Gospel Story Finder

After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.

In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.
When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.
I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.
I am happy to serve Him in this time, I know that our Heavenly Father knows us personally and prepares us with the means to serve Him in his time by the tools He himself prepares to help us get there. Fervent prayer is the only way that can bring us closer to Him and help us prepare to become more like the Savior Jesus Christ.

I didn’t want to admit it, but no one else was going to. Even though I barely knew how to play five hymns, I was the only one in the whole seminary class willing to admit that I played the piano. It was my senior year, and I’d never had to play in class before because there was always someone else who volunteered, but not this semester. The title of official piano player gave me some confidence in my small talent—until I realized no one seemed to care.
With my new seminary responsibility, I worried that the class would get tired of singing the same songs over and over, so I tried to stumble through the top hand notes of songs I hadn’t played before. I soon stopped struggling to keep the melody going when I realized few were singing. Daily I became more and more reluctant to play. I purposely came late, hoping I’d miss that part of the devotional. I felt learning to play hymns was a waste of time, and I was ashamed to have to get up in front of the class every day.
Then one day, when I’d particularly struggled through a song I’d never practiced, my attitude changed. As I returned to my desk after playing, I found a note on my scriptures. At first, I thought it was a prank. Nevertheless, I opened it. On a paper torn from a day planner was written, “I appreciate you for playing the piano for our class. Music that you play brings a good spirit.”
I realized then my responsibility as the class piano player wasn’t just playing a song. I was inviting the Spirit of the Lord into the class. I began learning and practicing as many hymns as I could. I paid attention to the feelings they created, and I gained the confidence to play them with meaning.
I don’t know if many people noticed the improvement in my playing, but I know I helped at least a few people praise the Lord through song, even if it was only me and the person who wrote that encouraging note.

When the two ladies first knocked on our door, I didn’t know what to think. They called themselves “sisters” and said they were missionaries for a church with a long name I couldn’t remember. I had never heard of that church and they didn’t look like missionaries to me. The missionaries I knew from other churches were older-looking men and women. They didn’t pay much attention to us because we were just children, even though I was almost ten years old and some people said I was a young man.
My mother invited the missionaries inside and they told us a story about a boy named Joseph who had a vision, just like the prophets in the Bible stories. When Joseph was eighteen, he was praying one night and an angel called Moroni visited him. The angel told him about some gold plates that were hidden in a mountainside. The angel told Joseph where to look for the plates and what to do with them. Imagine what it would be like if an angel came and told you about a secret hiding place for real gold plates! It sounded like a wonderful adventure. I was curious to know more about those gold plates.
The sisters showed us a book. They said it was from a translation of the plates that had ancient writing on them. God had given Joseph the power to translate the writing into a language we understood. All this happened in the United States, but the sisters said the book was for everyone, including everyone who lived in my country of Brazil. They left the book with us and told us to read it and pray about what we read. Mother kept it and asked them to come back another day.
Missionaries from other churches had visited our home before, so I didn’t think very much about the book or the sisters. Usually after some big discussions that I couldn’t understand, the missionaries would stop coming and mother would tell me that she didn’t believe what they taught her. I thought the same thing would happen with these two sisters, even though I thought they were nice.
But these sisters kept coming back. And each time they taught us, mother said she believed in what they said and wanted them to teach her more. I liked them more each time they came and I was as excited to see them as my little brother and sister were. The sisters taught lessons that I could understand and asked me questions that I could answer. They even wanted us to ask them questions if we didn’t understand. Then we would all play games together. The sisters said I was lindo with my straight brown hair and big brown eyes. I turned red because not very many people said I was handsome.
Soon we were going to church and doing things with the children in the Primary. My teacher was very friendly and even asked me to be one of the wise men in the festa de Natal, the Christmas play. My brother and sister were asked to sing in the choir. I read about the birth of Jesus in the Bible to memorize my part. The reis magos [three Magi] were important men and I was happy to play the part of one.
By this time, the sister missionaries asked us to be baptized. When I talked to mother about it, she said she prayed and knew what the sisters taught was true and she felt good about the Church. She knew the Book of Mormon was from God and she wanted me to know too. When I prayed about what the sisters taught, I felt good, but I wasn’t sure that I had a testimony of the Book of Mormon like they said I should have.
One day, the sisters brought us uma surpresa—a surprise that would help me and my sister and brother know the Book of Mormon was true. It was a storybook with colored pictures telling the stories of the prophets in the Book of Mormon. “This is my chance to know if it’s true or not,” I thought to myself. I wanted to read it right away.
After the sisters left that night, I got ready for bed and started reading the storybook. Then I remembered that the sisters told me to pray before I read it. I knelt down to say my prayers and I asked Heavenly Father to help me know that the Book of Mormon is true. I said if I could stay awake until I finished reading the book, I would know that it was true. Then I started reading and was excited about the big trip Lehi and his family took across the waters in the barca [ship], and the wars between the people in the land. I liked reading about the 2,000 jovens guerreiros—the young warriors who fought for their families. I wished I was one of them. Before I knew it, I was finished with the book. And I wasn’t even tired.
Then I knew that the Book of Mormon was true and that everything the sisters taught was right. But the greatest thing to know was that Heavenly Father loved me so much he answered my prayer. Now I knew that if I obeyed his commandments he would answer my prayers. I was ready to be baptized.
Mother and I prepared for our baptisms. My brother and sister were too young to be baptized but they couldn’t wait until it was their turn. When the Elder baptized me and I came out of the water, I was proud and excited to be a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—a name I would never forget.

