Gospel Story Finder

Both Nikolai Chemezov and his wife, Asiya, of the Kharkivs’kyi Ward, were introduced to the gospel in their youth—Nikolai as an eight-year-old and Asiya as a teenager.
“Ever since I was baptized, I knew that Heavenly Father’s plan was the path of exaltation,” Brother Chemezov says. “The Church’s teachings on the divine mission of the family have always been important to me.”
Sister Chemezova also realized the importance of eternal families at a young age. “When I attended church as a young woman, I was taught how important it is to enter into sacred temple covenants,” she says. “I always dreamed of a temple marriage, and I always tried to be worthy of being able to be married in the temple.”
The couple began dating in 2009. As love blossomed and conversations began to turn toward marriage, the two already knew what would be their next step. “When they announced that the Kyiv Temple would be dedicated in August 2010, we decided we would be sealed there,” Sister Chemezova says.
“It’s good we didn’t have to wait too long,” Brother Chemezov adds.
The couple was sealed in marriage on September 1, 2010.
“It was the most wonderful day of my life,” Brother Chemezov says. “I felt blessed to take the hand of my dear Asiya and take her to the house of the Lord. It is safe to say that on that day my dream came true—the dream of creating an eternal family.”

One year the young women in my ward participated in an interesting experiment related to dressing modestly. Here’s an account of one young woman who learned about this gospel principle and applied it to her life.
Anna Larsen* was excited that her turn to shop for clothes had finally come. Sister Jensen, her Laurel adviser, had taken each girl in the class shopping to learn a modesty lesson. Anna wasn’t sure what to expect.
When they arrived at the store, Sister Jensen asked Anna to pick out three outfits. As they walked to the dressing room, Sister Jensen said, “After you’ve put on an outfit, come out. Be prepared to have your eyes opened.”
Intrigued by her leader’s directions, Anna put on the sleeveless button-down shirt and hip-hugging skirt. When she walked out, Sister Jensen motioned her to the mirrors. “Now we’re going to play a game.”
“I doubt the clerks would be happy with me playing in their clothes before I’ve bought them,” Anna said.
Sister Jensen laughed and shook her head. “We’re going to play ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.’”
Anna looked skeptical.
“I’m serious,” Sister Jensen said. “Let’s start with your head.”
Anna put her hands on her head and saw her shirt pull up, baring her skin. “Oops,” she gasped, tugging it back down.
Sister Jensen put Anna’s hands back up. “That’s part of the game. You see how much your shirt lifts up? Now try shoulders,” Sister Jensen said.
When Anna dropped her hands to her shoulders she noticed even more showing inside the armholes. She also saw the shirt straining at the buttons.
“Now bend over and touch your knees and toes,” Sister Jensen advised.
Between her shirt and skirt was a two-inch gap. “Wow,” Anna said.
“I know,” Sister Jensen said. “Now, go try on the next outfit.”
After repeating the game twice more, Anna’s mood dimmed. None of her outfits had completely passed the “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” test.
“Don’t worry,” Sister Jensen said. “There’s hope. You just have to know how to put things together.” For the next hour Sister Jensen showed Anna how to layer different clothes to make them modest and stylish. She then challenged Anna to look through her closet and see if any changes needed to be made.
Later that night Anna looked at the mess on her bed. It had been overwhelming trying everything on to see what was modest or immodest. With a sigh she picked up one particular pile and carried it to her mom.
“Mom, I was wondering if I could donate these clothes.”
“Sure, honey. Why?” her mom replied.
Anna smiled. “Have you ever played ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes’?”

In the final analysis, however, it is his kindness that makes dad a special man, a special parent. I’ve seen him engaged in quiet deeds of goodness from the time I was small: playing catch with a seven-year-old neighborhood girl, writing a personal letter of encouragement to a sixth-grade boy, inviting a nephew to eat with him at the training table. Dad is a man with a great gift for humble acts of kindness. I’ll never forget one evening when this gift made the difference to me. When I was a young girl, our ward used to sponsor an event known as the daddy-daughter dinner date. Now this was an occasion that I looked forward to with a good deal of excitement. Being proud of my father, I naturally seized any opportunity to show him off and the daddy-daughter dinner date seemed like the ideal occasion to do so. After weeks of anticipation, we Primary girls made and delivered invitations to our fathers. I watched eagerly as dad read mine. He looked at the flimsy construction paper I had given him, and then he looked at me.
“I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to be out of town that week. There’s nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” I tried hard not to show my disappointment. I even opened my eyes wide so that the tears I felt coming would dry before they had a chance to spill down my face. “Well, that’s okay.”
He gave me an affectionate hug. Looking back on it now, I realize that he was as unhappy about the whole state of affairs as I was.
During the week before the daddy-daughter dinner date, my parents made arrangements with our bishop to be my special escort. The day before the event, my father left town after apologizing once again for having to leave.
The day of the dinner date arrived quickly. On the way home from school, listening to my friends chatter excitedly about the evening’s planned activities, I made a silent decision not to go; as nice as the bishop was, I preferred to stay home and feel sorry for myself. When I shuffled into the house, prepared to tell my mother that the whole thing was off, I found a surprise waiting for me in the living room: my father was sitting by himself on the sofa.
“Well,” he said, “is the date still on?”
It wasn’t until some years later that I learned just what my father’s act of kindness cost him in terms of time and money. In addition to losing one day of valuable recruiting time, dad had to purchase another round-trip ticket so that he could fly out once again on the following morning. That night, though, I had no idea of the sacrifice he had made to be my escort—I was too busy having the best time of my life.

