Gospel Story Finder

And then Miriam finally agreed to go on a date with me. She was the best-looking girl in the ward (also in the stake; probably in the Church), and she had finally broken up with Alvin Hopper, which was no great loss to her and a tremendous gain to a college freshman like myself with excellent taste in girls. On my fourth try she agreed to go out with me. I shot the works. The LTD, complete with car wash, a $30 dinner in San Francisco, a drive through beautiful scenery on the way up, Bayshore Freeway on the way back, and charming, delightful conversation all the way. The conversation was the only thing free on the whole date.
And she was worth it. She could discuss at least 13 different topics intelligently and got a B- on all the others, which means she was more than just a pretty face. She let me open doors for her and took my arm without my even having to hint. She looked me right in the eye and never let her gaze linger for a moment on the slight complexion problem that had appeared mysteriously on my chin the day before. She was perfect.
On the way home, after we left the freeway, she asked, “You don’t happen to have a throat lozenge or anything like that? I have kind of a sore throat.”
“In the glove compartment,” I said. Mom kept the glove compartment like a medicine chest—aspirin, throat lozenges, cough drops, breath mints, Kleenex, eye drops, bandages, and disinfectant. She figured that if we all had the flu and got into a traffic accident, she could make everybody feel better in minutes. Miriam reached into the glove compartment, found the lozenges, and also found the pad of Automobile Record sheets.
“What’s this?” she asked.
So I told her. All about the lease agreement. How much it cost and everything. I was just about to tell her how terrible it all was when she interrupted me.
“That’s terrible,” she said. “I can’t believe parents doing anything like that! Who do they think they are?”
“Parents,” I said.
“Well, I’m glad my parents are more generous than that. It sounds like your father must be Ebenezer Scrooge and your mother must be Shylock.”
“Shylock was a man.”
“Stingy, anyway. How much do they charge you for lunch and dinner?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m surprised. Do they have a coin box and water meter on the shower? Do they make you pay for clean sheets?”
“Of course not,” I said.
“A car is a necessity of life,” she said. “Parents have a responsibility to provide them for their children.”
Now, you have to understand. I’m not an argumentative person. I’m quite easy to get along with. But she was talking about my parents, judging them just by the fact that they ran a rip-off car leasing business with a captive clientele. I couldn’t let her go unanswered. So I answered.
“Listen, Miriam, a car is different from showers and food and bedding. It’s a lot more expensive. And I eat three meals a day and sleep once a night and take a shower every morning. It’s regular and predictable and it doesn’t go up and down. But the car I use as often as I like, and we kids used to use the cars all the time. It cost the folks hundreds and hundreds of dollars every month. And so it was perfectly fair for them to decide we should help pay.”
“You can’t live in the modern world without a car. They might as well charge you for air.” She sounded upset.
“You can live without a car,” I said. “You can walk, for example. I’ve walked to school a lot the last few months.”
“I can imagine,” she said darkly.
“I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve discovered there are things you can’t see from a car.”
“Like bubble gum on a sidewalk,” she said, sounding rather snide.
“I think it’s a good idea for us to help our parents pay for the cars.”
“And I think anybody who thinks that is crazy.”
“You do?” I asked, and I think by now I also sounded upset.
“I do. If word of this gets around, other people’s parents will try it, too, and pretty soon an entire generation of young people will be trapped at home with their families night after night.”
It shows you how angry I was. I said, “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. And furthermore, I think that it’s perfectly possible for people to have a good time together without having a car at all. I think it would be a wonderful date just to walk over to a girl’s house and take her out walking and talking and maybe looking in store windows or maybe just seeing a little bit of the neighborhood and just getting to know each other without spending any money at all.”
“That sounds hideous.”
“Then,” I said, “I won’t ask you out on such a date.”
I took her home and neither of us said another word except for a perfunctory good-night-and-thanks-for-a-wonderful-evening at the door.
When I got home, after filling the gas tank, I wrote down the mileage on the odometer, figured out my total car costs for the evening, and went inside, got the money from my room, and went into Mom and Dad’s bedroom, where they were reading the Old Testament out loud to each other the way they do every night.
“Did you have a nice time?” asked Mother.
“Wonderful,” I said. “I want to settle up for tonight.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that until the first of the month,” Dad said.
“I want to do it now.” I showed them how much I owed them, counted out the money, and handed it to them. Then I carefully placed a five dollar bill on top of the rest.
“What’s that for?” asked Mother.
“It’s a tip,” I said. “For service above and beyond the call of duty.
“I think you’re wonderful. I’m glad you laid it on the line with us. I’m glad you shared the responsibility of paying for the entire U.S. automobile industry with us kids. It’s the most adult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”
Mother got tears in her eyes. Father said, “I think Jerry’s grown up, don’t you, Mother?”
“Yes,” Mother agreed.
“Well, you’re both wrong,” I said. “I’m just completely out of my mind.”
I kissed them both good-night and went straight to bed feeling pretty doggone good. Also pretty doggone poor, since I had about six bucks to last me through the rest of the month. But as my sister Anne pointed out, money isn’t everything. In fact, it’s hardly anything.

