Gospel Story Finder

During the next seven years, I would marry my husband, here with me today, and we would have two more children together. This would now give us six children, and we had been praying on a regular basis for the blessing to have our first four sealed into our family. This seemed like a blessing that would never happen, but the Lord works in mysterious ways and works other people's bad choices for the good of others. My ex had committed a felony, and his probation officer had contacted me to state some stipulations that I would like put on his probation decree. I requested that he pay his child support and medical obligations that were to the amount of about $6,000, or give up his rights as their father. It came as a great blessing to our family that he chose to give up his rights, and our family was sealed on February 18, 1995.

That was a great blessing that turned out to be even more amazing than we would have any idea, for later that year, on September 12, at about 4:05 in the afternoon, the Lord would call our oldest son home.

This is a picture of Tyler with his buddies the day before he was taken home. He was seven years old when this happened. Remember I had said that we were sealed as a family on February 18, 1995. That just happened to be his birthday. He was so excited that we were finally being sealed, and to have it happen on his birthday was an amazing, tender mercy from the Lord.

He was on his way to join his siblings over at the elementary school we lived across the street from. The kids had gone over there many times to play after school on the playground equipment they had there. The neighbor boy was driving back to his house with a propane container his dad had sent him to the store to fill. They had eye contact with each other, and so the boy thought he was safe to continue on his way when my son bolted across the road. I had been resting on the couch when I heard the noise and went to the door to see what had happened.

I stepped out on the porch to see the neighbor boy running my direction down the road. My first thought was he had just wrecked his dad's pickup into the telephone pole, but soon realized he was running to our house. He cried out, "I just hit your son. Call an ambulance." At that very moment, I knew what it was like to have the Holy Ghost with me. He immediately strengthened me in a way I knew was not my own. I had complete clarity of thought and made the call to 911 to get the ambulance on its way. Then I called my husband at work to get him on his way home. I proceeded out the door to where a crowd had now gathered around my son.

The principal of the school was there and asked me if I would like for him to give our son a priesthood blessing. I just remember feeling so relieved that he would offer, and quickly agreed. The words that were pronounced upon Tyler, I know for me, made the outcome something I could accept. He said he would live until proper medical help arrived; at that time, the Lord would decide whether he was to live or die. In that moment, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind the Lord was in control. I needed this peace in my life, especially now, because I was seven months pregnant with our seventh child.

I had found the boy that had hit him, and all I wanted to do at that moment was to help him. I knew in that moment the pain and fear he must be going through was one test I would never want to experience. I held him and told him I did not blame him. Somehow the Holy Ghost worked a miracle in us that day, and my heart, through the Spirit, was filled with forgiveness and compassion for him.

I returned to Tyler, and as I knelt beside him, I knew that he was gone. It was at that moment I came to realize what we feel when we are around others is their spirit, for at that moment, my father, whom I was very close to but who had died a few years prior, was behind me. I felt his presence so strong there was no doubt in my mind he had come to take Tyler home.

For me, this loss was full of many tender mercies and spiritual experiences. Some are too sacred to share, but I will tell you this: I came to know the Comforter personally, and I know there is life after death and that our Heavenly Father is in all the workings of our lives.

The young boy that hit him went on to serve a mission and, while out in the mission field, wrote a story about this experience. It was published in the March 2000 issue of the New Era. The talk is titled "Can I Be Forgiven?" He and his family are dear friends of ours to this day, and I know that, for me, this part of my testimony has been deeply rooted, for it would need to be, because in February of 2009, our second son was called home.

I served a mission for the Lord in the Wisconsin Milwaukee Mission, and my first area was in the heart of Milwaukee. Living in a city like Milwaukee was a new experience for me. I spent a handful of years leading up to my mission living in the smaller town of Pleasant Grove, Utah. One of my first experiences with public transportation occurred within the first few weeks of my mission. I was with my trainer traveling on a city bus. We had done a lot of walking one day and decided to finish off the late afternoon riding the city bus. I remember I was tired and still a little overwhelmed with the whole mission experience. We did not have a lot of success contacting people that day, and I remember sitting down exhausted and spent on that cramped city bus.

Soon after we settled in, the person in front of us turned around and started talking to my companion and me. At first we were very hopeful and excited that someone actually wanted to talk to us. We let him know we were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we taught people about Jesus Christ.

It soon became apparent that this individual was not looking for sincere conversation; instead, he was looking to pick an argument. Also, instead of engaging my trainer, he started to engage me with conversation. After a few rounds of questioning, he asked me directly "How many books are in the Bible?" I felt this question was not that relevant to anything-plus I didn't know the number-so I tried brushing him off, but without success. He became fixed on this question and started asking it in a louder voice. He could tell that I did not have the answer and was going in for the attack.

