Gospel Story Finder

To understand how this story turned out the way it did, you probably need to know Joe. And that’s not an easy thing.
In the small town of Oakley, Utah, if you ask the other teenagers about quiet, soft-spoken Joe Frazier, they say the same types of things: He’s … hmmm? … great to be around. He’s … hmmm? … funny. He’s … hmmm? … I don’t know … He’s just Joe.
Hmmm?
“Let’s put it this way,” says D. J. Glade. “You know how in high school it’s not cool to talk to the younger kids? Well, Joe talks to the younger kids. Joe talks to the older kids. Joe is friends with everyone.”
Come on.
“Serious.”
But then there was Joe, at age 16, lying unconscious in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask over his mouth, a bag dripping into a tube in one arm. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong. It was strange, sobering. And without exception, all of his friends thought, That could be me.
Joe Frazier had been sick for about a month and was getting progressively worse. The doctors were baffled. At first they thought he had a virus, maybe hepatitis. And then, on a July 1994 morning, he was in the kitchen, reached out for the counter, and was suddenly on the floor. His brother, Josh, picked him up and carried him to the car.
The following Monday, Joe was still in the hospital. His parents, Blake and Barbara, were told their son was in very serious condition, that he needed a new liver. The Fraziers’ insurance company did not cover the cost of the experimental surgery, and before Joe could be put on a national transplant waiting list the family would need to raise $125,000.
“We didn’t have time to sell our house or our cars,” says Barbara. “Joe hadn’t been sick in years, and now out of the blue they were saying the word transplant. It was overwhelming.”
The hospital suggested the Fraziers ask a handful of their close friends and relatives to help raise part of the money. The neighbors they asked to help got on the phone to other neighbors who got on the phone to others … well, you get the idea. All they had to say was “Joe is in trouble” and money started appearing. The first donations were from Joe’s brother and sister, Josh and Jamie, who emptied their bank accounts and dug under couch cushions and in the back of dresser drawers for any cash they could find.
Right away, the kids from Joe’s high school got together to brainstorm ways to raise the money. They gave $500 they were saving for their prom. And then they organized car washes, bake sales, a rodeo, and an enormous garage sale.
It was late one evening that week, as the teenagers collected items for the garage sale, that Sam Aplanalp, 15, realized something miraculous was happening.
“The football players were pulling things off a truck when a little boy rode up on his bike,” says Sam. “I know his family doesn’t have much money—and his bike was about all he had in the world—but he wanted us to have it. To help Joe.”
The next day at the sale, a loaf of bread fetched $400 and someone paid $25 for a root beer. At the car wash, 16-year-old Michelle Cooper and her friends washed a stranger’s car who, in payment, handed them two $100 bills. “I don’t know who he was,” Michelle says, tearing up at the memory. “But it taught me that deep down, people really do care.”
On Wednesday afternoon, only a day and a half after the call for donations had gone out, the phone rang in Joe’s hospital room. Barbara answered. It was Joe’s 14-year-old sister, Jamie.
“Mom, you’re missing a miracle,” she said. “I wish you were here to see what the people in town are doing. They’ve already raised $55,000!”
Teenagers from across the county, from all faiths and backgrounds, came together to help raise money and to pray for Joe.
“I don’t think any of us had ever prayed that hard or worked that hard,” says Michelle.
Jake adds, “But we learned where real joy comes from. Passing a test, winning a ball game, having a girlfriend makes you happy—but real joy comes from giving, from sacrifice.”
On the same Wednesday, Barbara and Blake met with their surgeon and told him that Oakley and the neighboring communities in their county had already raised $55,000—in 36 hours. Tears ran down the physician’s cheeks and Barbara recalls him saying, “You have renewed my faith. There really are human beings in the world.” The doctor, realizing the severity of Joe’s condition, had already put him on the transplant list. He said he would not let Joe die without a chance.
When Joe went into surgery the following Monday, the Fraziers had already received $135,000.
But Joe’s fight was not over. He was given only a 50 percent chance of making it through the eight-hour operation. And, says Barbara, “If he hadn’t received the liver that day, he would not have seen another sunrise.”
“The first day I remember is the 24th of July—five days after the surgery,” says Joe. “I remember going to the window to watch the fireworks.”
When Barbara told him what the community had done, Joe seemed strangely sad. “I kinda wish I’d been there to help,” he explained.
On a hot August day with thin clouds in the Utah mountains, the Fraziers’ Thunderbird slowed as it reached the turn into the Kamas valley. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Joe could see the group of vehicles waiting for him at the intersection, where twisting Brown’s Canyon meets Highway 189.
The fire engine and the cars fell in behind Joe’s car, fender-to-fender. The parade stopped in Oakley, and Joe got out and hugged his mom. A dozen young kids who had donated their toys to the garage sale and who felt in some way they owned a little piece of Joe gathered close to him. And one little guy yelled, “Hey, Joe, how ya feeling?”
There wasn’t a dry eye when Joe smiled and said in a soft voice “fine” and “thank you” and that it was “good to be home.”
“Every street corner, every business, everything was covered with pictures of Joe,” said Barbara. “But when we got home, Joe asked me to get the collection jars out of the store and take his pictures down.
“And then he wanted me to make sure no one had given more money than they could afford.”
Maybe that selfless attitude is why everyone cared, why they did what they did. Who knows? But it’s definitely the reason, when you ask who is Joe Frazier, that all his friends say with love, He’s … hmmm? … he’s just Joe.

