of the study text. He supported himself by transcribing oral history tapes.
He graduated in December 1983 and then entered BYU at Provo, Utah, for graduate work in English literature. “Because I did well while in college in Hawaii, my brothers let me have the money from the property sale to pay my way to Utah,” says Brother Juntratip. “I had to give so much time to my studies that I couldn’t work to support myself, but luckily I was awarded a scholarship. I received my master’s degree in June 1986 and returned to Thailand.”
For seven months after returning to Thailand, Brother Juntratip taught students in his home. Then he was offered a position as translator for the Church.
“I had been praying that I would find employment that would fit my particular circumstances, and the translation job does that. I translate seminary and institute student manuals into Thai.”
At first, Brother Juntratip hired someone to read the English text to him. He would dictate the Thai translation into a tape recorder, and the tapes would then be transcribed. These last two steps were eliminated when he taught himself to use a Thai-language typewriter. Later, he replaced the typewriter with a computer, making revisions and corrections easier. In addition, he now receives a taped version of the original English text.
Brother Juntratip met his wife, Kwanjai, a couple of years after his return from BYU. She had served a mission in Thailand.
The Juntratips were sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple in June 1990 by the temple president, Floyd Hogan, who had been Kwanjai’s mission president. Their son, Pituporn, was born in August 1991. “His name means patriarchal blessing,” explains Brother Juntratip. “We hope he grows up to be a good missionary like his mother.
“I remember that when the missionaries presented the discussions to me, I felt the gospel message they taught me was true, was good,” he says. “By striving to live my life according to the gospel, I have come to know for a certainty that it is true and it is good.”

It was in Toronto that John Taylor heard the gospel as a result of some unusual circumstances. Parley P. Pratt had been sent to the city by revelation (Elder Heber C. Kimball had also prophesied: “… and from the things growing out of this mission, shall the fulness of the gospel spread into England”). He had received from a stranger in Hamilton, Canada, a letter of introduction to a John Taylor in Toronto, but when Elder Pratt called at the Taylor home, his reception was polite but not exactly cordial. So after presenting his message to ministers in the city, Elder Pratt prepared to leave. Valise in hand, he was saying good-bye to John Taylor when a neighbor came in, offered her home for Elder Pratt to preach in, and proposed to lodge and feed him. The neighbor was a member of a study group that the Taylors had organized. Within a number of days, John Taylor heard Elder Pratt preach. This was his response:
“We are here, ostensibly in search of truth. Hitherto we have fully investigated other creeds and doctrines and proven them false. Why should we fear to investigate Mormonism? This gentleman, Mr. Pratt, has brought to us many doctrines that correspond with our own views. … We have prayed to God to send us a messenger, if he has a true Church on earth. … I desire to investigate his doctrines and claims to authority, and shall be very glad if some of my friends will unite with me in this investigation. But if no one will unite with me, be assured I shall make the investigation alone. If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; but if false, then I shall expose it.”
He followed Elder Pratt around and wrote down eight different sermons he delivered. He then privately compared them with the scriptures. “I made a regular business of it for three weeks and followed Brother Pratt from place to place.” He and his wife joined the Church shortly thereafter.

Orson returned to America in 1838, moved his family to Far West, Missouri, and witnessed the evil, treacherous conflict between his people and the mobocrats. During the summer Orson became very ill with a fever, and at this time, he fled Far West and joined with Thomas B. Marsh, a member of the Twelve, in “denouncing the Church.” This was the blackest and most dreadful period in Orson’s life, and he lamented:
“Few men pass through life without leaving some traces which they would gladly obliterate. Happy is he whose life is free from stain and blemish. In the month of October, 1838, with me it was a day of affliction and darkness. I sinned against God and my brethren; I acted foolishly. I will not allude to any causes for so doing save one, which was, that I did not possess the light of the Holy Ghost. I lost not my standing in the Church, however; yet, not because I was worthy to retain it, but because God and his servants were merciful. … Brothers Hyrum Smith and H. C. Kimball, men of noted kindness of heart, spake to me words of encouragement and comfort in the hour of my greatest sorrow.
“I located with the Saints in Commerce. At the April Conference in 1840, I was appointed, in company with Elder John E. Page, to go on a mission to Jerusalem.”4
The members of the Church were forced to flee to Illinois, where Orson joined with them after an absence of eight months. He stood before the assembled body of the Church at a general conference in Commerce and humbly asked their forgiveness. His petition was granted, and it was voted that he was “to stand in his former office as an Apostle.”

