Gospel Story Finder

On October 25, 1995, Derrick Parke, of Carey, Idaho, died suddenly of a heart defect while playing racquetball with a friend. At the time of his death, he was attending his first semester at Ricks College and had just completed his mission papers. Derrick was known as an outstanding athlete in football, basketball, and track. He was an example to many for his sportsmanship, athletic ability, integrity, and kindness. The following is adapted from his father’s talk, given at his funeral.
As the bishop of the Carey First Ward, I was given the unique opportunity to interview my own son prior to filling out his mission papers. When the interview came to a close, and Derrick was about to sign his name on the line, I said, “Derrick, wait a minute. I want all the cards on top of the table. Are you worthy to go on this mission?”
He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Dad, I am.” And with that, he took the pen in hand and signed his mission papers.
Three days later he died.
But I don’t think that this was coincidental. Heavenly Father had a hand in this. I know that Derrick had a far greater mission to attend to, and that’s why he was taken. As I look back upon his life, there was never a better time for him to go. It was Derrick’s time to go home; he was ready. He lived his life in such a way that he was ready.
The walls of Derrick’s room are covered with laminated pictures of his success stories in sports; his trophies line the foot of his bed. But at the head of his bed is an 8-by-11-inch picture of the Savior. Derrick had his priorities in order. He knew what was first. He knew that the Lord was first, and that these other things were second.
I know that many young people would envy some of the successes that he’s had in sports. But the greatest success is to have the Savior by the head of your bed and to recognize that great blessing in your life. I know that we are an eternal family, and I know that Derrick knows that too. And Derrick knows that because he understood why he was on the earth.
It was this understanding that drove Derrick to do what is right. I know he had his personal prayers. He read the scriptures and attended seminary. The way Derrick lived his life showed that he loved the Savior.
President Boyd K. Packer once said that most people live and die, without knowing why they are here (see Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 16). But that was not the case with Derrick. He knew why he was here. He had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only was he desirous to be a missionary, but he was willing to pay the price to be worthy to serve a mission. And like everything else he did, he paid the price.
And because of this, he was ready to serve wherever the Lord chose to call him. It just so happened that the Lord called him home.

Five young women from the Graham Second Ward, Puyallup Washington South Stake, accepted the challenge of writing a song to fit in with the Young Women theme for the year. For nearly a month Sheree Judkins, Shannon Sampson, Judy Moss, Kendra Booker, and Angie Shutt, met together under the direction of Diane Andersen Beck, and composed both the lyrics and the musical accompaniment.
The song was presented at the Young Women stake leadership meeting. Touched by the beauty and message of the song, the leaders asked that it be performed at stake conference.

For many years I practiced law with a fine Christian gentleman who was not of our faith. He was a man of humble origins whose family had not long been in the United States. By hard work and faith, he worked his way through school and became successful and wealthy. But he never lost his interest and compassion for the poor of all faiths. At Thanksgiving and Christmas, he would take his family, load up the car with turkeys and groceries of all kinds, and go to the poorer sections of the city, where he would personally deliver food to the poor.
He would enlist my help in contacting bishops who lived in the less-affluent areas to identify people of our own faith who might be in need. Year after year he did this without any thought of recognition. He literally fulfilled the Lord’s admonition in the Doctrine and Covenants to “remember in all things the poor and the needy, the sick and the afflicted,” for, as that verse continues, “he that doeth not these things, the same is not my disciple” (D&C 52:40).

On Friday, October 28, 1588, having lost its rudder to being governed solely by oar, the ship La Girona, belonging to the great Spanish Armada, collided with the rocks of Lacada Point in Northern Ireland.
The ship capsized. One of the castaways struggling to survive wore a gold ring given to him a few months earlier by his wife with the inscription, “I have nothing more to give you.”
“I have nothing more to give you”—a phrase and a ring with the design of a hand holding a heart, an expression of love from a wife to her husband.
Just as the ring was recovered from that shipwreck, when we give our hearts to God, we are rescued from the raging seas of this life, and in the process we are refined and purified through the Atonement of Christ and become “children of Christ,” being spiritually “born of Him.” Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Some years ago, I was with President Marion G. Romney, meeting with mission presidents and their wives in Geneva, Switzerland. He told them that 50 years before, as a missionary boy in Australia, late one afternoon he had gone to a library to study. When he walked out, it was night. He looked up into the starry sky, and it happened. The Spirit touched him, and a certain witness was born in his soul.
He told those mission presidents that he did not know any more surely then as a member of the First Presidency that God the Father lives; that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father; and that the fulness of the gospel had been restored than he did as a missionary boy 50 years before in Australia. He said that his testimony had changed in that it was much easier to get an answer from the Lord. The Lord’s presence was nearer, and he knew the Lord much better than he had 50 years before.