As a youth, I had a strong desire to serve a mission. I knew that it would be difficult, but that the blessings would far outweigh the trials I would face both in my preparation and during my service. I knew that the Lord had a plan for me but looking back I did not know how different His plan would be.
After finishing school, I thought I was ready to serve. However, it was a long hard road of several years of trials and sufferings, especially from mental health issues. These prevented me from being ready to serve a mission, although I always had the desire and willingness as well as they assurance that the time would soon come.
Fast forward to about a year ago, when my bishop called me into his office and asked me, “Why do you want to serve a mission?” I had never truly pondered that question. I knew the textbook answers: I wanted to serve the Lord and those around me, and to share the joy that I have felt through the gospel of Jesus Christ with others. My bishop asked me to think about it and come back to him the next week. I came back and tearfully explained that as I am a perfectionist and find it hard to forgive myself for even the smallest of mistakes, I wanted to serve a mission because through that service I would give to those around me (and indeed to the Lord), I would come to love Him and each of God’s children more and, in turn, I would come to love myself more.
As I started my application, I could see the Lord’s hand in my life as I drew closer to serving my mission. I could see the love for others already growing within me, as I felt more sorrow and compassion for the welfare of the people that surrounded me. Then COVID-19 came, and I fell into despair—I felt so close to starting my mission, but now it seemed a distant goal. But the Lord had something incredible in mind for me that I would not have expected.
I knew that I might not have the opportunity to serve a proselyting mission due to my difficulties. However, I am eternally grateful to my Saviour Jesus Christ for delaying my mission until the time was right. A few months ago, I was contacted about the opportunity to serve a service mission for the Church. I was thrilled at the opportunity to serve in local communities and to volunteer for charities, to be an example of Jesus Christ and to serve just as He did (although I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be moving from home).
In retrospect, I am incredibly grateful, even tearful, to the Lord for the privilege it is to be a service missionary, and although it is still going to be a challenge, I know that the Lord loves me, and He will be there every step of the way!

Some years ago, I was contracted by the Hawaii Judiciary. I was sent to work with the detention home administration who were contentiously at odds with each other.
After constructive months doing team-building, the Spirit whispered, “Morris, look around and see what needs to happen here.” “What?” “Look around and see what needs to happen.” I turned around and looked at the detainees – the kids there. “Oh My Goodness! The kids here are really scary/intimidating!”
The Spirit whispered, “You need to work with them.” “NO WAY! I’m an Organizational Psychologist.” “You are also Clinical. Do this.” I expressed my fears in a silent prayer to the Lord, “I don’t think I can deal with the ‘bad/profane’ language here, or, being called a ‘dumb haole,’ or, getting punched-out by local kids with conduct disorders.” The Spirit whispered, “The kids will highly respect you and you will be very successful and no harm will come to you.” After wrestling with the Spirit, I did it for three incredible years with the Department of Health as a senior clinical-psychologist within the Judiciary.
May I say that this ‘Spirit-directed-course-of-action’ was the most profound, learning experience of my professional career.
I learned how to help those mentally and emotionally troubled with painful issues, faulty/irrational/damaging thinking and addictive habits move toward positive and constructive natures with hope and healing. Most importantly, I learned to love them!
I can affirm if we are to be at places of most potential in our life, guided and protected, we must listen to and obey the Holy Ghost.

With the hovering heat it seemed more like the Fourth of July than Christmas Day. It was the kind of heat Santa Cruz, Bolivia, is famous for. But I soon forgot about the stickiness and my longing for a white Christmas in my excitement to visit Lily and her family.
I had thought about them often, worrying that the children wouldn’t receive any gifts for Christmas because of the economic situation of the family. Yet during the three months I lived with them, they always offered to share whatever they had with me and my companion.
The courage and determination of Lily, the mother, had impressed me as I watched her fight to support her six children by her own ingenuity and the sparse, sporadic help of her estranged husband. She was always an example of faith and trust in the Lord. She often visited other sisters in the ward she knew needed help, even when she was greatly in need of help herself.
I had wanted this to be a special Christmas for the family, so I bought gifts for the children and wrapped each one in pretty paper. But I had a hard time finding a gift for Lily. I kept thinking of the one thing I knew she needed.
Oftentimes missionaries would leave personal belongings behind to make room for souvenirs in their suitcases. Clothes that had been well broken in during their mission life were usually left with friends. Lily had always admired the one thing I hadn’t thought of leaving behind—my coat. It was a burgundy raincoat with a removable wool lining. My mother had helped me pick it out, and I loved it. We had bought it on a special sale where a certain amount of the price was deducted if you traded in another coat which would be given to charity. My mother had donated one of her coats to help me buy mine. My raincoat was my favorite possession. But now I just had two months left in my mission and it was summer.
They had invited us to join with them in their meal of chicken and rice. We gratefully yet reluctantly accepted. I knew that what we ate would be subtracted from their share. We talked and laughed, and the children opened their presents.
Lily told us how blessed they had been that Christmas. All the children had received one nice present through the telephone company where their father worked. Since they all had received a nice toy, she had asked each one to take a favorite toy, not one that was all worn out, and wrap it up. They each took the toy to church with them and gave it to one of the children in their ward who had not received anything for Christmas.
While we were talking, Lily motioned to the girls to go get something from the back of the house. The girls returned a few minutes later with a small package they laid in my lap. I opened it, and pulled out a white, odd-shaped, furry ball that had orange ears and crystal blue eyes. I wanted to cry. It was probably the funniest little stuffed dog I had seen, yet it meant more than any other gift I had received. I tried to protest. They didn’t need to give me anything. But there was no getting out of it. That little fur ball was mine.
It was then that I went to the corner and picked up Lily’s present. When I gave it to her she at first refused. “No, it’s your coat. I couldn’t.”
But as I insisted she began to cry.
She didn’t expect to receive anything, yet she had given me so much by her example of selflessness and her great power to love.
Now, years later, when I hold that little dog in my hands, I can still feel the warmth of our embrace and our tears intermingling. I remember the sweet peace I felt that Christmas day with a family that thought more about giving to others than they did about receiving.

I was able to work from home and be a stay-at-home mom for eight years, and then, because of financial circumstances, I needed to return to the workforce full-time. At that time, I had four young children and leaving them was very hard. When this happened, I was not very happy about it. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t stay home and raise my kids as I had always planned and desired to do. My perspective was limited. I was choosing to feel discouraged with my current reality and not embracing the joy of being able to provide for my family and use my skills in a different way.

I found myself adding things to my list of reasons why I should be unhappy working. When I felt I was forced to go to work, it made things hard. Now, to be clear, I loved my job and still do. I enjoyed being at work, which added to my guilt. Was I supposed to enjoy working when I could be at home taking care of my children? This misuse of energy and focus can lead us to believe that only changing what is outside of us can bring us joy. Unfortunately, this unconscious thinking can create a perpetual hamster wheel of short-lived and temporary pleasures but rob us of real joy. Ultimately, it can and will negatively impact how we feel about ourselves. The way we see our lives can help our perspective.