As I neared my 12th birthday, there were several requirements to be completed before I could graduate from Primary. One was to recite the thirteen Articles of Faith in the prescribed order. The first twelve articles were relatively easy, but the thirteenth was much more difficult. It was remembering the order of the virtues that presented the challenge. Thanks to a Primary teacher who was patient and persistent, I finally completed the memorization. …
“We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things” (Articles of Faith 1:13).

How we rejoiced almost six years later when the Sydney Australia Temple was dedicated in September 1984. We drove 1100 km to attend the temple dedication. From then on, faithful saints from Melbourne and Brisbane regularly participated in weekend bus trips (12 hours each way) to the Sydney Australia Temple—leaving after work on Friday, spending Saturday in the temple and then journeying back overnight on Saturday to arrive in time for church on Sunday.

Invite the bishop to come to some of your youth activities. I can remember going on a campout when I was a bishop and falling asleep in the back of the bus. Somewhere there is a picture of me asleep with my mouth open and a wild flower placed inside. My own sons were part of the practical joke. We all grew closer together when the youth got me out of my blue suit and enjoyed some relaxing time with me. If the bishop knows how much you want him to be with you, he will try to find time to be part of your special activities.

In order to field test the program, the New Era asked the students at the Highland High School Seminary in Pocatello, Idaho, to give gift subscriptions to their friends and see what happened. At the beginning of the program the seminary student council gave each student a marble to put in his or her back pocket, coin purse, or some other place where it would be hard to ignore. When the student gave a gift subscription, he was allowed to return the marble to a special thermometer board that would measure the program’s progress. Some students had more names than money, and some had more money than names, so both kinds gave what they had the most of. As a result, over 200 marbles found their way out of pockets and purses and onto the thermometer board, and about 180 New Eras found their way to brand-new mailboxes.
Unfortunately, the program is only about three months old as this article is being written, so no one knows what the final results will be, but a few things are clear already. Within a week or so of the day the student council first shared the idea with the students, an unexpected result developed across the street at the high school. It was clearly becoming a mark of status among the non-Mormon half of the studentbody to be given a New Era subscription. Even the rare students who didn’t want the magazine went around with wrinkled brows if they weren’t at least given a chance to turn it down.
Most of the seminary students found it easier to give a New Era than to bring up the gospel in any other way, and yet some of them still approached giving the gift with some fear and a little trembling. What if the gift were rejected? What if a friend were offended? They were amazed at the overwhelmingly positive reaction. Their friends were not only willing but eager to receive the New Era. There were exceptions of course. A few students wanted nothing to do with anything Mormon. A few parents objected, but those cases were a small handful, and it was never hard to find another friend who would say yes. Having given one subscription, students found themselves wanting to give another. One girl gave five. Another said, “Whenever I see someone now, I think, ‘I wonder if I ought to give him the New Era and the Book of Mormon and then maybe see if he wants the missionary discussions.’”