The old pickup truck sat hunched like a tired soldier in the tall yellow weeds by the side of the house as if waiting dutifully for its next order to spring into action. It had seen a lot of service in its long association with Grandpa Virgil. As he gazed out at the old vehicle from his bedroom window, Nathan Daniels was remembering Grandpa Virgil. In fact, Nathan rarely thought of his grandfather without thinking of the battered green pickup. Why, it was as much a part of Grandpa Virgil as his worn, weathered smile.
Nathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gazed harder out his window at the truck that sparked so many joyous memories of his grandfather, who had died in his sleep the week before. He had been eighty-seven years old.
To Nathan, the old pickup was like a part of his grandpa’s journal—filled with stories, happy times, sad times. All those times that come out of being alive.
The night before, Nathan had overheard his father talking about selling the truck to Thomas Finch up the road. Mr. Finch had long expressed an interest in it. Nathan’s father already had a big, new ’57 pickup—and a dependable family car. The money Mr. Finch offered father for Grandpa Virgil’s pickup would buy two more milk cows to add to the eight that Nathan’s family already had.
He pulled on his trousers, tucked his nightshirt into his pants, and went outside and climbed into Grandpa Virgil’s truck. The old seat springs squeaked beneath his slight weight. The door closed him inside with a whine and a bang—it hadn’t shut quite right ever since Thaddeus, the farm bull, had plowed into it at an angry run.
Grandpa Virgil had helped to deliver a calf in the fields that day, and the ornery bull took a disliking for the intrusion of man and machine. Grandpa Virgil had grabbed Nathan and stuffed him through the window of the truck, then leaped into the back of it. Grandpa saved my life that day, he recalled, reaching outside the open truck window beside him and running his hand along the rusted tear in the door made by one of Thaddeus’s slashing horns.
Nathan sniffed the musty insides of the truck. It smelled warm and wonderful and alive, somehow. He looked at the worn seat where he always sat beside his grandfather whenever he went on his local errands.
Nathan couldn’t remember a time when Grandpa Virgil went anywhere for his own sake. It always seemed to be to help someone else—like the countless times the elderly man took groceries to Widow Farley, whose health was failing. Or the winter he helped Bishop Kelsay repair his barn roof after the big wind. Or the time Nathan rode with him to Grandma’s funeral at Potter’s Crossing. Instead of being concerned with his own grief, Grandpa Virgil had placed his free hand around his grandson’s shoulder and explained to him about the Savior’s Atonement and overcoming of death for all.
“Because of him, we will not only live again but can gain eternal life if we do all he asks of us,” Grandpa Virgil explained, his eyes bright with insight and tears.
Nathan’s eyes shifted now to the rearview mirror. The reflection in it of the back of the truck prompted his memory of the time he rode in it the day of his baptism. His father’s car had broken down, so the family piled into the old truck. Nathan sat in the open bed with his brother, Frank, and his little sister, Ashley. His father and mother rode up in the cab with Grandpa Virgil.
Nathan liked the feel of the breeze on his face. Grandpa had said that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcarters as, seeking peace, they trudged across the plains with their families to their new beginnings in these very valleys.
Peace! Nathan thought, his eyes filling with hot, stinging tears at the reality of his grandfather’s absence. Peace is what I need now to help me deal with Grandpa Virgil’s being gone. He pushed his face out the open window into a breeze that had arisen with the dawn. Maybe it was the same wind, he speculated, that cooled the tears of the handcart pioneers who had to bury their dead in shallow graves and continue on their way. That’s what Grandpa would want of me now—to continue on my way and be the best I can be. “I will, Grandpa,” he whispered out loud. “I will.”
Later that morning as everyone gathered around the breakfast table, Nathan’s father asked Frank, Nathan, and Ashley what one thing they would each like to have that had belonged to Grandpa Virgil, as a remembrance of him. Frank chose Grandpa’s fishing pole. “It’s yours,” Father agreed with a kindly smile. “And all his tackle. I know how you cherished your time with him under that old willow by the fishing hole.” He turned his smile toward Nathan’s sister. “What about you, Ash?”
“Grandpa’s scriptures,” she said after a moment’s thought, “the ones he always took to church.”
Father patted the small girl’s hand and nodded. “I think Grandpa especially wanted you to have them because he knew you’d really study them like he did.” He then turned toward his firstborn. “And you, Nathan? What would you like, son?”
Nathan hesitated, knowing how much his father needed the extra milk cows. His eyes fell, and he poked at his food. Then, mustering a smile, he looked up and said, “I really can’t think of anything, Dad.”
Father and Mother exchanged glances. They knew different. “It’s Grandpa Virgil’s old pickup, isn’t it, Nathan?”
He nodded. “But the extra milk cows—you need the money you’ll get from Mr. Finch for Grandpa’s truck to buy them.”
“I made all of you kids an offer, Nathan,” Father reminded him. “You’d like to have his old pickup, and we want you to have it. Besides—” he glanced away quickly to blink back a tear— “I saw you outside, sitting in Grandpa’s truck, and I could tell that to you that old pickup is as priceless an earthly treasure as a boy or man could ever hope for.” He leaned forward and spoke with warm finality: “The old pickup is yours.”
Before Nathan could protest, Father added, “The extra cows can wait, Nathan. We have managed without them this long, haven’t we? And if this year’s harvest is good, I just might be able to buy them then—OK?”
That night Nathan sat by his bedroom window, staring out at the green pickup in the tall weeds. It was as alive in his mind as it was in the yard—as alive as Grandpa Virgil would always be, for memories were eternal, his grandfather once said, “and things eternal never die.” Nathan had been wrestling in his mind with something ever since supper. Now a look of peace and contentment washed over him. He regarded the battered machine in the soft glow of moonlight a final moment, then went to bed.
Early the next morning, he approached his father with a determined look on his face. “I have something to say, Dad.”
“Sure,” his father answered. “What is it, son?”
“It’s something I want to do. I just feel it. It’s what Grandpa would do if he were here.”
“OK,” Father said slowly, waiting to hear his son out.
“I called Mr. Finch about the pickup—I’m selling it to him.”
“You’re what?”
“I want to be like Grandpa, Dad. I want to help.”
“I told you, Nathan, you don’t have to—”
“I want to, Dad,” Nathan interrupted. “I really want to.”
Nathan went with his father for the last ride in the pickup. Mother drove the other family truck, Frank and Ashley riding with her. After they dropped off Grandpa Virgil’s pickup at Mr. Finch’s, they would head for Mr. Anderson’s farm to purchase two more milk cows. It was hot enough that Nathan could roll down the truck window and let the wind rush across his face. He seemed to hear in his mind Grandpa Virgil saying that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcart pioneers as they trudged across the plains.
Nathan smiled and gazed affectionately around the old truck, which was still alive with memories—the kind of memories that go on forever. Just like Grandpa Virgil.

