Gospel Story Finder

President Eyring gave a devotional talk here at Brigham Young University that had a powerful effect on me. He told of a young man who needed to repent and had come to him when President Eyring was a bishop. After a lengthy time, Bishop Eyring interviewed him and found him worthy to hold a temple recommend. But the young man was going to be married in the temple to a young lady who was sweet and clean, and he needed to know if his sins had been remitted—if he had forgiveness from the Lord. How could he get that revelation?
Bishop Eyring said it was a good question and that he needed some time, so the young man gave him a deadline—less than two weeks.
During those two weeks Bishop Eyring went to a social function that then Elder Spencer W. Kimball also attended. Elder Kimball found Bishop Eyring and said, “Hal, I understand that you are now a bishop. Do you have anything you would like to ask me?”
President Eyring continued:
I said that I did, but I didn’t think that was the place to talk about it. He thought it was. It was an outdoor party. My memory is that we went behind a shrub and there had our interview. Without breaking confidences . . . , I outlined the concerns and the question of this young man. . . . Then I asked Elder Kimball, “How can he get that revelation? How can he know whether his sins are remitted?”
I thought Elder Kimball would talk to me about fasting or prayer or listening for the still small voice. But he surprised me. Instead he said, “Tell me something about the young man.”
I said, “What would you like to know?”
And then he began a series of the most simple questions. Some of the ones I remember were:
“Does he come to his priesthood meetings?”
I said, after a moment of thought, “Yes.”
“Does he come early?”
“Yes.”
“Does he sit down front?”
I thought for a moment and then realized, to my amazement, that he did.
“Does he home teach?”
“Yes.”
“Does he go early in the month?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Does he go more than once?”
“Yes.”
I can’t remember the other questions. But they were all like that—little things, simple acts of obedience, of submission. And for each question I was surprised that my answer was always yes. Yes, he wasn’t just at all his meetings: he was early; he was smiling; he was there not only with his whole heart, but with the broken heart of a little child, as he was every time the Lord asked anything of him. And after I had said yes to each of his questions, Elder Kimball looked at me, paused, and then very quietly said, “There is your revelation.”

When Ellen awoke, she heard the cry of a newborn baby. Her feet swiftly pattered past the cabin doors until she came to the bedside of Elizabeth Hopkins. Wrapped in a blanket beside her lay the tiny baby. Ellen stared in wonder.
Little Demaris Hopkins grinned and announced, “He’s my brother!”
“Just imagine, Demaris, having a brother born in the middle of the ocean!” Ellen exclaimed.
Steven Hopkins, the baby’s father, patted Ellen on the head. “Guess what we’re going to name him! We’re going to call him Oceanus (Latin word for ocean).”
“Oh, my!” Ellen exclaimed and ran swiftly to tell her mother.

One day at school, I was in a hurry to get to my math class, and my locker wouldn’t open. I hadn’t had any trouble opening my locker all year, so I was surprised I couldn’t open it. Right then the hall monitor walked by and opened my locker. I got my books and realized that if I walked into my math class, I would be tardy, so I went to find the hall monitor. She gave me a back-to-class pass. Just as I turned the corner, there was a girl in the hall sobbing because some girls had pulled a mean prank. I didn’t know her very well, but I gave her a hug, and she hugged back. I was amazed that the only time my locker jammed was that one day when a girl could use a hug. I think it is amazing that the Lord puts you in certain situations to help others.

Raquel “Liriel” Domiciano was about to sing in front of millions of people. Was she worried about messing up? A little. Was she worried about what to wear? Naturally. But what worried her most?

Only 19 at the time, Liriel, a member of the Church for five years, wanted to stand as a witness “of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

Liriel was about to perform in Brazil’s largest televised talent competition, the Raul Gil Amateur Show. She had been told she couldn’t say anything about her religion. But she knew that many of Brazil’s Latter-day Saints would be watching, and she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t ashamed of the gospel. After praying in her room before her first performance, she looked up and saw her Young Women medallion. It was the answer she had been looking for.

Liriel wore her medallion during every level of the competition. Eventually she and her partner, tenor Rinaldo Viana, won the contest, signed a recording contract, and watched as their first CD became the second-highest best-seller in Brazil’s history, with more than one million copies sold.