I first learned the principle of priesthood caring from my own father and grandfather, but I have also seen it manifested by thousands of worthy men. I learned great lessons of priesthood caring as a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood. I was assigned to serve as a junior home teaching companion to a great Scandinavian immigrant named Algot Johnson from Malmo, Sweden. I learned to admire everything about him, including his endearing Swedish accent. He taught me the true meaning of the Lord’s instruction to the teachers:
“The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always, and be with and strengthen them;
“And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking;
“And see that the church meet together often, and also see that all the members do their duty.”
Brother Johnson had paid a great price to leave his beloved Sweden and come to the United States. He was very dedicated. Despite the difference in our ages, we became lifelong friends. When he became our ward Sunday School superintendent, he asked for me to be his counselor. I was only 17 years of age. He was a successful contractor, and when I returned home from World War II, he built my first home. When I graduated from law school, I did legal work for him, and when I billed him for my legal services, he paid me more than I asked. That did not happen very often. I cite this experience to emphasize the importance of giving every Aaronic Priesthood holder the opportunity to serve as a junior companion to faithful Melchizedek Priesthood holders.

Sister Lusanne Libretto, a member of the group traveling to Brazil, had an unforgettable experience at the temple. She recalls, “This was my most profound moment since I joined the Church.”
Early in the morning on September 13, 2024, the group attended the temple to do baptisms for their ancestors. Lusanne was given five names to be baptized for. She sat quietly in the chapel, waiting for her husband to change his clothes while the rest of the group entered the baptistry. As she waited, she felt strangely restless, as if she was being urged to go inside and start the baptisms immediately. She said, “I literally felt that I was being pushed forward. I passed the entire group, and to the surprise of my fellow brothers and sisters, I was helped first. They wondered why I was in such a rush to pass them to the first row, and rightly so. Once I started the baptisms, the first name I was given was that of Eva Doorson [Imro Wehl’s great-aunt].”
Later that evening, when Lusanne returned for another ordinance session, she received Eva Doorson’s name again. She was amazed and felt a strong bond with the deceased woman as if Eva had chosen Lusanne to help her.
At the end of another ordinance session, Lusanne said, “I was tired, but a temple worker handed me one more name to complete in addition to the five I had already done. To my surprise, it was Eva Doorson again. With tears in my eyes, I knew with certainty that she wanted and had chosen me to do all her work at the temple. I never asked for her name, but I kept getting it pressed into my hands. Even though I was exhausted, I felt grateful that I had listened to the gentle promptings of the Spirit.”

