Gospel Story Finder

I don’t ever want to forget him. You see, Hans got really sick last month—Mother said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died.
We all cried when Hans died. Mother and Father hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. My grandparents and all my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too. Mother and Father played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Hans and Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Father says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mother and Father were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.

On a recent trip to New Zealand, I met with a mission president who wore a beautiful tie tack with the inspiring CTR, or “Choose the Right,” emblem. “When I was a bishop,” he explained, “[I] had an interview with a good-looking young man who was to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. He told me a special story. He related to me how one day after school, he and some of his friends found a package of cigarettes. They decided to go down on the cliff alongside some large boulders and smoke them. They lit up, and the young man said that as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette that he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out and made a very wise choice—to never, ever do such a thing again. He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for. From this story I gained a special love for the CTR emblem.”

On Sunday, 27 March 1836, hundreds of Latter-day Saints came to Kirtland for the dedication. The doors opened at 8:00 A.M., and 1,000 people entered. Hundreds more who had also worked and sacrificed for the building of the temple were left outside. Seeing their disappointment, Joseph Smith decided to repeat the dedication on Thursday.
The choir opened the meeting; then President Sidney Rigdon spoke for two and a half hours. After a brief intermission, the officers of the Church were sustained. Then the Prophet offered the dedicatory prayer, given to him by revelation. This prayer is now section 109 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 109]. After the prayer, the choir sang “The Spirit of God,” which had been written specifically for the dedication.
The congregation ended the seven-hour service by standing and giving the sacred Hosanna Shout. Sister Eliza R. Snow said that it was given “with such power as seemed almost sufficient to raise the roof from the building.”

Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).

At the age of 18, Olivia Nez has been around the longest of any of the girls in the Young Women program on the reservation. She has played a large part in helping to plan this first girls’ camp, working closely with the leaders to make sure that all the girls had the equipment and skills necessary to have a great time. Even though her senior year was chock-full of activities, including being the student body president, Olivia made time to act as the youth camp director.
“Since I just graduated [from high school], this is my first and last camp with our branches,” she says. “The girls in my branch and the other branches face a lot of challenges, and this is a good opportunity to learn more about the gospel and recommit ourselves.”

Whenever anyone said something nice to Dan, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept it. A typical conversation with his teachers quorum adviser went something like this:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m no good at basketball. The only reason I came was because the other guys kept calling me.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“I don’t have an outside shot. I don’t even have an inside shot.”
“So … what do you do in a game?”
“Mainly try to get the other team to feel sorry for me,” Dan said glumly.

Let’s take another look at Dan, this time with a more positive light in his life.
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“Okay. Maybe I can work with Steve a little. He’s good at passing, and that, along with what I can do, should be a good combination. You know, I’m starting to feel a little sorry for the other team.”