Brothers and sisters: Rikki Pace, the fifteen-year-old daughter of Glenn Pace, our new managing director of the Welfare Department, was overheard in a conversation with a school friend. It went something like this:
“Where does your dad work?”
“At the Church Office Building.”
“Where’s the Church Office Building?”
“You know, that tall building by the Temple.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s in charge of the Welfare Department.”
“What’s the Welfare Department?”
Well, after several attempts to explain, it didn’t appear as if any big impressions had been made. So, with one final attempt to put the subject to rest, Rikki said:
“Let me put it this way: between now and the Millennium if a member of the Church starves to death, it’s all my dad’s fault.”

On 18 July 2023, I lost the most important person in my life. My mother was my strength, my pillar, but also my weakness. At that time, I was no longer attending church because I worked every day, including Sundays and public holidays, and my ward met at 8:00 a.m. I missed one time, then another … and it became a vicious cycle.
When I lost my mother, I realized I hadn’t made the most of my time with her. I began to regret not quitting my job to spend more time with her after her stroke in March 2020. She lived for three more years, but since I was often at work, I feel like I didn’t truly cherish her final moments. A sense of guilt overwhelmed me. In my mind, I was stuck in a routine: work, medical appointments, caring for my mom, sleep, on repeat. There was no room for anything else.
That’s when I understood the truth: I didn’t trust God enough. I had given more importance to my temporal needs than to my spiritual life.
Yet my mother’s passing brought me closer to the Lord again. He became my support. In Him, I found the peace and love I needed to cope with grief. I gave myself the challenge for 2024 to start attending sacrament meeting regularly again.
With my boss’s encouragement, I joined the Puurai Ward in Tahiti at the beginning of 2024. There, I was welcomed by kind and always-smiling members. It became my place of refuge every Sunday. The more I attended, the more I felt our Heavenly Father’s love grow stronger. That’s when I started to seriously rethink my priorities in life.
Of course, we need a job and income to live, but I was beginning to feel emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. That’s when my bishop told me about Sister Tararaina Mana, a service missionary and career coach in our ward. He said I could meet with her if I wished. I was immediately interested. I was at a turning point and no longer knew what to do.
On Sunday, 2 June 2024, I had my first coaching session with her. That first meeting was very different from what I expected. I thought it would be like school orientation where you pick a career based on your degrees, but it was so much more! For the first time, someone asked me questions that were truly about me. Beyond my academic background, my coach focused on my needs, my expectations—simply put, on me.
We started exercises that I didn’t quite understand at first. We began with my “Whys.” Thanks to that exercise, I started thinking deeply about my goals and my life vision. I rediscovered myself. I learned to listen to myself, to know myself, to trust myself. I realized I had forgotten who I was. I had let myself be consumed by temporal needs and society’s expectations.
Society imposes a model on us: studies, diploma, great job, house, car, then family. It sounds simple, tut reality is much harsher. Fear, doubt, and anxiety about basic needs had taken over my spiritual growth.
Today, the difference between who I was then and who I am now is immense. From September 2024 to April 2025, I took various small jobs to cover basic expenses while coaching gave me motivation and taught me discipline. I wanted to create professional opportunities for myself, so I registered for three different exams: prison guard, professional tourism qualification, and a SEFI (a local employment agency) training program.
Thanks to my faith in God, my perseverance, and my coaching sessions, I now hold a professional qualification in tourism. I passed the entry exams for the prison guard role, and I’m currently enrolled in “Business Creator and Manager” training, an intensive three-month program. Opportunities are opening up for me!
On a personal level, I’m now reflecting on finding my eternal companion, someone to build my eternal family with. Putting Christ at the centre of my life has become a clear and natural choice.
Coaching has had a powerful impact on my life. Without those regular sessions, I would still be lost—trapped in fear, doubt, and lack of self-confidence. Today, I know what I want. I’m ready to move forward. And I can finally say that I’m proud of myself and the path I’ve walked, even though it’s been filled with trials.
With the Lord by my side and inspiring people like my coach, I know where I’m headed. I can’t wait to have the ideal job so I can, in turn, give back and thank those who supported me when I had nothing. That truly means a lot to me.