A young man stood in the dim morning light, snow dusting his shoulders. He held a formidable snowball in his hand and shrank against the wall like a TV detective.
“You’ve got five minutes,” he bawled, “and then I’m coming in after you!”
Before the deadline, girls started spilling into the cold, breathing white columns as they crunched to breakfast with the young men waiting outside for them.
The Laurels and priests from Pocatello, Idaho, had arrived in West Yellowstone, Montana, to find themselves in a Christmas-card city that lay under seven feet of snow. Snowmobiles outnumbered cars on the city streets, and even tall people had to look up to see the tops of drifts. The young people were in town to make a 50-mile, round-trip snowmobile journey to Old Faithful.
They gathered around a line of snow-covered snowmobiles and, like medieval warriors, started helping each other suit up in their thermal armor—goggles, helmets, fur caps, stocking caps, and ear muffs; fur coats, leather coats, and ski-tagged parkas; ski masks, scarves, and knitted mufflers; quilted jump suits, ski pants, levis, and bib overalls; mittens, ski gloves, dress gloves, and snowmobiling gauntlets; hiking boots, snowmobiling boots, moon boots, and waffle stompers; and a flurry of other odds and ends in a rainbow of colors. When they were finally ready to face the potentially sub-zero weather, they looked like the first wave of a Martian invasion. And in a brief moment of silence as they admired the science fiction effect, a female voice wailed, “My earring’s stuck in my muffler!”
It was not the kind of morning they had dreamed about. Instead of a burning blue sky and sparkling drifts there was the gray pall of a snowstorm; and the shiver down their backs wasn’t excitement, it was wet snow. But the group brought its own sunshine, and their happy laughter made it clear that weather could not spoil the trip. When they gathered in the snow for prayer and thanked the Lord for the beautiful day, it was obvious that they really meant it.
Their guide explained safety rules and gave a few instructions on the operation of the machines. Then with the twanging of taut pull-cords, the engines roared to life, and the adventure began.
They skimmed along the road that carries caravans of tourist cars in the summer, but now it was under many feet of packed snow. Flying through the thick of the storm, they all soon became white statues, and from a distance their headlights looked like a string of pale torches winding through the mountains of some other century.
The veil of snow gave the world an aspect not only of timelessness but of placelessness; all sharp edges were blurred, and the landscape had the unreal quality of a Monet painting. Forests of dark trees became horizontal sweeps of vertical shadows, and mountain peaks dim vacancies of an uncertain distance.
The road ran along the Firehole River where swans floated and complacent elk fed along the shore as if all alone in the world. Upstream the river narrowed into a deep gorge, and snowmobilers wound along the side of it, slicing through a universe of clean white powder and feeling like explorers on some other world.
They stopped by a waterfall that plummeted from precipice to precipice and sent white spray up into the white snow. It was more like a vision than a view, and the young men and women were one moment boisterous with the exuberance of it and the next moment silent with an overwhelming sense of awe.
Miles of snow and scenery later, there were buffalo. They materialized out of the great, shaggy-gray shadows, too beautiful to be true. Later there were more of them in a broad, open meadow, and beyond the immense white of the meadow, the dark line of another forest, like a landscape from Dr. Zhivago.
They left the river and turned their runners down narrow, powdery lanes between tall evergreens, past boiling mud pots and geysers steaming in the snow—on to Old Faithful.
There was time then for lunch and some much-needed rest in the visitors’ center at Old Faithful. “Why are we so tired if we’ve been sitting down?” asked one young man as he sprawled on a bench, his snow gear scattered around him on the floor.
The deep snow outside and a little free time were too great a temptation, and soon a mammoth snow battle was in progress. Peace wasn’t fully restored until it was time for Old Faithful to blow. It turned out to be a subdued spectacle, a next-to-invisible shaft of blue-gray steam against the blue-gray sky. But the contrast to a summer eruption only made the wonder of the situation more intense. It was strange to stand in winter where so many thousands of people had stood in the summer, strange because they now stood high above the ground on a platform of snow in the heart of a kingdom that until a few years ago was inaccessible in the wintertime. It was like being able to visit the far side of the moon.
Going home there was time for a stop at some mud pots, some more close-up wildlife study, and a lot more snow. Almost everybody ran out of gas, and some snowmobiles broke down, but there was a mechanic bringing up the rear with fuel and spare parts, so no one had to winter it out.
In a sort of farewell gesture the sun broke through for a while down the home stretch and displayed a silver river, with silver rushes, silver swans, and a snow-silver forest beyond.
By the time the machines were parked, everyone was cold, wet, tired, sore, and limp. Mascara had run down over cheek bones, noses were red, and hair was plastered to foreheads. These young Mormons were beautiful.
What had they learned from the experience? Only what they already knew—that they were friends, in spite of the fact that they came from two arch-rival Pocatello high schools, that God’s works are beautiful, that doing wholesome things with good people is fun—but it was good to learn it all again.