Other people on the bus started paying attention to the conversation and it started turning into a public display. He asked again, "How many books are in the Bible?" and added "How can you teach about Christ if you don't even know the Bible?" I started singing the seminary song in my head-Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers-and counting at the same time. I learned I can't sing a song in my head and count at the same time because I kept losing count early in the Old Testament. I started to feel nervous because I was representing the Lord, and the attention on the bus was drawn towards me. I was concerned that I wasn't being a good elder or a good servant and that people would walk away believing that Latter-day Saint missionaries didn't know the Bible. I looked to my trainer for help but this man would not let my companion answer the question. He could sense the "greenie" target on me and was honing in on it. I vividly remember him pointing his finger at me saying, "I am talking to you, not him." Also, my trainer gave me a look suggesting I could handle this.

I remember praying that this conversation would end and that the man would turn around. As I did so, I remember being prompted to bear my testimony of who the Bible testifies of: Jesus Christ. I explained that I did not know how many books are in the Bible; however, I know what is in the Bible. I testified of Jehovah in the Old Testament and of Jesus Christ in the New Testament and that they are one, our Savior. I remember feeling the Spirit and the power of the Lord as I bore my testimony. And something powerful happened: the man stopped. He let go of the issue and turned around without challenging my testimony. It was apparent he wasn't interested in further sincere dialogue. I said a silent prayer the entire way home and expressed thanks to the powers above for help. And when I got back to my apartment, guess what I immediately did? I pulled out my scriptures and counted how many books were in the Bible. There are 66 just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. I remember thinking that if the only thing you know about the Bible is the number of books it has, you don't deeply understand and are missing out on so many of its teachings.

A few years ago, President Oldroyd, a member of the stake presidency, visited my ward and said something I will never forget: “I promise you that if you attend the temple, every part of your life will be blessed.”
As I thought about it, I couldn’t imagine how attending the temple could touch every part of my life. But after church, I decided I would take his challenge anyway and attend the temple on a more regular basis. I wanted to test his promise. My husband had wanted to go to the temple more often, but I was reluctant because we had young children. We would have to drive an hour and a half to the temple in San Antonio, Texas, USA, complete an endowment session, and then drive home. It didn’t work to ask someone to watch our kids for seven or eight hours.
At first we tried trading babysitting with another family, but someone inevitably got sick or had something come up. We decided that we just needed to set the dates for the entire year and go! We then came up with the “pizza and play” method. We would drive to the temple together. One parent would go to a temple session while the other would take the kids to get pizza. Then we would switch: the second parent would do temple work while the other parent walked the temple grounds with the kids. This worked well. Our kids knew the temple was important to us—they knew all the other things we could have been doing on a Saturday—and we got to spend time as a family.

As a small boy in grammar school, I had a teacher who made the story of the legendary British King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table come alive. She caused me to become so obsessed with stories of knights that I played and dreamed that I was one.
One evening I dreamed that I was a white knight on a white horse riding over the green countryside of England. Suddenly, without warning, a knight dressed in black armor and mounted on a black horse appeared at the edge of the forest. We studied each other carefully, lowered our lances, and charged at full gallop. The lances struck target and both of us were knocked off our horses.
I scrambled to my feet knowing that swords would be drawn and that hand-to-hand combat was imminent. Fear gripped my heart as I saw my opponent rushing toward me flashing a long, gleaming sword. Instinctively, I reached to my side and drew forth from the scabbard my weapon. That is when the dream turned into a nightmare! For in my hand was a small insignificant dagger—not a long, gleaming sword. I woke up sweating in my fright, screaming for help.
Many times since that nightmarish experience, I have wondered about the serviceability of the Saints, particularly the young Latter-day Saints. When God calls you to serve, are you positioned in the scabbard and ready to be drawn? When the Lord draws you forth as his instrument in combating evil forces, what does he have in his hand—a long, gleaming sword or insignificant dagger?

Whenever anyone said something nice to Dan, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept it. A typical conversation went something like this one with his teachers quorum adviser:
“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 feel a little sorry for the other team.”

