Gospel Story Finder

Sister Bunker has served as surrogate mother to hundreds of students for whom I've had the privilege of serving as Bishop. Just two weeks ago, I came home from work to the sights and smells of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. As I strategically edged my way towards them, Stephanie instructed me to wait for a later batch. When I inquired as to why, she told me that she was making this batch for a boy in the ward, to whom she would eventually, secretly, give the entire pan. I asked why he would get an entire pan of cinnamon rolls, and she simply replied to me, because he asked. I should have learned that lesson twenty-three years ago; but this exemplifies the kind of person she is, and I appreciate and love her for it.

A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home.

A seminary open house by students in the Bonneville Seminary near Ogden, Utah, resulted in 126 referrals in just one evening, with 30 new families receiving lessons from stake and full-time missionaries.

“We had one baptism just a few days after the program.” That was the happy report of seminary instructor and program coordinator Richard Jackson. He said that when the program, which was centered around the mission of the Savior, was introduced to the students, the reaction was overwhelming. “We needed 60 students to participate and got nearly 200.”

The program depicted scenes from the Savior’s life, the restoration, and family home evenings. “We have seven families studying the gospel as a result of the family home evening section alone.”

The seminary students staffed the presentations, ran the lights and sounds, and helped as missionary aides. Six rooms in the building were used, and the only problem seemed to be that too many people turned out for the event!

One helper, sophomore Matthew Bell, said, “It’s great knowing you’re part of a program to help bring your friends into the Church.”

Lenore Scholfield, also a sophomore, said, “The program made me want to share the truth with my friends.”

Nancy Havens, a junior, said, “It helped me to talk with my friends about the Church. I know several who came and appeared to really be interested.”

Mitchell Halverson, who worked as a missionary aide, said, “Working on the program gave me a sense of responsibility and strengthened my testimony.”

Program participants noted that about three weeks were spent preparing the various scenes and coordinating the sound and lighting. Extensive use was made of seminary materials. Special showings of The First Vision were used to enhance the program.

A fireside was held the Sunday before the open house to acquaint students with ways to contact their friends concerning the activity. Other help came through local radio and newspaper coverage of the open house.

The three goals for the program were to put Christ into Christmas, help members realize the importance of missionary work, and share the gospel with nonmember friends. The open house was so successful that plans are being made to turn it into an annual event each December.

“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.
“Kim was born in the winter months, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to get well. So you see, that little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”

A few weeks ago I attended the baptism of a man I have known for many years. It was a joyful occasion. Surrounded by his wife of forty-seven years and his children and grandchildren and other loved ones, this good man entered the baptismal covenant. He became a member of the Church he has long sustained and supported.
From the time he brought his Mormon bride to make a home in his beloved Southland, he had respected her beliefs and her desire to teach them to their children. Because there wasn’t a branch of the Church in their small city, their home became the first meeting place for the few Church members his wife could locate and invite to worship with her. Their home was always open to the missionaries, where a good meal and a place to sleep could be counted on. (His wife recalls as many as fourteen missionaries sleeping wall-to-wall in their small home on one particular night.)
As his faithful wife and children labored with the missionaries to build up the Church and the membership outgrew the walls of their home, he gave financial support for the branch, the ward, and finally the stake center as they came to be built.
During these many years, the gospel has been a lifeline that has enabled this woman to maintain her hope and trust in the Lord. It has been the strength that has bound their family together.
However, the full blessings which the Lord has to offer were unattainable by this family until this husband and father became worthy and willing to enter the covenant of baptism and receive the priesthood of God. Now this family can look forward to the exalting temple ordinances and the lifeline to eternal life which they could not provide for themselves.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: I was assigned to accompany then-Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf to reorganize a stake and select a new stake president in Texas. After our interviews, we both had good feelings about a certain man. He asked me if I felt this was the right man. I answered that I thought he was the right man, but that I did not feel that I had received a firm spiritual confirmation. We continued to discuss and pray and still I did not feel that I had the solid confirmation I wanted, so he simply asked me, "Well, do you have a better idea?" It was time to make the decision. We went ahead and called the man and as we went forward, it became clear that he was certainly the Lord's choice. Brigham Young said it this way:
"If I do not know the will of my Father, and what he requires of me in a certain transaction, if I ask Him to give me wisdom concerning any requirement in life, or in regard to my own course, ...or those I preside over, and get no answer from Him, and then do the very best that judgment will teach me, He is bound to...honor that transaction, and He will do so to all intents and purposes."[8]
If you do your homework, study it out, and earnestly plead with the Lord for an answer and do not feel you have received it--go ahead with your best judgment and the Lord will either back up your decision or He will soon warn you that you are going down the wrong path.