A short time ago I stood in a family circle while the husband of one of our granddaughters blessed their new little son, Mark. As he blessed little Mark, he prayed that Mark would someday go on a mission and, when he returned, find a sweet, young companion and be sealed in the temple. As he pronounced these blessings upon little Mark, I had the desire that he might know what I know and feel what I feel about some of the spiritual blessings that have entered into my life. I desired that his life would also be filled with spiritual experiences similar to one I had 26 years ago today when I was called to be an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. On that same day, Elder Boyd K. Packer was called to the Quorum of the Twelve.
I remember the details well. I was called to the First Presidency’s office to meet with President Joseph Fielding Smith. His name would be presented the next day for sustaining as the new President and prophet of the Church, just as we have done today with President Hinckley. Harold B. Lee was to be sustained as the First Counselor and N. Eldon Tanner as the Second Counselor. They spent a few moments with me, extending the call, and then reminded me that the next morning my name would be read in the conference.
After that call was extended to me, I walked down the granite steps of the Administration Building. I felt amazement and wonder. How could this happen? How could this come to me? As I walked around the block, I thought and wondered about the changes that would come into my life now. How would I ever measure up to the responsibility that would now rest upon me? How could I go out and represent this great and glorious organization out in the world?
I was so overcome with my feelings as I walked around the block that I didn’t want to meet anyone I knew. I just wanted to find my wife, Ruby, and tell her what had happened. I went up to the ninth floor of the Hotel Utah, where Ruby was visiting with some family. I remember knocking on the door and opening it just a couple of inches so I could motion for her to come out. Of course, she wondered what was happening and came out into the hall.
I took her by the hand, and as we walked along the hallway, all I could do was squeeze her hand. I was so overcome with what had happened that I had trouble even getting the words out to tell her about it. Finally she stopped me and said, “Well, say something.” Then I looked at her, put my hands on her shoulders, and told her what had happened. She started to cry. The two of us stood there with our arms around one another and people walking by wondering who those silly boobs were crying in the hallway. But we didn’t pay any attention to the traffic because something momentous was happening to us. Our lives had been changed.
On the next day, a day like this, my name was read to be sustained and I was asked to come up and take one of these red chairs. I did so in all amazement. And then the Tabernacle Choir sang “O Divine Redeemer.” I thought my heart would break in the pleading of those words: “Remember not, remember not, O Lord, my sins.”
I would hope someday that our great-grandson Mark and others of our posterity would have similar spiritual experiences and that they would feel the spiritual power and influence of this gospel. I hope that Mark and others will have opportunities such as I had when I was in the temple when President Spencer W. Kimball received the revelation regarding the priesthood. I was the junior member of the Quorum of the Twelve. I was there. I was there with the outpouring of the Spirit in that room so strong that none of us could speak afterwards. We just left quietly to go back to the office. No one could say anything because of the powerful outpouring of the heavenly spiritual experience.
But just a few hours after the announcement was made to the press, I was assigned to attend a stake conference in Detroit, Michigan. When my plane landed in Chicago, I noticed an edition of the Chicago Tribune on the newsstand. The headline in the paper said, “Mormons Give Blacks Priesthood.” And the subheading said, “President Kimball Claims to Have Received a Revelation.” I bought a copy of the newspaper. I stared at one word in that subheading—claims. It stood out to me just like it was in red neon. As I walked along the hallway to make my plane connection, I thought, Here I am now in Chicago walking through this busy airport, yet I was a witness to this revelation. I was there. I witnessed it. I felt that heavenly influence. I was part of it. Little did the editor of that newspaper realize the truth of that revelation when he wrote, “… Claims to Have Received a Revelation.” Little did he know, or the printer, or the man who put the ink on the press, or the one who delivered the newspaper—little did any of them know that it was truly a revelation from God. Little did they know what I knew because I was a witness to it.
God lives. He is our Father. We are His children. He loves us. Jesus is the Christ, the Only Begotten of the Father in the flesh. He is our Savior, our Redeemer. He is our advocate with the Father. He is the one who died and suffered great agony, great humiliation, and great pain for us. The Restoration of the gospel is true. Someday we’ll know of the greatness of the Prophet Joseph Smith. All this work is true. I leave you my love and my witness, and I pray that you will live and raise your own families in such a way that you will be part of the great army needed to carry the message of hope and salvation to all the world. I leave my love and witness with you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The large classroom in the hospital for crippled children is full of children and laughter and clowns with rainbow-colored wigs and giant smiles.
The children have already laughed and shouted through exploding balloons and fun games. Now it’s time for clown bowling. The clowns are the bowling pins. A nurse is invited to bowl. She successfully aims a large ball at the clowns. But it never makes contact because the clowns jump and twist out of the way.
Now a little girl tries. Sitting in her wheelchair, she pushes the ball at the clowns as hard as she can, but it dribbles weakly off her lap and barely reaches the human bowling pins. The little bowler sighs, underestimating clown magic. As the ball gently nudges the foremost clown he hurls backwards as if struck by a truck, knocking down a second clown who ricochets into a third. The whole clown pile explodes like a grenade and falls apart, vanquished. The children cheer. When clowns are present, children always win.
When this day’s performance ends, the clowns move among the patients, making balloon animals and objects—dogs, cats, swords, giraffes, airplanes. They’ll try anything the children request, and even the failures are good fun. They also draw clown stars on the children’s faces.
All too soon the good times must end. The nurses who have laughed and cheered right along with their patients begin taking them away for medical treatment. The children devise delaying tactics, stretching out the farewell moment as long as they can. One little girl hugs a clown tight, then looks into his eyes. “I love you, clown,” she says. Finally, all the good-byes are said. The children go back to their rooms, feeling as if they have been touched by some special magic.

In the spring of 1848, you developed an interest in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, although your father, family, and friends did not share your enthusiasm. They did everything possible to persuade you to denounce the Church. Your father even locked up your clothes to keep you from attending Sunday meetings. But your faith was steadfast. In spite of persecution you struggled on.

Dear Ebenezer, despite your father’s opposition, you were baptized in April 1848, the only convert in your family.

Image from Getty Images
Christmas wasn’t Christmas. Although I tried to be merry with carols playing in the background, I pulled out the storage bins with a heavy heart. The snowman cookie jar only reminded me that there was no one to bake with. The Santa figurine seemed to say that there was little reason to hang stockings, and the peppermint-striped wrapping paper reminded me that morning wouldn’t bring the voices of excited children.
This year our youngest had left for college, and our house felt lonely and quiet. I chose only the non-Santa type decorations and placed everything else back in their boxes.
With my husband out of town, I decorated the tree alone. My daughter-in-law posted pictures online of my grandchildren hanging ornaments on their tree, and my heart yearned for yesterday. I wondered how time had slipped by so quickly. How had my children grow so fast? Lost in my thoughts, I looked down at the light bulb in my hand. It was a single red bulb.
I examined the color, a deep red. Crimson. I looked around at the simplicity of what was left of the decorations: a few nativities, a manger built from popsicle sticks, and a decoration that spelled out NOEL in gold letters. My eyes were wet. The bulb was red—red like the atoning blood of the Savior.
I thought about how I had always equated decorations, cookie cutouts, and children’s glee on Christmas morning with what made me happy at Christmastime. Then I thought about my children and their eternal families. I thought about all the joy I had in my family and the joy they had in their own. I pondered how the babe lying in the manger made that possible. A sweetness of warmth sprung in my heart as I contemplated the gift of the Savior—not just for me but for all mankind.
“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people” (Luke 2:10; emphasis added).
As I continued decorating the tree, I meditated on the humble birth and life of Jesus Christ. He came to mend the broken, build the downtrodden, comfort the lonely, bring peace in imperfection, and give compassion for suffering. He was born and died that we might live with Him in our Father’s kingdom once more. He came that man might know true happiness. My heart swelled and I found joy in Christ because Christ is Christmas.