When we make decisions by thinking celestial, we realize that some things aren’t as important as our minds might have us think, and we put that into perspective. When I returned to the workforce, my mind wanted me to think that I couldn’t raise my children as I wanted to because I was working. What I learned is that I was absolutely able to teach my children about the gospel and share important moments with them. It just looked different from what I thought it would.

It took me many years and a lot of understanding to see the eternal perspective of my life circumstances. I learned that joining the workforce would help me to grow as an individual and put me in an environment that allows me to serve others. Now, working outside the home isn’t the path for everyone, but it happened to be the path for me. We are working towards becoming our best selves, and every step we make in the right direction is helping us move forward. The great news is that the Lord has a plan for each of His children. Trials are meant to help us learn, grow, and develop so that we can become more like our Heavenly Father. When we are on this path and can see from an eternal perspective, we can also experience the joy that the gospel brings.

Perhaps a personal experience will help to illustrate this loving, watchful care that we are to extend to one another.

My husband and I have been blessed with ten wonderful children. Seven of them are living, which means, of course, that three of them are not. During the times that I was pregnant I had to stay in bed much of the time, and it was always a great worry that I carry those precious babies until they were big enough to survive. During many weeks, my visiting teachers came with lunch for me or dinner for my family. They tended our toddlers and sent library books for me to read.

When our twins were born, we were totally surprised by having two babies! How wonderful to have two little people with only one pregnancy! It was not to be for long, however—at least in this life. Our baby boy lived two days; our baby girl lived three. The sisters were there again, not only with food, but with a beautiful rose bush called “Duet” which flourished and grew. It was a sweet reminder of a tender time. The lovely blossoms helped us to remember our little ones, our friends, our gratitude for the gospel and for the Church.

Our family loves family home evening. Over the years we have had many memorable family home evenings, including one of our favorites—“Helping Hands.”
One Monday night after an opening song and prayer, we talked about the wonderful things our hands can do: draw a picture, pet an animal, help with the housework, make cookies, and much more. We discussed ways we could use our hands to serve members of the family. Then we made several tracings of our hands on colored construction paper, cut the tracings out, and decorated them. Soon we each had a small stack of “helping hands” to use throughout the week.
During the next week, whenever we performed an act of service for another family member, we were to leave one of our helping hands near the scene of the service. What a wonderful week we had! Helping hands were found on pillows after a bed had been made, in the kitchen after the dishes were washed, and in the family room after toys had somehow found their way into the toy box.
Our family has become stronger and closer through our family home evenings.
We are grateful for the time we spend together each week preparing to be an eternal family.

My wife and I were recently blessed to serve as mission leaders to labor with the outstanding missionaries in Uruguay. I would say that these were the best missionaries in the world, and I trust that every mission leader feels that way. These disciples taught us every day about following the Savior.

During regular interviews one of our great sister missionaries walked into the office. She was a successful missionary, an excellent trainer, and a dedicated leader. She was looked up to by her companions and loved by the people. She was obedient, humble, and confident. Our previous visits focused on her area and the people she was teaching. This visit was different. As I asked her how she was doing, I could tell she was troubled. She said, “President Olsen, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough. I don’t know if I can be the missionary that the Lord needs me to be.”

She was a remarkable missionary. Excellent in every way. A mission president’s dream. I had never worried about her abilities as a missionary.

As I listened to her, I struggled to know what to say. I silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, this is an outstanding missionary. She is Yours. She is doing everything right. I don’t want to mess this up. Please help me know what to say.”

The words came to me. I said, “Hermana, I am so sorry you are feeling this way. Let me ask you a question. If you had a friend you were teaching who felt this way, what would you say?”

She looked at me and smiled. With that unmistakable missionary spirit and conviction, she said, “President, that is easy. I would tell her that the Savior knows her perfectly. I would tell her that He lives. He loves you. You are good enough, and you’ve got this!”

With a little chuckle she said, “I guess if that applies to our friends, then it also applies to me.”

We begin with a true story of a past Church leader that you likely don’t know.

On the first day of April Conference, 1924, President Heber J. Grant concluded his opening remarks by announcing that President Charles W. Penrose, first counselor in the First Presidency would be the next speaker. President Penrose was 92 years old at the time and somewhat ill. He was not scheduled to speak at the conference. So, without prior notice he approached the Tabernacle pulpit to speak. This was a similar situation between President Hinckley and Elder David B. Haight in last April’s conference.

I quote President Penrose from the proceedings of that April, 1924 conference,
Brothers and Sisters, this is not the first time in my life that I have been taken by surprise. I felt quite content to sit on the stand here this morning and listen to the words of inspiration that have fallen from the lips of President Heber J. Grant, feeling that he would occupy most, if not all, of the time. I take great pleasure in bearing testimony to the truth of the things that he has uttered. Perhaps there is no need for that. I believe that that testimony is in the hearts of this vast congregation this morning. I enjoyed every word the President has uttered. I know that what he has said and read and testified of is true, and it came to us this morning in the life and power and spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ as revealed to us in these last days. I enjoy meetings of this kind and teachings of this kind. They are more to my heart and soul than learned disquisitions of any kind.

President Penrose then proceeded to spontaneously expound upon many glorious eternal truths. He covered many topics. His thoughts and words seemed to so easily flow from an almost limitless reservoir of knowledge and wisdom. He spoke on such topics as:
As you read his remarks, you become aware that he was selecting topics as directed by the Spirit. It was not rambling nor disjointed. It was a flow of gratitude, doctrinal clarification, exhortation, personal experiences with a principle, invocation of a blessing and finally a testimony. Granted that this spontaneous speaking ability comes with practice, however it also requires the Spirit to give thought, organization, feeling and words to carry it to the minds and hearts of the hearers.

His vast knowledge and testimony of eternal truths allowed the Spirit to select the “menu” from his knowledge and wisdom. A principle here: When we are in tune with the Spirit, it has a way of telling us what to say and importantly, what not to say. It takes faith to go there. “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost.”[3] It sometimes comes to your mind and sometimes to your feelings and sometimes to both.