The Prophet’s kindness it seems, extended to all of God’s children. A great illustration of his respect for all men is an incident related by Jane E. Manning, an early black convert to the Church, which she wrote in 1893. In 1842, Sister Manning joined the Church in Connecticut, and at great personal cost and even greater risk, she with several other black Church members made their way to Nauvoo. Walking until their shoes were worn out and their feet were so sore that they cracked open and bled until they could see the “whole print of their feet with blood on the ground,” this courageous group arrived in Peoria, Illinois, only to be threatened by the authorities with a jail sentence if their papers were not in order. Producing the proper papers they were freed, and continued their journey crossing rivers so deep that the water ran up to their necks. Arriving finally in Nauvoo they were directed to the Prophet Joseph Smith’s home and, in the words of Aunt Jane:
“Sister Emma was standing in the door, and she kindly said, come in, come in! Brother Joseph said to some of the white sisters that were present, Sisters, I want you to occupy this room this evening with some brothers and sisters that have just arrived. Brother Joseph placed the chairs around the room and then he went and brought Sister Emma and Dr. Bernhisel and introduced them to us, Brother Joseph took a chair and sat down by me and said, you have been the head of this little band haven’t you? I answered yes sir! he then said God bless you! Now I would like you to relate your experience in your travels, I related to them all that I have above stated and a great deal more minutely, since many incidents have passed from my memory since then. Brother Joseph slapped Dr. Bernhisel on the knee and said, ‘what do you think of that Dr., isn’t that faith?’ The Dr. said, well, I rather think it is, if it had been me I fear I should have quit and returned to my home.”
The entire group stayed in the Prophet’s home for an entire week, until proper housing was secured for them. The Prophet came into their room each morning to find out how they were and one day gave Jane, who had lost her clothes on the way, some new ones. Another morning, finding her crying because all the others had found homes, he left the room, talked with Emma a few moments and then asked Jane Manning if she would live with his family. Giving her consent, she ironed, washed, and cooked for them and never forgot the kindness of Joseph and Emma Smith. She died faithful to the Church in April, 1908, always grateful for the time she had spent in the Prophet’s home.

I have always been interested in animals and birds. When I learned to read, I found books about birds and animals and came to know much about them. By the time I was in my teens, I could identify most of the African animals. I could tell a klipspringer from an impala, or a gemsbok from wildebeest.
I always wanted to go to Africa and see the animals, and finally that opportunity came. Sister Packer and I were assigned to tour in South Africa. We had a very strenuous schedule and had dedicated eight chapels in seven days.
The mission president was vague about the schedule for September 10th. (That happens to be my birthday.) I thought we were planning to return to Johannesburg, South Africa. But he had other plans. “There is a game reserve some distance from here,” he explained, “and I have rented a car, and tomorrow, your birthday, we are going to spend seeing the African animals.”
Now I might explain that the game reserves in Africa are unusual. The people are put in cages, and the animals are left to run free. That is, there are compounds where the park visitors check in at night and are locked behind high fences until after daylight. They are allowed to drive about, but no one is allowed out of his car.
Because of a delay in getting our evening meal, it was long after dark when we left to go to our isolated cabin. We found the turnoff and had gone up the narrow road just a short distance when the engine stalled. We found a flashlight and I stepped out to check under the hood. As the light flashed on the dusty road, the first thing I saw was lion tracks!
Back in the car, we determined to content ourselves with spending the night there! Fortunately, we were rescued by the driver of a gas truck who had left the compound late because of a problem.
In the morning they brought us back to the compound. We had no automobile and no way to get a replacement until late in the afternoon. Our one day in the park was ruined and, for me, the dream of a lifetime was gone.
I talked with a young ranger, and he was surprised that I knew many of the African birds. Then he volunteered to rescue us. “We are building a new lookout over a water hole about 20 miles [32 kilometers] from the compound,” he said. “It is not quite finished, but it is safe. I will take you out there with a lunch. You may see as many animals, or even more, than if you were driving around.”
On the way to the lookout he volunteered to show us some lions. He turned off through the brush and before long located a group of 17 lions all sprawled out asleep and drove right up among them.
We stopped at a water hole to watch the animals come to drink. It was very dry that season and there was not much water, really just muddy spots. When the elephants stepped into the soft mud, the water would seep into the depression and the animals would drink from the elephant tracks.
The antelope, particularly, were very nervous. They would approach the mud hole, only to turn and run away in great fright. I could see there were no lions about and asked the guide why they didn’t drink. His answer, and this is the lesson, was “Crocodiles.”
I knew he must be joking and asked him seriously, “What is the problem?” The answer again: “Crocodiles.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “There are no crocodiles out there. Anyone can see that.”
I thought he was having some fun at the expense of his foreign game expert, and finally I asked him to tell us the truth. Now I remind you that I was not uninformed. I had read many books. Besides, anyone would know that you can’t hide a crocodile in an elephant track.
He could tell I did not believe him and determined, I suppose, to teach me a lesson. We drove to another location where the car was on an embankment above the muddy hole where we could look down. “There,” he said. “See for yourself.”
I couldn’t see anything except the mud, a little water, and the nervous animals in the distance. Then all at once I saw it!—a large crocodile, settled in the mud, waiting for some unsuspecting animal to get thirsty enough to come for a drink.
Suddenly I became a believer! When he could see I was willing to listen, he continued with the lesson. “There are crocodiles all over the park,” he said, “not just in the rivers. We don’t have any water without a crocodile somewhere near it, and you’d better count on it.”
The guide was kinder to me than I deserved. My “know-it-all” challenge to his first statement, “Crocodiles,” might have brought an invitation, “Well, go out and see for yourself!”
I could see for myself that there were no crocodiles. I was so sure of myself I think I might have walked out just to see what was there. Such an arrogant approach could have been fatal! But he was patient enough to teach me.
I hope you’ll be wiser in talking to your guides than I was on that occasion. That smart-aleck idea that I knew everything really wasn’t worthy of me, nor is it worthy of you. I’m not very proud of it, and I think I’d be ashamed to tell you about it except that telling you may help you.

