Gospel Story Finder

About 50 years ago, my missionary companion and I were tracting near the University of Córdoba in Argentina when a young man invited us into his apartment. Immediately it became apparent that he and his roommates had invited us in only to argue about the existence of God.
We didn’t want to argue, so instead we agreed to meet later to discuss our message in an environment conducive to learning. When we returned, the young man explained why he believed there was no God. He said man had invented God because of his need to believe in something greater, something supernatural.
When it was our turn, I asked, “How do you know the United States exists?” I testified of its reality and asked if there was other evidence that proved its existence. He said he had read about it in books and newspapers. I then asked if he believed my testimony and what he had read. He emphatically said he did.
“So we cannot deny the testimonies of those, such as I, from the United States,” I said. “Nor can we deny the testimony of those who have written about it.” The young man agreed.
I then asked, “Based on this premise, can we deny the testimonies of those who have seen God and written of their experience?” I showed him the Bible, telling him that it contained testimonies of men and women who had seen and talked with God and Jesus Christ. I asked if we can deny the testimonies contained in the Bible, and he reluctantly said no.
I then asked, “What would you think of a book written by a people other than those in the Bible who saw the same God as the writers of Bible?” He responded that no such book existed.
We showed him the Book of Mormon and taught him of its purpose. We testified that it was true and that God still communicates through living prophets today.
Surprised, the young man said, “I’ve been able to confound all the preachers from other churches. You have something I’ve never heard of before. May I read that book?” We gave him the book and testified of the love God has for His children.
Because the semester was ending, we weren’t able to visit this young man again before he returned to his home in Bolivia. However, I prayed he would read the book and receive a testimony.

When I was an undergraduate, I had the privilege of studying at the BYU Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies. On one field trip we visited an area in which a large stone tower stood. From the tower a watchman could detect threats before they were visible from the ground, protecting the olive, fig, and grape vineyard from plunder.
Years later I reenacted this scene with my family in family home evening. We live in a two-story home. Our backyard is relatively flat close to the home but descends rapidly into a wooded area. For our family home evening lesson, all but one member of the family stayed on the main floor and looked out the windows toward the backyard. One family member climbed the stairs to a second-story bedroom with a window that also looked toward the backyard.
I hid in the backyard and, unbeknownst to my children, was armed with a bow and arrow. Now, with my skills as an archer, I might have been able to harm someone only by accident, but I looked menacing, and that was enough for our lesson.
As I climbed the wooded ascent toward our home, the members of my family on the main floor could not see me. They saw only the grass and trees in our backyard. I was detected, however, by the child at the upstairs window. Before I could lunge from the woods in surprise, I was spotted, and a warning cry went out to those below.

Returning to the family home evening I described earlier, after I was discovered approaching the home with a bow and arrow, we repeated the experience with some modification. A different child took the post at the second-story window. This time I placed our family home evening treat in the garden, a sunken area just beyond the grass of our yard. As before, members of the family on the main floor could not see the treat. Again, however, the watchman at the second-story window could spot the treat that awaited us.

I was with a bishop the other day who told me of how his eight-year-old daughter came in and woke him up in the middle of the night to ask him a question. The next morning the bishop explained to the girl that he was a very busy man and had a lot of work to do and needed his sleep. He would be most grateful if she didn’t wake him up in the middle of the night.

The little girl waited patiently and finally in an almost exasperated manner she said, “Yes, Daddy, but you don’t understand. You see, you’re the bishop, and I had a problem.”

In this sense, oh, may each of us be the bishops of our own home just as the duly authorized bishop is the father of his ward. I would hope too that the bishop of the ward and the home teachers would be especially attentive to those families where the fathers are permanently or temporarily missing.

May we take the time and do what we need to do and want to do with our children now, before it is too late, because the days have a way of escaping into months and then into years.

When I was a teenager, my father was called to be the Centerville Eighth Ward’s welfare coordinator. I quickly learned what this meant: each month he was one of the volunteers, and I was another. We worked in a grain-processing plant owned by the Church in which large bags of oatmeal and other products were packaged into smaller containers for use in the bishops’ storehouses.