When I was a boy, my family had a small farm with cows and fields. Growing up on a farm was hard work.
One hot summer day, my brother and I were working in the field. The wind was blowing hard, and there was a lot of dust in the air. I had bad allergies, and the dust from the hay sometimes made me sick. My eyes were watering. It was hard to breathe. My nose even started to bleed because I’d rubbed it so much.
When my mother came out to the field and saw me, she told me to come inside the house. She had me lie on the couch with a wet cloth on my face. A few minutes later, she came back with two farmers. They were wearing overalls covered in hay dust.
The farmers were members of our ward. They placed their hands on my head and started to give me a blessing. My dad wasn’t a member of the Church then, so he didn’t hold the priesthood. But I’ll never forget the feeling I had as those other good men blessed me. It was warm, peaceful, and calming. And I didn’t feel so sick anymore.
Later in life, I realized that feeling was the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost is sometimes called the Comforter. I like that name because it was the Holy Ghost that brought me comfort. It made me feel better on the outside and on the inside.

Kathy listened as Mr. Sodeberg explained how people migrated in the United States. She was excited about her new history class. Flipping through the pages of her new history book, Kathy stopped at a picture of Brigham Young. She had never realized Brigham Young’s significance in United States history before.
Mr. Sodeberg finished his lecture. “There will be homework every day,” he said. “Your first assignment is due tomorrow.”
At home Kathy sighed as she looked at all the questions Mr. Sodeberg had assigned.
“Tough day at school?” Mom asked.
“Homework every day,” Kathy said. She remembered the picture in her history book. “Mom, Brigham Young is in my textbook. What makes him so important in U.S. history?”
“He directed the migration of thousands of Latter-day Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Then he organized them into settlements,” Mom said. “That took a lot of planning. It was a significant part of the country’s westward migration.”
The next day Mr. Sodeberg announced, “Next week we will perform a readers’ theater. Each of you will dramatize a character of the westward migration. Your parents and other students will be invited to attend the performance.”
Mr. Sodeberg began assigning characters and handing out scripts. When he asked who wanted the part of Brigham Young, Kathy quickly raised her hand.
“Tonight’s homework is to begin memorizing your part,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “You must recite it perfectly. Your grade depends on it.”
Kathy read over her part as she and her friend Laura left class. A terrible feeling came over her. “This is all wrong,” she said to Laura. “It makes Brigham Young sound dishonest.”
“You just see things differently because of your church,” Laura said.
“I can’t say these things,” Kathy said.
“You have to recite them perfectly,” Laura reminded her.
Tears rolled down Kathy’s cheeks as she ran home and burst through the front door.
“More homework?” Mom asked.
“Worse,” Kathy said, handing her the script. “Read this.”
Mom read the script and shook her head. “This writer didn’t know a lot about Brigham Young.”
“What should I do?” Kathy asked.
“First let’s find a Brigham Young costume,” Mom said.
Kathy tried on Grandpa’s long black coat and rolled up the sleeves on her brother’s white shirt. Mr. Grandi next door showed Kathy how to walk with his extra wooden cane.
Mom found a tall black hat in a closet and put it on Kathy’s head. “You’d make Brigham Young proud,” Mom said. “Now you need a new script.”
Kathy looked for information about Brigham Young in Church history books and on the Church Web site. Soon the script was rewritten.
“The true story of Brigham Young,” Kathy said.
On the day of the performance, Kathy’s class gathered in the auditorium. Parents and other students waited in their seats. Mr. Sodeberg introduced the program; then he stood offstage as the students recited their parts.
Alex recited his script perfectly, but Randall mixed up his words. Mr. Sodeberg made him begin again. Kathy squeezed her cane. When it was her turn, Kathy recited the true story of Brigham Young.
“Did you change your script?” Laura asked after the performance.
“Yes. I told the truth,” Kathy said.
“Here comes Mr. Sodeberg,” Laura said.
“Well done, ladies,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “Kathy,” he continued, “you were the best Brigham Young I have ever seen.”

Every quorum activity should have a designated purpose, and that purpose should be gospel oriented. For example, may I relate a story of an Aaronic Priesthood youth in Korea who happened to come from a rather affluent family. One day one of his father’s business associates called the father and inquired if he were having financial difficulties, offering help if it were needed.
The father responded that things were going well.
The man asked, “Are you sure?”
The father replied, “Things are fine. Why do you ask?”
The friend then indicated he had seen the young man on a street corner selling newspapers. The father couldn’t believe it. He told his friend that his son received an adequate allowance and asked if there might have been a mistake of identity. The friend responded there was no mistake; he had personally visited with the boy.
That evening when his son came home from school, the father asked him if he had been selling newspapers on the street corner. The reply was yes. The father asked, “Why? Isn’t your allowance sufficient?”
His son responded that it was adequate, but he had a friend at school who was very poor and who was going to have to drop out of school if he didn’t get some financial assistance. As it turned out, this young Aaronic Priesthood holder was using his allowance money to buy newspapers. Then he and some of his classmates were selling the newspapers to raise money to help keep his friend in school.
A short time before this, he had asked his mother to pack larger lunches for him. She did so, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He confessed to his father he had been sharing his lunch with this same friend, who otherwise would have gone hungry.
The father was obviously touched by his son’s thoughtfulness but asked the reason for such action. The boy replied, “We studied the lesson of the Good Samaritan a few weeks ago. I wanted to know the real meaning of this lesson by being a good Samaritan, not just learning about one.” (See “Profiting for Others,” New Era, June 1979, p. 50.)