The weeks before Christmas were predictably hectic. I knew from past experience that there would be heavy demands on my time, but I had hoped that this year would be different. I wanted to be well organized—to have my shopping and Christmas preparations done far enough in advance that the pressures of my busy life would not interfere with the spirit of the Christmas season.
And this year was different—in fact, the pre-Christmas season presented more challenges than usual. As a member of the Tabernacle Choir, I had learned years ago that I must be ready to spend many hours at the Tabernacle at this time of year. The month of December is always crowded with special programs, extra rehearsals, and Christmas concerts. But this year, in addition to these activities, the choir was also preparing to leave on a concert tour to Israel on the day after Christmas! We had difficult music to learn which required several months of extra rehearsals. All of this, combined with my full-time work schedule and preparations for a work assignment following the choir’s tour, allowed me very little time for the joyful preparations for Christmas or for my family.
My widowed mother watched quietly as I tried to juggle my life in order to work everything in. I knew that she would like to have had me make more frequent visits, take her shopping once in a while, or just find the time to call on the phone more often. We always looked forward to having her come to dinner on Sundays, and she never complained about any lack of attention to her, but I knew that she was lonely and longed for companionship. Since my father died four years ago, there had been a great void in her life. They were eternal companions in every sense of the word. Whether working in the temple, beautifying their home, enjoying their children and grandchildren, or singing, they did it together! And now again, I knew that she was remembering the years gone by and those joyous Christmases with Dad. Those were times full of love and music as they sang together at many Christmas programs and family gatherings. And now she was alone.
My sister and I had helped Mother put up her Christmas tree and decorate her home for the holidays. We had done most of her shopping for her, but about two weeks before Christmas, Mother called, apologized for infringing on my busy schedule, and asked if I would mind taking her shopping for one afternoon. She wanted to add her personal touch to a few of the items we had already purchased. It was a welcome and delightful break from the frenzied schedule I had been keeping. We had lunch and spent a lovely afternoon together. The joy and the spirit of the season which I had not had time for before filled our hearts.
Just a few days after our afternoon together, Mother became ill with the flu. We were very concerned and kept a close watch on her at her home. She did not want to come and stay with us or with my sister, but insisted that she would be well soon. She apologized for being ill and for becoming a burden on us at such a busy time. After she suffered for several miserable days, her health seemed to improve, and we relaxed our vigil somewhat. She had predicted that she would be fine by Christmas, and that seemed to be the case.
The tempo and burdens of my life had only increased during the week that Mother was ill. It was three days before Christmas, the choir had just finished two Christmas concerts, I still had last-minute shopping to do, there were many projects to complete at the office, and in only four days we would be on our way to Israel. When my husband came into my office that afternoon, shut the door, and told me that Mother had passed away just an hour earlier, I had difficulty comprehending what he was saying. He had no explanations why this had happened—only the devastating news that she was gone. All that had been so important only minutes ago seemed to evaporate. I felt that time had stopped and that I had been suspended in some sort of vacuum.
For the next two days, my sisters and I went through the necessary motions and made preparations for Mother’s funeral. It was to be held the day after Christmas—the day the choir was leaving for Israel! Family members and friends enveloped us with love and concern, and we struggled to acknowledge the reality of what had happened. Under the circumstances, I had assumed I would not be able to make the trip to Israel; but very late one evening I received a telephone call telling me that arrangements had been made for me to travel and join the choir a few days later. I was so grateful for kind friends and their efforts in my behalf!
For the sake of the young children in the family as well as our own, we wanted Christmas to be as normal as possible. We continued to make preparations for our traditional Christmas Eve family dinner and for Christmas day, but we felt so empty—so alone. It just could not be the same! Each of us—and especially the children—felt the terrible emptiness and tried to understand why our mother and grandmother had been taken at this time.
Because of the holiday, we were advised to postpone having a viewing until just before the services, but the funeral directors invited us to come to the funeral home at any time the day before—Christmas day—and spend some time alone with Mother. Following our dinner on Christmas night, we left the children playing with their gifts and went to the funeral home.
We stood quietly around her casket and looked at our beautiful mother in her temple robes. She looked so serene, so happy. There was a spirit of peace and of love in that room—even one of happiness and joy. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the recent glorious reunion that must have taken place between my mother and father. I had the impression that if I listened carefully, I could again hear the angels singing as they did on that holy night long ago, and that the beautiful voices of my mother and father had joined that heavenly chorus. I imagined I could hear them singing, “Silent night! Holy night! … Sleep in heavenly peace.”
The understanding and comfort I had prayed for seemed to come to me as I stood there, and my worldly cares seemed far away. On that silent night, gathered with my loved ones, I thanked my Father in Heaven for that moment of heavenly peace.