Over 50 years ago, I had the privilege to serve as the president of Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. On the morning of June 5, 1976, my wife, Kathy, and I drove from Rexburg to the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple to attend the sealing of a close friend. Of course, with four young boys in our home at the time, our temple trip could be only accomplished with the help of a courageous babysitter! We left our precious children in her care and made the short, 30-minute drive.

Our experience in the temple that day was wonderful, as it always was. However, after the conclusion of the temple sealing—and as we were preparing to return home—we noticed many temple workers and patrons nervously conversing in the lobby of the temple. Within moments, one of the temple workers told us that the newly constructed Teton Dam in eastern Idaho had collapsed! More than 80 billion gallons (300 million cubic meters) of water were flowing through the dam and into the 300 square miles (775 square km) of neighboring valleys. Much of the city of Rexburg was underwater, with homes and vehicles carried away by floodwaters. Two-thirds of the 9,000 residents were suddenly homeless.

As you might imagine, our thoughts and concerns turned to the safety of our dear children, hundreds of college students and faculty, and a community we loved. We were less than 30 miles (50 km) from home, and yet on this day, long before cell phones and text messaging, we had no way of communicating immediately with our children, nor could we make the drive from Idaho Falls to Rexburg, as all the roads had been closed.

Our only option was to stay the night in a local motel in Idaho Falls. Kathy and I knelt together in our motel room and humbly pleaded with Heavenly Father for the safety of our dear children and the thousands of others affected by the tragic event. I recall Kathy pacing the floors into the early hours of the morning with worry about her children. Despite my own concerns, I was able to put my mind at ease and fall asleep.

It wasn’t long thereafter that my sweet eternal companion woke me and said, “Hal, how can you sleep at a time like this?”

These words then came clearly to my heart and mind. I said to my wife: “Kathy, whatever the outcome, all will be well because of the temple. We have made covenants with God and have been sealed as an eternal family.”

At that moment, it was as if the Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts and minds what we both already knew to be true: the sealing ordinances, found only in the house of the Lord and administered by proper priesthood authority, had bound us together as husband and wife, and our children had been sealed to us. There truly was no need to fear, and we were grateful later to learn that our boys were safe.

Liisa Roto of Tampere, Finland, has some friends she’d like you to meet. But to visit them, you need an appointment. You have to wear paper shoes so you won’t track bacteria into their living area. And Liisa must talk to them, calm them down, and convince them to trust you.

Then Liisa will stand beside a pool, raise both hands over her head, and blow on a whistle. Her friends will come slicing through the water at you like sleek, gray torpedoes. Then they’ll turn upward like missiles and launch themselves into the air, splashing you in the process.

Liisa’s friends, you see, are dolphins.

In 1999, ten years ago, I was living in Los Angeles. All of my education is in composition and I was working as a composer [and] as a music teacher, when I heard about what was happening in Kosovo. Now a story that I heard on the radio talked about how the Serbs were trying to ethnically cleanse Kosovo of all the Albanians. Now what they would do is go into a village, force the women and the men to separate, and then the women were told to leave and to walk to another country. The men and boys, meanwhile, were rounded up. Some of them escaped, many of them were killed, and many of them were taken to prison. The women had no place to go. They were told to leave their own country and to go to a refugee camp in a neighboring country. The conditions in the camps were horrible, but the worst thing was that they did not know what happened to their husbands and sons, their fathers, their brothers, and there was no communication to find out what was happening.