In 2012, I became unemployed. My efforts to search for a job proved futile. Eventually, I had to reach out for a loan of about $28 in Nigerian currency to meet my temporal needs.
The amount was sent to my account at a local bank. Once I received a transaction alert, I went to the bank. I filled out a bank slip and handed it to the cashier. The cashier checked the transaction details on her computer and politely told me to have a seat.
About five minutes later she called me and used a currency counting machine to count out my money. Then she handed me $280—not $28! Confused, I paused for a minute with many thoughts racing through my mind.
Noticing my hesitation, the cashier said, “I will need to attend to another customer now.” Smiling, I said, “You have given me $252 too much.” Then I handed over the excess money.
She was very grateful. She explained that had I left with the money, the extra amount she had given me would come out of her own salary.
I bade her farewell, but as I left the bank, a thought came to my mind: “You are a big fool. The money you returned could have assisted you to pay some of your outstanding bills.”
But then I remembered counsel from my bishop. He said, “Whenever you are challenged or tempted, sing your favorite hymns.” So I began to sing “Redeemer of Israel,” “Praise to the Man,” and “I Am a Child of God.”
Some weeks later, I received a letter from an organization I had interviewed with three months prior for the post of warehouse officer. They had decided to hire me. With the new job, I was able to settle my outstanding bills and take care of my temporal needs.

Nothing is more inspiring than to see youth praise God by honoring him on his holy day. Let me recount the story of one of them to you. Eric Liddell had been raised in China by missionary parents. When he returned to Scotland for his education, he discovered while playing rugby that he was fast on his feet. Those who watched him run called it sheer artistry. He was a wild runner, technically imperfect, but with exultant, liquid speed.
As Liddell continued to run, he began to receive honors. Friends pushed him to train for the Olympics, but his devoutly religious sister, Jennie, thought it would turn his attention from God. She knew he couldn’t be half-hearted about anything and she said, “Be honest with me. How much time will you have left for God?”
But Liddell’s father advised him differently. “Run in His name … and let the world stand back in wonder.”
And wonder it did. Liddell became known as the “Flying Scotsman,” making the 1924 British Olympic team with ease. On the way to Paris for the games, however, a reporter tossed him a question that startled Liddell. “What about Sunday? Do you think you can beat the Yanks?”
Liddell had not known that the heat for the 100-meter race he was scheduled to run in was on Sunday. The news made him a quiet passenger, and his sister’s words echoed in his mind: “Your mind’s not with us anymore, Eric.” It was heartbreakingly clear to him what he had to do. He could not run in the race, even if it meant undoing all the years of training, even if it meant disappointing his teammates.
They took the news badly, and Lord Birkenhead, who was leading the group, took it worse. “Won’t run?” he bellowed and turned red. He simply couldn’t understand.
Liddell responded, “I’m not sure that I understand. … I’ve run, driven myself, and run and run again for three whole years just to be on this ship. I gave up rugby, my work has suffered, I’ve even deeply hurt someone I hold very dear. Because, I told myself, if I won, I would win for God—it was his will. And now I find myself sitting here destroying it all, with a couple of words. But I have to. To run would be against God’s law.”
The pressure on Liddell didn’t end there. In Paris, he was called into a special meeting with Lord Birkenhead and the Prince of Wales himself. Had he no allegiance to king and country? “There are times,” said the Prince, “when we are asked to make sacrifices in the name of that loyalty. Without them, our allegiance is worthless. As I see it, for you this is such a time.”
Liddell was uncomfortable, but unmoved, and the tense situation was only resolved when a teammate entered the room and offered to give up his spot on a 400-meter race on Thursday so that Liddell could still run.
That Sunday at church, Liddell read from Isaiah 40:31. [Isa. 40:31] It was not an easy day for him, for he longed to be running for the gold, but he told the congregation what he told himself: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”
Later that week at the 400-meter race, he had his chance to take the Lord at his word. As the runners lined up at their marks, rumors circulated among the crowd that Liddell would never win this race. He was a sprinter, fast in the short haul, but could he take this quarter-mile distance? But as he stood at the line, Liddell received a boost that the crowd didn’t know. One of the top runners on the American team handed him a folded piece of paper that read, “In the Old Book, it says, ‘He that honors me, I will honor.’”
Liddell won that race that day. He got his gold. In doing so, those who watched believed he had passed the supreme test. He had found the courage to throw his head back, push his heart until it almost burst, and cross the finish line ahead of all contenders. But that was not really the supreme test. The supreme test he had passed on the boat on the way to France, in the meeting with the Prince of Wales, and again that Sunday while he watched the race he might have run. The supreme test in any life is whether one can stick to his highest ideals when glory or expedience pressures us away from them. (Excerpted from W. J. Weatherby, Chariots of Fire, Dell/Quicksilver, pp. 50–165.)