Joby lay in bed, watching the morning light peek between his curtains. A new day was waiting for him to come outside and greet it. For a new day, it sure is filled up with a bunch of stuff already, he thought. There was a bed that had to be made and a dentist appointment that was sure to happen because Aunt Viola was taking him, and she never forgot anything. If that wasn’t enough, his mother was going to cook string beans for dinner. They were the worst food, Joby was sure, that Heavenly Father had put on the earth!
What the new day wouldn’t be filled with was the bubble gum card he had traded yesterday for a candy bar. He had eaten the candy bar, and it was gone, just like his card. And there wouldn’t be the hamster he had been wanting for longer than he could remember. Going to the dentist with Aunt Viola, making his bed, and having to eat string beans were trials and tribulations that would be more bearable if he had a hamster. He even knew what he’d name his hamster—Agatha—if he ever got one.
Joby climbed out of bed, making sure that he was quiet. He didn’t want to wake up Old Bear, his stuffed panda. He crossed his room to where a little tin box sat on his dresser. He picked up the box and emptied out the dimes, nickels, and pennies into his hand and counted them. They would buy Agatha as soon as he had another dollar and a half.
Joby knew that his father would have helped him get a hamster if he could, but he was a writer and work had been scarce for some time. It was all his father could do to keep a roof over their heads and pay Joby a penny for every grasshopper he carried out of the garden to the field. Dad didn’t like to hurt anything, not even bugs.
One Sunday Joby and the rest of his family, except Dad, were sick with the flu and stayed home from church. When his father came home, he had the strangest look on his face—the same kind of look that he got when he bore his testimony. Saying that he had something important to discuss with everyone, he called a family council. Joby curled up in a blanket on the couch wit his mother and sisters, Michelle and Patience, on one side, and his brothers, Matthew and Nathan, on the other.
Dad explained that the bishop had said additional funds were badly needed to finish building the Jordan River Temple, located a few miles south of them. The bishop was asking every member to give all the money that they could to the temple fund so that the Lord’s work could go forth. He had promised that every family that willingly sacrificed and gave all that they possibly could, including money saved for vacations, would be blessed twofold and would still be able to do all they had planned to do. Joby’s father concluded, “I know that the bishop is right and that what he said was true.”
Joby’s parents had worked hard to save $600 for a family trip to visit Joby’s grandparents who lived in California. Grandpa had been sick for a long time, and the whole family really wanted to visit him. It had been a long time since they had gone on a vacation together. “What should we do with the money?” Dad asked now.
Eleven-year-old Michelle said without thinking twice, “Give it to the bishop. Temple work is real important. Even more important than going on a vacation.”
Joby’s father’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t. Mom blew her nose and asked three-year-old Nathan to hand a tissue to his father.
“I think we should help Heavenly Father, too,” Matthew volunteered.
“Me, too,” Nathan agreed. Dad turned to Joby, who was holding Old Bear close, the same way his mother was holding his brother Nathan. Joby was quiet a long moment, then got up and left the room with Old Bear. His father looked at his mother, certain that Joby was heartbroken, maybe even angry, about giving up the trip.
A few moments later Joby returned, holding his little tin box. He took off the lid and placed the can in his father’s lap. Joby looked down at the shiny coins that had lit his dreams. Then his eyes found his father’s. He smiled and said, “I want to help Heavenly Father build his temple too.” When his father’s eyes again welled up with tears, Joby said with concern, “Don’t cry, Daddy—I want to give it.”
“I know you do,” his father said softly as he drew the small boy into his arms. “And you’ll be blessed for it. We all will.”
Shortly thereafter the bishop announced that, thanks to everyone’s contributing all he could, the temple fund needs had been met.
And his promise about those who gave from their hearts being rewarded by the Lord came true too, Joby’s father got a writing assignment—then another, and yet another. He was so busy that he had to turn the following one down. The family’s income didn’t just double, as the bishop had promised, but more than quadrupled! Joby and his family were not only able to go see their grandparents, but he and his brothers and sisters were now given a weekly allowance.
Within a few weeks, Joby and Old Bear witnessed a dream come true—they had a new roommate, Agatha the hamster! In his prayers that night, Joby thanked Heavenly Father for his hamster and for being able to help in the completion of the Jordan River Temple. When his father tucked him into bed, he told Joby that his sacrifice was one of the main reasons the family had been so blessed.
“But I only gave two dollars,” Joby said, wondering.
Joby’s father pushed a strand of hair from the boy’s eyes and gazed at him in the soft lamp light. “It’s not important how much we give, Joby—it’s how we give. You gave everything you had, money you’d been saving for something you wanted as badly as you’ve ever wanted anything. And you gave it freely, with all your heart. God judges us by our heart deeds. And your heart is as big, Joby, as the sun coming up in the morning.”
Joby didn’t seem to mind making his bed or going to the dentist much anymore. He didn’t even mind string beans. He had a hamster that made up for it. And he had a feeling of joy that nobody could ever take away. He had helped Heavenly Father build a temple! And he would try to fill every day with deeds and actions that would allow him to go to that temple one day and there continue to help his Heavenly with His work.
Note: In May 1992, Joby Goldrup went to the Jordan River Temple and there received his endowment in preparation for serving a full-time mission in the Italy Padova Mission.