Working by his side, I learned a lot from my dad’s example. Although he was in his later years, he was often the one who climbed the steep ladder into the loft to buck forty-pound bags into the hopper, while younger men joked below. He was always the one insisting we finish the shift, even when the quota was already reached. Every night he was the one ensuring the facility was cleaned and secured and ready for the next use, regardless of who stayed to help. He taught me without words that exactness, effort, and sacrifice should be part of our daily labor and that an obscure, two-story oat plant was not only part of the Lord’s kingdom but also a proving ground for His servants.

Speaking of nervousness, I was thinking as I put these notes together of our only son, who, when he was being ordained a deacon, stood up with the bishop by invitation. By special arrangement I, too, was able to be there—rarely was I able to be with him or with his sisters at good moments during their lives. Our son stood up there and was authorized by the vote of the congregation to become a deacon. His sisters asked him afterward at home during lunch if he was nervous standing up there. He answered that he was nervous standing alone by the bishop until he looked down, saw the voters, and noticed that Dad’s hand was higher than all the rest. That, in fact, is true. I held it as high as I could hoist it because that’s how I felt—about him and his sisters and their generation and now about another generation.

David was coloring a beautiful picture. He was very careful and stayed inside the lines. He used bright yellow for the sun, blue for the sky, green for the trees, and red for the barn.
Mother came into the room, carrying his little sister, Allison. She set Allison next to him at the table and got a coloring book for her. “Allison is going to color with you while I make dinner,” she said. “Please give her a crayon to color with.”
David didn’t want to share his pretty crayons, but he did what his mother asked. He gave his sister the brown crayon. It was a dark color that he didn’t like much. “You can use this one,” he said to her.
Allison didn’t care what color the crayon was. She clenched it in her chubby fist and started making clumsy lines all over the page. She couldn’t color like David could. She just made scribbles.
Pretty soon David was almost finished with his picture. All he had left to color was the horse that was standing beside the barn. “I need the brown,” he said to Allison, but she didn’t stop scribbling. David reached over and tried to take the crayon from her hand. “I want the brown to color my horse,” he said.
Allison pulled her arm away and started to cry. She wanted to color too.
David liked his little sister. He felt sad when he saw the tears in her eyes. She was just trying to color like him. He looked at all the crayons beside his coloring book. There were lots of them, certainly enough for both him and his sister. “Do you want another color?” he asked her as he pushed his crayons to the middle of the table.
Allison looked at all the colors. She put down the brown crayon she was using and picked up a purple one. Happily she started to scribble over the top of the brown jumble she’d already made. David smiled. He picked up the brown crayon and carefully started coloring the horse’s mane. “Someday I’ll teach you to color inside the lines,” he said.

They also talk about another ingredient in their recipe for a happy home—family home evening. But that wasn’t always the case. “I remember when our family home evenings were mostly very long lessons,” says Christoffer, 18, with a playful glance in his mother’s direction.
“Sometimes I would get bored and fall asleep,” adds Andreas, who was only about five at that time. “But then I’d wake up, and there would be refreshments.”
Brother Ronndahl explains that when the children were quite young, Sister Ronndahl would regularly prepare lessons that were over an hour long. The lessons were difficult for the young children to sit through. Now the Ronndahls have eight children, ranging in age from 8 to 23 years old—the oldest, Rebecka, has served a full-time mission and is now attending college in the United States.
Brother and Sister Ronndahl decided to change their approach to family home evening. “We gathered the family together and said, ‘Hey, what do you like to do?’ ” says Sister Ronndahl. The parents weren’t too surprised to learn that the kids liked the food, the games, and singing hymns—they even liked the idea of a lesson, if it were only shorter. Brother Ronndahl sums it up well when he says the right ingredients were there but maybe not in the right amounts. “We discovered we should focus on the fun side of things too,” he says.
Sister Ronndahl decided to make an extra-nice dinner so Monday would start out as a special night. Then for family home evening they added a healthy measure of games and singing. They also shortened the lessons to about 10 minutes. The mixture worked well. “The children started to look forward to Monday nights,” says Kristina. “Everybody loved it.”
Now that the children are older, the lessons have lengthened and deepened. Rosanna, 20, says, “We actually can do very good lessons nowadays. We love to discuss the gospel and other things. It’s fun because we have so many opinions and ideas. Now it is more interesting because we’re talking about things that we want to talk about.” But the music, games, and refreshments are still part of the recipe.
“My favorite things are the refreshments and games,” says Josefin, 12.
“Refreshments and games of course,” echoes Christoffer.
“I think the songs and music are the best,” says Rosanna.
“The lessons,” Isabelle chimes in meekly. Her brothers and sisters immediately offer Isabelle some good-natured teasing. “No, really,” she adds earnestly.
“I think the whole family home evening is my favorite,” says Andreas. “The lesson, songs, games, refreshments—all of them together make it very fun. If we had a family home evening without a lesson or games or songs, it would feel like something was missing.”
“I love it when Brynolf and I don’t have to do anything for family home evening,” says Sister Ronndahl. “We can just sit aside, and the children lead and they have the lesson and they have the refreshments. They do everything. That’s my favorite.”