This radio program was interviewing these women, and they were talking about this, and how scared they were, and how they were just praying that the men in their lives were alive. Well, I had heard about this and was actually planning a backpacking in Austria that summer. So I thought, I am already going to Europe, I might as well go to Kosovo instead and help out. I had no idea where Kosovo was; all I knew was that it was in Europe, and Austria was in Europe, so how far apart could they be? That's how a lot of plans have happened in my life that have turned out very well.

I decided to go, and I found this volunteer organization, and the way that it worked was that you paid your way to get to the country and then you gave them some money when you arrived to cover your accommodations. You lived with them, and then you participated with their programs. And they were working with the children that were living in the refugee camps, so I thought that this would be a really great thing to do.

I was talking someone about this, and they offered to give me some money to help pay for this. I said, "Oh no, this is not what this is about. I am just doing this instead of going on vacation. It won't cost anything more than it would cost me to spend a month in Austria." This woman said, "No, you do not understand. My husband and I have been talking about this all week, and we want to go too, but we can't go. So we'd like to give you some money so it's like we are going with you." I said, "Well, let me think about that, because that is totally different from what I was planning."

I went home that night and was talking to my next door neighbor, who was a friend of mine from the singles ward in Los Angeles. I said, "I don't know what to do ”I don't want to take money from anyone." She said, "Liz, don't be stupid. Don't just go to go, do what you do best. Take a music program over there to the kids." So my singles group in L.A. started holding fundraising events; my ward got really involved, I started contacting instrument manufacturers, and I ended up going with about $5,000 worth of musical instruments. The instruments that I chose to go with are the harmonica and the penny whistle [holds them up]. The reason I chose these instruments was because they're simple. Anyone can learn to play these instruments, but you can also play complex music. Also, they're small, and I knew these children were living in camps, and they would at some point have to walk home. I wanted them to have something that was small enough to put in their pocket, and no one would be able to take it away from them.

I arrived in Kosovo in August 1999, and the war had been over for a few weeks, and so everyone had returned back to Kosovo. But when they got there, they found that everything had been destroyed ”absolutely everything: the streets, the schools, the homes, everything. And if you were lucky enough that your home was not destroyed, you had to be careful because things might be booby-trapped inside of your home, so most of the people living in Kosovo had to live in camps even after they went home. And the camps inside of Kosovo, instead of being tents, were just buildings. Any building that was standing could be a camp, so people moved into factories, churches, schools, and hotels.

The camp that I went to first was a brick factory. There were about 350 people living in this brick factory; three of them were men ”the rest were women and children. These women were all waiting and hoping and praying that the men in their family were still alive. I went to the camp the very first day, and I saw hundreds of children outside, just playing, and fighting, and making weapons out of things that you just wouldn't even think you could make weapons out of. I brought a volleyball and I started playing volleyball with the kids, but they kept fighting. I said, "You guys have to stop fighting, or I'm going to take my volleyball and go home." Of course, I said this in English, and, they didn't speak English, so I don't know if they really understood what I said. Then, we played a little bit more and they would fight again, and I would say, "You've got to stop fighting, or I'm going to go home." We did this about nine times, and after about an hour-and-a-half I said, "Ok, that's enough for today. I'm going to take my ball and go home, and hopefully tomorrow we'll do better." I started leaving, and as I was leaving, a woman ran out of one of the rooms in the camp and grabbed my hand. And she started leading me around and taking me around on a tour of the camp ”I think”because I didn't understand what she was saying to me. She showed me a big garbage pile, and she showed me their outdoor toilets, their one spigot of water for 350 people, and then she took me back to her room. And inside this room all the women of the camp had gathered, watching this strange American lady that was out there playing with their kids, and they wanted to meet me. And there was a seventeen-year-old girl there who spoke some English and she translated for me and told me about their lives. And as I got to know these women, I noticed there were a lot of these seventeen-year-old women there with them, and there were a lot of groups doing programs for the young children and for the boys, but there was nobody doing anything for these young girls”they were sort of invisible.