Captain M was starting to stir in Pocatello, Idaho. Improvising on the program, one girl sought out the most anti-Mormon teacher in the school and informed him she was giving him a subscription to the Ensign. Astonished, he accepted.
Robin Oakey caught the spirit of the program and gave a subscription to his friend Tony Collings. Robin probably won’t hesitate to do it again sometime because Tony was recently baptized. The New Era didn’t do it alone, of course, but it certainly didn’t seem to hurt any.
Susie Finlayson had been trying for some time to get a friend to have the missionary discussions, but he “kept not being too excited.” She gave him a subscription to the New Era, and while he was waiting for the first issue to arrive, someone gave him a couple of old copies so that he would know what he was getting. A day or two later he stopped Susie in the hall. “I’ve got a poem for you,” he said. He then quoted from memory a poem he had read in the New Era. A few weeks later he asked if he could start taking the missionary discussions. That success reminded Susie of another friend she had given the New Era to a year earlier. She checked with him and found that he was feeling bad because the subscription had ended. He is now receiving the New Era again.
The students found that even those who weren’t too excited about the gift at first usually warmed up after the first New Era came. One day at a debate tournament, Cherie Allen and some friends worked up enough courage to ask a non-Mormon debater if he would accept a New Era subscription.
“Do you take the New Era?”
“That Mormon magazine? Of course not.”
“Well, we’d like to send you one, then.”
“Fine! With the energy shortage I can use it for firewood.”
Cherie and her friends were a little crestfallen at the flippant response, but they gave the young man the magazine anyway. A few weeks later he sought Cherie out and said warmly, “Cherie, thanks for sending the New Era to me. I really like it.”

I returned home after my mission to discover that circumstances had not improved for my family. My father was still unemployed. Two cousins invited me to live with them in Kibera—the toughest area in Nairobi. There, I created a spot to call home.
Gangs ruled in Kibera, but I stayed clear of crime-ridden areas. I felt out of place, but my cousins helped protect me, making sure others knew I was religious and was to be respected.
Food in the slums amounted to water and a chocolate paste that formed something of a doughnut. I chose to eat at night. Every morning, I woke up hungry. In church, I did my best to smile and be happy so members would not know of my hunger.
During this time, I served as elders quorum president in the Langata Branch and attended school when possible. On Sunday afternoons, I walked with the branch president to visit members, aware that our white shirts made us easy targets for gangs. But we felt heaven as we served others, and my cousins watched over us as we walked the dusty streets.
Despite difficult times, says Brother Omondi, “with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.”
This was a difficult time, but with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.

One day I came home from school very sad because I had to write a story and I didn’t know what to write. My mom and I talked about how Heavenly Father could help me if I prayed and asked for help. My mom and I prayed together. The next day I was able to write a story, and it was easy. I was so happy. I told my mom that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. The words just came to me when it was time to write!
Evan N., age 8, Washington