Life is not always easy for the three boys. Sometimes bad things do happen, and the boys have learned to depend on Heavenly Father to help them.
One morning a few years ago, Sister Lopez was taking her children and four of their cousins to school. On the way, they were in a very serious accident. The children weren’t hurt, but Sister Lopez broke her neck.
The doctors in Guatemala City did what they could for her, but eight months later she became very ill. The doctors said that she needed neck surgery and that afterward she would be in a wheelchair the rest of her life. The family prayed, and Sister Lopez decided to call some of the young men in the United States who had lived in their home as missionaries. One of them was studying to become an orthopedic surgeon! He said, “Come to Provo, and let us do the surgery here.” One of his teachers agreed to perform the surgery, and a family offered to care for Sister Lopez until she was well enough to return to Guatemala.
On the day of the surgery, it was hard for the rest of the family to not know how the surgery was going. They all prayed a lot on that day. Benjamin in particular prayed that his mother would feel good again and would still be able to walk. When they called her that night, she said that the operation had gone well and that she still had the use of her legs!
“I was recovering in Utah for three months,” Sister Lopez said. “Everyone helped me a lot, but it was hard to be so far away from my family.”
Isaac remembers well the one time the family got to see her before she came home. “We drove for five days to get to Provo to see Mommy. It was a very long drive, but it was worth it!” Sister Lopez recovered and returned home. The family is grateful to Heavenly Father for taking care of her and making it so she could walk.

There is a word in Japanese, mui, that, for me, captures this more faith-filled, contemplative sense of what it means to be still. It is comprised of two characters (??). The one on the left means “nothing” or “nothingness,” and the one on the right means “to do.” Together they mean “non-doing.” Taken literally, the word could be misinterpreted to mean “to do nothing” in the same way “to be still” can be misinterpreted as “not talking or moving.” However, like the phrase “to be still,” it has a higher meaning; for me it is a reminder to slow down and to live with greater spiritual awareness.
While serving in the Asia North Area Presidency with Elder Takashi Wada, I learned that his wife, Sister Naomi Wada, is an accomplished Japanese calligrapher. I asked Sister Wada if she would draw for me the Japanese characters for the word mui. I wanted to hang the calligraphy on my wall as a reminder to be still and to focus on the Savior. I was surprised when she did not readily agree to this seemingly simple request.
The next day, knowing that I had likely misunderstood her hesitance, Elder Wada explained that writing those characters would require a significant effort. She would need to ponder and meditate on the concept and the characters until she understood the meaning deeply in her soul and could give expression to these heartfelt impressions with each stroke of her brush. I was embarrassed that I had so casually asked her to do something so demanding. I asked him to convey my apologies to her for my ignorance and to let her know that I was withdrawing my request.
You can imagine my surprise and gratitude when upon my leaving Japan, Sister Wada, unsolicited, gifted to me this beautiful piece of calligraphy featuring the Japanese characters for the word mui. It now hangs prominently on the wall of my office, reminding me to be still and to seek the Lord every day with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. She had captured, in this selfless act, the meaning of mui, or stillness, better than any words could. Rather than mindlessly and dutifully drawing the characters, she approached her calligraphy with full purpose of heart and real intent.

One missionary, Matte Te?o, was severely burned before leaving Samoa, but he came to Hawaii anyway. Doctors feared his charred hand might need to be amputated. Many of his fellow missionaries prayed for him. While in the temple, Brother Te?o cried out to the Lord, “Touch this hand.” “Fix this hand so I can help whatever little bit I can.” He began to heal immediately. Today his hand bears no scar. He now serves as a sealer in the Laie Hawaii Temple and says, “This temple … has a powerful influence throughout these communities not only here, but throughout the Pacific” (in Christensen, Stories of the Temple in L??ie, Hawai?i, 328–330).