The first class that I started doing was for teenage girls. It was an amazing experience. It was so much fun. I would go to the camp every day, play sports with the kids, and then go and teach these teenage girls. Then the younger girls would start going with me, and asking me if I could do a class for them. I started giving a class for the younger girls. This class was going really well for the younger girls also, but now every time I went to the class, the boys would come up to me and say, "Lizza! Lizza! Musika! Musika!" And I said, "No way! I'm not going to do anything where I expect you to sit down and actually listen to me talk. We can't even play for ten minutes without you fighting." And they would say, "No! We'll be good! We'll be good!"

Then, one day, when I went to the camp, they did this [mimicking plucking tears from their eyes and dropping them into their hands] and this meant that they were collecting tears to give to me. When they did that, I said "Ok, I will teach you a music class if you would promise that you won't fight, that you won't talk when I'm talking, and you will practice." And these boys ended up being the best class that I have ever taught in my entire live”they were amazing. If one of these boys started to talk, the other boys would jump on them before he could even get a sentence out of his mouth. And if I was anywhere in town and I heard a harmonica, I'd turn around and it was always one of those boys. They kept those harmonicas everywhere they went.

This camp, this place that had been so full of sadness, became this place that was full of so much life. It wasn't necessarily beautiful, but it was full of life. It took about forty minutes to walk to the camp. On the last ten minutes of that walk, all you could hear were these instruments”it was amazing.

The kids that weren't living in these camps”the kids that were living in their homes or in a tent in their backyard while they were trying to rebuild their home”they didn't really have any place to go. So they all gathered at this one school that hadn't been destroyed in our city. And these kids were just sitting around, smoking, fighting”there were thousands of them. And "Save the Children" had started a volleyball program downstairs, so I went to the children and asked, "Would you like to have a music class?"

The first day, I had about nine kids in the class; that was a Monday. By Friday, I had over ninety children in that class. I ended up staying for six weeks, and by the end of the six weeks I was teaching six days a week, five classes a day in the school, six days a week, four classes a day in the camp, and everyday more children came into these programs. I gave away all of the instruments that I had bought and they still kept coming. Parents would come to me and say, "Please, let my child into the class," and so we just kept letting more and more children into these classes”it was amazing.

Then, I had to leave. I had to go home. I had seen these kids fight, I had seen children attack adults, I'd seen children play executioner, but I had never seen them cry until I told them it was time for me to leave. And when I said I had to leave they said, "No, Liz, you can't go. There is no one else here that is doing anything like this. We have people and organizations that are rebuilding our homes, that are giving us food, and we're so grateful for that, but this is the only thing that is feeding us inside. You can't take that away from us." I said, "Ok, I don't know how I am going to do this, but I promise you I will come back."

I left Kosovo, went back to Los Angeles, and was giving a fireside. At the end of the fireside, I said, "I have got to get back to Kosovo, but I don't know how I'm going to do it." A woman approached me afterwards and said, "If you would like to start a non-profit foundation, I'll be your accountant." And someone else said, "I'll be the lawyer." So they went off and did the paperwork and formed the Shropshire Music Foundation, and we've been around ever since.

You’re listening to a talk from general conference on your MP3 player while you walk to school. A friend asks what you’re listening to. You tell her the truth—you’re listening to the words of a living prophet of God. “What does that mean?” your friend asks. You explain about modern prophets and apostles and then ask your friend if she would like to join you in April to hear what those leaders are saying.

I worked at Disney Interactive Studios for about 13 years as an artist and producer, and one day when I pushed the elevator button to go up to work, I felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Well, I put that thought on a mental shelf and continued to work. How could I leave a stable and desired career? How could I leave the good people I loved and had worked with for the last decade or so?