It was the kind of Saturday that makes me appreciate the warm coziness of staying in bed. But this luxury was not to be. The annoying sound of my pager alerted me to a fire at a nearby cement plant, so I threw on my equipment and headed for the door, thankful my helmet would cover my messy hair. Vanity had taken a backseat ever since I joined our small town’s fire department and then became an emergency medical technician (EMT).
The cement plant fire was soon contained. But our pagers went off again, this time asking for EMTs to respond to a freeway injury accident involving a four-year-old boy. I knew this would be difficult, so my partner and I immediately began to pray. No EMT can truthfully say he or she is not affected when caring for seriously injured children.
We arrived to find a white van upside down in the median. I quickly looked around for our patient, thinking perhaps he was still in the vehicle. But I was called to the opposite side of the freeway where several people were huddled over the small form of a child. One man was a doctor. He gave me a rundown of the boy’s most serious injuries, then disappeared into the crowd. A woman was holding the child’s hand and reassuring him. I asked if she knew his name. “His name is Ryan,” she said. “I am his mother.” Remarkably, she and two older children were unhurt.
EMTs follow certain protocols to ensure the best care for our patients, but none of these procedures can prepare us for the human suffering we must deal with when responding to horrifying accidents. I remember reviewing my training in my mind but also feeling overwhelmed. My little patient was crying, and I wanted to calm his fears, kiss his hurts away, and promise his frightened mother that he would be all right. My hands went through the routines I knew so well, but I felt so inadequate, so alone. My partner was not able to assist me with Ryan because he was caring for the little boy’s father, who was still trapped in the van.
Ambulances soon arrived. I was assigned to stabilize Ryan’s head on the way to the hospital. I knelt above his head and spoke softly to him, but he continued to cry and thrash about. I worried that he might injure himself further, but restraining him would have caused other problems.
At this point my prayers became more fervent, and I asked Heavenly Father to bless me to know how to comfort and calm Ryan and ease his pain. I immediately received an impression: “Sing to him.” I hesitated. I questioned whether I had understood correctly. After all, I was a professional, and what would it look like to have an EMT singing in an ambulance over a critically injured patient?
Ryan cried out, and again I received the distinct impression: “Sing to him.” As I held his head I quietly leaned close to his ear and started singing, “I am like a star shining brightly, Smiling for the whole world to see” (“I Am like a Star,” Children’s Songbook, 163). As I sang, Ryan became quiet. I sang “I Am a Child of God” and many other Primary songs. I realized Ryan was a Latter-day Saint when I noticed his very distraught mother trying to sing with me. More than once the paramedics became concerned because he was too quiet, but Ryan would respond as asked. I continued singing all the way to the hospital and into the emergency room, where the trauma team took over his care.
Later that day I returned to the hospital to check on Ryan and his father. I learned that Ryan had undergone surgery and was now stabilized and doing well. Even though he and his father would require a lengthy hospital stay to recover, I was grateful for the news. Ryan and I soon became good friends, and I still look forward each year to receiving a Christmas card with Ryan’s picture inside.
I will always remember an answered prayer when my little patient quieted instantly in response to songs he loved, songs that reminded him of how much his Heavenly Father loves him. The effectiveness of emergency medicine is truly a marvel, but the beauty and simplicity of a few Primary songs will forever remain in my memory as a gentle and profound miracle.