I realized that our special communication had vanished, but I was still shocked one day to open my mail and find a wedding announcement from Emily. Even more surprising was the absence of the word temple in the announcement.
I rushed home that weekend and headed straight for Emily’s. There we talked—talked in the almost forgotten way we had that eternal year ago. She had only known Ted two months, but he was the most handsome, intelligent, popular guy on campus. They would both finish college, and then Ted would go on to dental school. His folks had already agreed to help them with expenses, so that would be no problem. After he graduated, Emily joked, all they would have to do is sit around and rake up the money.
Once again I had begun to feel close to Emily, when suddenly, I heard myself wondering out loud why there had been no mention of the temple on her announcement. “Well, we can’t,” she said, her flippant attitude not quite covering the concern I sensed. “Ted’s a Baptist in the first place, and besides, we want to be married in his parents’ ski lodge and write our own ceremony. A wedding should be really personal and meaningful, not just the same words for everyone. Ted will join the Church someday. But even if he doesn’t, my dad’s not a member and it hasn’t stopped my mother from being active. It won’t stop me either.”
By the time Emily was through with her well-practiced little spiel, her defiance had built a wall between us once again. What could I say? After a few moments of fumbling chatter to try to ease the discomfort, I said goodbye.
Three weeks later I attended Ted and Emily’s ski lodge wedding. Contrary to my expectations, it was a very striking event—though not religious in any way. They both read poetry to each other for the ceremony, while a flute played lightly in the background. After there was dancing, with punch for us Mormons and champagne for the others. Ted’s parents were super rich, I could tell, and they had just about planned the whole wedding. They were deliriously happy with their new daughter-in-law (and probably a little from the champagne, too). But I noticed Emily’s mom had really red and swollen eyes—like she’d been crying a lot. Mothers are that way—especially when it’s their only child.
Surprisingly enough, Emily did stay active in the Church. With all her school work and married duties, she attended her meetings faithfully and also served as the assistant librarian. She and Ted lived in an apartment in our ward and I saw her quite often. She always gave me glowing reports of marriage and told how great Ted was to her. “What a life,” I thought.
Six months later Karen married a returned missionary who was just completing his master’s degree in education. They were married in the Logan Temple, so I couldn’t go, of course. But I did attend the reception in our cultural hall, and it was really beautiful. After the wedding Karen and David honeymooned on their way to California, where he would teach in a junior college. Not exactly raking in the money, but they seemed very happy, and I had a sense of well-being just talking to them.
Well, that left me—21 and the old maid of the gleesome threesome. I had never dated quite as much as blonde, beauty-queen Emily or smart, vivacious Karen, but I never thought it would come to this. I sometimes felt that Karen and Emily had married rather young and was sure I wasn’t of old maid vintage yet. But then, a lot of my other friends were getting married too, and I began wondering, “Am I right and the rest of the world wrong?” Relatively speaking, I was panicked.
Just after Karen’s wedding I started going with Allen Johnson. He was great! Really everything I’d ever wanted—kind, intelligent, a great conversationalist—and he liked to do really fun things for dates, like candlelight dinners in the canyon and roller skating downtown after the stores were closed. Only one problem—Allen was not a member of the Church. I had never really intended to start dating him, but he kept insisting and was so cute about it, I couldn’t resist.
We’d been dating off and on for nearly a year when, out of the blue, he popped the big question. “I love you,” he said. “I want you to be my wife.” I gave him a flat no at first and explained, as I had many times before, about my religious beliefs. He told me to think about it.
Believe me, when you’re twenty-two and haven’t even had another offer, and you’ve never enjoyed being with anyone so much in your life, and your two best friends have been married over a year and are both expecting babies, and one of them is married to a nonmember and couldn’t be happier, I tell you, you think about it. And I thought about it some more.
I kept seeing Emily now, coming to church radiant and excited about everything she was doing. “No problems at all,” she would say. “He’s really very liberal. ‘You go to your church and I’ll go to mine.’ Only he doesn’t even go to his.” But in the back of my mind I could also see Emily when we were younger: praying her nonmember dad would baptize her, wondering if her dad would take her to the Primary daddy-daughter party, trying to pretend it didn’t matter when he went golfing instead of coming to her seminary graduation. But then childhood is such a small part of life. What difference does it really make in the long run? And so I continued to think about Allen.
Karen and Emily, still doing things together, had baby girls within a week of each other. I took a pink dress to Emily’s little Julie and absolutely fell in love with her. Karen’s mother told me in church one day that Karen, David, and their little Melissa would be coming in March to show off the baby and get her blessed where Grandpa and all three of Karen’s adoring older brothers could stand in the circle.
Then came the first Sunday in March. I’ll never forget that day. Just after Sunday School Bishop Edwards asked me if I could come to his office an hour before fast meeting for a little talk. Well, I know the bishop doesn’t just call people in for a little talk for no reason. I wondered what I had done—or what I was going to do. But I did tell him I would be there.
At three o’clock I found myself stepping on the rich blue carpeting of the bishop’s office and then staring into the eyes of a man who, it seemed, instantly knew everything about me. I had known Bishop Edwards for a long time. He had been my Sunday School teacher when I was in junior high school and had been bishop now for a couple of years. I hadn’t known him as a bishop too well since I spent many Sundays in my student branch at school. But now, as I looked at him, I knew what a wonderful man he was and the great power he represented.
After a few minutes of small talk about school, family, and whatever, he got to the point of this meeting. “Today as I looked over the congregation, my eyes rested on you,” he said intensely, “and as clearly as we have been speaking to each other, a voice said to me, ‘That girl needs to go on a mission.’” I was stunned! That was the last thing I expected him to say. Me? On a mission? His voice interrupted my thoughts.
“I can see by your expression that you didn’t receive the same inspiration. It must come as quite a surprise. But it’s something you don’t have to decide right now. You think about it and be sure to include your parents and the Lord in your decision. Just let me know when you’ve found your answer.”
A few moments later I walked out of the door, and the fluorescent lighting of the hall hit me with the reality of the situation. I figured in two years I’d really be an old maid. But two years might give Allen time to join the Church on his own. It would give me a chance to find myself. And most important, it would be a chance to get closer to the Lord and serve his children more than I had ever done, I found an empty room and knelt in prayer, asking my Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision. When I stood, I felt a certain calm, even though I still didn’t feel that I had a positive answer.
As I made my way down the stairs and into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me, and just before the meeting, Emily leaned back guiltily and whispered to me, “I forgot this was fast Sunday until I looked at the program. We just finished eating a turkey dinner at Ted’s, so I guess I’ll have to fast twice next month.” I smiled and just then my stomach growled uncomfortably, testifying to the fact that I had remembered.
Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. I was glad that she had made it but sorry I’d missed her before the meeting. I’d have to hurry to the front after the closing prayer to talk to her.
After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, “This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.” Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. “Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.”
As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, “Oh Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?”
“I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,” I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, “and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.” Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.
And now, even though a year has passed, and even though the dark-haired women in this once strange country contrast vividly with blonde Emily, whenever my companion and I are out tracting, or we go to a branch meeting and I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily.