From the time I was a young girl I wanted a Bible of my own. But it wasn’t until I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and felt a great need to get to know my Savior that I promised to buy a Bible the next chance I had.
The Church was new in my area in Venezuela, and orders for books could only be filled when someone traveled in person to mission headquarters. My branch president, who was a full-time missionary, was aware of my need. One day he told me that he would be traveling to the mission office in three days. I explained to him that even though the Bible cost very little money, at that moment I did not have it. I told him I would get it before he left, and he agreed to stop by my home on his way to the mission office.
The day of his trip arrived and I still did not have the money, so I appealed to the Lord in prayer. When I finished praying, my worry disappeared and I felt a great peace. I had barely risen from my knees when someone knocked at the door. I opened it and saw a young mother with a baby in her arms.
“I live just behind your house,” she said with a smile. “I don’t know you, but I need a favor, and for some reason I decided to come here.” She asked me to watch her baby for a short time, saying she would pay me. I agreed to do it.
By the time she returned, I had decided that I wouldn’t take her money. But she insisted and placed in my hand the exact amount I needed for the Bible. What tender emotions I felt at that moment! I knew that the Lord had answered my prayer.

The ability to receive a patriarchal blessing was a profound opportunity for the British Saints, to strengthen their testimonies and better understand what it was the Lord would have them do. At a London district conference in 1932, Samuel Bantock, a seventy-three-year-old member, was filled with excitement. With tears in his eyes and a glowing face, he rushed up to President John Widstoe and whispered, “The Patriarch told me that my life’s offering was acceptable to the Lord. Think of it. The Lord is pleased with my humble efforts! I would rather know that than… possess all the riches or honour of earth.”10

With hands clasped together, the two men stood facing each other with tears in their eyes. Samuel had truly learned how to measure the values of life. Recalling the event, President Widstoe stated, “How many of the hundreds who in this land have received their patriarchal blessings during the last six months, place the true value upon them, as did this veteran soldier in the army of the Lord?”

The patriarchal blessing was of profound value and importance to Samuel, and he was filled with gratitude that he had the opportunity to receive it. He was one of the almost 1,400 members who received patriarchal blessings during the Wallis’ two-year mission. However, the work grew heavy and in March 1933, John B Stagg, a Lincolnshire-born missionary, was assigned to be the patriarch’s recording secretary.11 This extra support enabled the Wallises to continue their monumental assignment.

Let me tell you of one young woman who has demonstrated remarkable strength in the face of great tragedy. On April 17, 1999, a big van broadsided a car and severely injured 16-year-old Emily Jensen. Her skull was fractured, and she was in a coma for three months, and six months in the hospital. She has had to learn everything again as if from birth. It would have been easy to give up, but giving up is not in Emily’s vocabulary. She works so hard at recovery that she runs the equivalent of a 26-mile marathon every day. Her faith, courage, and perseverance have strengthened and motivated many other hospital patients.

Emily is still working very hard to regain her speech. Even so, she fearlessly asks nurses, technicians, and therapists, “Are you a Mormon?” If they reply no, she tells them in her muddled sentences, “You should be. Read the Book of Mormon.”

Emily dictated to her mother what she wanted written in five copies of the Book of Mormon that she gave to a doctor, three therapists, and a technician before she left the hospital.

Emily dearly loved one technician who had become totally inactive in the Church. They prayed together in Emily’s hospital room. In language that was difficult to understand, but with a spirit that was strong and clear, Emily told her that she needed to go back to church. That technician later wrote Emily: “I want to thank you so much for the Book of Mormon you gave me. I cried when I read what you wrote. I know someday I will love this book as much as you do.”

Emily’s life was recently brightened at Skyline High School in Salt Lake City. The student body picked her as this year’s prom queen in recognition of her extraordinary courage. Her classmates stood and cheered as she struggled to the stage of the packed auditorium, supported on the arm of the student body president.

Though she continues to go each day for therapy, Emily’s life is still defined by her spiritual identity, her goodness, her kindness to others, and her strong testimony.