For my sixth birthday, I got some money from my friends and family. I put some of it in my mission-fund bank account, and my mummy gave me some of it to spend. My sister and I went to the toy shop, and she saw a toy that she wanted but did not have any money. So I spent my birthday money and bought the toy for my sister. I love my sister, and I know that Heavenly Father is happy when we sacrifice for one another.

I design and sell dresses for women to wear in the temple. I own a small business, so I do everything myself. First I create dress designs, then I have another company make them, and then I advertise and sell the dresses online.
I get to be my own boss and have my dog as a coworker! But I have to be responsible too. No one will get mad if I don’t work for a day, but no work will get done unless I do it. I work extra hard because I love my job and I know it’s what Heavenly Father wants me to do.
It took lots of research, asking questions, and praying. When I had questions or problems, I asked for help from people who had their own businesses. Most important, I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me know what was best for my company.
My job helps me put more faith in Heavenly Father. If I trust Him, He helps me do big, scary things. He knows my talents, so He helps me grow them through my work. This way I can share my talents and help others too. Heavenly Father has taught me to be the best business owner I can be. I feel good knowing that I’m helping women as they go to the temple to learn about Heavenly Father.

In the summer after I graduated from high school, I left for China to teach English to young children in a boarding school. It was the first time I would be so far away from home.
As I first started teaching, all I could think about was missing my family. I was ready to leave my current adventure and go back to my comfort zone. Then, through prayer and scripture study, I started to gain a deeper appreciation for the gospel. I became more grateful for my family and for the Lord’s blessings in my life. I began to realize how much Heavenly Father loved me.
Suddenly my problems weren’t as big. I didn’t miss my family as much, and I wanted more than ever to see the students as Christ sees them. I began to realize what Christ said about children being pure of heart. They loved me, even with all my faults.
As I loved them with all of my heart, teaching became a little easier. I began to see all of their talents and wonderful qualities. My patience level was higher. For the first time I realized what they and I must mean to my Heavenly Father. I had more love for my students than I had even thought possible. I gained a deeper love for my family and all those around me. Loving the students made it easy to understand what they needed me to teach them, and my love for them made me a better person.

When Sierra P., 17, moved to an area where few members of the Church live, her new friends wanted to know about her beliefs. This scenario isn’t new, and sometimes we may wonder how we can share the gospel with our friends without being overbearing. During a recent conversation with the New Era, youth in Arkansas shared what they have learned.
Sierra discovered that she could best answer questions when she asked her friends about their beliefs first and then focused on similarities and differences. “We studied a little about the Church in U.S. history, and that made everyone curious, so they came to me with their questions,” she says. “I had an opportunity to explain the entire plan of salvation to my volleyball team. Some of them realized that we have a lot of faith and are good people.”