Antelope—prancing, fleetfooted, swift.
Sparrowhawk—hovering, waiting to dive with lightning-like speed.
Trout—swimming, a streak of light in the water.
Hummingbird—a blur of motion. The fastest of all living things. A distant humming sound; here, gone, vanished. The sudden flash of iridescent color only a memory.
All of the fastest creatures were represented in the waving line of boys who stood waiting for the race to start.
Piubi held his magic talisman in his hand, his heart beating hard with excitement. He believed his magic was the strongest of any boy’s in the race. In the small leather bag clutched in his hand and in another one hung from his neck were the feathers of a hummingbird.
“The hummingbird is the fastest of all living things,” the shaman (healer) had told him. “If you carry its feathers, you will ride as though on the wings of a hummingbird.”
Piubi wasn’t just relying on the hummingbird’s magic, for during the summer he had run whenever he could with the other boys his age and sometimes alone. Before now—before the hummingbird’s magic—the other boys had always beaten him in a race.
“You will ride on the wings of a hummingbird,” whispered Piubi, remembering the shaman’s words. He felt lighter and faster than he had ever felt before.
An elbow dug into piubi’s ribs as the anxious boys moved back to straighten the line. The race was about to begin.
The crowd cheered as Chief Washakie stepped forward. He was chief of the Shoshone tribe. Tall and muscular, he was dressed in full ceremonial costume—a headdress of eagle feathers and a suit of white elk skin. Behind Chief Washakie stood old Morogonia, who was second only to the chief in importance. Morogonia had been honored for his craftsmanship as a bow maker. Piubi had heard that his bows had been traded for as many as ten fast horses!
Morogonia held the prize for the race in his arms. Wrapped in a covering of mountain goatskin were a dozen arrows and one of Morogonia’s finest bows.
Piubi searched the crowd. It looked as though the entire village had come out for the race. In a group with other women, Piubi saw his mother; and with a group of warriors, he saw his father. Piubi imagined the pride they would feel when he won the race.
The shaman walked in front of the crowd, chanting. He held up a sacred bundle to the four directions in turn, honoring the Great Spirit. Then he stepped back, and Chief Washakie raised his staff into the air. Tension rippled through the line of boys. The crowd was silent as the boys bent over into starting positions. When the staff dropped to the ground, the line jumped forward. Piubi’s feet flew over the earth.
Piubi was running with the leading group of boys. Shoulders bumping, arms pumping, hearts pounding, they flew over the first hill and on down toward the Snake River. The river was silver and bright in the morning sunlight.
The runners wound along the twisting shore of the river. Water birds exploded up off the river in front of them. Deer feeding near the water raised their heads and then vanished into the willow thickets.
The runners were now in a long weaving line. Sometimes one runner would take the lead only to be passed by several others seconds later. Piubi was still with the front runners. He was running faster than he ever remembered. His lungs were burning, and he reached up and touched the bag of hummingbird feathers.
Piubi was the first to reach the midpoint marker, and he started running even faster to widen the distance between himself and the other racers. The sun was bright and hot in the sky. His legs began to ache, and sweat streamed down his face.
The runners were now scattered across the prairie, moving back toward the river. Then they started back along the shoreline. One runner passed Piubi and then another. Piubi’s mouth was dry. He longed to stop and drink the cool water, but he saw that he was falling behind. Now there were more boys in front of him than there were behind him.
They started up a hill, and the climb was tortuous. Piubi’s legs were numb with pain. The sweat from his head burned his eyes. He reached up and touched the bag that dangled around his neck to help him run faster, but it took all his energy and determination just to keep going. Every movement was painful.
The runners were now onto the flat that led to the village. Piubi fell further back as the first runners crossed the finish line. Piubi could hear the crowd cheering. The sound was distant and seemed dreamlike. Another runner passed him. Piubi managed to turn and look back. I’m in last place! He felt like turning around and running in the other direction.
Piubi didn’t look up as he crossed the finish line. He slipped quickly through the crowd and walked away from the village. Last place! How can I face my family and friends? he wondered.
When Piubi reached a small ridge overlooking the village and the river, the wind was blowing lightly. He watched bright billowing clouds change their shapes against a deep blue sky. And high above those clouds he saw a lone eagle soaring on the wind. Its wings were motionless.
Piubi sat on the hill, feeling his pain. Last place!
In the distance he could hear the crowd still cheering the winners. The pain he felt inside was growing more intense. I will have no place inthe village as the slowest runner, he agonized. Then he took the bag of feathers and threw it down the hill. It caught on a sagebrush branch. Not even the magic of the hummingbird is strong enough to help me, he thought.
Then just below the crest of the hill, Piubi saw someone coming slowly toward him. It was old Morogonia. What can he want with me? Piubi wondered.
The old man had picked up the boy’s discarded feather bag and had opened it. Approaching Piubi, he took a small brilliant feather from the bag and held it up to the sunlight. A wide smile wrinkled his face as he put the feather back into the bag and then sat down next to Piubi. “You must have dropped this,” Morogonia said as he handed the bag to Piubi.
Piubi took the bag and looked at it. “It didn’t help me,” he muttered. Old Morogonia turned and watched the sky and the land for a short time. He breathed deeply, tasting the air. His eyes followed the course of the river and then scanned the horizon. They mirrored the pleasure he found in what he was seeing. Finally the old man pointed a finger at the sky.
Piubi saw a small dark speck. It was the eagle, still soaring above the clouds. Then old Morogoni spoke: “The eagle is a noble bird. He can fly higher than any other bird and he is a fierce warrior. But he cannot swim. In the water, even the smallest trout is better than the eagle. There is a place best adapted for every living thing. The eagle can fly, the fish can swim, the horse can run. Everything has its place. It is the same with people. Not everyone can be the fastest runner.”
“But what place is there for the slowest runner?” Piubi pouted.
Old Morogonia looked at him and smiled. “I was the slowest runner, too, when I ran my race,” he said. “It would be a good thing to ride on the wings of a hummingbird, but it would be a better thing to ride on your own wings.” The old man stood up. “If you will come to my tepee in the morning, I will teach you how to make a fine bow.”
It was an opportunity that Piubi hadn’t dreamed possible. To have Morogonia, the finest bow maker in all the shoshone tribe, teach him to make a bow was a great honor! It was even better than riding on the wings of a hummingbird.
Piubi smiled. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