As a young boy growing up in Cameroon, Vicky Levannresky Kamlemo loved playing football. He found himself frequently on the football pitch and the game was a major part of his life—even when he was studying in school.
He played for the Galaxy Football Club at the age of 14, and by 16 he was playing at a professional level. Upon receiving his baccalaureate, he was presented with an opportunity to travel and play professionally in Saudi Arabia, North Sudan, and Iran.
But football is a difficult profession—especially for young men who do not have financial means. Playing abroad is also not very easy, and Vicky’s living conditions were not what he wanted, so he decided to return home.
It was then that he became acquainted with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ through his Aunt, Hortense Dajeu, who was visiting from Virginia, USA and through his close friend, Yannick Njampou. Later, Vicky saw his return to Cameroon and baptism into the Church as a way through a great trial; and he believes all this happened by the grace of the Lord.
Today, he has found a greater and more wonderful passion than football as he serves a full-time mission in Cote d’Ivoire.

Following the final session of general conference, we left the Conference Center, still basking in the after glory. While on the train home, a Latter-day Saint family approached us, whose soulful beauty uniquely touched our lives.

The mother, with her children, asked if they could learn more about the Jewish head covering that I was wearing. Her 14-year-old son, named Taylor, had his interest piqued by his wonderful seminary teacher. His teacher’s name, we were told, was Brother Russell, and he appears to have taught quite well on Jewish practices.

Taylor, a truly extraordinary young man, clearly had a talent for humility and soul, and the time we spent together in discussion was remarkable. The deep light of his heart was clearly nourished by his family and by his Latter-day Saint faith in Jesus Christ. That a youth of today had such humble grace and a genuine interest in the sacred of another truly leaves me with bright hope for our future.

My daughter, Yael, was also greatly taken by the beauty of Taylor’s soul. That “the eyes are the window to the soul’’ is a favorite quote of hers, and she loved Taylor for the potential she saw he could become.

For me, the encounter with Taylor and his family was a most beautiful conclusion to the glory of general conference. Two families of God were having honoring sacred dialogue, and each of us left with more reverence and belief. This is what general conference inspires. This was, for me, a general conference after-glory moment I am grateful and humbled and blessed to have received.

In the end, to our friend and dear brother Taylor, to the friend whom we met only and sadly once, please always know that our lives were deeply enhanced by our chance encounter on the train that evening. Yael and I wish you only shalom, a Hebrew word meaning “peace and wholeness.” We wish you shalom in the broadest sense of the word, as you continue on your mission to bless our world with light.

And to you, Brother Russell, my long-lost friend and seminary teacher extraordinaire, though we have never yet met, it was wonderful getting to know you through the beauty of Taylor and his holy family. And I have an extra head covering, should you ever be in need! Thank you for teaching about my faith tradition in such an honoring and lovely way. You must have done so to inspire our young friend Taylor to inquire and seek to know more about my faith. Bless you, and shalom to you always.

When Ane was in high school, she looked forward to the day that she would attend a university. There were so many subjects she could study and so many careers she could choose from! “I had many, many interests and could do so many different things,” she says.

Although Ane lived in a small town in Norway, she attended a very good high school. Her school encouraged its students to work hard for good grades and to attend a university. Many students at Ane’s school began university studies immediately after graduating. From a young age, Ane had planned to do the same. Going to school, however, was only one of the goals Ane had set for herself.

“I have been well taught in Young Women through lessons and Personal Progress,” Ane says. “My goal has always been to marry in the temple.”

One evening at the local institute, Ane met a recently returned missionary named Benjamin. “From the first moment I saw him, he impressed me in so many ways,” says Ane. “It was so easy and nice to talk with him. We could easily talk about the gospel.”

Benjamin asked her on a date, and it went well. Over the coming months, Benjamin and Ane dated more. They played soccer and volleyball, went on hikes, and watched movies. Gradually they came to know each other better, and their friendship grew into romance.

As their courtship continued, their thoughts and plans turned to marriage. Ane and Benjamin were happy to have found the person they wanted to be with for eternity. However, this relationship became serious sooner than either of them had expected. What would happen to all the plans they had made when they were young? Would they still be able to seek an education? Would the decision to marry mean that their other goals would be postponed?

Some of their friends and family thought that this would be the case.

“Many people around me—at home, at school, and at work—were very concerned about how this relationship would affect my education,” Ane says. “They would question whether I even knew this relationship was going to last.

“Friends my age thought that getting married would prevent me from attending university,” she said. “To them, it seemed like I would be wasting my talents and opportunities.”

Some of Benjamin’s acquaintances felt the same way. “People wanted me to believe that we were too young, that my soon-to-be wife should complete an education first, and that if we got married, it would mean that we would have children, which we were also too young for,” he says.

Although Ane and Benjamin believed in the gospel’s emphasis on family and marriage, others not of their faith did not generally share this priority—at least not for young adults. “People in my town are strongly focused on education and work,” Ane explains. “This is good, but it does not leave much room for family—or religion.”