Sister Vicki Fujii Matsumori went to Primary even before she was a member of the Church. Her parents wanted her to attend a church when she was a child, and their home in Murray, Utah, was close to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I always knew it was true,” says Sister Matsumori. When she learned about tithing, she wanted to pay it. When she learned about fasting, she wanted to fast. When she was about to turn eight, she wanted to be baptized.
However, when she asked for permission to be baptized, her parents, George Yasuyuki Fujii and Yoshie Matsumoto Fujii, told her they wanted her to know more about the church she was joining. Her father knew a little about the Church and told her that she should learn the Articles of Faith before the bishop interviewed her for baptism. So she did.
The bishop did not ask her to recite any of them, but Sister Matsumori still treasures the gospel knowledge she gained while she was in Primary.

Although the Youngs were a Bible-reading family and three of Brigham’s brothers became itinerant preachers for the Methodist Reformed Church, Brigham himself was not really converted to any church until he received a copy of the Book of Mormon from his brother Phinehas and studied it. Even then “I weighed the matter studiously for nearly two years,” he said, “before I made up my mind to receive that Book.”
In the fall of 1831 five elders from an isolated branch of the Church in Pennsylvania came to the neighborhood to preach. Brigham and his friend Heber C. Kimball listened to them and believed what they taught. Within a few months they were both baptized. Father Young, all Brigham’s brothers and sisters, and his ailing wife also became members.

My mother brought that happiness into our home. She didn’t scold us very often—but she reminded us quite a bit. One day my brother and I decided to hike with friends to the lookout tower on “Mount Peak” (Pinnacle Peak), a small mountain near my home in Enumclaw, Washington. The trip took much longer than we had planned. As it began to get dark, I suspected we were really going to be in trouble when we got home. But when we walked in the door, all Mother showed was relief. She reminded us to always let her know where we would be, and we tried very hard to be responsible after that.

Recently one of our BYU-Hawai'i graduates, Mele Ha'unga Hansen told a wonderful story that illustrates this concept.

When Mele was three years old, her mother and father were students at BYU–Hawai'i, living in married student housing. One day in a pick-up rugby game on the front field, her father, Semisi Ha'unga, was severely injured. Paralyzed and suffering from a broken neck, Semisi languished for several weeks and died, leaving his wife 'Ahoika and four small children. The sadness was almost too much to bear, but 'Ahoika remained faithful and optimistic. Eventually she had to return home to Tonga with her children. She worked for the LDS Church Schools, which paid her a modest salary. A widow and single parent with several children, 'Ahoika eeked out a living. Mele, her youngest daughter gave the following account:

I remember one day in Tonga, Mom called a family council and told us children that we had just enough money from that particular pay check to pay tithing and the monthly bills, but there was no money for food. I remember complaining to Mom: "Why can't we use the tithing money for food. Heavenly Father has plenty of money. Your tithing is so small compared to what he has. Does God want us to starve to pay tithing money He doesn't need?"

But Mom was adamant. "It's His money," she said. "He may not need it but we need to pay it. It is our need, not God's to pay tithing."

Mele spoke of the prayers of her widow mother and the anxiety of the children, when suddenly appeared at their home their father's brother, not a member of the Church. He was laden with foodstuffs from his garden plot, yams, sweet potatoes, green bananas, and a roasted pig. There was corned beef, bread. The sight of all this food made a deep impression, but it was their uncle's story that moved them most. He said, "I was working in my plantation today. At noon I lay down to rest under a tree. I slept and saw your father walking toward me. When I saw him I knew instantly why he had come to me. You were hungry and without food."

Thus the widow's faith was vindicated in front of her children. 'Ahoika, still a widow, represents the millions of devoted Latter-day Saints over the world whose faith and trust in paying their tithing make sacrifice joyful. Her generous, believing nature is part of her cultural as well as her spiritual heritage.