My father was an incredible man. He was bishop of our ward for twenty-nine years, including my entire childhood. His quiet, strong example meant a lot to me. I learned a lot by watching him.
One of the most important lessons I learned was the importance of paying tithing. I watched ward members give my father their tithing, and I watched him at night write tithing receipts for these humble offerings. I watched my mother gather the eggs the chickens laid and save one out of every ten to pay for tithing. My parents taught me how to save one-tenth of the few pesos and pennies I earned, and I treasured the tithing receipt I received after paying my tithing.

Some of my warmest memories are of my childhood home. My parents were concerned with the activities of each child. They planned fun evenings at home. We would watch the honey candy boil, then pour it out so it could cool, and then we would all stand around and pull it into strings so we could cut it and enjoy it. This was great fun!
I remember our family around the piano singing and trying to learn harmony. It was at these home nights that I had my first experiences with the children’s stories of the Bible.

I will close with one more personal story. My older brother and I are 11-and-a-half months apart in age. His path through life has been bumpier than the average. More than a year ago, he was diagnosed with cancer. He was confident he would beat it. For some time, he had been less active and had been working on full activity. One evening, as we spoke over the phone, I felt directed to invite him to attend the temple with me. It had been years since he had been, but he agreed to work toward that goal. I had been serving as a temple worker and had become very familiar with the process of helping and encouraging patrons.

Two weeks later, on a Saturday evening, we entered the temple. His health had deteriorated remarkably since I last saw him, and he was very weak. It took more than an hour to get him dressed and to the chapel. Finally, we were in the endowment room, and though exhausted, he was determined to get through. I waited for him in the celestial room and as he emerged, I could see he was quite disheartened. He felt he had made many mistakes, and he questioned his standing with the Lord

It was then that I realized I had been perfectly prepared for that moment. The words that came to me were simple. I witnessed to him that his offering was accepted of the Lord. He did not have to be perfect. He was where he needed to be. He was moving in the right direction, and the Lord loved him. He had come unto Christ. I would not have had the confidence to say those words had it not been for my own temple service.

Two weeks later, he returned to the temple. He shared with me a powerful experience he had in the celestial room that evening. Twelve days later, he slipped beyond the veil. In his weakness, the Lord had made him strong.

I was grateful to the Lord for his guidance. The relationship with my brother was not perfect, but that experience was a testimony to me of the Lord’s love for His children. He prepared me for that critical moment so I could overcome my weakness and say what He wanted me to say.