But it pressed upon me, and I knew this feeling wasn’t going to go away. I tried to put together a plan so I had something in place before leaving, but no matter how I tried, it didn’t materialize. So I left without a job or opportunity in place. I cried and had many deep, heartfelt discussions with my Heavenly Father during this time.

What I learned was the plan was not to have a plan. I learned who I was minus any title, career, or status. Though painful as this change was, it was an invaluable space for me to learn about me and my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Just two months after I left, that studio that I thought was stable shut down out of the blue and without warning.

Throughout my experience in leaving Disney, I pondered and searched this quote from President Spencer W. Kimball: “Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”1 Our true security and peace is born of faith in Jesus Christ. That faith in Christ is a choice we can make. I’m grateful He let me choose Him.

My high school had always had a boys’ golf team, and traditionally they did quite well. But for some reason there weren’t many girls in our town who liked to golf so there had never been a girls’ team.
During my sophomore year school officials decided the lack of a girls’ team was a violation of equal opportunity rules, and the golf coach was told to get a girls’ team together. That’s how my friends and I made the team—not because we were any good, but because we were needed.
The boys on the varsity squad promised not to laugh at us while we were learning how to play the game, but that turned out to be a difficult promise for them to keep. One of us missed hitting the ball off the tee four times in a row. We took out huge divots with each swing. When the season started we were still not very good. In fact, the photographer from the local paper tried to get a good shot of our game for the sports section. He followed us around the course for nine holes, but there just wasn’t a good shot to get.
We had a fun although occasionally embarrassing season, and near the end we all could say our golf games had improved immensely.
Our district tournament was to be held at a course we had never played before. A few days before the Monday tournament the coach called us together and announced a special team practice at the course so everyone could become familiar with the terrain. The practice would be on Sunday afternoon.
I was sick about the announcement. I was the only LDS girl on the team, and I didn’t want to practice on Sunday. I thought about telling the coach I was sick (after all, I wasn’t that sure I wanted to embarrass myself in front of the best golfers in the district). I thought about going to my morning church meetings and then to the course. I thought about a lot of things, but I knew I was going to somehow tell my coach I wouldn’t be at that Sunday practice.
At home I talked to my mom. I told her how I felt, but added I didn’t want to disappoint the coach and team by not practicing. Even LDS golfers need to practice. My mother had a great solution. We would go and play the course on Saturday.
The next morning I had a hard time getting enough nerve to talk to my coach. Finally I just blurted it out. To my surprise he didn’t get mad or roll his eyes and think I was a religious fanatic. He said it would be fine for me to go on Saturday. Later that day, to my surprise, he handed me a check to cover our greens fees which my mother and I were prepared to pay ourselves.
My mom and I had a wonderful time on Saturday, and I played the best golf of my life at district on Monday. Even though I did not place high in the tournament, I felt good about the season. I had made a good choice and had been able to not let my team down.

When I was a college freshman, I found myself flustered and frustrated as I tried to get through my first semester. It was very difficult to fit everything into my busy schedule, which included a full load of classes, a very time-consuming Church calling, and the everyday adjustments of living on my own for the first time. As December arrived, I became overwhelmed with everything. With the pressure of finals and a lack of time and money, I didn’t feel the Christmas spirit at all.
I went home a week before Christmas, wondering what to do for gifts. I had been assigned to buy a present for my younger sister Rachel and didn’t know what to get her, until my friend showed me a very plain little stuffed bear her mother had made for her and the touching poem she’d written to go along with it.
On Christmas Eve, I found myself working frantically to finish a bear. My mom came to my room, sat down with me, and helped me get it done for Christmas morning.
As Rachel tore the paper from the package and peered inside, a huge smile spread across her face. There were tears in everyone’s eyes as the family realized what a special gift it was. In its seams, and in the poem attached, was the real meaning of Christmas. There was love in that simple bear.
—Lisa McKinstryRexburg, Idaho

One of the most beautiful modern-day examples of meekness that I am aware of is that of Brother Moses Mahlangu. His conversion began in 1964, when he received a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was fascinated as he read this book, but it was not until the early ’70s that he saw an LDS Church sign on a building in Johannesburg, South Africa, as he was walking down a street. Brother Mahlangu was intrigued and entered the building to learn more about the Church. He was kindly told that he could not attend the services or be baptized because the country’s laws did not allow it at that time.