When I was in Brazil serving as a counselor to the Area President, I was sent to reorganize a stake that was having problems. The president of the stake and his first counselor were not worthy to serve. So the second counselor had been carrying the whole burden of that stake for six to eight weeks.
When I got there I found that this second counselor was a young medical student. He had been married not too long ago, and his wife was a nurse. He was very busy, yet he was carrying this terrific responsibility, made even greater by the terrible circumstances of the stake presidency. As I talked to him, I thought that this worthy young man, because he was a busy medical student, should not be called as stake president. It would be too much of a burden for him.
So that evening when I knelt by my bed I prayed, “Heavenly Father, bless Elder Milder and me that we will be inspired to know whom we should call as stake president and resolve the difficulties of this stake.”
A strong feeling came over me that said, “I’ve already shown you the new stake president.”
And I said to the Lord, “Oh, no you haven’t!”
All night long I wrestled with the Lord. I kept waking up with the impression that that young medical student should be the stake president, but I thought, “No, no, no. He should not.”
The next day when we started interviewing, Elder César Milder, an Area Seventy, and I agreed that the second counselor should not be the stake president, even though he was worthy, because it would be too much to give him. We had interviewed a bishop who would do well. Then we interviewed a man who had just moved into the stake. He had served in a stake presidency. He had been a bishop twice. He was financially secure.
When we finished the interviewing, I told Elder Milder, “Give me the three names of those whom you think we ought to consider.”
He gave me the name of the bishop and this man who had just moved into the stake. Then he said, “I still feel we cannot ignore this second counselor.”
And I said, “Well, those are the three names that we should consider, but I agree that we should not, however, call the second counselor to be the new stake president.”
So, in prayer, we presented the name of the man who had just moved into the stake, and I understood at that moment what a stupor of thought was (see D&C 9:9). We did not get a confirmation at all. We prayed about the bishop and did not get a confirmation.
I said, “Well, I guess we’d better present this second counselor’s name before the Lord and see what He thinks.”
A powerful witness overwhelmed us. Our bosoms really did burn within us. Tears flowed down our faces as we received that confirmation.
So we met with him and his wife. I told him the reasons he shouldn’t be the stake president, then I said, “But apparently the Lord doesn’t care about any of those reasons. Therefore, on His behalf I extend the call to serve as stake president.” He accepted.
Later, while in Salt Lake City for general conference, I met with Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. After the meeting he said, “I’m being assigned to visit a stake conference in Brazil, but not to reorganize the stake. I’m not sure why I’m being sent. Do you know anything about this stake?”
It was the same stake where I had called the second counselor to be the stake president, so I told Elder Nelson the circumstances of the stake president being called.
He said, “You know, Elder Wood, we do not usually call medical students to serve as stake presidents.”
I said, “I didn’t know that, but I believe it, and I would not have done this on my own.”
After the stake conference, Elder Nelson came to Recife, Brazil, where I was living. When he got off the plane, he said, “Elder Wood, you did the right thing. That man was indeed called of God, and he has made a great difference in the stake.”

A few years ago, I coached a boys’ soccer team. They were an amazing group of players—fast, agile, with the instinct of anticipating where the ball would or should go on the next kick. The players really clicked as a team. They breezed through the season with a perfect record, most of the games ending in lopsided scores.
One of my favorite players on the team was Matt. Matt was an exception to most of his teammates. He wasn’t as skilled or naturally athletic as they were, but he played with a lot of heart. He developed a knack for playing defense. Matt wasn’t a fast runner, but he had courage and the uncanny ability to get himself right in front of a player ready to shoot on goal. Matt stopped dozens of shots that season with almost every part of his body—feet, legs, stomach, chest, and, on one memorable shot, his face. Matt earned the nickname “The Wall” because it seemed like no opposing player could get the ball past him.
Matt had one dream for that season: he wanted to score a goal. Since he played defense, at the opposite end of the field from the opponents’ net, he had little chance to score.
The last game of the season came and our team raced out to a quick and comfortable lead. As the match wore down, I called Matt over to the sideline and told him to play forward for the remainder of the game, a position where he’d have a better chance to score. With a confidence that surprised me, I told him, “Whenever their goalie has the ball, plant yourself in front of the box. Be in the right place at the right time and you’ll get your goal today.”
A few minutes later, one of our players kicked the ball on goal. The other team’s goalkeeper stopped the shot, put the ball on the turf, and kicked the ball low and hard.
And Matt, true to his nature, got right in front of it.
The ball thudded into his chest and ricocheted past the shocked and flailing goalkeeper into the net. Matt’s teammates and their parents exploded in cheers.
It wasn’t pretty, but Matt got his goal. He couldn’t have been more excited if he’d scored in a World Cup match.
I bumped into Matt a while ago, and it didn’t take long for us to start reminiscing about his amazing goal. We both agreed that, while his goal was thrilling and something neither of us would ever forget, it was the lessons we learned about life that warm autumn day that mattered most.