For several years I was assigned to home teach an older sister in my ward. She did not have an easy life. She had various health problems and experienced a lifetime of pain due to a childhood accident on the playground. Divorced at age 32 with four young children to raise and provide for, she remarried at age 50. Her second husband passed away when she was 66, and this sister lived an additional 26 years as a widow.
Despite her lifelong challenges, she was faithful to her covenants to the end. This sister was an avid genealogist, a temple attender, and a collector and writer of family histories. Though she had many difficult trials, and without question she felt at times sadness and loneliness, she had a cheerful countenance and a gracious and pleasant personality.
Nine months after her passing, one of her sons had a remarkable experience in the temple. He learned by the power of the Holy Ghost that his mother had a message for him. She communicated with him, but not by vision or audible words. The following unmistakable message came into the son’s mind from his mother: “I want you to know that mortality works, and I want you to know that I now understand why everything happened [in my life] the way it did—and it is all OK.”
This message is all the more remarkable when one considers her situation and the difficulties this sister endured and overcame.

My orthodontist told me I needed to have four teeth pulled. My permanent teeth were ready to come in, but my baby teeth were not yet loose. I was very frightened. That same day, the September 2008 Friend arrived. There was a letter in it from a girl my age who went through a similar experience. She said a prayer to help her get through it, and all she felt was a small tug as her teeth were pulled.
It made me feel better to know that someone else had gone through the same thing. Before I went to the dentist, I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to comfort me. Like the girl who wrote the letter, all I felt were a few tugs and the teeth were out. I know Heavenly Father can help us when we have difficulties.

Many years ago I read a book entitled The Way to the Western Sea, by David S. Lavender. It provides a fascinating account of the epic journey of Meriwether Lewis and William Clark as they led their famed expedition across the North American continent to discover an overland route to the Pacific Ocean.
Their trek was a nightmare of backbreaking toil, deep gorges which had to be crossed, and extensive travel by foot, carrying with them their supply-laden boats to find the next stream on which to make their way.
As I read of their experiences, I frequently mused, “If only there were modern bridges to span the gorges of the raging waters.” There came to my mind thoughts of magnificent bridges of our time which accomplish this task with ease: beautiful Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco fame; sturdy Sydney, Australia, Harbour Bridge; and others in many lands.
In reality, we are all travelers—even explorers of mortality. We do not have the benefit of previous personal experience. We must pass over steep precipices and turbulent waters in our own journey here on earth.
Perhaps such a somber thought inspired the poet Will Allen Dromgoole’s classic poem entitled “The Bridge Builder.”
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”
The message of the poem has prompted my thinking and comforted my soul, for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, was the supreme architect and builder of bridges for you, for me, for all mankind. He has built the bridges over which we must cross if we are to reach our heavenly home.
The Savior’s mission was foretold. Matthew recorded, “And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins.”
There followed the miracle of His birth and the gathering of the shepherds who came with haste to that stable, to that mother, to that child. Even the Wise Men, journeying from the East, followed that star and bestowed their precious gifts upon the young child.
The scripture records that Jesus “grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him” and that He “went about doing good.”
What personal bridges did He build and cross here in mortality, showing us the way to follow? He knew mortality would be filled with dangers and difficulties. He declared: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Jesus provided the Bridge of Obedience. He was an unfailing example of personal obedience as He kept the commandments of His Father.
When He was led of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of Satan, He was weak from fasting. Satan was at his seductive best in the offerings he proffered. His first was to satisfy the Savior’s physical needs, including His hunger. To this the Savior replied, “It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.”
Next Satan offered power. Responded the Savior, “It is written again, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.”
Finally the Savior was offered wealth and earthly glory. His response: “Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.”
The Apostle Paul was inspired of the Lord to declare for our time, as well as for his: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
Lest we equivocate, I mention a comment from ABC Nightline’s Ted Koppel: “What Moses brought down from Mt. Sinai were not the Ten Suggestions [but the Ten] Commandments!”
A bit of subtle humor is found in an account of a conversation between Mark Twain and a friend. Said the wealthy friend to Twain, “Before I die, I mean to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I will climb to the top of Mount Sinai and read the Ten Commandments aloud.”
Replied Twain, “Why don’t you stay home and keep them!”
The second bridge provided by the Master for us to cross is the Bridge of Service. We look to the Savior as our example of service. Although He came to earth as the Son of God, He humbly served those around Him. He came forth from heaven to live on earth as mortal man and to establish the kingdom of God. His glorious gospel reshaped the thinking of the world. He blessed the sick; He caused the lame to walk, the blind to see, the deaf to hear. He even raised the dead to life.
In the 25th chapter of the book of Matthew, the Savior tells us this concerning the faithful who will be on His right hand at His triumphal return:
“Then shall the King say unto them … , Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Elder Richard L. Evans once counseled, “We can’t do everything for everyone everywhere, but we can do something for someone somewhere.”
May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday, Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward, tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.
The bridge of service invites us to cross over it frequently.
Finally, the Lord provided us the Bridge of Prayer. He directed, “Pray always, and I will pour out my Spirit upon you, and great shall be your blessing.”
I share with you an account described in a mother’s letter to me relating to prayer. She wrote:
“Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.
“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied, ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’”
The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.”
No relating of a prayer touches me so deeply as the prayer offered by Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. I believe Luke describes it best:
“He … went … to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him.
“And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation.
“And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed,
“Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.
“And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.
“And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.”
In due time came the trek to the cross. What suffering He endured as He made His burdensome way, carrying His own cross. Heard were the words He uttered upon the cross: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
At length Jesus declared, “It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.”
These events, coupled with His glorious Resurrection, completed the final bridge of our trilogy: The Bridge of Obedience, the Bridge of Service, the Bridge of Prayer.
Jesus, the Bridge Builder, spanned that vast chasm we call death. “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” He did for us what we could not do for ourselves; hence, mankind can cross the bridges He built—into life eternal.
I close by paraphrasing the poem “The Bridge Builder”:
“You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
“There followeth after me today
A vast throng whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that great throng may a pitfall be.
They too must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for them.”
That we may have the wisdom and determination to cross the bridges the Savior built for each of us is my sincere prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I came to the United States from York, England, when I was 25 years old. After completing graduate work, I returned to England to look for a university teaching job and to be near my family. However, after initially rejecting a job offer in Utah because it wasn’t part of my plan, I felt strongly prompted to take the job and did so.