Mike woke to the bark of Clancy, his collie. Leaving dreams of county fairs and blue ribbons behind, he dressed quickly and clattered downstairs for a pre-breakfast look at his magnificent melon. Almost as large as a volleyball, it rose from the leaves of its vine like the moon above clouds—a prize-winner for sure. Loosening the dirt around the stem, Mike thought back to the day in spring when he’d found the tiny seedling growing by the corral.
“It looks like a cantaloupe,” Dad had said. “Don’t expect much from it though. It’s a volunteer.”
Mike was on his hands and knees, studying the new plant. “Volunteer?”
“Volunteers aren’t planted,” Dad explained. “A seed just happens to fall somewhere, then sends down shallow roots that don’t permit much growth.”
“This one is going to grow,” Mike insisted. “I’m going to make sure it does!”
Dad smiled. “Go for it, Son. Work the dirt up around it and keep it watered. Who knows what might happen.”
Mike had followed his father’s advice, and the little seedling grew into a healthy vine. One day as he was spading around his plant, Dad put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve really stuck with this,” he said. “I think you’re ready for something even bigger. When Gertrude has her calf, it’s yours to raise.”
Mike gave a whoop and punched the air. The best of their four milk cows, Gertrude was to give birth any day.
One night Mike was awakened by Clancy’s excited barking. He was about to get up to see what was happening, when Mom came in. “The vet’s here,” she said. “Gertrude had her calf, and everything’s fine. Go back to sleep and see it in the morning.”
Certain that he wouldn’t sleep a wink, Mike dutifully closed his eyes. When he opened them again, sunlight filled the room, and Clancy was issuing his good-morning bark. For the first time in days, Mike didn’t head straight to his cantaloupe plant. Instead, he ran to the barn.
“He’s beautiful!” Mike exclaimed. “I’m going to name him Melon, because he’ll be an award winner too. Look! He’s standing up already.”
“These little guys stand almost as soon as they’re born, Mike. Before long, he’ll be frisking all about his ma.” Dad frowned. “That reminds me—there are a couple of boards loose in the corral fence by the barn. You’d better nail them down right away. We don’t want this young ‘un getting out and rambling all over the property.”
Mike made a mental note to do it—right after he checked his melon plant. But he was so pleased with the blossoms he found blooming from the vine that he forgot all about the corral fence. Over the next few days, he noticed that some of the blossoms grew from small green knobs—cantaloupes! Following Dad’s instructions, he carefully chose the most likely one and nipped off all the others so that the plant’s strength would all go into one prize-winning melon. As the summer days passed, he “babied” his melon, and it grew splendidly.
His calf grew too. Soon it was eating hay as well as suckling its mother. “I’m going to have two blue-ribbon winners,” Mike told Dad when he went to breakfast, “a melon and Melon.”
A couple of mornings later, he was again awakened by Clancy’s barking. But this time Clancy sounded frantic. Something was wrong! Racing downstairs, Mike found the dog trying to herd a confused calf back into the corral. A few yards to the left, where the melon plant should have been, was nothing but chewed and tattered leaves and bits of broken and trampled cantaloupe. As Mike stared at the mess, a great rage filled him. He snatched up a piece of the melon rind and cocked his arm. “All right!” he shrilled. “You want cantaloupe, I’ll give you cantaloupe!” Before he could hurl the piece of rind at the bewildered calf, a hand gripped his wrist from behind.
“There’s no need for a tantrum.” Dad’s voice was calm.
“But that stupid calf ruined my plant!” Mike’s anger had him nearly in tears. “I worked on it all summer, and just look at it!”
“How did Melon get out of the corral, Mike?”
Mike eyed the loose boards—the ones he had promised to fix so long ago. …
Dad let the silence grow long, then asked, “Did you do your job?”
Mike scuffed his toe on the ground. “I meant to,” he said in a small voice. “I guess I just kind of forgot.”
Dad put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Mike, you worked hard with that melon. Your mother and I are proud of what you did. If it hadn’t been for a nosy calf and an unfinished job, you might have had a prizewinner.”
“And now I have nothing.”
“You have a fine calf with a good appetite. And if you’ve learned from your mistake, you have something even better—a bit of wisdom. Sometimes disaster is opportunity disguised.”
Mike’s gaze strayed from the ruined plant to Clancy and Melon and then to the loose boards on the corral. Finally he looked up. “Dad,” he said, “this was a blue-ribbon disaster for sure. But it’s a blue-ribbon lesson, too, and I won’t forget it. I’m going to take such good care of Melon that he’ll be a prize-winning calf! Come on, Clancy, let’s get him back in the corral and nail up those boards. This is one Melon that’s going to the fair.”

Another friend, a girl in his ward, stopped by after school to read to him. Although they had not been particularly close before his accident, now she was willing to give her time to help him. He often felt ashamed because he knew that if their roles had been reversed, he would not have been there reading to her.
What if she had been burned and was in thehospital? This horrible thought kept rushing through my mind. Would I be found at her bedside? I don’t think I was a bad young man. I had a job to earn money for my car and my clothes. What made me cry inside was that I knew I wouldn’t have been there with her. And yet such a great personal service she was giving to me! I could never tell her what I felt inside, so to pay her back I made this one great commitment: when I got out of the hospital, when I could walk, when I could see, when I could do things, I would try to give of myself through service to other people as she had done to me.
When I got out of the hospital and tried to find people who had problems and tried to help them, I got away from my own problems and stopped dwelling on myself and wallowing in self-pity. I started learning that great lesson—what is on the inside really is most important. Beauty comes from within, not from without.