In January of 1997, my family and I were living in Luxembourg where I was working as an auditor for Deloitte & Touche.
January is the front end of what auditors refer to as “busy-season.” In our family, Teresa and I would start busy season by pulling out our calendar and planning a really fun vacation for the end of busy-season. Then we would take a deep breath, plunge in, and hang on until the end of March when we would come up for air and escape to that that long-awaited vacation.
As usual, this busy season was busy. Except for Mondays for family night and Saturdays and Sundays, I would rarely see my kids awake because I would leave for work before they got up and return after they had gone to bed. One night, I got home particularly late, feeling a bit more stress than usual, so I greeted Teresa, who was finalizing a sewing project, and then chose to de-stress myself by sitting down and reading the Church News. The messages were great, and as the minutes passed, I felt myself begin to relax. As I reached the back of the issue, the following position announcement jumped off the page at me: “ BYU–HAWAII Assistant or associate professor of accounting.”
I immediately called over to Teresa and said, “Hey, what do you think about this, an Accounting Professor Position at BYU–Hawaii.” To Teresa’s credit and my eternal gratitude, her resounding reply was “I’m there!” I then fired an email off to Bruce Kimzey, and after a couple setbacks, we were at BYU–Hawaii interviewing for the position, and a few months after that, we were packing up our three little children and all of our worldly belongings for a 24-hour flight to Hawaii. I have never regretted what seemed to be a very spur-of-the-moment, life-altering, career-altering decision to effectively say, “Count me in!” to teaching at BYU–Hawaii, a decision that has changed my life and that of my wife and my children for the better.
I often think about that night and how clear it seemed to me and to Teresa that this would be the right thing to do. Naturally, some people would say, “Well of course Hawaii sounded good. You were working long-stressful hours, it was below freezing outside, you weren’t seeing your kids very much, etc. etc. Of course Hawaii sounded good.” However, our motivation felt deeper than that. We felt a spiritual confirmation that at this point in time, the Lord needed us somewhere else and through various means was asking if we wanted to be counted in. Soon after we arrived in Hawaii and after the excitement of moving here had settled down, we realized that saying “Count me in” is easier than sacrificing and working to “be counted in,” but both are necessary. To Teresa’s credit, what really made our move here work out so well was that she was willing to follow-up her words with the necessary sacrifices and required work to be counted in.