Both Benjamin and Ane were concerned about the advice and opinions given by their friends. For a whole year they struggled to decide on the right time to get married. They knew that ultimately the most important guidance would come from the Lord, so they spent much time searching the scriptures and words of the prophets for talks about family, marriage, and education.

“All these sources talk about how important both marriage and education are,” Ane says. As she continued in her search for direction, clarity finally came in a conversation with an institute leader. “She told me, ‘When you have the right person and the right place (the temple), it’s the right time!’” Ane remembers. “This really eased my mind. I received many promptings from the Spirit confirming that this was the path I should take. I came to know that Benjamin and I would get married and that it was the right thing for me to do at this time.”

Ane knew that she would still work toward getting an education, because that was also something that the Lord’s prophets encourage. But for now she knew that marriage would be her first priority.

Ane felt sad because she knew that few people would consider her marriage at that age something to be happy about. But she chose to focus on learning to recognize the promptings of the Spirit and on what the Lord thought instead of what her peers thought. “This was what I would need to stand strong and upright with the choice I had made,” she says.

Ane and Benjamin were married on July 16, 2009, in the Stockholm Sweden Temple. “When the day of our temple sealing arrived, I felt such peace,” Ane says. “It was all very simple. Beautiful. No worldly trappings. It felt so good to be with my parents and siblings in the temple—and with Benjamin. It was a time filled with true love.”

Although the months leading up to their marriage were hard, Ane is grateful for the trials she went through. “It forced me to take a stand,” she says. “God helped and strengthened me through scriptures, prayers, and priesthood blessings. Many of the people who were originally negative have come to acknowledge that what I chose was good and right. They see that I truly have found happiness. They have thanked me for trusting myself and the Lord.”

After their marriage, Ane and Benjamin moved to a new town where they both began their university studies. Soon they welcomed their daughter, Olea, and Ane temporarily put her studies on hold. Ane will continue her education part-time and online, allowing her both to get an education and to stay at home to nurture their daughter. Although she knows that such an arrangement will be hard work, Ane will still be able to get the education she desires.

“Some people may have thought that I had to sacrifice many things to get married and start a family,” she says, “and it could have looked that way. But in reality I have gained everything. I know that when I choose to put the Lord first, everything else will be given me. I am very excited and thankful to get my degree. But most of all I am thankful that we have the opportunity to be an eternal family!”