One year my mum, my sister, and I went to my uncle’s house to spend the holidays. A day before we traveled, I deleted all my social media apps because they were really affecting my spirituality. I knew staying off social media was for the best, but I felt a bit lonely and left out. For several days after I left home, no one reached out to me, and I felt like no one really cared.
On New Year’s Day, I still felt lonely and sad. But then I received an unexpected text message from a friend, wishing me a happy New Year. We weren’t that close to each other, but his message meant so much to me—it meant that someone cared.
Then I got a prompting—why not send text messages to all my friends? I immediately went to work wishing each person a happy New Year and telling them how I was grateful for them. Maybe some of them needed someone to reach out to them too. Suddenly, it was easier for me to notice the music that was playing and the happiness on my cousins’ faces. I felt the Spirit, and my happy feeling lasted all day long.
I am so grateful to my friend for sending that text, and I’m glad I obeyed the prompting to send my own. In this case, it helped me reach out to others when I felt that I needed to be reached out to. I know these words of President M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023) are true: “We will find peace, joy, and happiness in our life when serving the Lord and our neighbors.”

It was 10 minutes until show time.
Piles of fake snow covered the stage. Shiny ornaments sparkled. It was the annual Christmas show, and Charlotte was the star. Well, that’s what Mom told her. But Charlotte knew the star of the show doesn’t stand in the second row of the choir.
She would’ve been the star if the director had given her the big solo.
Near the end of the show, one singer got to sing a song all by herself. Charlotte had wanted to sing that solo more than anything. But she didn’t get to. Brianna did. And it just wasn’t fair. Everyone said Brianna had a beautiful voice, but Charlotte didn’t think Brianna sounded that good.
Charlotte plopped down next to Anne, Stacey, and Jenny. They all wore the same glittery green dresses. Charlotte thought that together they looked like a giant Christmas wreath.
“Brianna is so lucky,” Anne was saying. “They’re going to have all the spotlights on her.”
Charlotte wished they were talking about her. That she was the one in the spotlights.
“She looks kinda nervous,” Stacey said. “Maybe she’ll pass out!”
They all giggled.
“I don’t know why she got the solo,” Charlotte said. “She can’t even sing that well.”
As soon as she said it, Charlotte felt guilty. She knew she shouldn’t say mean things about anyone. But she liked the way her friends grinned at her. They had all wanted Brianna’s solo too.
Just then, their choir director swept in. “Places!” she called. “It’s show time!”
They followed her to the stage, and the show began.
Charlotte was surprised at how much fun she had. She liked singing—even from the second row. And she had to admit, Brianna did a great job. But when the show was over, she saw Brianna run from the stage.
Was she crying?
Charlotte remembered what she had said about Brianna and felt guilty again. But Brianna hadn’t heard, so it didn’t matter, right?
So why was Brianna crying?
“I’ve gotta tell you something.” Stacey grabbed Charlotte’s hand and pulled her into the changing room. “Jenny told Brianna you said she’s a bad singer.”
Charlotte felt like a lump of coal dropped into her stomach. Maybe that’s why Brianna was crying. Oh no. She hurried out of the room.
Charlotte hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. She was just talking! Why would Jenny tell Brianna? It was all Jenny’s fault!
But that wasn’t true. Charlotte knew she shouldn’t have said what she did.
Charlotte felt sick. She wanted to go home. Maybe she could just avoid Brianna. Forever.
She sighed. She knew what she had to do.
Charlotte walked outside. She saw Brianna with her family. It looked like she was still crying. Charlotte really didn’t want to face them all, but this was the right thing to do. She prayed for help and walked toward them.
“Brianna, can I talk to you?”
Everyone looked at Charlotte. They didn’t look very happy to see her, but Brianna nodded and followed Charlotte.
“Brianna, I know Jenny told you what I said, and I’m sorry,” Charlotte said.
“It was mean,” Brianna said, looking down.
“I know. And it wasn’t true. You’re a great singer,” Charlotte said. “Can you forgive me?”
Brianna smiled a little. “Do you think I did OK?”
Charlotte nodded. “You were amazing! The star of the show!”
She gave Brianna a hug before she went to find her family. Charlotte looked back to see Brianna smiling.
“Hey, Charlotte!” Brianna yelled as she got into her car. “Merry Christmas!”
Charlotte smiled. Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. Her guilty, jealous feelings were replaced with happiness that sparkled as bright as any star.