Laekin Vakalahi always knew that putting the Lord first in his life would shape his future. He has always loved playing sports, especially rugby and basketball.
As a young man he did not play sports on Sundays, as a rule, and he enjoyed going to church and youth activities, including seminary.
He had an opportunity to play rugby professionally but in 2021, he decided to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.
Laekin said, “I decided to put God first and serve a mission and then leave things in His hands.”
In 2023, Laekin’s parents and four brothers were on holiday in Hawaii when they met a scout from the Philadelphia Eagles National Football League team.
The scout was impressed with the stature and strength of the four brothers and asked if they had ever played American football.
The parents said, “No, but you really should see the size of our older son who is serving a mission in New Zealand. He is 6’ 5” (196 cms.) tall and weighs 320 (165 kgs.) pounds.”
The Eagles’ scout was so impressed with the stats and photos that he arranged with Laekin’s mission president to have Laekin do a workout in Wellington while the scout observed.
Always concerned about staying on task and following mission rules, Laekin became creative about getting all the scout’s assignments completed.
For example, he demonstrated his ability to lead by recording a class he taught in a zone conference. The Eagles were impressed with his honesty, character, and obedience in following the mission rules.
Following the completion of his mission, he worked closely with the scout on football fundamentals and had an official tryout with the team.
In April 2024, the Philadelphia Eagles signed Laekin to a three-year contract as an international developmental player.
Laekin said, “When you are playing at such a high level you could have a lot of pride or ego, but we need to remember that we are all equal in the eyes of God. Everyone needs to treat people the same, no matter who they are. Praying, reading my scriptures, and listening to Church music helps me to stay connected and grounded.”
Following his football career, Laekin hopes to get a university degree and a career in the film and video industry.