After being in the U.S. for some time, I remember feeling homesick one day and wondering where Heavenly Father was taking me. I went to the Jordan River Temple and was waiting outside the dressing room for a friend to join me. As I sat there, feelings of homesickness swept over me, and I remember thinking how much I missed my home and family. I turned to look at the photograph on the wall behind my chair. It was of the Jordan River Temple. Immediately a thought came clearly into my mind: “You are home.” A sweet, loving peace swept over me as I turned to look at the painting on the wall to my left. It showed Jesus appearing to a kneeling Mary outside the Garden Tomb, and as I gazed at it, another thought came clearly to my mind: “And I am here.” I suddenly felt totally at home, loved, and comforted.

Sandra, a BYU Relief Society president, told the following story. “I got up one morning and went out to my car. The tire was flat. Luckily it was Saturday and I didn’t have to be anywhere right away, so I called my home teacher and asked him if he could come over and fix it for me. He said sure, and a while later, there he was at my doorstep. I walked out to the parking lot with him, all set to give him moral support and compliments on his chivalry in coming to my rescue. Was I surprised when, upon arriving at my car, he handed me the jack and said, ‘Okay, Sandra, this is your car. You had better learn how to change a tire.’ At the time I wasn’t so sure I agreed with his reasoning, but I did change the tire! And I’m kind of glad now that I know how.”

Julia Awashish, a 17-year-old Native American from Quebec City, agrees with Marc. “We need to always remember the covenants we made at baptism,” she says. “The promises we have made to our Heavenly Father are the things that make us strong as members of the Church. It’s been six years since I joined the Church. I’m glad my mother and I joined, because it helps me so much when I have a problem to deal with, and it helps me to remember to be happy, because the gospel is a message of joy.”
Julia says that when she and her mother returned to visit relatives in their village of Obedjiwan, which is far to the north of Quebec, at first “there was a lot of gossip about us being Latter-day Saints. But now everyone has seen by our example that we are friendly, normal people, so they accept us just fine.”