Brother Mahlangu accepted that decision with meekness, humility, and without resentment, but he continued to have a strong desire to learn more about the Church. He asked the Church leaders if they could leave one of the meetinghouse windows open during the Sunday meetings so he could sit outside and listen to the services. For several years, Brother Mahlangu’s family and friends attended church regularly “through the window.” One day in 1980 they were told that they could attend church and also be baptized. What a glorious day it was for Brother Mahlangu.

Later the Church organized a branch in his neighborhood in Soweto. This was possible only because of the determination, courage, and faithfulness of people like Brother Mahlangu who remained faithful for so many years under difficult circumstances.

One of Brother Mahlangu’s friends, who had joined the Church at the same time, recounted this story to me when I visited the Soweto stake. At the end of our conversation, he gave me a hug. At that moment, brothers and sisters, I felt as if I was encircled in the Savior’s loving arms. Meekness emanated from this good brother’s eyes. With a heart full of goodness and deep gratitude, he asked if I could just tell President Thomas S. Monson how grateful and blessed he and many others were for having the true gospel in their lives. Brother Mahlangu and his friend’s example of meekness truly influenced many lives for good—especially mine.

Some years ago, I went canoeing with a group of young women. The deep blue lakes surrounded by green, thickly forested hills and rocky cliffs were breathtakingly beautiful. The water sparkled on our paddles as we dipped them into the clear water, and the sun shone warmly while we moved smoothly across the lake.

However, clouds soon darkened the sky, and a stiff wind began to blow. To make any progress at all, we had to dig deeply into the water, paddling without pausing between strokes. After a few grueling hours of backbreaking work, we finally turned the corner on the large lake and discovered to our amazement and delight that the wind was blowing in the direction we wanted to go.

Quickly, we took advantage of this gift. We pulled out a small tarp and tied two of its corners to paddle handles and the other corners to my husband’s feet, which he stretched out over the gunwales of the canoe. The wind billowed the improvised sail, and we were off!

When the young women in the other canoes saw how we moved along the water with ease, they quickly improvised sails of their own. Our hearts were light with laughter and relief, grateful for the respite from the challenges of the day.

I had always been jealous of Lynn. Despite a close friendship, Lynn and I had always been in unspoken competition with each other in high school—at least, I always felt that way. I longed to be like her. She was pretty, intelligent, talented, and fun to be around. I, on the other hand, lacked confidence in my appearance and felt socially inept.
After I had been home from my mission for nearly a year, I met Lynn for lunch. I told her how I had always envied her. She listened quietly and then looked at me in astonishment. “I was always jealous of you!” she said. I realized then how pointless my unspoken envy had been. I asked her if she could forgive me.
“Of course,” she said. “As long as you can forgive me, too.”
We laughed then and cried a little. I felt an old bitterness melt away to be replaced by peace and an intense gratitude for Lynn’s friendship.