In 1965, Sister Whang was appointed superintendent of Song Jook Orphanage. Jini Roby, who lived in the orphanage from the time she was eleven until she was fourteen, remembers that Sister Whang “was always scurrying in and out, in and out. But she always had a smile. She knew all of our names and what we were doing, and she would ask about our specific situations.”
Less than two years into Sister Whang’s administration, Stan Bronson arrived on the scene. A native of Blanding, Utah, Stan was stationed at the 8th U.S. Army base in Seoul and wanted to spend his off-duty hours doing worthwhile projects. He decided helping children would be just the thing. When he inquired about orphanages in the area, Church members referred him to Sister Whang.
When Stan—who is six feet, four inches tall—first met Sister Whang, he was struck by her air of dignity and self-assurance. But he was even more impressed by how comfortable she made him feel. “She has a wonderful spirit about her,” he says. “She’s dedicated, sweet, polite—one of those people who you know are sincerely interested in you.”
Stan told her he could play the guitar and that he would like to come and teach the children some songs. “I went out a few days later, all proud of myself and ready to lift their spirits,” Stan remembers. “But Sister Whang said, ‘Before you sing, Brother Bronson, the children have prepared something for you.’ For the next half hour or so I listened to the most beautiful music—and I felt pretty small.”
Stan organized the girls into a choir and taught them songs in addition to those they already knew. “‘Give,’ Said the Little Stream” became one of their favorites, because Sister Whang and Stan taught them that they all had something they could share, no matter how small. Stan (whom the girls called Daddy Big Boots because of his large feet) and the girls began performing at U.S. military bases, and that autumn they recorded an album, Daddy Big Boots and the Song Jook Won Girls.
“The musical group lifted the kids so much,” Stan recalls. “It took them from being considered surregi people—which means trash—and made them celebrities. They had a record album, they were singing on national television, and the U.S. ambassador and the South Korean president were making a fuss over them.”
Sister Whang was eager to have the choir succeed; she hoped to use the money the girls earned from their appearances to build a school for them and for other poor children who couldn’t pay tuition. Stan says she was “a public relations genius.”
“For example, when the record was released, she told me that we were having a party at the high school to announce it. She said we were inviting President Park Chung Hee, the president of South Korea; U.S. Ambassador William J. Porter; and General Charles H. Bonesteel, the head of the United Nations command. ‘How are you going to get guys like that to come?’ I asked. She just laughed. ‘Well, in President Park’s invitation I told him that Ambassador Porter and General Bonesteel were invited. In General Bonesteel’s, I said President Park and Ambassador Porter were invited. And in Ambassador Porter’s, I told him the others had been invited.’ The ambassador and his wife came, and so did the general’s wife. President Park, who was out of town, sent a top aide.”
In the meantime, the girls had learned that Stan was a Latter-day Saint. “Some of us had never heard of Mormons before, and some of us thought they were pagans,” says Jini. “But the only thing that seemed weird about Stan was that he was so tall. One day we said to him, ‘You’re such a nice person. It’s hard to believe you’re Mormon.’
“‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Your superintendent is a Mormon.’”
Jini was translating for the group, and she remembers sitting there stunned as the other girls begged her to tell them what Stan had said. Since the orphanage was sponsored by another religion, Sister Whang had agreed not to discuss her beliefs. The girls had known she was Christian, but that was all.
From the animated reaction, Stan knew he had said something he shouldn’t have. But it was too late. The girls started asking Sister Whang about her church. When the orphanage’s sponsoring religion found out, authorities told Sister Whang she would either have to convert to their church or find a new job.
It was then that Sister Whang decided to start an orphanage of her own—the Tender Apples Home. Those girls who were interested in the Church received permission to come and live with her.
Funding the orphanage was a constant challenge. Stan worked in the United States to raise money and find sponsors for the girls, and he says Sister Whang was constantly trying to find financial supporters. “She was good at opening people’s hearts and getting them to believe in her work,” he reports. “I think it was because she was so sincere.”
Eugene Till, who served as president of the Korea Seoul Mission from 1974 to 1977, believes that Sister Whang’s persistence also played a major role. “She would tell you what she needed, and she would accept nothing less than total fulfillment,” he says. “She never took her eye off a goal until it was accomplished. You can understand that kind of determination when a person is going to gain something from her work. But when the results of Sister Whang’s efforts came—clothing, money, food—she didn’t keep any of it for herself.”
Equally as important as supporting her girls temporally was giving them opportunities to feel the Spirit. Jessica Lyon Ohn spent three years in the Tender Apple Home, beginning in January 1975. She remembers that days started for the girls at 6:00 A.M.. with hymn singing, prayer, and scripture study. Sister Whang got up before the girls so she could pray and study the scriptures, then stoke the fires so the house would be warm when the girls woke up. Monday evenings were set aside for family home evening, and Sister Whang made sure the girls had money for bus fare so they could attend church each Sunday.
Sister Whang taught her girls to help spread the gospel. When President Till arrived in Korea in 1974, he learned from a survey that only 10 percent of the people in Seoul were aware of the name of the Church. During his three years as mission president, he and his missionaries concentrated on changing that. With Sister Whang’s permission, President Till assigned several elders—who formed a singing group known as “New Horizon”—to work directly with the Tender Apples choir to put on a musical show that would introduce the people in Korea to the gospel.
The group became immensely popular. Through it all, President Till remembers, Sister Whang “taught the girls that they shouldn’t be too proud of themselves, because they were just doing what they were supposed to do.” At the end of three years, more than 70 percent of the people in Seoul recognized the Church’s name.
One of Sister Whang’s major goals was to place as many of her girls as possible with Latter-day Saint families. Of the eighty-four children she brought up over a period of nearly twenty years, thirty-three were adopted into Latter-day Saint homes in the United States. Twelve have married in the temple, and nine have served full-time missions.
Also of utmost importance to Sister Whang was that the girls learn responsibility and be treated as equals. They were each assigned chores around the home—preparing food, washing clothes, and cleaning—and they were each expected to use the home’s resources wisely. Jessica remembers a time when one of the girls threw away a blouse that could have been repaired. When Sister Whang found it in the garbage, she lectured the girls on not wasting. Then, at the next home evening, she gave everyone a plastic sewing box full of needles and thread and taught them how to mend.
Even though the girls grew up and no longer live with her, Sister Whang cares about them still. Rosemarie Slover, former matron of the Seoul Korea Temple, says that when she and her husband, Robert, returned to Provo two years ago, Sister Whang asked them to check on her girls who lived in Utah, especially one who had just left Korea and would be homesick. Sister Whang corresponds with many of her girls, and her small, sparsely furnished room—she now rents the rest of her house in Seoul—is filled with pictures of them and their families.
And the girls feel a similar concern for their “mom.” In October 1990, she went to the United States to escort several children who were being adopted by U.S. families. Many girls who had sung in the Tender Apples choir gathered from far and near to see her. President Till speaks of watching her greet her “children,” with a broad smile on her face and tears in her eyes. As each woman arrived, often accompanied by a husband and children, Sister Whang would gather the group in a massive hug and hold on as if she would never let go.
“I’ve never seen Sister Whang show such emotion,” remembers President Till. “It was especially touching when I thought of what might have happened to those girls without her. A couple of them probably wouldn’t have survived. The rest of them probably would have ended up as servants or living on the street. Sister Whang truly provided physical salvation for those girls—and gave them the opportunity for spiritual salvation by introducing them to the gospel.”
But Sister Whang’s selflessness extends beyond her girls to everyone she meets. “She has a heart big enough for the whole world,” smiles Jini. “She can accept and love anybody.” Jini saw this illustrated vividly three and a half years ago when Jini went to Korea to find her brother, from whom she had been separated twenty-eight years earlier. He was now an alcoholic, both mentally and physically ill. He had no home, no money, no job—nothing but the tattered clothes on his back. Jini was forced to place him in a government institution.
Since family members were required to provide patients’ personal items, Jini called Sister Whang. Could Jini leave money and have Sister Whang phone the institution occasionally to see that her brother had the things he needed? Sister Whang promptly agreed. But instead of calling, she traveled to visit the man each week. By then she was the principal of a large preschool and kindergarten. But she regularly took nearly a whole day off work to bake him treats, ride the bus to the institution, then sit with him and hold his hand—even though he could give her little response.
“I couldn’t believe she did that,” says Jini. “She had never even met this guy. But she said, ‘I look forward to it every week.’”
“If there ever was a ministering angel, she’s one,” says Stan Bronson. “I believe with all my heart that she was raised up by the Lord for these purposes.”
Through it all, Sister Whang—one of Korea’s gospel pioneers—has done all she can to help build God’s kingdom on earth. She served for many years as district and stake Relief Society president, and she has been a temple worker since the Seoul temple opened in 1985. She asked to officiate two days each week instead of the normal one, reports Robert Slover, former temple president. Why? “She says it’s the Lord’s work,” explains Suzette Marble, “and she would do anything for Him—and be happy to do it.”
Sister Whang’s example has changed the lives of all who know her. “She never talks about what she has done, but she just goes about her work in her own small, quiet way,” observes Sister Slover.
“I think of her every day,” says Jini, “and I use her as a role model. She has taught me that one person can make a difference.”