Jared carefully recorded the last bit of information for his sixth-grade science project—comparing the differences between plants watered with tap water and those watered with distilled water.
“There,” he said in satisfaction. “All done.”
He ran into the laundry room. “Mom, I finished the experiment. Do you want to see it?”
Mom finished folding a towel and smiled. “Of course.”
Jared led her into the kitchen, where the two sets of plants occupied a shelf by the big glass door. When he saw the plants, he stopped in his tracks. “Oh, no!” he cried.
Kaitlyn, Jared’s three-year-old sister, looked up and smiled, her hands covered with dirt. Potting soil and crushed plants were strewn across the floor.
“You ruined my project!” Jared wiped angry tears from his eyes. “You wreck everything I have.”
“Jared, your sister didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” Mom said quietly.
“Sure,” Jared said bitterly. “Just like she didn’t mean to write all over my geography homework last week. Just like she didn’t mean to spill milk on my book report. Just like she—”
“That’s enough,” Mom said.
Jared recognized the tone in his mother’s voice and knew he’d said too much.
“Tell Jared you’re sorry,” Mom said to Kaitlyn.
Kaitlyn’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry.”
Normally, Jared couldn’t stay angry at his little sister for very long, but this was different. He had spent a whole month caring for the plants and recording the differences between the two sets for the sixth-grade science fair. Now they were destroyed. He wouldn’t have anything to show in the fair next week.
He cleaned up the mess as well as he could, but he couldn’t save the plants. He dumped them into the big trash can in the garage. In his room, he slammed his fist into his baseball mitt. All his work had been for nothing.
A few minutes later, he heard a knock at his door.
“Jared, can I come in?” Mom called.
Reluctantly, he got up and opened the door.
Mom wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “I know you’re disappointed. Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry about the experiment.” she said.
“Me, too,” he said, still slamming the ball into his mitt.
“Kaitlyn made a mistake. Can you forgive her?” When Jared didn’t answer, his mother turned and quietly left the room.
When another knock sounded at his door, Jared ignored it. The door inched open, and Kaitlyn stood there. “I’m sorry.”
Jared looked at his sister’s red eyes. For a moment, his heart softened. Then he remembered how hard he’d worked on the experiment. He had hoped to win a prize with it. “Go away.”
Kaitlyn sniffled and rubbed her eyes before closing the door behind her.
Jared asked to be excused from dinner. He knew his parents were disappointed in him, but he didn’t care. He tried to do his homework but couldn’t concentrate. After staring at the same page of his history book for five minutes, he gave up. He got ready for bed, then knelt down, intending to say his prayers as he did every night. The words refused to come.
He didn’t sleep very well. He kept tossing and turning, remembering the hurt in Kaitlyn’s eyes when he’d refused to speak to her. He tried to push away the image. Kaitlyn had wrecked his experiment. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive her.
He thought about the word forgive and recalled part of the blessing his father had given him after his baptism and confirmation. “There will be times in your life when you need to seek forgiveness. I bless you with the meekness of heart to do so. There will also be times when you must forgive others. Remember the example of the Savior when you are faced with such times. Forgiveness is a gift. Use it and you will be blessed.”
The following morning, Jared trudged to school, his heart heavy. But it wasn’t the ruined experiment that filled his thoughts—it was Kaitlyn. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty about, but he couldn’t erase the picture of Kaitlyn’s unhappy face from his mind.
At school, he explained to his science teacher what had happened. Mr. MacKade laid a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I know you’re disappointed. You put a lot of work into your experiment.” His teacher tapped a finger against the notebook he always carried. “Did you take photos of it?”
Jared nodded. He’d asked his father if he could use his camera to take photos of the plants at different stages.
“We’ll show the photos instead,” Mr. MacKade said. “It won’t be the same as displaying the plants themselves, but it’ll be the next best thing.”
“Thanks, Mr. MacKade. I’ll do that.”
Jared slipped into his seat. He should have felt better, but the ache in his heart remained. He couldn’t concentrate on his math problems or his spelling test. He could not even choke down the sandwich and cupcake his mother had packed in his lunch. All he could see was Kaitlyn’s face, her quivering lips and tear-reddened eyes. No science experiment was worth the pain he’d caused his little sister.
By the end of school, Jared knew what he had to do. Kaitlyn had been wrong to ruin his plants, but that did not excuse how he had treated her. He hurried home from school.
“Mom, I’m home. Where’s Kaitlyn?” he called, slamming the door behind him.
Mom looked up from the Primary manual she was studying. “She’s in her room.” His mother looked like she wanted to say something else.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Jared said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Jared raced up the stairs and knocked on Kaitlyn’s door. “Kaitlyn, it’s me.” He heard a muffled “Come in.” He pushed open the door.
Kaitlyn was sitting on her bed, her arms looped around her knees. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked in a small voice.
Jared crossed the room to sit beside her. “No, Kaitlyn. I’m not angry anymore. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know you only wanted to help.” He hugged her and asked, “How would you like to go to the park with me?”
Kaitlyn nodded and gave him a big smile.
That evening Jared labeled the pictures he had taken of the plants. Kaitlyn played with her dolls beside him. A quiet feeling of peace enveloped him. And when he knelt by his bed that night to say his prayers, he didn’t have any trouble finding the words.