My friend Annika had been hanging out with me and my other Latter-day Saint friends for a few years. Because she spent so much time with us, she learned many things about our standards and what we believe in.
One night I was texting Annika about the gospel and decided it was the perfect opportunity to share my testimony with her. I also felt like I should invite her to come to church. I was a little nervous that she would say no, but I knew that I was doing the right thing and that it would be OK no matter what. I texted her my testimony and asked her to come to church, and she said yes!
The Sunday that Annika came to church, we were studying about the Godhead. She already knew most of the other youth in the class, so we all worked together to help her learn. If she didn’t understand something, we tried to explain it to her. This led to great discussions where most everyone was commenting. Because so many people were sharing ideas, Annika felt comfortable asking questions and got to hear pieces of her friends’ testimonies.
During the lesson, Annika was overwhelmed with joy and peace because she felt the Holy Ghost. She learned that Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three separate beings, and she learned a little bit about the plan of salvation. She also learned that Heavenly Father loves us so much that He sent His Son to earth to die for us, and she learned how much Christ loves us, because He atoned for us.
At the end of the lesson, my Sunday School teacher invited us to go home and look up scriptures that could help us learn more about the Godhead. I completed this assignment. Later, during a discussion with Annika and the missionaries, I talked about the scriptures I found.
It was a wonderful experience to watch Annika learn about Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost. It made me realize how many people don’t know about the Godhead. Just like Annika and I did, we can all grow closer to Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost when we learn more about Them.

One of my colleagues tells of a student coming to his office for help with a problem. The student had been trying for several hours to resolve the problem and had been sent from one office on campus to another. The student was also from another country and was not only bewildered by the new culture but felt very helpless. The last office that sent him away told him to come to our department, and by the time he entered my colleague’s office, he was nearly in tears. After listening to the student describe the problem, my colleague made one or two phone calls and, within a few minutes, solved the problem. The grateful student thanked him over and over again for being his savior.

In my life, there have been a multitude of times that the Lord has prepared ways for me to accomplish the things He has inspired me to do. The one that I would like to share with you today is how the Lord guided me to become a math teacher. It started with a tender mercy given me when I was a senior in high school. Through an unusual confluence of circumstances I was given the opportunity to teach an algebra class for six weeks while the regular teacher recovered from surgery. I was pretty stressed out as I prepared for the first class period, and very nervous as I walked in the door to the classroom. The students had been warned what was coming, but still were very kind to me. They were not quite sure about having a fellow student be their teacher, but we became good friends and accomplished all of the learning objectives for the class over our weeks together. At the end of each class, I was exhausted and wondered how I would make it through the rest of the day. I had no idea the work involved in teaching, but as I continued, I came to love the experience working with the students.

Even though I loved being a teacher, I knew how much school teachers made. I was much more interested in money than in fulfillment. My priests quorum advisor was a computer scientist and told me that if I majored in computer science and math, I could make a lot of money. So, I started at BYU, declaring myself as a computer science major.

I went to a year at BYU before serving my mission, and I enjoyed my classes and did reasonably well in them. I was feeling good about my choice of major and the big house and nice cars I would have after I graduated. However, when I returned from my mission, I had not yet learned to go to the advising center to get help with choosing my classes, and I was absolutely terrified to go to a teacher and ask for advice. Ignorance and fear do not usually lead to wise decisions, and I chose very poorly. I was not prepared for the classes I enrolled in that first semester back from my mission. I failed one of my math classes and barely passed the rest.

That semester was an unhappy one for other reasons. Between missions, marriage, and internships, my close friends were no longer available to hang out with me. I did not make friends easily, so I spent the semester feeling very alone. I did not adjust well to the spiritual transition from mission life and quit my habits of frequent sincere prayer and gospel study. So I struggled spiritually. It was not a good semester.

Despite the fact that I would never want to relive that semester, the Lord used my difficulties to help guide me away from the path I had chosen and towards the path He was preparing for me. My experience was similar to how the recession in 2008 caused Brother Tanner, who spoke in devotional last week, to change from a thriving career as an artist to his current career as an educator. Like the challenges the recession caused Brother Tanner, my failures in my math and computer science classes made me reevaluate my choice of major. After consulting with advisors, parents, and teachers and a lot of prayer and fasting, I felt impressed to change from computer science to secondary education and pursue a career in teaching math.