My children munched their popcorn excitedly as I told them a story about something that had happened to me when I was young.
“I was sitting on the school bus as Jerry came down the aisle looking for the kid who had turned in his friend for vandalizing the school. One by one Jerry grabbed each kid and tried to force a confession. I was scared—really scared—because I was the one he was looking for! I looked to see if I could jump out the window, but I couldn’t. Jerry was getting closer.”
Every one of my children stopped eating their popcorn.
“Jerry grabbed a skinny kid with glasses,” I continued. “‘You finked, didn’t you?’ he demanded.
“‘No, I didn’t,’ the kid insisted.
“But Jerry didn’t believe him. ‘You are going to get it!’ he yelled, and the skinny kid started to cry. What should I do? I was off the hook, but here was an innocent kid facing a beating for something I had done.”
By now my children were feeling a bit of the same anxiety I had felt.
“I prayed for help,” I told my children, “and the thought came, ‘What would Jesus do?’ I stood up and yelled, ‘Leave him alone! He didn’t do it—I did!’”
My children sat with their mouths open, waiting to hear what had happened to me—their dad—not to some television character.
This is the real power and magic of storytelling.
Our family loves to have story time on Sunday evenings. We prepare a treat, and each member of the family comes prepared to tell a story. Sharing life histories through storytelling has been a delightful way for us to increase our love for one another and to help our children appreciate their heritage.
My wife, Jean, and I were surprised at first that our children really wanted to hear about our experiences. But these stories, even told in the simplest way, weave a magic that creates memories for our children.
We also like to tell stories from the lives of our ancestors. Their life histories are rich treasures waiting to be shared. Over the years, I have retold stories told me earlier by my grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. For example:
“In order to keep his promise to your great-grandma when the army sent him home, your great-grandpa rode his horse all night, through the freezing cold, to get home before Christmas.”
“One day a tramp stopped at the house and asked Ma for a handout. She fed the man a complete meal and sent him off with a day’s worth of food.”
These stories help my children understand more of what it means to be part of an extended family and what is expected of them as disciples of Christ. If we prayerfully seek them, we can find spiritual lessons in even the simplest events we, our parents, or our grandparents have experienced.
Consider the message in this experience I had with my father.
“I had stopped crying,” I told my children, “but my pillow was still wet when my dad came into my room. He knelt by my bed. It was then I saw that he had been crying, too.
“‘I’m sorry,’ my dad said. ‘I guess I forget that you’re still a little boy. I want you to take good care of your dog, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. Can you forgive me, Son?’
“‘Sure, Dad,’ I answered.
“He gave me a big hug. We were both crying.”
From the look in my kids’ eyes, I knew they understood what I was trying to tell them.

It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.

Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”

“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.

I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.

“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.

She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.

She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”

I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.

I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

Now, around the fire in Whitehorse after a Sunday of worship and a delicious meal with the Whitehorse Saints, we were reliving the experience one more time before starting home the next morning. As the fire died away, the chill went unnoticed in the warmth of the Spirit. A theme of priesthood and prayer threaded the testimonies.
“The last day as we were rushing to meet the train, we stopped at a rock outcropping to rest, and Brother Woolley asked me to say a prayer. As I knelt upon the earth, tears streamed down my face and an overwhelming feeling of sweet humility filled my being. I felt an overpowering desire to always be close to my Heavenly Father and live so I would please him. The words poured from my mouth and I prayed publicly for the first time in my life by the Spirit. I was prompted to ask for strength and that we might make the train on time. We did. I also asked for a special blessing upon the girls behind us. It was incredible, but they reached the station only 15 minutes to a half hour behind us. I’m so very thankful I had this camping experience and the opportunity to rely so heavily on the Lord.”