When Fan Hsieh read about the restoration of the priesthood, he had to know more. “For the first time since I was released from the priesthood in my own church, I thought I might be able to hold the priesthood again,” he says.
After serving eighteen years as a Catholic priest, Hsieh had given up his ministry because he felt “a spiritual void.” Now, as he studied the restored gospel, he was about to discover the true priesthood of God.
Fan Hsieh was born 23 August 1922 in Tayeh, China, an isolated farming community. He did not begin formal education until he was ten years old. After four years in a private school, he enrolled in a Catholic school, began to learn about Jesus Christ, and was baptized a Catholic. “I saw the example of many good Catholic missionaries,” he says, “and I thought maybe China needed more of them to teach the people about Jesus Christ. I decided to become a priest.”
Hsieh’s road to that goal was long and arduous. He attended a Catholic seminary in Wuhan for four years. Then he studied at a Catholic university in the capital city of Beijing [Peking]. A year later, the communists took over the city, and Hsieh escaped to Shanghai, where he attended the Aurora Jesuit University. When the communist forces invaded Shanghai, he moved to the Catholic seminary in Hong Kong. Then, because of the political situation, the seminary was transferred to Macao. While there, Hsieh was ordained a priest in the Catholic church.
Following his ordination, he was assigned to Rome, Italy, where he studied Italian, Latin, and law for four years. Next he moved to Paris, France, where he studied French, Greek, Hebrew, English, Spanish, and German so that he could better understand the original texts and the various translations of the Bible. He wanted to learn all he could about the Savior.
Finally, in 1967, Hsieh’s original desire to teach his people about Jesus Christ became a reality. Cardinal Yu Ping, president of Fu Jen Catholic University in Taipei, invited him to become a member of the faculty as a professor of philosophy and French. In this assignment, Hsieh began to share his growing testimony of Jesus Christ.
“I spent eighteen years teaching and fulfilling my responsibilities as a priest,” says Hsieh. “I was very busy, but I wasn’t happy. I had had the opportunity to study in Europe; I had been a teacher, a student, a professor, a chaplain, a seminary director—my life was colorful—but there was a spiritual void.”
And there were rules and customs within the Catholic church with which Hsieh was uncomfortable, such as the ban on certain books—and he liked to read and study all he could. Another problem that bothered him as an ordained priest was the Lord’s statement: “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).
“This particular scripture became a vivid reality for me once when I was seriously sick and there was no one close to take care of me. I felt very alone. I realized the need for a companion to share my life. I decided then that being alone forever wasn’t right.”
This combination of feelings built up over time. Finally, in 1973, he asked to be released from his priestly vows. He resigned from Fu Jen University and was immediately hired by National Cheng Chi University in Taipei. There, one year later, Hsieh met, courted, and married one of his university assistants. He was about fifty years old at this time.
“But giving up the priesthood was difficult for me,” he says. “I had been a priest for so long. Now I had given up everything that I had lived for up to that point in time. I missed sharing my knowledge and understanding of the gospel, something I had been able to do as a priest. I thought about becoming a minister in another church that allowed priests to marry. But because of my belief in the Catholic church, I couldn’t make that change.”
Three years after his marriage, Hsieh was alone in his home when two young men knocked on his door. “They asked to talk to me, and I said I had no time and no interest in whatever they wanted to talk about.
“But as I thought about them, I became more curious. I wanted to know who they were and what they were doing in Taiwan, so I looked out from the balcony of my apartment and saw them going from door to door. I waited for a long time for them to come out of one of the apartments, and then I called to them to come back to mine.
“The first question I asked them was, ‘Are you missionaries?’ When they answered yes, I questioned them about their religion. Many of my questions were left unanswered, and I didn’t feel satisfied with our first conversation.
“That evening, as I discussed their visit with my wife, she reminded me of the Lord’s admonition to ‘beware of false prophets.’” (See Matt. 7:15.)
When the missionaries made a return visit, Hsieh was not going to let them in, but he didn’t want to be impolite. For the entire evening, Hsieh explained to the missionaries what true religion should be. He did not tell them that he had been a Catholic priest, but they felt encouraged by his knowledge of Christianity.
One of the missionaries, Donald B. Cenatiempo, wrote of the experience, “I felt as if we were the students and he was the teacher. We could tell he was a very intelligent and religious man.” The missionaries asked if they could return, and Hsieh said yes. The visits became a weekly ritual.
“I didn’t want to send them away,” Hsieh remembers. “I thought that if their church were true, it would have a prophet and continuing revelation. I asked them why their church didn’t have crosses or crucifixes, and they said, ‘Because Christ is risen; Christ lives. If one of your friends or parents dies,’ they said, ‘do you take out a photograph of them dead and show it to everyone?’ I was spiritually touched by the wisdom of their response.”
Hsieh started to read the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, which he especially liked because it is a record of the Lord speaking to man in these latter days. He asked for other books to read, and the missionaries gave him a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, by Elder LeGrand Richards.
“We told Brother Hsieh that it was possible for him to receive the priesthood and perform certain duties within that priesthood,” Elder Cenatiempo wrote. “Brother Hsieh understood as well as anybody could in his stage of spiritual progression what it would mean to hold the priesthood—the true priesthood of God.”
Hsieh explained to his wife what he had read, and she found it very interesting. Together, they began to study and pray for understanding. Eventually, Hsieh’s wife announced to the missionaries, “We have prayed and we feel it best to be baptized together.” They were baptized in December 1977.
In the years since that special event in their lives, they have developed strong testimonies that they enjoy sharing with others.
“We have always said that we would be willing to do whatever the Lord wants us to do,” says Brother Hsieh. “And we’ve always tried to use every opportunity and every talent he has given us to help build up the kingdom of God on the earth and to share the gospel message.”
Some unique opportunities have opened up to Brother Hsieh to do this. He has lectured seven times at the International Conference for Christian Professors. “They are interested in the Church because it is quite new and unique in modern Christianity,” he says. “The Lord has given me many opportunities to bear my testimony to these scholars.”
Currently, Brother Hsieh, a member of the Mu Cha Ward, serves as a high councilor in the Taipei Taiwan West Stake and has assisted in work on a second Chinese translation of the Book of Mormon.
“The gospel is the love of God,” he says. “It is important that all men and women hear this message. What we do, we do for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Friendship is the method by which we share the gospel. The final goal for all is salvation and exaltation.”

During her time as a missionary in the Pacific area, Sister Rinne experienced many miraculous testimonies of the nearness of Heavenly Father. When she arrived in Tonga, hardly knowing the language at all, she was sent to speak in a certain village. In her pocket she had a ten-minute talk written on paper. But when she arrived, she learned that she was to be the only speaker for an hour-long meeting. “I was horrified in the face of this assignment. As I was sitting there afraid, I heard clearly the words: ‘But I am here.’ All fear vanished, and I spoke for the whole hour.”

I was eating a lot of junk food and wanted to be healthy, so I decided to make a New Year’s resolution not to eat any candy for a month. Whenever I got candy I saved it in a jar. At the end of the month, I would share the candy with other people.
In the first week of January, I felt like I wasn’t doing very well because I had already eaten three pieces of candy. When I realized I wasn’t following my resolution, I decided to pray about it. It helped! After the first month, I decided to do it for a whole year. I haven’t had a piece of candy now for 14 months! My goal was to save 400 pieces by the end of the year, but I have saved 731 pieces of candy instead.
It has been really hard at times, but it has gotten easier and easier. At school we got candy several times a week for rewards. In Primary we received candy for memorizing scriptures, Articles of Faith, and other things, all of which I did. I just saved my candy in my candy jar.
I feel like I have learned a lot of self-control and can do anything I put my mind to with Heavenly Father’s help. I now set my alarm with my twin sister, Clair, at 6:25, and we get up and do personal scripture study with my older brother, John Taylor, and my mom.
I try to be healthy and eat lots of fruits and vegetables. I feel really good. I know Heavenly Father is proud of how I am treating my body. I feel like I can sacrifice more things now in lots of areas of my life.

I am a second-grade teacher in a community where Latter-day Saints are well known. So I was surprised one day when a peer told me of another teacher’s remark about me. The teacher had said, “Did you know that Mrs. Craig is not a Christian?”
I was torn inside. I had just lost my husband of 28 years, and I had been closer to the Savior and my Heavenly Father than at any other time in my life. I knew that I would have to bear my testimony to this teacher, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I did not want to offend her, but I also wanted her to know that Latter-day Saints are Christians.
The next morning the Holy Ghost whispered to me what I should say. As I lay in bed, I thought of all the paintings I had in my home of the life of Jesus Christ. Each painting had a special place in my heart and was connected to a special time in my life. Thinking of those paintings brought many tender feelings about the love I have for the Savior.
One painting in particular shows the Savior calming the stormy sea. It reminds me that He conquers all and that I, through Him, can also overcome all things, including the heartbreak of losing my husband.
As I continued to reflect on the paintings, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for the blessings that had come to me because I belong to the Savior’s Church.
That morning at school I went into my colleague’s room and told her I wanted her to know I am a Christian. I asked her, “How many paintings of the Savior do you have in your home?” She told me that instead of paintings, she had two crosses in her home.
I told her about the paintings of the Savior in my home and what the scenes depicted in the paintings meant to me. I then bore my testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement.
I also told my co-worker that it was only through my knowledge of Jesus Christ that I had been able to survive the past year. I told her how His tender mercies had helped my children and me get through the difficult time of losing a father and husband.
I hugged her as I left, and she offered a sincere apology. There was no doubt in my heart that she knew that I, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, am a Christian.