I still had more math classes to struggle through, and student teaching was so stressful that I developed stomach problems, but I knew that I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do and I received many tender mercies—some of them truly miraculous—that made it so I could succeed in the career path He had revealed to me. I testify that when we follow the revelation we receive from the Lord, He does prepare a way for us to accomplish whatever He asks us to do.

Two or three years ago, while I was living in New Zealand, I received a magazine published for ministers. One of the main articles stated that today we live in a world where there is a “poverty of heroes.” The article stated that many people in high places were insincere, wicked, and even corrupt, and that the world was filled with people who could not be trusted or respected in any way. The article explained that young people living in this age are being cheated because of this unfortunate condition.
As I read, I kept thinking, “This is not true. The world is filled with heroes; it always has been and always will be!” Latter-day Saint youth are in a position to see heroes everywhere.
I remember as a young man how I looked up to our bishop. He didn’t speak English very well, but he was a marvelous leader and he loved us. He was an example of everything that was good and fine. He was my hero in my youth and still is.
I remember as a young missionary in New Zealand seeing men who stood way above the other people in that country because they had testimonies of the gospel and lived the way they should. One of them was a rugby player for the All Blacks (the equivalent of being an all-American football player in the U.S.). He had played rugby all over the world and told me that he always knelt down and prayed in the locker room before going out to play in any game. When I met him, his rugby career was over, but he was strong in the faith and a good, hard worker who could shear sheep with the best of the Maori men. He has always been one of my heroes.
I remember a marvelous sister who served for 25 years as the president of the New Zealand Mission Relief Society. In her home Elder Matthew Cowley, as a young missionary, translated the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price into the Maori language. As mission president he loved to go back to that home. To me she was one of the great women in the history of the Church. Her leadership lifted a whole nation of Latter-day Saints. To me she was a heroine in every way.
A few years ago when I was in Alaska, I met two elders. One had been converted about three years before in England and was now an excellent missionary.
The other elder was Jewish and had been converted only a year or two before. He said that one day, while he was at the beach in Santa Monica with some friends, he lay down to rest on a blanket. Another young fellow in the group—one whom he did not know well—came and sat by him. This stranger asked him if he would listen to an interesting story. The missionary then told me that for the first time in his life he heard about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the restoration of the gospel, and the Book of Mormon. He knew it was the truth and in a matter of three or four weeks he was ready to join the Church.
These two young missionaries in Alaska were heroes to me in a way. But the real hero was the boy on the beach in Santa Monica who had the courage to bear his testimony and tell that great story that changed the life of a fine young man.
I met a man in Florida who took 15 years to join the Church. But once he was in, he resolved to spend the rest of his life as a missionary. More than anything else, he liked to ask people questions about the gospel. He sold used cars, and one day an all-American football player asked him if he would sell him a small pickup truck. My friend said, “I’ll do that, but I want to ask you something far more important. What do you know about Moroni?”
“Moroni who?” the football player asked.
“I guess he doesn’t have a last name,” my friend said. He then persisted and taught the football player the gospel. Within a few weeks’ time the football player had joined the Church and has remained faithful ever since. My friend has brought close to one hundred people into the Church! To me he is a great hero and stands out as one of the best missionaries I have ever known.
I remember one time meeting a fine young married man who was not very large in stature. He was a professional jockey who had worked for some Latter-day Saint men who owned a large stable of fine racehorses. They taught him how to be a first-class jockey and chose him to ride a truly great horse that they owned. They also taught Johnny the gospel, and he joined the Church.
A year later, his bishop called him to go on a mission. Johnny said, “I can’t go. I’ve got to ride this special horse in the Kentucky Derby. I’m the only jockey who has ridden him.”
However, after some thought, Johnny went to his bosses and asked for their permission to go on a mission. They told him that they had a huge investment in him and couldn’t spare him to go on a mission because of the Derby and the other big races that were coming up. They were sure their horse would win the triple crown. However, neither of his Latter-day Saint bosses felt very good about their decision, so the next day they told him if he wanted to go on a mission, they wouldn’t stand in his way.
He went on his mission, and on the day of the Kentucky Derby, he went tracting in Canada while the horse he would have ridden won. It went on to win the triple crown. The other jockey earned over $200,000 while this fine young man taught the people of Canada the gospel. To me he is an outstanding hero.
Yes, there are heroes all about you. It is possible that your Laurel teacher or your priests quorum adviser or your Scoutmaster are heroes just as fine as any living on this earth. What about your seminary teacher, your bishop, your mother, or your father?
I think heroes are everywhere in our Church. They stand out in a world of sin and unrighteousness. May God bless us to recognize them and follow their fine examples. Even more than that, may he help us to become heroes to others as we serve him.