Kenny was going shopping. He had saved his allowance to buy himself a treat. Just down the street from his house was a little grocery store. Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, who ran the store, had big jars of candy on the counter. They used a little scoop to put the candy into a red and white bag. Then they weighed it on a big old-fashioned scale and told you how much to pay.
Kenny had saved enough money to get a whole pound of candy. That was a lot, but he knew that if he was careful, it would last a long time. He had already decided what kind he was getting. It was his very favorite—peas and carrots. Not real peas and carrots. Candy peas and carrots that looked just like real peas and tiny carrots.
Because the store wasn’t very far from his house, Kenny’s mom let him go by himself. He walked, skipped, and ran down the street. As he passed some of his friends’ houses along the way, he thought, What if people are outside when I come back with my candy? They will see the bag from Arnett’s store and want some.
Kenny had worked hard to save his money for a whole pound of peas and carrots, and he wanted it to last a long time. If he shared it with others, it wouldn’t last very long. So he thought up a plan and turned around and ran all the way home.
“Did you get your treat already? Mom asked.
“No, I forgot something.”
“OK, be careful,” Mom said.
Kenny hurried back to the store, this time carrying something besides money in his pockets.
When Mr. Arnett handed Kenny the red and white bag, it felt heavy. A pound of peas and carrots was a lot of candy! He was going to make it last a long, long time. And his plan was going to help.
As he left the store, Kenny pulled some headphones from his pocket and put them over his ears. He plugged them into a little radio in his other pocket. He turned the radio on and made sure the sound was pretty loud. As he started home, he watched carefully for any friends he might see.
Ashley and Isaac were the first friends he saw. They were just coming out of their house to play. Kenny looked straight ahead and pretended not to see them. He could see out of the corner of his eye that they were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear them. They were pointing at his bag. He knew that they were going to ask for some of his candy, so he walked a little faster and passed them by.
My plan worked! Kenny thought.
Mrs. Moulton was working in her yard when he passed. He gave her a smile and a little wave. She was pointing at his bag and saying something.
She wants some candy, too! Kenny thought. He looked away and tried to enjoy the loud music.
He looked up the street and saw Hannah coming down the sidewalk on her skateboard. She hopped off and started talking to Kenny, pointing at his bag. He just smiled, bobbed his head in time with the music, and went around her. Hannah was asking him for candy, and he just didn’t want to share.
One more house to pass, and he would be home. He thought the Pierce brothers were visiting their grandma, but he was wrong. There they were, and they had already seen him. They also jumped up and down and pointed at his bag. Kenny pretended he didn’t see them and hurried to his house.
Now all he had to do was avoid his sister and brother and get to his room, where he would be safe at last! He rushed in and headed for the stairs. There was Janelle looking right at his bag and asking for some of the candy that he still hadn’t even tasted. He ran past her and up to his room. Dustin was on his way out to play ball. He reached out to touch the red-and-white bag. Kenny pulled it away and told him to leave it alone. Then he noticed something. The bag wasn’t as heavy as it had been when Mr. Arnett had given it to him. He looked inside.
“Oh no!” Kenny yelled. Instead of a whole pound of peas and carrots in his bag, there were only one pea and two carrots in the bottom. And right next to them was a great big hole! All of his candy was gone!
Kenny was sad. The candy must have fallen out a little at a time as he walked home. He hadn’t heard it landing on the sidewalk because he had had the radio turned up so loud.
Then he thought of something else. Everyone he’d passed had pointed at his bag. All those friends weren’t asking for candy—they were trying to tell him that his candy was falling out of the bag! Kenny didn’t feel like being selfish anymore. He wished he had some candy left to share.
He made another plan.
The next time Kenny saved up enough allowance for some candy, he didn’t take his radio to the store. Instead of pretending to not see his friends, he looked for them. He stopped at all their houses on the way home to share his peas and carrots. And the ones that were left tasted extra delicious.

At the end of 2014, I read Doctrine and Covenants 31:2–3 that states. “I will bless you and your family . . . and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in my church.
“Lift up your heart and rejoice, for the hour of your mission is come; and your tongue shall be loosed, and you shall declare glad tidings of great joy unto this generation.”
I knew that I had to fulfill the priesthood duty by serving a full-time mission. I informed my siblings and my mother of my desire to serve. My mother initially opposed the idea and threatened to disown me if I left. Through prayer and fasting, she eventually relented. I was called to serve in the Accra Ghana Mission, and the promise of seeing my father again became a reality after he was baptized by proxy in the Accra Ghana Temple.