When I think of what respect for others looks and feels like, I think of an experience from the life of President James E. Faust. On one occasion after he had been called as a General Authority, then Elder Faust, his wife, and two family members decided to attend a session at the Washington DC Temple. His son recalled that after they had arrived and entered the temple, his father
presented his recommend, which [was] a special one issued to the General Authorities and look[ed] somewhat different. The gentleman who was checking recommends did not know what it was and told my father he wouldn’t be able to enter the temple. Rather than embarrassing the man by telling him who he was, Dad politely excused himself and we all left. [Marcus G. Faust, quoted in James P. Bell, In the Strength of the Lord: The Life and Teachings of James E. Faust (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1999), 188]
I am moved by the deep respect that President Faust showed to the man at the recommend desk. President Faust acknowledged and respected him, letting him do his duty as he had been instructed. Because of that respect, President Faust would rather not go in the temple than cause the man embarrassment in front of others. So, as a fellow disciple, President Faust did the respectful thing: he thanked the man and left.

I can’t tell if it feels like Christmas or not, Gwen pondered as she crunched her way home from school through the snow-blanketed city park. It seems so different from other years.
Her younger brother Peter walked silently at her side. The playground equipment was covered with snow. It was still and quiet away from the city sounds. The two children slowed their steps; it was a good place for thinking.
Peter stopped walking and said softly, “It feels different this year, doesn’t it? It isn’t an unhappy feeling or anything, just different.“
“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. You know, it makes me feel kind of important that we’re doing something worthwhile.”
They were remembering the unusual family meeting their father had organized the day after Thanksgiving. At the beginning of the meeting they all sang “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” After the opening prayer Dad said, “Children, I want you to tell me what it means to be faithful and what it means to adore Christ, the Lord.”
Peter said he thought that faithful meant to do the right things.
“Yes, Peter,” Dad agreed. “That’s part of it. When we’re faithful, it means we can be trusted to keep our promises and to do our duty.”
“And when you adore Jesus, you love Him,” offered Gwen.
“That’s right, Gwen. It also means that we honor Him.” Then Dad added, “This Christmas I want our family to be among the faithful ones who really come to adore our Savior.”
From behind his chair, Dad pulled out a sheet of white poster board with the outline of a large green Christmas tree drawn on it. There were no lights or ornaments or icicles, just the tree.
“Our prophet,” Dad explained, “has told us to store a year’s supply of food and necessities. Your mother and I feel that it would be wise to spend up to 50 percent of the money we ordinarily spend for Christmas on our year’s supply.”
“What’s percent, Dad?” asked six-year-old Ted.
“I know what percent means,” Gwen said eagerly. “May I tell him?” Dad nodded.
“It means that out of every dollar we have saved for Christmas presents that we would spend up to 50 cents on things for our year’s supply.”
Father smiled his agreement and then in a firm voice challenged, “Can we do that? Can we be faithful ones, by following the wise counsel of our prophet?”
Then he explained about the plain Christmas tree that would be in the place where a gaily decorated one had been on previous Christmases. “The more we are faithful and store food and needed items for our year’s supply, the more decorations we can add to our tree.
“For every five pounds of powdered milk we store, we can draw a light on our tree. We’ll add an ornament for every three pounds of salt. Each loop in a garland will represent any nonfood item we add to our storage.”
“If I buy a box of salt, may I wrap it up?” Ted asked eagerly.
“You can if you want,” laughed Dad.
After the meeting Peter planned to take 25 cents out of each dollar he had saved for Christmas for the year’s supply, but as he thought about it, he decided to give more than that.
Now, as the children started walking again, they continued to mull over in their minds their different Christmas. Nearing the northwest corner of the park where they had to cross a busy city street before the last two blocks home, they heard above the traffic sounds the wailing of a fire engine siren.
Suddenly, Gwen stood still. She gripped Peter’s hand, and he looked up at her questioningly. Down the street an unnatural brightness made a pulsating glow in the sky, and flickering, hideous shadows jerked up and down the outside walls of the apartment buildings.
“Look, Gwen, fire!” Peter cried. “We can’t go down our street!”
On the street, roadblocks had been erected and policemen standing by cars with flashing red and blue lights redirected traffic. Behind the barricades were firetrucks and men with hoses spraying silver streams of water up through the smoke toward the flames.
Despite the panic that made her heart hammer, Gwen made herself move forward, praying silently that she and Peter would find their father and mother and Ted and that they would all be safe.
Suddenly Gwen and Peter heard a voice calling their names. They pushed their way through the crowd that was beginning to gather at the edge of the park, to see where the voice was coming from.
Mom and Ted were across the street calling their names, looking first down the street at the fire, and then over at the park.
“Mom!” the children shouted together. “We’re over here!”
Mom spotted them and waved with relief.
“Wait there!” she called.
Once across the street Mom wrapped her arms around them tightly.
“When we couldn’t find you,” she said, “we became worried. Fire broke out on the third floor of the building facing ours. Dad is helping to evacuate the buildings in the area. We can’t go home until the fire is out and the danger is past.”
Their own apartment was not damaged, but the next four days until Christmas Eve were not days filled with the usual Christmas shopping, package wrapping, and cookie baking. They were busy days of sharing their home and food with friends and strangers.
On Christmas Eve the family all dressed in winter coats, caps, and scarves. Everyone had an armload of Christmas gifts, food storage items, and personal Christmas gifts. These were all being given away to someone else in need.
“Before we leave,” Dad said in a husky voice, “I want everyone to look at our Christmas tree.”
The tree had a few lights, two short paper chains, but there were lots of ornaments. “The tree doesn’t look very grand, does it?” Peter asked.
“To me,” his mother answered, “it’s beautiful.”
“This is the best tree we have ever had. It deserves a real star decoration,” Dad said as he held up a star made of sparkling silver and gold. “Ted, you may put it on.”
The family was hushed, and tears glistened in Mom’s eyes as Ted crowned their Christmas tree with a star. Then, with the wondrous spirit of their different Christmas, they left on their Christmas rounds of caroling and giving gifts.
In the back seat of the car Gwen whispered to Peter, “Remember the song? The thing that’s different about this Christmas is that it really is joyful.”
“If you ask me,” Peter said quietly, “it’s triumphant too.”