In a 1991 BYU Women’s Conference address, Sister Elaine Jack, former general president of the Relief Society, recounted a story about a friend who had gone through a difficult divorce. Sister Jack related that the friend told her that

it was the smallest things that kept her going during those first weeks when all her world looked black. A bunch of crocuses burst through the snow, then announced their victory with purple blooms. The robins whistled from their nest in her front yard tree. The sun broke over the horizon every morning. People in her office lived their quiet routines. A person spoke kindly to her at the grocery store. . . . Each small, loving, daily detail confirmed her hope. Little details and small events showed that life still was good. [Elaine L. Jack, “A Perfect Brightness of Hope,” Ensign, March 1992, p. 15]

Sister Ardeth Kapp related the story of an experience while she was serving with her husband as he presided over a mission in Canada. Following a Zone Conference, a few of the sister missionaries gathered around to visit with her while the president was conducting interviews. These missionaries, I’m sure thinking about this important decision they would eventually make in finding a worthy husband, commented, “Sister Kapp, your husband is so wonderful. Where did you find a man like that?” Her response was classic. She said, “Well, he wasn’t like that when I found him.” The implication is that you don’t find a perfect spouse. You pray about it, you make a choice, you marry someone who has the potential of becoming perfect and then work together throughout life to make it happen.

After I graduated from high school, the bishop called me into his office. “I want you to prepare for a mission,” he said. He looked me in the eyes, and the word prepare was there.
At supper I told my parents and saw the light in their eyes. “If you decide to go, we will support you in every way.”
There was no pressure. As usual the decision must be mine.
At the mission home in Salt Lake City, the General Authority who set me apart placed his hands upon my head and called me by name. Then, as if he were looking into the windows of my life, he said, “As of this moment, all of your sins are forgiven you.”
I served my mission and am now married to a wonderful woman. We have a little boy and have already started a missionary fund for him. I am sure that as he grows older there will be times when he will say, “Okay, dad, okay.” I will understand, and I will pray for the faith and understanding of my own dad and mother.

When my dad passed away, the thing that helped me the most was my faith in Jesus. Before my family joined the church, we were Catholics. I didn’t like to go to church, but my mom was super faithful. After my dad passed away, I remember my mom saying she didn’t want to believe anymore.
My mom had a friend who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and he brought the missionaries into our home. We had lessons together and started going to church. I started to believe in Jesus and God and my faith started to grow. Even though my father had died, I had faith that we will someday see him again. We can live together in heaven because of Jesus Christ.

When I was younger, I lived next door to an elderly lady who spent most of her time alone and seldom left her house. When she did leave, she would be gone for a long time, and that is when I went to work.
I would get a rake or snow shovel or broom and sneak around the tall wooden fence that separated our yards and do some yard work. Sometimes I would just leave her a plate of cookies with a note. I tried so hard to be a friend to the lady who lived there, and I thought that if I did these things for her she would be nice to me.
I really enjoyed the extra work because it made me feel good inside, but I thought I would feel even better if she would only acknowledge my kindness. I would watch her come home and feel disappointed because she never made an attempt to show thanks or appreciation. I had worked so hard and never received so much as a smile.
Then one Sunday at church we had a lesson on service, and I realized that I had been performing acts of service for my neighbor with the expectation of getting something in return. I went home and asked my mom about service and she gave me a scripture to read. It was Mosiah 2:17:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
That taught me a valuable lesson about my activities. And I knew that even if my neighbor didn’t seem to care about my efforts, my Heavenly Father did care.