Paul was looking for a book when someone pushed him into the shelf. The shelf wobbled, and several of the books almost fell. He turned around. Danny stood a few feet away, pretending to look for a book. He had his softball glove under his arm.
“Why did you do that?” Paul asked angrily.
Danny shrugged and started to walk away.
Paul caught him by the arm. “Why did you push me?”
“Don’t touch me,” Danny said, grabbing Paul’s arm.
Paul tried to pull his arm away, but Danny wouldn’t let go. They pushed and pulled until they both crashed into the shelf and fell, while books rained down on top of them.
“Paul, Danny, stop that right now,” the teacher said. “Stop fighting and pick up those books!”
“He started it,” Paul said as he stood up.
“Did not,” Danny said, still on the floor. He kicked at Paul’s leg from behind a desk where the teacher could not see.
“I don’t care how it started,” the teacher replied. “I want it stopped. Clean up that mess and go back to your desks. If I see you boys fighting again, I’ll send you both to the principal’s office.”
They picked up the books without looking at each other.
Paul sat at his desk with the book he’d picked out open in front of him, but he was too angry to read it. He looked over at Danny, who sat at his desk, picking at the stitching in his glove. Why was Danny out to get him all the time? Couldn’t the teacher see what was happening? Why did he have to get in trouble for something Danny did?
Paul felt miserable. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please bless me that Danny will get in trouble for bothering me, so he’ll leave me alone.”
He opened his eyes. He still felt miserable. Then he remembered the words to one of the songs he’d sung in Primary—“‘Jesus said love ev’ryone.’”*
Paul frowned. He didn’t want to hate Danny. But he didn’t want to love him either.
Recess came and his classmates started a softball game in the field. Paul stayed on a bench at the other end of the schoolyard. He had his softball glove in his backpack, but he didn’t want to play. Not if Danny was playing.
He looked down the field and noticed Danny wasn’t playing either. He sat at the edge of the field with his softball glove beside him.
Paul remembered the Primary song again—“‘Jesus said love ev’ryone.’”
His stomach twisted itself into a knot. He couldn’t go and talk to Danny. They’d get in another fight, and he’d be sent to the office. But as he thought of the words, “‘Jesus said love ev’ryone; treat them kindly too,’” he knew what he had to do.
Paul got up. He pulled his softball glove out of his backpack. He picked up one of the extra softballs and went over to Danny.
“Hi,” he said.
“What do you want?” Danny asked.
Paul held up the ball. “Do you want to play catch?”
Danny looked up at him for a moment. Then he picked up his glove. “OK.”
They started to toss the ball back and forth. Paul couldn’t throw very well, and said “sorry” every time he threw too short or too far to one side.
Danny didn’t complain. He just retrieved the ball and threw it back to him. He threw the ball better than Paul and didn’t miss as often, but after a while he started saying “sorry” as well whenever he threw it too far.
Paul didn’t feel miserable anymore. He started to relax and enjoy himself. He smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer, just not the way he had thought he wanted.
When the bell rang and they had to stop, Paul noticed that Danny was smiling too. Paul hummed the Primary song to himself on his way back to class— “‘Jesus said love ev’ryone; treat them kindly too. When your heart is filled with love, others will love you.’”

I remember when I was young, there was an older boy who was physically and mentally disabled. He had a speech impediment and walked with difficulty. The boys used to make fun of him. They teased and taunted him until sometimes he would cry.
I can still hear his voice: “You’re not kind to me,” he said. And still they would ridicule him, push him, and make jokes about him.
One day I could bear it no longer. Although I was only seven years old, the Lord gave me the courage to stand up to my friends.
“Don’t touch him,” I said to them. “Stop teasing him. Be kind. He is a child of God!”
My friends stepped back and turned away.
I wondered at the time if my boldness would jeopardize my relationship with them. But the opposite happened. From that day onward, my friends and I became closer. They showed increased compassion for the boy. They became better human beings. To my knowledge, they never taunted him again.

Matti and Kirsti Salmi exemplify this combination of faith with Finnish resolve. They live in the west coast city of Kemi, at the northern tip of the Gulf of Bothnia, less than one hundred kilometers below the Arctic Circle. In 1988, the Salmis became the first Finnish couple to serve a mission in their own land.

Kirsti had joined the Church in 1973 in Kuopio, after the missionaries taught her the gospel that “sounded familiar and true, especially after reading the Book of Mormon.” Matti was forty-eight when, in 1978, the elders brought “an undeniably strong spirit with them.” And he too was baptized. The two met in the summer of 1981 at the Swiss Temple.

“How glad we were for our proselyting mission call,” says Matti. “Within the first week of our mission, we met and taught our first people to be converted. By the end of the month they were baptized; then came another and another.”