Brother Obando Vindas, Area planning manager in the Frankfurt Area Office, said that the personnel department announced that young service missionaries were going to be called to service in Europe and some would serve in Europe Area offices.
A request was placed for a service missionary to help Area planning manage its statistical data. That is how Elder Ammon Hutchinson from the Merthyr Tydfil Stake, Wales became part of the team. He inquired about the scope of his assignment, and the tools and training available for him to be able to carry out his expected duties. He took online Excel training that prepared him for his service.
Elder Hutchinson has had various assignments over the last nine months, including working for the Europe Area offices. One project involves the data entry of statistical information, such as the number of members in Europe. He is finding it interesting to see the growth patterns throughout Europe, and how the Church has been changing over time. What has assisted him in the work for these projects is access to software and other types of training courses. He has learned so much from the courses and has been able to complete the tasks to a high standard and in a manner suited to his pace. He is grateful for the support he has received from Brother Vindas, with his insights and ability to improve the presentation of the data.
He has been a great help and a joyful person to work with! He continues to learn and to improve his skills; the next step is getting specific online training to allow interactive data analyses for managers and leaders in the area office.

It so happened a few weeks later that one of the bishops in southern California called me and said, “I understand you’re a student down at Chapman.”

“Yes, sir.”

He said, “Do you suppose you could get one of those other ministers to come and talk about other religions in our special interests group?” I had one in mind—to pay him back.

I invited my friend to come and speak in my ward. We appointed a time. He had to cancel some other very important appointments. In other churches, as you know, the clergy is paid. We don’t think of that, ofttimes. He canceled a presentation he was going to give that week for about one hundred dollars in order to come and speak for punch and cookies at a Mormon function.

We arranged for it, and I picked him up on the appointed night. We drove over to the building where the class was to be held. I got there about fifteen minutes beforehand. Lo and behold, the church was dark. Sound familiar? I wondered if I had the right building. I said, “Wait a minute,” and explained that one of the great Mormon principles of lay leadership is that we move by the Spirit. About twenty-five minutes after the hour, the spirits started to move. Out of the shrubs and the bushes came Latter-day Saints everywhere. The lights went on, and people were starting to flock. I went in with my guest, our guest, and stood in the foyer. Latter-day Saint after Latter-day Saint, not meaning to, passed us. Not one came over to see who we were. I tried to give Mr. Davis another little sermon on Latter-day Saint philosophy. Finally it was time to start, and we were about fifteen minutes late. We moved into the Relief Society room. Somebody picked up a songbook and said, “What song should we sing?” In a very informal way the meeting got underway. Then my friend gave one of the finest lectures on the New Testament I’ve ever heard. He was very sensitive to a Mormon audience and tried not to say anything that would offend. Then we opened it up for questions, and I don’t dare repeat the rest. I’m sure what happened kept my friend from being associated with this Church sooner than he could have. I don’t know. I haven’t analyzed it with him. But I often have wondered—if I were a Presbyterian or a Catholic or a Baptist or an atheist, having experienced those two things—which church would I join? You see, our conduct, our image, our example, brothers and sisters, are great, great missionary tools.