Packets of seeds in bundles were scattered all over the floor. Mixed in were Bibles, copies of the Book of Mormon, and hymnbooks in Russian. The girls of the Bountiful Hills Ward, Bountiful Utah Central Stake, were busy packing both plant seeds and seeds of the restored gospel into boxes ready to make the trip to Armenia. With food scarce, Armenians are turning to small gardens to supplement their family’s diet. With religious freedom so new, copies of scriptures are hard to come by.
Amy Poulton, the Young Women president of the Bountiful Hills Ward, can look back and see how a series of small miracles led to the girls in her ward being able to help new Church members in Armenia. Seeds just happened to be on sale at an incredibly low price right when they needed to buy 6,500 packets. A person was found who could take the seeds and books personally to Armenia with him. The little branch in Yerevan, Armenia, became real people to them as they began to correspond.
Their own copies of the scriptures became more precious as the Young Women thought about the girls their age who are just learning about the truths of the gospel. “Reading the scriptures has changed my outlook on things. I don’t take things for granted, especially after doing this project,” said Heather Bodily, 18. “I think it’s exciting to see people opening their minds and listening to the gospel. The seed is planted. Now it just needs to mature and grow.”
As the girls in the Bountiful Hills Ward looked at pictures of the Armenian branch Young Women with their flags of value colors displayed and a picture of Christ on the wall, they felt a connection. These girls are like them. They love the Lord and his gospel too.
“Now when I read the scriptures, the message jumps out at me and says this is for you. They are talking directly to me” said Jennifer Petersen, 18. And somewhere around the world, some other girls are thinking the same thing.

A few years ago, my dad’s appendix burst, which was a tender mercy.
Most people wouldn’t say that getting appendicitis and having emergency surgery is a miracle, but it was for my dad.
When the doctor removed my dad’s appendix, he found cancer in it.
Luckily, after some testing, doctors found the cancer hadn’t spread. With his appendix removed, he was cancer free.
When we had time to process this situation, my family felt grateful that my dad’s appendix had burst.
The cancer in his appendix was subtle, and without the emergency surgery, it’s likely it wouldn’t have been noticed until it was too late.
Some people may consider my dad’s story a lucky coincidence, but my family and I know it was a miracle from God.
We may not notice God’s involvement in our lives until we reflect on past experiences. In the moment, my family didn’t think appendicitis was a blessing. We didn’t realize the importance of my dad’s emergency surgery until after the doctor found cancer.