“Even when people weren’t baptized,” adds Kirsti, “we never felt we taught in vain. On the other side, when some things are clearer, many of those will accept.”

Their work brought three young converts in Savonlinna, the beautiful site of the nation’s annual opera festivals. The city’s setting is dramatic, on a large archipelago in the middle of the largest of Finland’s 180,000 lakes. “We so enjoyed our work in that lovely setting,” says Brother Salmi. “The members there are devoted to the gospel and freely helped us share it.”

According to the Salmis, “teaching eternal principles together and sharing love for others deepened and strengthened our marriage more than anything we could think of.”

The jaded, blank-faced crowd congesting the Las Vegas strip paid little attention to the boy behind the wheel of the shiny Corvette. “Just another kid out cruising in his father’s car,” thought anyone who happened to glance his way.

But that was all right with 18-year-old Jack Farley, because he didn’t care much for the crowd, either. He had other things on his mind. He’d started working at age 14, and four years later he’d become sort of a bubble gum baron, controlling his own vending business. He’d paid for the Corvette himself and he’d driven it from the California coast to the desert resort town for an exciting weekend.

Yet something was bothering him. Something wasn’t quite right. His mind kept reverting back to what those Mormons were teaching him in the Sunday School class he’d started attending—things like service to others and eternal families. He’d be missing that church Sunday. Or maybe he wouldn’t—what was he doing here anyway? If he turned around now, he could easily make it back by morning.

The decision to drive back to his home in Mission Viejo, California, was one of the most important choices Jack ever made. Although he’d fought and won many battles in his life, the choice to go home for church led to what he considers the ultimate victory of his life so far. “I’m real thankful for the Church,” he says, “real thankful. I can’t even dream of where I’d be without it. Outside the Church, it’s like you fall into a river and it carries you wherever it goes. In the Church, you have control.”

“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.

The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.

Years ago I walked into a bookstore in Kumasi, Ghana. As I moved from shelf to shelf, pulling out one book after another, I spotted a book with a light blue cover, worn and faded. It carried the title Book of Mormon. I picked it up, dusted it off, and read a few sentences. I did not understand what I read, and I could not relate it to the Bible. But as I held the book in my hands, I had the impression it was scripture. However, as I had with other books I had picked up, I put it back on the shelf and continued looking at books.
A few minutes later, I found myself in the same area of the store, and I once again noticed the blue book. This time I looked at the table of contents and found a lot of strange and unfamiliar names. I thought, If this is scripture, why do I not find this information in the Bible? I tried to read a couple of verses but could not understand them. As before, I put it back on the shelf.
I looked at one book after another until, for the third time, I came upon that Book of Mormon. I opened it and found a section called Mosiah. Is he in the Bible? I wondered. My knowledge of scripture began and ended with the Bible. This blue book confused me. I felt as though a battle raged inside me. I had never heard of the book before, but I felt I already knew it. A moment later I found myself paying for it.
For many years the Book of Mormon remained unread on my shelf. I tried to read it a few times, but I simply could not relate to it.
After priesthood meeting, the couple who brought us to church, recognizing my interest, asked if I would like to hear lessons on the restored gospel. “Sure,” I said. And then, while I was basking in the spirit of the day’s meetings, I suddenly remembered that shop where I bought an old, worn copy of the Book of Mormon. The incident in the shop, which I considered rather insignificant at the time and had long forgotten, now took on great meaning.
I have meditated often on these two connected but separate incidents. Why would anyone walk into a shop, find an old book with an unfamiliar title, read a couple of sentences he couldn’t understand, and then buy the book? Does that make sense? Still, I believe that much of what reason alone cannot explain actually makes a lot of sense to the Lord. He prepares our path, and when we are ready to receive His word He leads us to the right people and into the right situations. Often, long before we start searching for God, He is looking for us.