Students frequently drop by to let me know about their mission calls. I always congratulate them, hug them, and ask to tell me all of the juicy details. At least once a semester, I'll have a student drop by who I didn't realize was planning a mission. When I express surprise, usually the student will laugh and say something like this: "Oh, I wasn't planning to go. One Wednesday, I just prayed and asked the Lord what I should do with my life. The next day, Thursday, I got a letter from a friend on a mission, and he was really pumped up about missionary work. Friday, my Religion class talked about missions. Saturday, my FHE brothers came by to tell us that one of them had received his mission call. Sunday, the Sacrament Meeting talks were both on missionary work, and the Relief Society lesson was on supporting missionaries. Then, after Church, the Bishop called me in and asked if I'd considered a mission. I realized the Lord was sending me a message, so I decided to go."

For 20 years, Brother Huang Juncong struggled with alcohol, cigarettes, and compulsive gambling. When introduced to Jesus Christ and His restored gospel, Brother Huang desired to change for the sake of his young family. His greatest challenge was smoking. A heavy chain-smoker, he had tried to quit many times unsuccessfully. One day these words from the Book of Mormon lodged in his mind: “with a sincere heart, with real intent.” Though previous attempts had failed, he felt perhaps he could change with help from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
The full-time missionaries united their faith with his and provided an action plan of practical interventions, along with heavy doses of prayer and studying the word of God. With sincerity and real intent, Brother Huang acted with faithful determination and found that as he focused more on the new habits he wished to develop, such as studying the Book of Mormon, he focused less on the habits he wanted to lose.
Recalling his experience from 15 years ago, he remarked, “I don’t remember when exactly I quit smoking, but as I tried hard every day to do the things I knew I needed to do to invite the Spirit of the Lord into my life and kept doing them, I was no longer attracted to cigarettes and have not been since.” Through applying the teachings of the Book of Mormon, Brother Huang’s life has been transformed, and he has become a better husband and father.

Consider this example: I watched a father “teaching” his daughter to swim one day several years ago. She was quite frightened of the water, so, of course, since he knew that there is nothing to be afraid of and that he is quite capable of protecting her, he told her to relax, there is nothing to be afraid of. But being told to relax is often an insufficient modifier of a feeling as primitive as fear about water. When she continued to be afraid in spite of the father’s telling-equals-teaching-equals-behavior-change effort, Dad became more and more irritated, increasing the volume and insistence of his so-called teaching, which by now was sounding more like demand and command. Soon his daughter was more afraid of her father than she was of the water, and she was now more afraid of the water than before being “taught” to not be afraid because anxiety is a total-body feeling. She was by now looking for any avenue of escape from the situation and did not learn to swim in this session. More important to her development, she had learned more about her father than about swimming. And, if these experiences continue in myriads of other small moments of so-called teaching, she will learn more about her feelings about herself being an incapable, fearful child than about the supposed objects of teaching, whatever they might be, because what she internalizes is what Dad is saying to her about her as a person.

Remember Ephesians 6:4: Bring up children in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord.” The problem for teaching is the affective “packaging” of the knowledge that parents wish to impart. In this example, when Dad recognizes that relaxing is a feeling, he may begin to accomplish his goal when he creates a learning situation wherein relaxation and safety is more likely to occur, perhaps by play or letting her ride his back while he swims. Then he can include the information or cognitive component.

The example of a faithful pioneer sister illustrates this truth. Mary Lois Walker was married at age 17 to John T. Morris in St. Louis, Missouri. They crossed the plains with the Saints in 1853, entering the Salt Lake Valley shortly after their first anniversary. On their journey they had suffered the privations typical of other Saints. But their sufferings and adversity did not end when they reached the Salt Lake Valley. The following year Mary, then 19, wrote: “A son was born to us. … One evening when he was two or three months old … something whispered to me, ‘You will lose that little one.’”

During the winter the baby’s health declined. “We did all we could, … but the baby grew steadily worse. … On the second of February he passed away … and so I drank the bitter cup of parting from my own flesh and blood.” But her trials were still not over. Mary’s husband was also stricken, and three weeks after losing her baby, he died.