I arrived home. I heard crying as I walked in. It was Steven, my brother. He’d been teased at school and didn’t want to go back. The words from my patriarchal blessing echoed in my mind: “You may help the needy with your time, effort, and means.” Here was my brother in need.
“Hey Steven, you wanna go get some ice cream? Tell me what happened.”
Steven and I talked about his peers. Maybe I didn’t say anything helpful, but I could tell that my companionship meant a lot to him.
That experience with Steven taught me a lesson: the poor are just as likely to be in your home as on the streets. There are all sorts of needy people in the world—those who need food and shelter, of course—but also those who need love, counsel, and encouragement.
I haven’t given up my dream of ending the world’s social troubles, but for now, whenever I get the itch to seek out the needy, I’m inclined to go knocking at my brother’s bedroom door first.

Very recently I had another experience that represents something of a counterpoint to the episode with the young man. I was visiting a stake conference and, following the Saturday evening session, I was greeted by a woman who asked, “Do you remember me?” The face was vaguely familiar, but I needed help. The sister reminded me that she had been one of my students in a high school English class many years ago. I immediately remembered her as I had known her 32 years before. She was one of the student leaders, a good scholar, a cheerleader. We reminisced for a time on the experiences we had shared. She was pleased to introduce me to her family. Some of her children were married, and one son was serving as a missionary. There were several grandchildren. This was obviously a solid family, making a significant contribution to the community and the Church.
During our visit this good sister suddenly confronted me with the question, “Do you remember the day you asked me to leave your English class?” I was surprised by the question and could not remember such an event. I wondered if she might be confused in her recollection because I could recall nothing but good experiences with her as a student. “No,” she insisted, “there was the one day when we had a reckoning. I had been talking more than I should have done, and when you attempted to correct me, I made some remarks that I shouldn’t have made. You then asked me to leave the room. I was startled. No other teacher had ever disciplined me in that way. I refused to leave, and you assisted me to the hallway outside the classroom, telling me that I could return when I had learned to behave like a lady.
“I was incensed and embarrassed. I thought of the things I could do to get retribution. My father had influence in the community, and he would not tolerate this.
“Later in the day I began to reflect on what had happened. I realized that you were right and I was wrong. I knew then that teachers and classmates had too often tolerated that kind of behavior from me and that it was not good. I confronted a quality in myself that I had never been required to confront before, and I decided that I would change. That’s why I came back and apologized to you for my conduct in the class. It was a turning point in my life in an important way, and I will always be grateful to you.”
Here was a case where a young woman sensed her responsibility in an unfortunate situation and took responsible action to make things right. It has provided me with some interesting food for thought. What accounted for the difference between the reaction of this young woman and that of the young man who walked away from the seminary class? And what differences have come into their lives over the intervening years as a result of the way they responded to these situations and others like them?

A decade passed before the president of the Samoan Mission, Thomas A. Court, sailed to the Vava'u Group on March 19, 1907 to determine if it was suitable for missionaries but also to buy horses for the mission farm.

According to the book Unto the Islands of the Sea - A History of the Latter-day Saints in the Pacific by R. Lanier Britsch, "When President Court returned to Samoa, he reported that the prospects were ‘very bright’ and he intended to send elders there soon. ... President Court told ... missionaries that friends he made in Vava'u had asked the Church to send elders to open a school and preach the gospel. According to Ermel J. Morton's account of the Tongan Mission, the man who asked President Court to send missionaries to Vava'u was Iki Tupou Fulivai, harbor master" (434-435).