He was still only a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, but Grandpa (Lorenzo Snow) was president of the Salt Lake Temple, so Chauncey was ordained an elder and received his endowments. He also participated in baptisms for the dead. He enjoyed almost a unique opportunity to examine the interior of the Temple:
“We started to see the interior of the Temple at one o’clock and went in the six towers as far as we could safely get. We went almost to the top of the west, middle tower, up past the last strait projection. I never care to be in a nicer place than the Temple. When we came back down, I sat in the chair made for the President of the Temple (my Grandpa). It was as soft and easy as life could wish to rest upon. I walked over the top of the Temple. We came out after 3 hours of walking and seeing. I went through as thoroughly as anybody and more than visitors and workers.”
The next day, too, he spent time looking through the Temple, “and enjoyed myself very much under its holy roof.”

Number 50 Rock Street, Lowell, Massachusetts, could be the home of any one of thousands of southeast Asian families that have settled in this city of 100,000. But 50 Rock Street is the home of Chea Touch (pronounced Cheea Tooch), a 15-year-old Cambodian boy who was baptized three years ago. A member of the Lowell Branch, this remarkable young man has been directly responsible for the baptisms of many other Asian friends.
“It has not been easy for my family and me to come to a new country. There are many things we don’t understand, and we have many struggles. The elders have shown us that they care about us and they want us to be happy,” says Chea. He adds, “I’ve always known I have a Heavenly Father who loves me. It’s been wonderful to learn more about him and know what I must do to return to him. I want my friends to know the truth so they can have the happiness I do.”
Chea’s story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At the time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.
Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues. “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten in 1979 when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is eight, and Dani, age six.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would come to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “He would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
Smiling, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”
Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his new-found knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”
For Chea it is not a sacrifice but a real joy to share Heavenly Father’s message. “Each time I go with the elders I seem to learn something new. I enjoy learning about how to return to Heavenly Father—what I must do and what I must avoid.”
Irene Danjou, Chea’s former Primary president, remembers, “Each Sunday he would bring a different friend to church. He’d introduce them to me, spell their names, tell me their ages, and sit with them until they felt comfortable. Then he would go to his own class. He did this every week for a whole year!”
One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts together. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his big smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Chea, it sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.
Chea loves to fish and play basketball and enjoys video games. Like other Cambodian youth in America, he plays an important role in helping his parents learn their new language and culture. The adults spend long hours working to make ends meet and don’t have much free time to learn English. The youth, on the other hand, pick up the language quickly and bring it home. Chea’s been particularly fortunate. Along with his regular public school classes, he’s in a special program at a private learning center. Director of the center Joan O’Brien sees Chea as a unique child. “I think he’s a youngster who will be a real leader in the Cambodian culture. He’s like a water pitcher that cannot be filled.”

One day in April 2024, I was looking through one of the family history pages on Facebook when I saw a post which caught my eye. It mentioned a William Cross living in the Hafod, which is part of Swansea where I live and grew up. I thought: William Cross? That’s my great-grandfather.
Cross isn’t a common name in Swansea and my great-grandfather was originally from Huntingdonshire. The lady who wrote the post was looking for relatives of William Cross. She had a Bible and she wanted to return it to the family. From what I could gather she and her family had moved into the house in Grandison Street where my grandparents had lived. She’d found the Bible in the house.
I phoned her and explained who I was and we arranged to meet. She gave me the Bible and I was in tears. When I saw it, I thought: I’ve seen this before. I must have seen it when I was a youngster.
William Cross was born in 1840. I couldn’t find out when he came to Swansea, but my daughter and I found him there in the 1871 census. He married Mary Thomas in 1871 in St Mary’s church. She was from Walton in Pembrokeshire and was working in Swansea, I’m assuming as a domestic. He was living in the same area of the town. They moved into 11 Grandison Street where all the children were born. My grandfather, Walter, was their youngest child.
I was thrilled to have my great-grandfather’s Bible, because it’s part of him. It was given to him. On the front page is written: “William Cross, his book, a present from his loving mother.” The Bible is very frail. I’m almost afraid to handle it. I would like to have it re-bound, but it wouldn’t have the same character. Even though it’s all dog-eared and broken, you can still make out who it belonged to. It gives me a bit of insight into my great-grandparents. They died before I was born.
The Bible has a list of the children in the front. I knew who they were because I’d heard of them. And my grandfather was there, so it was my close family. But among the list of children there were two I didn’t know anything about. I’ve since taken their names to the temple, so I think the family is now complete. And I think that’s why the Bible came to me.