Alexander Wright, born 27 January 1804 in Banffshire, Scotland, following the death of his wife, emigrated to Canada and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on 10 October 1836, and then walked to Illinois, United States. He was later sent on a mission to Scotland and wrote a 531-page journal (8 March 1839 to 8 January 1843) which has been transcribed, from which most of the following relevant information has been extracted. Both journals are at the Church History Department, Salt Lake City, Utah and can be viewed online.
Elder Wright’s companion was Samuel Mulliner; they baptised many in central Scotland. He proselyted alone in the north of Scotland from 24 December 1839 to 28 January 1840, and from 7 August to 20 October the same year, and from 1 July 1841 to 7 September 1842.
On 7 August 1841 Alexander Wright first met Peter Farquhar, a 60-year-old farmer, at his home at Hill of Mennie, Belhelvie, a 10-mile walk from Aberdeen. Peter’s wife Mary Valentine had died age 59 on 10 April 1840. It was the second time he had become a widower.
On 3 December he again met Peter Farquhar at Belhelvie, and the next day set off to preach in many villages north of Aberdeen, sleeping under the stars when he could not find lodgings. He returned to Belhelvie on 10 December and met Peter Farquhar, and on 30 January 1842 baptised him there; Peter was the first person to join the Church in the north of Scotland.
Peter Farquhar’s last meeting with Elder Wright was on 6 September 1842.
No other baptisms in the north of Scotland were recorded by Elder Wright and records available for the Aberdeen Branch (Scotland) British Mission do not record any baptisms prior to Peter Farquhar.
Research proved that Peter Farquhar was born 1781 at a small hamlet of Tough, Aberdeenshire, the son of Peter (or Patrick) Farquhar and Margaret Copland. Old Parish Records show that Peter Farquhar had married his second wife, Mary Valentine, on 12 December 1829; his first wife had been Isabella Robertson.
The 1841 and 1851 census records state that Peter was a farmer of 19 acres at the Hill of Mennie, with a son Alexander and a daughter Jane residing there.
He died 6 January 1856 at Belhelvie, where he is buried. A plaque was bonded to the gravestone and the grave was dedicated.
His will, in which a son named George is an executor, shares his estate equally between Jane and Alexander.
Six grandchildren and three great grandchildren have so far been identified and research continues to find a living descendant.
The temple ordinance work for Peter, his wives and family, was completed in the Preston England Temple in March 2022.

Like other prospective missionaries, Lohran Saldanha Queiroz had to make a choice to serve a mission or not. But besides deciding whether to give up school, work, family, and friends for two years, Lohran had another tough choice: serve a mission or have the opportunity to play professional football in Brazil?
Lohran, a member of the Barra da Tijuca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Jacarepaguá Stake, has football in his blood. His father, Milton, is known simply as Tita throughout Brazil. He has played professionally in five countries, won many titles, been a top scorer in the state, and played on the national team.
Tita noticed his son’s ability early on. “I grew up with a football always close by,” Lohran remembers. “My father has always encouraged me. I started accompanying him to his practices when I was three or four and have been around professional players ever since.”
Formal training began for Lohran at age 6 in Mexico, where his father was playing football at the time. By age 12 he was playing in elite competitions back in Brazil. And when he was 17 Lohran played in the junior league—the fast track to professional recruitment. Lohran seemed destined for football stardom. But his 18th birthday was quickly approaching, and he started thinking more seriously of missionary service.
Lohran explains the dilemma: “I wanted to be a football player, and I wanted to be a missionary. They expect a player to go straight from the junior team to the professional league. To stop playing for two years and then expect to be hired at 21 is almost unthinkable.”
At age 17 Lohran made some decisions that led to what he calls the beginning of his conversion. He set goals to read the Book of Mormon daily, fast, and pray. He attended Mutual, firesides, and other Church activities more often. And when he began working regularly with the missionaries, he found a love of the people he visited and prayed for. He wanted them to have the blessings of the gospel. His desire to serve a mission began to grow. But when would it be best for him to serve? And what would happen to his football career after a two-year interruption?
Lohran sought to learn God’s will through fasting and prayer. That very week, he noticed the recently delivered issue of the New Era magazine in his home, and he began thumbing through it. He was attracted to the article “Ice Dreams,” about ice skater Chris Obzansky, who interrupted a promising skating career to serve a mission at age 19, losing the opportunity to compete in the 2006 Winter Olympics.
One passage in particular caught Lohran’s attention: as Chris was in sacrament meeting listening to his Young Men president talk about his own mission call, the Spirit told Chris, “You need to serve a mission when you’re 19, or you’re going to have a tough life.” Chris said, “The message was so clear I actually turned around to see if someone was there. The feeling came back 10 times stronger, and I knew I had to go on a mission.”
Lohran smiles. “When I read that, I felt it had been written for me. Age 19 is the age prescribed by the Lord. I realized that was the answer I needed, and it was like an enormous weight was taken off my back.” The time for Lohran to serve a mission was now. He talked to his bishop, made the necessary preparations, and never looked back. “It was not even difficult to make the decision of leaving football behind,” he says, “for I knew it was the right time to do it.”
Lohran served in his country’s capital, in the Brazil Brasília Mission. He was known as “Elder Happy” because of his contagious enthusiasm. “I am exceptionally happy serving people, sharing with them what I know is true,” he says. “It is so gratifying to see people change their lives after learning the gospel.”
Like all missionaries, though, he experienced his share of hardships. “Obviously, missionary life is not all fun,” he says. “There are difficulties, moments of weakness and loneliness, but all that is next to nothing compared to the treasures of a mission. These are years I’ll never forget, that I’ll always have in my mind and, more important, my heart.”
A few months ago he finished serving a successful mission. Now that he’s home, he has joined a football team in Rio de Janiero and believes more chances to continue his football career will come his way. With faith he says, “I am now waiting for the opportunities to come, opportunities that our Heavenly Father will bless me to enjoy.”