Here’s my great-grandfather Iki Tupou Fulivai, harbor master of Neiafu, Vava'u, which was one of the busiest and most beautiful harbors in the Pacific. Until recently, this was the only portrait of him that existed, probably taken in the late 1800s in Sydney, Australia because he was educated there. Iki was well traveled, working on ships that took him to China, Europe, and even to America - rare among Tongan men at that time. He especially loved the Orient, and as a little boy, I remember playing on his estate Esia, which I didn't realize until I was an adult is the Tongan transliteration for "Asia." Tonga was so remote that it was also rare for Tongans to wear Western clothing, but Iki is sporting exactly what was fashionable at the time in London, New York, and Philadelphia right down to the handlebar mustache. As the son of a nobleman, Iki and three of his peers were sent to Australia to study because the Tongan government hadn't yet established public schools. The other three boys grew homesick and returned to Tonga, but Iki stayed and learned to speak English, although he didn't complete his education - he simply dropped out to travel. Because he was fluent in English, the governor of Vava'u later appointed him harbor master, piloting the tow boat that brought large ships into Vava’u’s scenic Port-of-Refuge harbor.

Presumably, that's how Iki met President Court, whom he invited to stay in his home when he learned he was a minister looking to buy horses. The next morning, Iki took the mission president to a neighboring village and introduced him to a family friend who owned horses. President Court selected two plow horses for purchase. Iki later recalled that President Court produced a handkerchief in which he saw gold coins that he offered for the horses. But true to the Tongan custom of the day, the friend refused the money. President Court was so indebted that he asked Iki how his kindness could be repaid. Iki responded by asking President Court if he could send teachers to educate his children. According to family lore, President Court famously replied, "I will send you two teachers."

Two months after President Court returned to Samoa with his horses, he sent Elders William O. Facer and Heber J. McKay to Vava’u on June 13, 1907. They lived with Iki’s family, teaching all of his children to read and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. The youngest of Iki’s 14 children is my grandmother Toa'ila, who wouldn’t be born for another 13 years and is alive today at age 94.

As a nobleman, Iki was pressured by the Tongan monarchy, who were mostly members of the Free Wesleyan Church, to remove the missionaries who lived in his home and to cease teaching his family and neighbors the restored gospel. He refused at great personal cost. Until the 1930s, when public schools were established in Tonga, Iki charged the Church $1 per year for the school property on his estate where missionaries taught in order to satisfy a Tongan law, making it affordable for the Church. Generations of Tongans learned to read and write and were baptized because of Iki Tupou Fulivai.

Here is another illustration of the principle of obedience. I had an instructor in the navy, a fine man. He had been a test pilot in the early days of the war. One of his responsibilities was to test a fighter plane that was important to the factory. If they didn’t sell it, they would go bankrupt. It was important to the navy because they needed a quality aircraft to operate off aircraft carriers. In those days there were no electronic on-board instruments. He had to take off and fly the aircraft, the first prototype, and then come back and tell the owners of the factory and the admirals whether it passed the test. They watched him take off and watched him climb. He disappeared and after a long period of time he returned, landed, and climbed out of the aircraft.

All of the engineers, designers, owners, admirals, and navy brass were there, and he said, “As you saw, the aircraft jumped off the ground in less than the required distance.” They all nodded. They have been observing that. He said, “Time to thirty thousand feet was so many minutes and so many seconds.” Everybody ooed and awed at that. He said, “It climbs like a homesick angel.” Tremendous! Everybody was pleased by how fast it arrived at altitude. He said, “Speed at full throttle, straight and level, exceeded the calculations of the engineers by 14 percent.” Everyone was impressed and the engineers were calculating how much that must have been. He said, “Power dive, the wings didn’t come off, nothing bent.” Everybody was wringing their hands out of gratitude that it had passed the test when he said, “But it didn’t pass the test. When I put it through the maneuvers in which a fighter plane has to be able to perform, when I tried to do the snap rolls, the Immelmanns, the loops, the evasive maneuvers, this aircraft would not respond to the controls. It is like a mule that gets the bit in its mouth and wants to go straight. Nothing I could do would make it turn fast enough. You have to go back and make larger, more sensitive control surfaces so that the aircraft will be obedient to the pilot.”

I’ve seen missionaries in the mission field who are super intelligent, charismatic, have great talent and tremendous ability, but failed because they weren’t responsive to the controls. They weren’t quite obedient. They didn’t understand that the rules are first to protect them from Satan and second to bless them with success. There are many interpretations, higher interpretations, of the law of obedience.