A while ago I met a boy, and this week I had the privilege of spending some time with him and his family. This boy has muscular atrophy. He is a remarkable young man, loved by everyone in the ward. He has always wanted to do the things the other fellows do. He has succeeded in Cub Scouting. He is now a First Class Scout and is progressing.

While Jay was a deacon, he passed the sacrament with the others. He can’t walk or stand on his feet, so his dad lined up with the other boys, holding Jay with his strong arm around his waist and helping him hold the tray, since his hands are not strong enough to support it. Jay’s father thus assisted his son from row to row as he passed the sacrament. Jay did a great job as a deacon collecting fast offerings too. His dad carried him from door to door. Can you imagine that scene on the doorstep?

Jay bears a strong testimony; his attitude and outlook are amazing. He gives talks and does well. He has sung in Church, and always when he does these things, his dad is there to hold him in his arms and stand by him and support him.

In all my life I never heard a sweeter story nor a more moving one. God bless such a father, and God bless such a son, and God bless us who have so much and who have yet a little time, that we may take another look at our boy or at the boy who needs some additional help outside his home. God bless you boys to appreciate your dads, to be patient and gracious and forgiving.

At last she could rest! It had been a long afternoon, mused the weary pioneer, leaning against the tree trunk. Easing off her muddy boots, she rubbed her feet until the aching subsided. Then, picking up her journal, she wrote:
“Our company traveled six miles today, pushing and pulling over hot and dusty trails. Someone accidently stirred up a nest of bees from a dead log, and one girl was stung 12 times! We had a number of repair stops, and three carts had to be abandoned along the way because of broken axles and wheels. But ours seems to be really sturdy and reliable. I believe we’ll make it all the way to the valley! Several of us learned firsthand today about patience and helping others as we loaded bundles from the broken carts onto our own already heavy, creaking carts.”
The journal entry of the young Latter-day Saint has now joined snapshots, worn shoes, and handcarts as a reminder of the three-day trek that was a major part of the Olympia Washington Stake girls campout last July. More than 100 girls shared dried corn, fruit leather, campfires, and 23 handcarts in an effort to gain a better understanding of the sacrifices and dedication of their pioneer ancestors. The enthusiastic organizer behind the event was Sister Fayetta Johnson, stake camp specialist.
The three months preceding camp were busy ones of preparation on both the stake and ward levels. Because Oakville Branch President Daren Johnson had access to a plane, he volunteered to fly over the areas the girls would cover and map out the trails for them. Leaders and girls experimented with all kinds of pioneer-type food available to find the lightest, most nutritious, and non-perishable food available, since they would need a three-day supply and were limited to 17 pounds for all supplies. Busy ward camp directors agreed to complete camp certification before camp arrived, and members of the priesthood built all 23 carts.
During the trek itself, the girls were required to wear long dresses, and a swim in the lake had to take the place of a hot shower. To make the experience as real as possible, a trading post and shaded bowery were set up along the trail, and on the second day out, the carts were ferried, one by one, across the lake on a raft. The evenings were devoted to campfires, singing, telling stories, and sharing testimonies. When at last the journey was complete, the whole party agreed that they had had an unforgettable experience and that they had gained a new awareness and appreciation of the Mormon pioneers who had braved so much in coming west.