The scene was familiar enough—just another junior high school basketball game, this one in Boston, Massachusetts. But something unusual was happening. Spectators who listened carefully overheard one of the visiting players complaining early in the game, “Hey, coach, there are two guys out there who look just alike. I can’t keep track of them.”
“Nonsense,” replied the coach. “The one guy is probable just too fast for you. Now get out there and hustle.”
Moments later the same player, this time looking really alarmed, reported, “Coach, there are three guys out there who look just alike!”
A quick glance at the home team would have shown he was right. The unsuspecting visitors had just come across Dan, Dave, and Doug Rozsa, identical triplets playing on the same team.
A couple of years later the Rozsas, by now well-known throughout the area, were again on the same basketball team, this time one that was preparing for the championship playoffs. The coach of the team they would play next was in attendance at one of their games, trying to figure out how to deal with the triple threat.
“Our biggest problem is that our guys don’t know which one to guard,” he confided to his assistant. “But I’ve got it all figured out. They each wear different colored shoes.” Unknown to the coach was the fact that seated right behind him and hearing every word was Sister Dawna Rozsa, mother of the triplets. And the next week as the confident coach came out to face the triplets, he was dismayed to find they really were identical right down to the color of their shoes.
The triplets lived in Boston while their father, Brother Allen Rosza, served as president of the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since then, the family had been in California, where the boys are finishing up their senior year at El Modena High School in Orange.
All three young men are starting players on El Modena’s championship football team, with Dan at the defensive end, Dave at guard, and Doug at linebacker. In 1978 their team took home the Southern Conference Championship of the California Interscholastic Federation. On a rain-drenched evening they defeated Pacifica High School before a crowd of more that 10,000 spectators at Anaheim Stadium. In 1979 the team reached the semi-finals before being eliminated by the eventual champions.
The Rozsas have grown up playing on the same football, basketball, baseball, track, and wrestling teams, often much to the confusion of their opponents and even their coaches, who still haven’t figured out a way to tell them apart. The results of their collective athletic endeavors give the bedroom they share the appearance of a trophy case. Awards such as “Most Valuable, “All League,” “Player of the Game,” “All-County,” and All-CIF” seem to fill up every shelf and corner.
Many young people would be more than content with just the athletic success the triplets enjoy. Yet a look at their lives shows that this same high level of performance carries over into other areas. Each maintains a grade-point average that is nearly straight-A and each has received numerous scholastic and citizenship honors. All are Eagle Scouts and have earned their Duty to God awards. Each is active in all church activities, has served a youth mission, and is now in his fourth year at early morning seminary. Since they became deacons, the three have taken turns as president of their various Aaronic Priesthood quorums. In addition, Doug is this year’s student-body president at El Modena, with Dan assisting him as vice-president, while Dave heads up the senior class as president. Their attitude has always been to make the maximum effort at everything they do.
“We just try to be the best we can,” says Doug. “You only have an experience or situation once, and it’s a waste to say, ‘Oh, I could have done that if I’d only tried.’”
“Sure, it’s fun to be number one, but if you’re not, at least you know you never lose if you try your hardest,” agrees Dave. “We try not to think about what we’ve already done. Those things have been in the past, and we feel you have to keep proving yourself.”
Brother and Sister Rozsa were living in Greenville, Texas, in 1961 when the boys were born. Already the parents of four daughters, the couple were convinced they were never going to have any sons, so they had selected only girls’ names for the twins they thought were coming. A few days before the birth, the doctor called the Rozsas in and told them to get ready for triplets. So, with the addition of one more girl’s name, the couple thought they were prepared.
When the big day came, Brother Rozsa had his ear up against the delivery room door and heard just what he expected—“It’s a girl.” But before that had a chance to register the doctor broke in with “No, wait a minute; it’s a boy,” soon followed by exclamations of “Another boy,” “And another one.”
Practically having to pick himself up off the floor, Brother Rozsa’s first thoughts were “Scouting, fishing, and little league—at last!” An avid athlete and sportsman, Brother Rozsa says he had tried unsuccessfully to turn his very feminine daughters into tomboys. Thus he was overjoyed at the thoughts of not one but three fishing and football companions.
Brother and Sister Rozsa soon realized their three identical sons presented them with some special opportunities. One family home evening the parents and daughters decided they would read the entire New Testament by the end of the year.
“We figured out how many pages a day we would have to read to finish and talked it over, never dreaming that the boys, who were only eight years old, would be able to read the New Testament,” recalls Sister Rozsa. “But they didn’t realize they weren’t really a part of the conversation, so they started reading along with us. By the end of the year, each one had finished the New Testament along with the rest of the family.”
Brother Rozsa, now serving as a member of the Los Angeles Temple presidency, says he feels this incident taught his sons a lot about success. “They learned very early that if they stuck with a task they could be successful at it. We believe in our family that you can do anything if you set priorities and then follow them.”
As young boys, the triplets learned a lot about priorities from their parents and sisters. They soon knew that family and church came first, followed by school work, Scouting, music lessons, and sports. Over the years, they’ve kept up the same active pace. How do they do it?
“Well, we try not to waste much time. And we don’t have room for much sleep or television,” the three agree.
Serving full-time missions has been a priority with the triplets from the beginning. Their desire to do this grew even more when they were 12 and their father was called as a mission president.
“We decided when we were very young that we wanted to serve missions,” says Dave. “But being in the mission home gave us a better idea of what missionaries really do and what a mission is really like.” The three brothers still discuss the many dedicated and outstanding missionaries they knew in Boston.
Of course, they also admit they had great fun confusing the missionaries about which triplet was which. And, they remember many early morning bargaining sessions, trying unsuccessfully to convince the missionaries in the mission home to drive them around on their paper routes in the sub-zero Boston winters.
Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.
Even though the Rozsas have spent their lives in areas where the Church is a definite minority, none of the triplets feels he has ever had to compromise his beliefs to be successful.
“We always let people know where we stand, right from the beginning. Some guys bug us a few times, but now they respect us,” says Doug. “We don’t argue, we just say, ‘Hey, I’m not going to do that.’ Our coaches and friends know we have to be out of practice in time for Mutual, they know we don’t participate in sports on Sundays, and they know where we stand on the Word of Wisdom.”
For the most part, all three enjoy playing on the same teams. The only problem comes with wrestling season when the triplets, who stand 6 feet 2 1/2 inches tall and normally weigh in at 200 pounds, struggle to get into three different weight classes. One of them diets as another tries to eat his way into a higher weight class. The lucky third member of the trio gets to maintain the status quo.
A joint sports experience they remember is the football game when each of them made a touchdown. During another game, they all recovered the same fumble. Doug got to it first, then Dan drove in on top of him, followed by Dave.
“I guess sometimes we have an advantage,” says Dan. “We can usually figure out what each other would do in a situation.”
However it is that they do it, their coaches like it. El Modena’s football coach, Bob Lester, has only one complaint—“I wish they were quintuplets!”
Even with all their many activities, the Rozsas naturally find time for some relaxation. All three enjoy waterskiing, tinkering with cars, fishing, and other outdoor activities. Of course, some of the fun times they recall most revolve around their being triplets. At an early age, a favorite trick was to insist to Junior Sunday School teachers that all three of them were Dan. The next week they would all profess to be Dave and then Doug.
Sister Rozsa remembers a prayer offered by one of her sons at age four. “Bless my parents, bless my sisters, and bless those other two who look like me.”
Trading classes and teachers has been a source of occasional amusement, but the boys say they’ve kept this to a minimum. It’s always been a rule among them that while they often study together, each one has to take his own tests.
Now that the triplets are old enough to date, they’re really finding their threesome to be an advantage at times. Dan recalls one evening when he was trying to phone a girl to ask her out, but her number was always busy. He had to run off to a meeting, so he assigned brother Dave to fill in for him.
“Dave finally got hold of her and asked for a date. She said yes, I took her out, and she never found out what really happened,” says Dan. The three brothers remain sworn to secrecy as to the name of the young lady in question.
One thing people always ask the boys is “What’s it like to be a triplet?” Their response is really quite logical: “We’ve never been anything but triplets. It feels really normal to us,” says Doug.
“It’s easy for us to tell each other apart, too, because we look so different to each other,” says Dan. (Or was that Dave?)
The triplets are often amused by people’s reactions to seeing them for the first time.
“For some reason they get really mixed-up,” chuckles Dave. “They always come up to all three of us and ask, ‘Are you twins?’ Only rarely are we asked if we’re triplets. It’s like people think that’s just too much to be believed.”
Being triplets has its definite advantages, the boys claim. When they were young, their dad’s career in the air force took them all over the country. And unlike most kids, the triplets always got to take their best friends along with them wherever they went. In fact, in over 18 years the only time they’ve been apart was when serving their youth missions last summer. This togetherness will undoubtedly change in the next couple of years, though, as new experiences such as college and missions enter their lives. That is, unless missionaries start going forth three-by-three instead of two-by-two.