Mary wrote: “So was I, while yet in my teens, bereft in the short period of 20 days, of my husband and my only child, in a strange land hundreds of miles from my blood kin and with a mountain of difficulty before me … and I wished that I too, might die and join my loved one[s].”

Mary continues: “One Sunday evening I was taking a walk with my friend. … I was reminded of [my husband’s] absence and my intense loneliness, and as I wept bitterly I could see, as it were in mental vision, the steep hill of life I should have to climb and felt the reality of it with great force. A deep depression settled upon me, for the enemy knows when to attack us, but our [Savior, Jesus Christ,] is mighty to save. Through … the help given of the Father, I was able to battle with all the force which seemed to be arrayed against me at this time.”8

Mary learned at the tender age of 19 that the Atonement gives us the assurance that all things that are unfair in this life can and will be made right—even the deepest sorrows.

I cannot reflect on the priceless value of this season’s opportunity without thinking about the Hoa family. The year 1975 was grim in Vietnam. The Republic of Vietnam had collapsed in the face of the relentless onslaught of the North Vietnamese. The army had surrendered. The government had capitulated. Those who had been strongly identified with the government of South Vietnam or with the Americans feared for their lives and well-being. Many fled the country. Those who could not force their way onto departing military aircraft took passage on overcrowded ships and boats of every description. Some of these rusting hulks sprang leaks and sank in the South China Sea, not far into the voyage. Others were accosted by pirates, who molested and murdered many of these pathetic refugees and stole what few possessions they had brought with them. Tran Do Hoa, his wife Nga, their two young daughters and Nga’s teenage brother were among those who survived these perils and eventually reached the United States under an amnesty program.

Our ward in Southern California had offered to sponsor one such family. We found and rented a small home and furnished it in “early Deseret Industries” decor. Finally, the day came that we were to meet “our” family. With my young son as company, I drove to Camp Pendleton, the sprawling U.S. Marine Corps base in northern San Diego County, to pick them up. Following directions, we turned off the main highway onto a narrow byway that soon became a dirt road. We drove down this road for a considerable distance until we came to a large encampment of tents in an isolated part of the base. This was where these refugees were housed. The sight was heartrending: hundreds of Vietnamese attired in worn and ill-fitting clothing, many malnourished and still showing the bone-deep exhaustion of their ordeal. Clouds of dust hung in the late-summer air from the foot and vehicular traffic in and about the camp.

It was then, after checking in at the administrative tent, that I got my first glimpse of Hoa. He was a distinguished looking man in his early forties, thin to the point of emaciation, with graying hair and a gentle, polite smile. Nga, his wife, was a tiny woman with the natural beauty and graciousness of the Vietnamese. Two little girls, Betty and Ti (“Tee”), each clutching a doll, shyly clung to their parents. Thuan, Nga’s teenage brother, stood awkwardly nearby. And what I remember the most: all of their belongings were in a small, travel-worn suitcase and a cheap, plastic shopping bag. In Vietnam, Hoa had been a government civil servant; Nga had worked as a secretary. They had enjoyed a modest, but comfortable, standard of living. Now they had nothing. In fleeing Vietnam, they had forsaken everything they owned and held dear. Grateful to have escaped with their lives, they were totally and completely destitute in a strange land far from home. Hoa spoke halting English; Nga and the children spoke almost no English. As we drove out of that dusty encampment and onto Interstate 5, the great coastal superhighway, I remember thinking how overwhelmed and alone they must feel.

Looking back now, however, with the perspective of the years, I realize that Hoa and Nga had something not immediately apparent to the eye. They had a profound sense of gratitude for the opportunity that this land afforded them. They had virtually nothing of this world’s goods when they arrived in this country. But they brought with them a fierce determination to seize the opportunity provided. Through some interviews we helped to arrange, Hoa found work in a small electronics company. Nga immediately began attending English classes and eventually found a clerical job. Betty and Thuan enrolled in school and devoted themselves to their studies with single-minded resolve. Little Ti, a pre-schooler when the family arrived, grew up as an American child but fueled with the same work ethic that animated the other members of her family.