About that time I was waiting in a doctor’s office, and I noticed that the young lady seated next to me had opened a book with a blue cover. The book’s text was written in columns like the Bible. I was curious to know if it was the Bible, but I also wanted to get back to the comic book I had been reading.
I directed my eyes to the blue book and read a word at the top of the page: Alma. I made an effort to remember that name from my Bible reading, then went back to my comic book. But the blue book continued to attract me, and once again I directed my eyes to that mysterious book.
When the young lady noticed my interest, I asked if the book was the Bible. She answered no and asked me what church I belonged to. I told her none, because I didn’t know which one was true.
That night I couldn’t stop thinking about that strange book. I didn’t know its name, because the young lady had said only that it belonged to the Mormon Church. I told my friend Ghersi about it, and he offered to get me a copy. Several weeks went by, and then one afternoon he handed me a book without a cover and with worn pages. All he said was, “Here’s the book.”
That afternoon I opened the book and read the testimony of Joseph Smith. I felt that it was what I had wanted to know; the feeling became stronger when I read about the visit of the angel Moroni. Unable to contain my excitement, I arose from my chair and shouted, “This is what I was looking for! Here is the truth!” I read the first chapters of 1 Nephi very slowly. I felt that I understood them as I had never understood a book before.

One of the trials that our family endured was when my oldest brother got sick and, after a while, died. It was really hard for us at first, but our family was able to overcome that trial. Because our family was sealed in the temple, we know that we will be with my brother again and with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ when the right time comes.
I know that this trial was one of the ways the Lord prepared us for other trials—to help us become stronger. Everyone has trials to endure, and our Heavenly Father knows we can overcome them. So we shouldn’t lose hope.
Carmila R., age 18, Southern Tagalog, Philippines

André
After living in Brazil for some time, our stake president came to our house and called me to serve as bishop. I somehow knew I was going to be called. For a couple of nights before my call, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking and studying.
Giselle
I wondered what was going on. I saw him change before his call.
André
When I started my calling, our ward had 80 active members. When I was released, many more attended church regularly, and 12 missionaries went into the field from our ward. It was great!

Looking back to that cold, lonely evening in my tent, I can see now that I was at a hinge point in my young life. When I didn’t get the answer I so desperately desired, would I stay the course? It saddens me to report that from there, I headed down a dim path. Although I managed to graduate from high school and had even been baptized, I spent the next few years stumbling around, feeling lost, and making careless decisions as I struggled to figure out who, or rather, whose, I was.

Luckily, my path crossed that of another wanderer who was going through many similar trials. Despite growing up in the Church, my wife, Tennessa, had experienced heartache in her own life and had fallen away. We were best friends instantaneously, and it wasn’t long before we married and started a family.

As time passed, Tennessa began to realize that we were missing a critical element by not having the gospel in our lives. Recognizing the changes in her as she stepped closer to the Lord inspired me to be a better man. Though the transition was slow, we managed to make small changes over time that turned us away from bad habits and behaviors and helped us align our lives more closely with the teachings of Christ. As we prepared to enter the temple to be sealed for all time and eternity, I decided it was time to get my patriarchal blessing. It had taken me eleven years to get to that point.

The patriarch had no idea about the loneliness I had experienced in my life, nor could he have understood that I was still struggling to make sense of it all. But as he began my blessing, the first words were, “Ryan, the Lord’s eye is upon you. You are not by any means lost to His sight. He has known you from the beginning.”

It wasn’t just hearing those simple words that healed my pain. It was the way the Spirit touched my soul in that precise moment and melted away years of unresolved emotion and doubt. I knew in that instant that I had never been lost to His sight.

I look at our family today and the many ways the Lord has guided our lives. Although we have battled our fair share of ups and downs, I cannot deny that He is there, that He is aware of us, and that He loves us. I echo the words of the prophet Nephi who said, “My God hath been my support; He hath led me through mine afflictions … He hath filled me with His love.” [5]

Sometimes the Lord answers prayers immediately. Sometimes, He answers them 11 years later. And sometimes, we may not recognize an answer in this life.