Thousands of miles from the Sacred Grove, Brother Kim’s homeland was now littered with the pieces of a civilization shattered by war. Thousands had died, cities and industries had been reduced to rubble, and the homes and livelihood of millions had been destroyed. Hungry refugees lived in makeshift huts. It was in this setting that Brother Kim undertook the Lord’s errand—to feed his sheep. But he did not face this awesome task without assistance.
In South Korea, war had brought a semblance of Church organization through the worship meetings held by Latter-day Saint servicemen on military bases. Brother Kim attended these meetings and began his proselyting career by inviting the servicemen, some of them former missionaries, to teach his family. They taught in English, with Brother Kim translating. He also joined these unofficial missionaries in seeking other investigations. By July 1952, there were enough Korean investigators to have their own Sunday School meetings separate from the servicemen.
When one of Brother Kim’s former students confided that she was severely depressed and considering suicide, he told her:
“Dear sister, I know of a gospel—a wonderful gospel—capable of giving you new hope, new life. If you study it and pray to God, I promise you these things: health, happiness, joy and a desire to help others find those things, too.”
She and her daughter were among the first four baptisms in Korea, at Songdo Beach in Pusan on 3 August 1952. The other two new members were Brother Kim’s son Tai Whan and daughter Young Sook.
His oldest daughter, Jung Sook, was baptized in a swimming pool on the Soyong Army Post in 1953. “The water was warm,” she says, “but the weather was bitterly cold. Yet I was so happy I just didn’t realize how cold it was.”
Brother Kim invited investigators into his home for weekly discussions on the gospel. He translated for American Church members, and sometimes he taught the investigators himself. One Korean who attended several of these meetings heard Brother Kim say more than once that “the thing this wartorn land needed more than anything else was a spiritual rebuilding.”
While the number of Korean converts was gradually increasing, Brother Kim also found success in his secular pursuits. He was appointed president of the National Fisheries College at Pusan, which had become inoperative because of the war. Within a few months, he had it fully functional, an accomplishment that amazed many observers. During a celebration in his honor, Brother Kim told assembled parents and teachers, “I cannot accept any of the credit. I asked of God, and he is the one who accomplished the unbelievable.”
Blessed in leadership ability and with the humility to seek divine help, Brother Kim advanced quickly to other prestigious positions: dean of the College of Animal Husbandry at Konkuk University; president of Hong Ik College; chief Korean representative to UNESCO [the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization]; chairman of the Seoul Board of Education; and vice-minister of education for South Korea. He also authored several highly-praised scientific publications.
The social status Kim Ho Jik achieved is significant. Says Brother Han, “It was vital that such a politically and socially powerful person be involved in the establishment of the Church in Korea. Without Dr. Kim, [it] would have been delayed for a couple of decades.”
Indeed, approval of official legal status for the Church in South Korea appeared unlikely. “The name Mormon meant ‘heathen,’ ‘pagan,’” Brother Han recalls. Latter-day Saint missionaries were not allowed in Korea because “they were not recognized … as decent Christian missionaries.”
Brother Kim’s appointment to the Seoul Board of Education in 1956 proved fortunate, since all the city’s religious matters came under its jurisdiction. He personally took before the board a proposal for the Church’s incorporation in Korea. With his endorsement, it passed. “It was almost a miracle,” Brother Han says.
Kim Ho Jik also put his reputation on the line to gain permission for Latter-day Saint missionaries to enter South Korea, agreeing to be their financial sponsor and guaranteeing that they would do no harm to the Korean people. The first two full-time missionaries arrived from Japan in April, 1956.
Brother Kim’s positive influence on the first generation of Korean Saints was perhaps equal in importance to his impact on missionary work. Brother Han, a former president of the Korean Mission and the first Korean to serve as a regional representative, joined the Church as a high school student. In 1956, he began attending the branch where Brother Kim taught Sunday School. He remembers that “Dr. Kim was the unofficial patriarchal figure and spiritual leader for all the Korean Saints. His integrity was a great strength to new members and investigators. We would think, ‘If Dr. Kim says he accepts this principle, we don’t need to worry about his truthfulness or his sincerity.’
“Even though he was the vice-minister of education, he would mingle with us teenagers,” Brother Han adds. “No one would expect something like that in Korean society. A man in that kind of position in the government would never do things like that with lay citizens, especially people as young and poor as we were. But he … was not ashamed to be with his brothers in the gospel, regardless of age, race, social rank, title, or whatever.”
Brother Kim’s rapport with young people proved valuable, since so many of the new Korean members were high school or college students. Rhee Ho Nam, another early convert who went on to serve as a mission president and regional representative, comments, “His whole purpose became to teach these young future leaders of the kingdom of God in Korea.”
His former pupils say much of Brother Kim’s most effective teaching was through example. “Korean society was rough immediately after the war,” says Brother Han. “Every day you could walk home, since there was not much public transportation in those days, and in more than half of the houses you passed, you could hear noisy quarrels between hungry wives and their drunken husbands. But Dr. Kim was living a heavenly life—there are no other words for the way he treated his wife and his family.”
Kim Ho Jik once told a group of Korean Saints, “I wouldn’t care if I had to give up my life, or my money, or my title, as long as I could be with my Savior.” If any of his listeners doubted his sincerity, the events of his life proved his commitment to serving God.
Once, for example, the Korea Broadcasting System invited him to lecture on a topic in biology during a nationwide broadcast. “During the entire ten minutes he was on, he talked only about the Church,” says Pak Jae Am, a supervisor in the Presiding Bishopric’s regional office in Seoul. “It was just like he was talking in his Sunday School class.”
Brother Kim also made a memorably bold statement of dedication to his faith in an episode that almost seems drawn from the Book of Daniel. Korean President Syngman Rhee decided one Sunday that he urgently needed to consult with his vice-minister of education. After searching for several hours, the presidents’ secretary found Kim Ho Jik teaching his Sunday School class. Brother Kim refused to leave until he finished his lesson. President Rhee, notorious for his harshness, was irate. But Brother Kim calmly explained that he considered nothing more important than his Sunday School teaching assignment and felt obliged to finish it before responding to the president’s summons. President Rhee patted Brother Kim on the shoulder and said, “Well done.”
Brother Kim resigned his national post in July of 1956 “because I wished to dedicate more time and energy to our Church.” He had been president of the Yurak-Dong Branch, and he had become the first Korea District president in 1955, holding that position until his death. His work included translating several pieces of Church literature from English into Korean.
Brother Kim represented Korea at a United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization meeting in India in August of 1959. Shortly after his return home, he met with Rhee Ho Nam, who noted that Brother Kim looked tired. Brother Kim replied that he had felt ill during the conference and was anxious to return home. Less than a month later, on August 31, he died of a stroke.
During Brother Kim’s funeral, “the presidents of nearly every university and college in Korea came around to pay their respects,” says F. Ray Hawkins, a missionary in Korea during the late 1950s who later became a mission president there. “Every single one of those men said that Brother Kim had personally, more than once, invited them out to church and had discussions about the gospel.” Brother Hawkins’s observation suggests a fitting epitaph: though he walked among the elite, Kim Ho Jik’s prestige was to him a mere tool for building the kingdom of God.
His service in the Church lasted only eight years, but his impact on its establishment in Korea cannot be measured. He was an exemplar of a new kind of Mormon pioneer, the kind who takes the gospel into new lands where the word “Mormon” is essentially unknown and the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has not yet been heard.