Let me relate a story to illustrate.
A certain man, well up on the ladder of success, had great prospects for a very bright future. Then one day at a businessmen’s luncheon he decided that social drinking would make him more popular and successful. He soon began looking forward to the cocktail hours, and then found they didn’t come often enough. Finally he became an alcoholic, lost his job, his wife, and his friends. Because of the wrong choice at a moment of decision, he had lost everything he once so hopefully and diligently set out to accomplish.

After I completed my studies at the English Language Center, I was accepted at several universities. I decided to attend Brigham Young University–Idaho and apply for the nursing program. I heard that it was very difficult to get into the program, especially for international students. So I studied my hardest. My friends teased me, saying I should move into the library because I spent so much time there. Even when it closed, I went home and kept studying.
When times were difficult, I remembered the words of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “You need all the education you can get. Sacrifice a car; sacrifice anything that is needed to be sacrificed to qualify yourselves to do the work of the world.”1 I knew those were the words of a prophet of God, and I took them seriously.
When I was accepted to the nursing program, my heart filled with gratitude and happiness. I knew it would be hard and I would have to continue to make sacrifices, but I knew the Lord would be with me.

Many years ago, our family was driving home to São Paulo, Brazil, after visiting relatives. Just as we drove up a steep road, our car broke down.
We tried to restart the car for several minutes. But it wouldn’t start. Car after car passed us. No one stopped to help.
Finally I told my family that we should pray. My six-year-old son, Moroni, said, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I already prayed.”
“What did you pray for?” I asked.
“I prayed to Heavenly Father that the right person would come by to help us,” he said.
Soon two bright lights appeared behind our car. It was a tow truck. The driver was a mechanic.
“You’re very lucky,” he said. “I finished my work for the day and was heading home.”
He fixed our car. Then he followed us to make sure we got home safely.
I asked Moroni if he knew how special this experience was. “Of course,” he said. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer. So now I have my own testimony! I don’t have to borrow it from you anymore, Dad.” My heart was touched by Moroni’s faithful example.
Moroni is grown now, but I still remember his good example from when he was small. Even as a child, you can be an example to your family and friends.

Katie raised her hand. She had a very good question. Feeling OK to stray from the flow of the lesson, the teacher directed the class to a scripture that would help with an answer. Another hand rose with another question. Again, we turned the pages of the Book of Mormon for help with the answer. After the third time in this process, Katie raised her hand again. Almost before the teacher could call on her, she blurted out, “How do you know your scriptures so well? How can you find all that?”
The teacher thought for a moment. He said he was nothing special. He didn’t have a photographic memory, or even a very good one. And then he answered with another scripture: “By small and simple means are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). The teacher testified that he read his scriptures often. He read them daily. And years of daily scripture study add up.

Every December, Katie helped Grandpa decorate his Christmas tree.
First, they put string through their needles. Then they made long popcorn chains.
Next, Grandpa got some cranberries, and they made cranberry chains too.
After that, Katie helped him mix peanut butter and birdseed together. She made bumpy round balls with her hands.
“Now it’s time to decorate,” they told each other. They put on their coats, boots, hats, and mittens and went outside.
Katie brushed the snow from Grandpa’s fir tree. She helped him twirl their popcorn and cranberry chains around it. They hung the peanut-butter balls from lots of branches.
When they finished, they hurried inside.
“This is my favorite part,” Katie said as they peeked out the window and watched the birds come to eat the tasty decorations.

I had an experience a few years ago that emphasized the importance of this process. A friend came to my office with a problem. He told me that he had studied art in college and then pursued a career in that field, which included a couple of teaching positions. It was while he was the director of an art museum that he finally realized that his profession was not going to provide him with enough money to support his family. He thought he had solved his problem by taking a job in the advertising department of a large company. But two years later the company fell on hard times, and he was laid off. He came to ask for my advice. I suggested a book for him to read. I didn’t see him until three years later when we met at a high school reunion. He thanked me for all my help. When I questioned him, he explained that he had read the book and completed the self-assessment. Based on that information, he decided he would really enjoy working in business, and he took a job selling life insurance. That job gave him a better income, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work. He felt good about the service he was providing. Now I’m not saying that selling insurance is better than being an art director. I’m saying that understanding yourself is important in making career decisions.