Oscar Castro was baptized and confirmed after finding a general conference issue of the Liahona in the home he moved into.
Illustration by Dan Burr; photograph provided by the author
The day Oscar’s wife left him and his two small children was one of the hardest of his life. So many decisions needed to be made. He had been searching for a job, and now he would need a new place to live. It seemed to him that his life was in ruins. He thought of just giving up, and he might have if not for his two beautiful children.
In San Juan, Argentina, not many homes were available to rent in Oscar’s price range. But a small home in a safe neighborhood had just been left empty by a group of young men, so Oscar rented it and prepared to begin anew with his children.
In their new home, some magazines and books had been left lying on the floor, and after working all day cleaning and putting things away, Oscar sat down and looked at one of the magazines. The cover intrigued him for some reason. Underneath the title, Liahona, there was a picture of an old man standing on a tower talking to the people. The man reminded him of pictures of biblical prophets.
Oscar opened the magazine and began to read, “Each of us already knows we should tell the people we love that we love them. But what we know is not always reflected in what we do.”1 Oscar thought about the sharp words that had been said many times between him and his wife. He wanted to teach his children to be better than that. Oscar continued to read the magazine, and he began to feel hope growing within him. Before the week was out, he had read every article and wanted to know more.
A month later two missionaries were walking in Oscar’s neighborhood. Oscar approached them and asked if they were Latter-day Saint missionaries and how much it would cost to get more of those Church magazines. The elders told him that it would cost him only about 20 minutes of his time.
The next day the two missionaries visited Oscar at his home. Oscar told them about moving in and finding old books, magazines, and pamphlets that let him know about the Church. He explained that the first article he read related directly to his life at the time. He already knew the importance of family and wanted to know more about family home evening and family prayer. He told the elders what else he had learned about the Church, including about Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel.
He looked directly into the eyes of the elders and said the words every missionary longs to hear: “I believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.” The elders invited him to be baptized, and with tears in his eyes, Oscar accepted. A few weeks later, Oscar Castro was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
The Lord had prepared Oscar, and his spirit was contrite and ready to learn and grow. On that memorable, moving day, the spirit of the messages in the general conference issue of the Liahona touched Oscar’s heart. The previous owners of the home did not know the effect that leaving behind a few Church magazines would have, but the gospel messages in those magazines became an important missionary tool. In leading him to the truths he was searching for, they forever changed Oscar’s life.

I remember one year when our Young Women camp had been almost perfect. Our camp, named Mirror of the Moon, took place at the foot of a mountain in central Chile. A special atmosphere prevailed, and our happiness and love highlighted the natural beauty of the place. Looking at the mountains, listening to the cascading waterfalls and the songs of birds, seeing the sun in the morning and the stars and moon at night all caused us to acknowledge the existence of our divine Creator. We appreciated more than ever Heavenly Father’s great love for us.
During the week, our testimonies had been strengthened as had our bonds of friendship. We had learned to do so many things—to build, to cook, to believe in our own abilities. Plus, we had been happy.
Now it was our fourth and final day, the one we had looked forward to. We were going to have a testimony meeting at sunrise. We had to get up very early, but we were eager for this experience. Before the testimony meeting, we received letters that our parents had written. Many of us cried as we read them, and we felt a spirit of gratitude for those moments.
Later as we shared our testimonies, the stars disappeared and the sun rose above the mountains. What a beautiful morning! The meeting ended, and we were preparing to go on with the day when the sky became clouded. A light drizzle began.
As the rain began to fall, we gathered together to pray and ask Heavenly Father to stop the bad weather so we could complete our camping experience. Of course, we prayed that His will would be done. If He felt the rain should continue, we would accept it cheerfully.
The rain began to fall harder, and it became much colder. We started to pack up the tents and put everything away.
Then the camp leader and I went down beside a waterfall, and there in the rain, we knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help us be all right. Rising from our knees, we felt a peace and confidence that everything would be fine.
A few minutes after we returned to camp, a man who lived a few miles away drove up. He had seen us as we traveled to our camp four days before. Now he had come to help us. He asked for a telephone number so he could call into the city to have our bus come and get us earlier than planned.
After getting the information he needed, he left, made the phone call, and returned to take us to his house and give us shelter. He had to make a lot of trips, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. Although not a member of the Church, he was truly an angel to us.
We realized that God really was watching over us and was concerned about us. He met our needs through this kind man. “God did hear our cries and did answer our prayers” (Mosiah 9:18).
For us, this was a great way to finish camp.