I leave you now, friends, in the aftermath of the after glory, with one final offering of glory for you. It involves a saintly sister and Brigham Young University (BYU) student who blessed me with words of gratitude from a place deep within. I repeat—and reflect on—her words often. Here is the story, in brief.

On the glorious Monday following general conference, I had the privilege of visiting Professor David Seely’s class on ancient Israel at BYU–Provo. After an opening prayer to help open our hearts to the heavenly, both above and within, we began class by sharing our thoughts on general conference and the nourishing gift it had been. After sharing some of my personal reflections on experiencing moments divine, our saintly Latter-day Saint sister responded with, “Thank you for reminding me of the beauty of my faith.” To this day, her words still echo within.

To you, dear sister, whose name is unknown to me, and to the entire Latter-day Saint community, let me also say “thank you” to you. Thank you for the beauty of your faith. Thank you for reminding me of the beauty of faith. Thank you for reminding and inspiring me to live and express my own faith more beautifully. Thank you for reminding me of the beautiful potential that faith can produce and blossom into. Your faith is truly a “light unto the nations” and a bright shining star in my heart.

From Sister Phyllis Marshall, Massey Park Ward, Auckland Papatoetoe Stake
As a young mother, I became more aware of how commercialised Christmases were becoming each year. I loved the decorations and the music that played in the malls and on the radio, but they pushed subtle ideas of what we should be buying, what our homes should look like and what our meals should be. They were not about our Saviour’s birth, which is the true reason for the season. So, one year, my husband, Jim, and I decided to try something. On Christmas morning, the children woke up to only three gifts under the tree and a reminder of how our Saviour only received three gifts from the Wise Men. In the coming years, we tried other ways keep the focus of Christmas on Jesus Christ. This included secret gift-giving, where we would drop off a box of presents and food to a family in need, knock and then run and hide. We also introduced Christmas morning devotionals full of singing and prayer and a reverent reading of the biblical account of our Saviour’s birth. Some of these activities have become lasting traditions, and they have made all the difference in how we, as a family, enjoy and celebrate Christmas.

Like you, in some way I can relate to the anguish felt by Mary Magdalene and her friends as they grieved the death of their Lord. When I was nine years old, I lost my older brother during a devastating earthquake. Because it happened unexpectedly, it took me a while to grasp the reality of what had occurred. I was heartbroken by sorrow, and I would ask myself, “What happened to my brother? Where is he? Where did he go? Will I ever see him again?”

Back then I did not yet know about God’s plan of salvation, and I had the desire to know where we come from, what the purpose of life is, and what happens to us after we die. Don’t we all have those yearnings when we lose a loved one or when we go through difficulties in our lives?

A few years after, I started thinking of my brother in a specific way. I would imagine him knocking on our door. I would open the door, he would be standing there, and he would tell me, “I am not dead. I am alive. I could not come to you, but now I will stay with you and never leave again.” That imagining, almost a dream, helped me cope with the pain that I felt over losing him. The thought that he would be with me came to my mind over and over. Sometimes I would even stare at the door, hoping that he would knock and I would see him again.

About 40 years later, during Easter time, I was pondering about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ and started thinking about my brother. At that moment, something clicked in my mind. I remembered imagining him coming to see me.

That day I realized that the Spirit had given me comfort in a difficult time. I had received a witness that my brother’s spirit is not dead; he is alive. He is still progressing in his eternal existence. I now know that “[my] brother shall rise again” at that magnificent moment when, because of Jesus Christ’s Resurrection, we will all be resurrected. In addition, He has made it possible for all of us to be reunited as families and have eternal joy in the presence of God if we will choose to make and keep sacred covenants with Him.

For example, David thought there might be something funny about the signs he sees on doors that say, “This door must remain unlocked during business hours.” Then he tried to imagine a situation where that sign would be funny.
“I had an inmate at a prison write this on a sign,” said David, “and post it on the prison door with a guard reading it and unlocking the door. The caption said, ‘Mel knew it was a long shot, but somehow it worked.’”