Many years ago, President Harold B. Lee recounted to me an experience of a President Ballantyne who grew up in Star Valley, Wyoming. This is harsh country. The summers are short and fleeting, while the winters linger and chill. President Ballantyne told of a special Christmas season from his boyhood days. He said:
“Father had a large family; and sometimes after we had our harvest, there was not much left after expenses were paid. So Father would have to go away and hire out to some of the big ranchers for maybe a dollar a day. He earned little more than enough to take care of himself, with very little to send home to Mother and the children. Things began to get pretty skimpy for us.
“We had our family prayers around the table; and it was on one such night when Father was gone that we gathered and Mother poured out of a pitcher, into the glass of each one, milk divided among the children—but none for herself. And I, sensing that the milk in the pitcher was all that we had, pushed mine over to Mother and said, ‘Here, Mother. You drink mine.’
“‘No, Mother is not hungry tonight.’
“It worried me. We drank our milk and went to bed, but I could not sleep. I got up and tiptoed down the stairs, and there was Mother, in the middle of the floor, kneeling in prayer. She did not hear me as I came down in my bare feet, and I dropped to my knees and heard her say, ‘Heavenly Father, there is no food in our house. Please, Father, touch the heart of somebody so that my children will not be hungry in the morning.’
“When she finished her prayer, she looked around and saw that I had heard; and she said to me, somewhat embarrassed, ‘Now, you run along, son. Everything will be all right.’
“I went to bed, assured by Mother’s faith. The next morning, I was awakened by the sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen and the aroma of cooking food. I went down to the kitchen, and I said, ‘Mother, I thought you said there was no food.’
“All she said to me was, ‘Well, my boy, didn’t you think the Lord would answer my prayer?’ I received no further explanation than that.
“Years passed, and I went away to college. I got married, and I returned to see the old folks. Bishop Gardner, now reaching up to a ripe age, said to me, ‘My son, let me tell you of a Christmas experience that I had with your family. I had finished my chores, and we had had supper. I was sitting by the fireplace reading the newspaper. Suddenly, I heard a voice that said, “Sister Ballantyne doesn’t have any food in her house.” I thought it was my wife speaking and said, “What did you say, Mother?” She came in wiping her hands on her apron and said, “Did you call me, Father?”
“‘“No, I didn’t say anything to you, but I heard a voice which spoke to me.”
“‘“What did it say?” she asked.
“‘“It said that Sister Ballantyne didn’t have any food in her house.”
“‘“Well, then,” said Mother, “you had better put on your shoes and your coat and take some food to Sister Ballantyne.” In the dark of that winter’s night, I harnessed the team and placed in the wagon bed a sack of flour, a quarter section of beef, some bottled fruit, and loaves of newly baked bread. The weather was cold, but a warm glow filled my soul as your mother welcomed me and I presented her with the food. God had heard a mother’s prayer.’”

I chose to arrange the next two family home evenings, focusing on faith. I started off by preparing the lessons and trying to learn the chords on the guitar for the songs we would sing.
The first lesson was on faith. I asked what we as a family could change to grow our faith. They replied, “Praying, studying scriptures, fasting, going to church,” and so on. We agreed that there are many things you can do to grow your faith, but the most important thing is to actually do them. It’s important that you act in order to strengthen your faith.
The second lesson was on spiritual gifts. We talked about what faith and spiritual gifts had to do with each other.
Our faith-themed family home evenings went really well. We improved some things in our family; we had fun and tried not to just get it over with. We felt the Spirit together as a family.
Riza S., 16, Roskilde, Denmark