In time, our family moved away. We lost contact with Hoa and Nga and their children for a period of years. And so it was, with considerable delight, that we discovered on a return visit to that community that Hoa and Nga had purchased a lovely home. Two late-model automobiles were parked in their garage. Hoa and Nga each held responsible, remunerative jobs. Thuan had completed college as an electrical engineer. Betty had a scholarship to attend UCLA. And Ti was a vivacious teenager. Not long afterward, Hoa passed away prematurely.

More years passed. I was serving in the Area Presidency of the North America West Area and was assigned to a stake conference near Riverside, California. As I walked into the chapel on Sunday morning, there on the first row was Thuan. Although not a Church member and living more than 50 miles from this stake center, he had heard of my coming to the conference quite by chance from a workmate who was a member of the stake. He had come to once again express his gratitude-- and that of his family-- for the blessing of an opportunity. It was a wonderful and tearful reunion for me–one I shall always remember.

Can I just say something quickly about dress and appearance, particularly to you returned missionaries? I remember an experience I had after I’d been home about three weeks. I was going to priesthood meeting, and my sister, who is here today, had bought me a brand-new sport shirt, and I really liked it, and a pair of slacks. I was just going out the door to priesthood meeting when my father was coming from one of his stake meetings and he asked me, “Son, where are you going?” And I said “Dad, you know where I’m going; I am going to priesthood meeting.” And he said, “Like that?” And I thought, I’ve got a new pair of slacks and a new sports shirt. He sat me down in the living room, put his arm around me and taught me a great lesson. He said, “The Lord expects more out of returned missionaries.” And you know, young people, that was 1956. When I’ve been tempted on a hot summer night to go to a sacrament meeting in a white shirt and just a tie; I remember that moment.

I have always loved to teach little children, so I chose to become a teacher. Elder Henderson encouraged me to become a special teacher, and I received a bachelors and a masters degree in Speech and Language Pathology. I learned and practiced how to help a child who cannot make correct sounds or communicate.
Shortly after my graduation, some parents came to me with their four-year old son Robert. No one could understand him. He would open his mouth to talk and only confusing sounds came out. His friends laughed at him. His parents did not know what he wanted. “Mrs. Henderson, can you help our little boy? Will he ever be able to talk and be normal?” I knew that if I showed him correct ways to make sounds, one at a time, and that if he would faithfully and carefully practice what I taught him, he would learn to speak correctly over time.
To start, he could not say the “T” sound, so with a mirror and a drawing on paper, I showed him where to put his tongue, and we did it together. It was very hard for him, and he became tired and frustrated easily. I gave him some practice homework. I took out a piece of paper that said, “I promise that I will practice three times a day for twenty minutes with my parents.” I then asked him to sign it. At first, he did not want to promise. This would mean he could not watch some TV or play computer games. He would lose some freedom. With some encouragement, he signed the promise. Robert visited me week after week. Sometimes, Robert did not do his homework correctly, but I would forgive him if he would try again, and we kept going. I would show the way. He would sign a promise to follow my way, and in many months, a miracle had happened. Robert was healed, and others could understand him.

On the night of June 20, 2000, several colleagues and I were working late in the executive offices of then Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. We were making final preparations for an unexpected and historic assembly on our campus the next morning and the announcement by President Hinckley that Ricks College would become a baccalaureate-degree-granting institution and take on the name of Brigham Young University–Idaho. As an administrative team we were just beginning to realize the monumental nature of the responsibility and challenges that were before us.

As we walked out of the building that night, one of my colleagues asked, “President, are you scared?” As best as I can recall, I answered something like this: “If I thought we had to execute this transition relying exclusively upon our own experience and our own judgment, then I would be terrified. But we will have help from heaven. Because we know who is in charge and that we are not alone, then no, I am not scared.” And we who serve at BYU–Idaho unitedly testify that there has been help from heaven, miracles have occurred, revelations have been received, doors have been opened, and we have been greatly blessed as individuals and as an institution.

Some things I learned by what I did, rather than from someone else’s actions. One Christmas a favorite aunt gave me a book of illustrated stories from the Old Testament. Outside, the weather was cold and the wind was howling. I couldn’t sleep. I waited until everybody else was asleep so that I wouldn’t disturb them, then gathered up my blanket and settled down near the forced-air heat vent and read that book for hours at a time. Before that I hadn’t been much of a reader, but I was entranced by that book. I really developed a love for the scriptures at that young age.