I have had many such teachers since. One was a prophet of the Lord, Spencer W. Kimball. I was visiting from England for general conference and asked if I could see him. I was told that he was in his office and no one was with him. I knocked on the door and his familiar voice said “Come in.” I started to open the door, but before it was fully open, he was there already. I felt a sense of urgency and real caring. He took me by the arm, showed me round his office, then sat me down across the desk. “How is the work going in England?” he inquired. I gave a brief report, but he knew already; he was teaching me the principle of stewardship and accountability. Then he reached up to his bookshelves, took down a book, and handed it to me. “Have you read this?” he asked. He smiled, took a pen, opened the book and wrote a message, and then gave it to me. I shall always treasure that copy of The Life Story of Heber C. Kimball, the first missionary to England.

It certainly did in Dallas, Texas. A young woman in the Dallas Texas East Stake invited her non-LDS friend to be a part of their service celebration. Her non-LDS parents were passing by the stake center and wanted to see what their daughter was doing there. They came in, listened to the program, felt the light. “We want to become a part of your church,” they said afterwards. The missionaries are now giving them the discussions.

At this same time, one by one my children all decided to stop attending church. Two eventually had their names removed from Church records. This has certainly been the trial of both my wife’s and my life. And even though he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint, my father was pained and confused by our children’s choices as well. He was a privately religious man, and he joined us through those years in praying for them.

In 2005 my father passed away after being diagnosed with cancer, and my mother passed away three years later. My wife and I rejoiced in acting as their proxies in providing temple ordinances after their deaths.

I’ve long prayed to understand how best to relate to our children now that they’re adults, some with their own spouses and children, none of whom are LDS. We are emotionally close to all four of our children, and we are grateful that they often reach out in love to us.

I eventually received a very clear answer of how I must conduct myself, possibly for the rest of my life, regarding these adult children. I needed to do what my father had done with me. In spite of the different lives we lived and the different religious perspectives we had, my father was determined to draw closer to me as a father and a friend while I experienced the pain of seeing my children choose different lifestyles and beliefs from mine. I realized I must follow the example of my father, who taught me how to treat children of a different faith: love them completely, just as the Savior would.

One night before bed I was thinking about what to pray for when I felt prompted to pray for my uncle’s family. I prayed that they would feel the Spirit. Two days later I learned that my uncle had lost his job and that his family would have to move.
It was then I realized that what I had prayed for was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, and I felt grateful that I had listened to the still small voice. In a situation where I could not do much else to help, I felt good knowing my prayers could help. Sometimes instances like this may seem insignificant, but I know that seeking personal revelation, listening to promptings, and following them—even small ones—can increase our faith and strengthen others.

It was the hardest letter I had ever written. Not knowing how it would be received, I struggled to find the right words.
It had been five years since I last communicated with my ex-husband’s mother. I was now remarried and trying to offer the love of four children to a grandmother who hadn’t seen or heard from them in all that time.
“Do what you feel you must do,” my husband said, although he didn’t like the idea too well. “Don’t start something you might regret later,” my mother told me.
But there was something else prompting me—a different spirit that said, “You must let her know that her only grandchildren are alive, well, and happy.”
So I wrote the letter. Offering to put aside our past, I spoke of future visits with loved grandchildren and friendship with our family. I included the children’s school pictures.
Grandmother June was in the hospital when the letter arrived. Following surgery, she had developed an infection that slowed her healing and was the start of a deep depression. She had had an unhappy life, and no one was really surprised when she seemed to give up the will to live. Days went by as she lay there, uncaring and unfeeling.
Bill, her husband, brought her cards and letters as they arrived, but it didn’t seem to help. A few days before Thanksgiving a priest came to administer last rites. There was not much hope for her recovery.
That day, when Bill brought the mail in, June took an interest in one of the letters. He opened it, spilling the children’s photographs onto the bed. Both of them reached at once for the pictures. Bill kissed them again and again. June was too weak to do more than look at the treasure and weep.
Later in the afternoon she told a surprised nurse, “I’m hungry. Please bring me something to eat.” With a new will to live, June sat up in bed for the first time in many days. Soon she was strong enough to answer my letter. She was overjoyed to read about the children, happy to forget about past problems, and excited about seeing her grandchildren again.
We drove to Pennsylvania that summer and visited June and Bill, sharing together a great gift of love and gratitude. I don’t know that my letter saved her life, but I do know that the Spirit of the Lord prompted me to write. And I am deeply thankful that the Spirit urged me to do it when I felt like not doing it.