The simple meetinghouse on Manila’s Buendia Avenue seems a little out of place next to its not-so-simple neighbors. Doubling as the Makati Philippines Stake center, it is surrounded by some of Manila’s highest skyscrapers, built on what was once considered worthless swampland.
But on its basketball court, ordinary activities like the stake youth sports festival can become extraordinary. For example, watch the Mandaluyong Third Ward basketball team. Suddenly your eyes focus on a young man wobbling and limping his way down the hard court.
A knee injury, perhaps?
A sprained wrist?
Not so, you find out. The young man is partially paralyzed.
For Alvin Martinez, rising against the odds is just like turning swampland into skyscrapers. Alvin was born healthy, and like other newborn Filipino babies he was given polio shots. But somehow, the vaccine attacked his nerves. His right leg and arm started turning immobile. The polio vaccine rendered his entire right side paralyzed.
Alvin was often the subject of jokes in school when classmates would see him limping his way to class.
“Hey, it’s Alvin,” somebody would shout.
“The way is straight,” another would jeer, “so how come you walk crooked?”
“Alvin, Alvin pilay!” Pilay means “cripple.” It was a jeer his straight-walking classmates loved to bestow on him.
But teasing wasn’t Alvin’s only trial. His father suddenly died of a stroke. Struggling with his family’s loss and his classmates’ snide comments, Alvin drifted from school and church activity and found another barkada, or group of buddies.
In Manila, a barkada can consist either of friends who build you up or of those who let you down. Alvin’s barkada was of the negative variety. Still, Alvin tried to maintain his LDS standards. “My friends would invite me to smoke,” he remembers, “but I told them I was a Mormon.”
Finally, Alvin resolved to rise up despite his limitations and, like David of old, conquer his personal Goliaths. He made a firm resolve to continue his schooling. His widowed mother, who now works as a seamstress, was delighted. She had patiently reminded him that his future would be brighter if he had a good education.
At school, Alvin found a new barkada, classmates who treated him with respect. “All my classmates are so kind and friendly,” he beams.
A little bit shy at first, but actually fun-loving and witty, Alvin also began to find church to be a home away from home. “I enjoyed being in church,” Alvin says, “and I liked being with my fellow young men.” Because of the influence of good Church friends and priesthood quorum members, Alvin’s testimony was strengthened and he found himself, with the help of his youth leaders, back in church. In visiting Alvin, they would often tell him not to be ashamed of his disability. “We wanted him to know that he was valued,” one youth leader recalls, “and he did feel appreciated eventually.” Alvin is grateful for the missionaries who taught his family, and he’s even more grateful for the youth leaders who helped him come back to church after going through some real struggles.
Today, Alvin is one of the most active young men in his ward. Being with his church friends is something he relishes. “They are not ashamed to be with me,” he says happily. “They don’t even joke about me.” Instead, it’s Alvin who cracks jokes with them.
And his dedication is exemplary. One Sunday, he was in a lively conversation with other young men.
“We’ve been asked to clean up the meetinghouse grounds this Saturday,” said one.
“But we have a better activity than that,” another replied.
“But let’s do what we’ve been told to do first,” Alvin said.
Well, Saturday came, and while the other young men were yet to arrive, Alvin was already there in his work clothes. And he brought his nonmember cousin, too.
Seeing this, you can’t help but make the connection between Alvin and his favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Recently Alvin received a special award for perfect attendance at seminary. Seminary for Manila’s LDS youth is usually held during the afternoon or early evening when Manila’s heavy traffic congestion is at its peak. But Alvin comes right on time. “When it comes to actual application of the lesson, Alvin tries his best,” remarks Brother Nolan Caceres, his seminary teacher.
That same attitude spills into his other activities. The ward basketball team he plays on garnered second place in the stake sports festival. And in activity nights at the meetinghouse, “he doesn’t fail us,” Brother Caceres says. “He’ll be there.”
Just like the towers hovering over the stake center, Alvin’s hopes are high. He dreams of having his own business. But his number-one goal right now is to serve a mission. In school, Alvin has already, in his own unique way, attracted others to the Church because of his simple yet dedicated example.
When asked who his favorite scripture personality is, Alvin thinks for a moment, then answers, “I think Moses.” It seems to be an appropriate choice. Before Moses accepted the Lord’s call, he felt he couldn’t do it because he was “slow of speech.” (See Ex. 4:10.) But despite personal inadequacies, he did what the Lord expected of him, an example Alvin is following.
Many Filipinos with disabilities end up in institutions; some become social outcasts. Alvin is an exception. “He has learned to do useful things, even though other people thought he couldn’t,” Brother Caceres adds.
Yes, useful things like playing basketball, going to school, and sharing the gospel. Alvin Martinez knows you can rise up and, like the tall buildings in Manila, touch the sky.

(President of the Church from 1951 to 1970)
The McKay family loved music. Each Christmas, President David O. McKay attached jingle bells to his horses and took his grandchildren on a sleigh ride around town. After sledding through the snow, they would sing carols around the family’s piano. Once, while President McKay was working at the Church Administration Building, he was surprised by a different group of carolers—165 Primary children who had come to sing Christmas songs for him! President McKay appreciated their musical gift, especially when he learned they had given up their annual Christmas party to make the trip.