Wearing the medallion as she performed was her way of letting people know she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and willing to stand as a witness, even in front of millions.

Before I conclude, I want to share a story of compassion and understanding that was shown to me when I was a student here at BYUH.

In 2012, Taufa and I were living in TVA. We were two months away from our oldest daughter, Avagail, being born. At dinner time, Taufa had a craving for lamb curry. Knowing that I was better at eating curry than cooking it, I put in a call to the now closed—Fiji Market in Kahuku. I gave them my order and was told to come by in twenty minutes. Without a car, twenty minutes was enough time for me to bike to Kahuku. On arriving in Kahuku and riding up to the store, I could see some of my student peers eating on the tables outside. I quickly turned my bike to the service station and locked it up there. I was madua (Fijian meaning embarrassed) to be showing up on a bike. I casually walked up, said hello to my classmates, and went inside the store. On paying for the plate, I asked for a couple of extra bags to better hold the food on my way back. Maybe this was a tell-tale sign for the store owner, Mr. Singh.

He asked how I had traveled and I told him I was alright and that I had transport back. I was still a little madua. I think Mr. Singh saw through this and while unlocking my bike, he pulled up with his van. Before I could insist I was ok, he had carried my bike into the van, put my curry in the front seat, and shortly after we were on our way back to TVA. I thanked him on arrival, tried to pay him for fuel which he wouldn’t take, unloaded my bike, and took the curry triumphantly into the house to Taufa to find her over the craving and not wanting to eat curry. Thanking her for the exercise to Kahuku, I dug into the food and then realized I had left the drinks I had bought back at the Fiji Market. A little frustrated with myself, I started to go about my evening when I heard a knock on the door. Opening it, I found Mr. Singh outside holding up my bag of drinks.

We all have our own Mr. Singh’s in our lives that have shown compassion and understanding when we either don’t expect it or don’t deserve it. These sorts of individuals populate our campus and community. Look for them, learn from them, and go and do.

There have been times in my life when I felt as if there was no hope for me to be happy or to return to our Father in Heaven. Several years ago I was disfellowshipped from the Church. I had lived a life of pride and sin and had suffered greatly because of my actions. My engagement to the woman I loved didn’t work out, my relationships with others were suffering, and I wasn’t happy.
Although I wished I had chosen to be humble long before then, I was compelled to be humble and to seek to do the will of the Lord. I started to read the scriptures more frequently, to pray more often, and to seek to serve others. I tried to repair the relationships I had neglected for so long, including my relationship with Heavenly Father. I truly desired a change of heart.
It was early morning as I drove to school one day, and the sun was not yet up. The eastern horizon glowed, and the western horizon was dark, with a full moon descending behind it. I had developed the habit of conversing with my Heavenly Father while driving. As I prayed during this car ride, my mind was enlightened, and a new hope was placed within my heart.
I realized that my life was glowing and getting increasingly brighter, just like the eastern horizon. The darkness was dissipating, and my sins, which were as great as that full moon, were descending. They were not yet gone, but I knew that they soon would be if I continued my sincere repentance. I had hope that someday my life would be as bright as noonday.
With time and as I prayed for love for my Heavenly Father and others, I became more humble. Increased humility led me to serve God and others more selflessly, and my hope for eternal life and a better future was renewed and replenished. As that hope grew, so did my faith that my Savior, Jesus Christ, is mighty to save and to cleanse me from all unrighteousness. I know the words of Mormon are true: “Ye shall have hope through the atonement of Christ and the power of his resurrection, to be raised unto life eternal” (Moroni 7:41).

A turning point for me came during a deacons quorum class in Spanish Fork, Utah, when I was 12. The lesson was on missionary work, and to me the lesson seemed pointless, because I wasn’t going on a mission. But as I sat there, a clear voice in my head asked, “Travis, what if it’s not just about you?” This simple question shifted my perspective. A mission, I realized, was about what God wanted me to do, not just what I wanted. A mission wasn’t solely about blessings for me, but also about being a blessing to others.

President Packer has told the story of Joseph Millett, a pioneer who shared his resources with others. Joseph Millett had a large family, and he was going though hard times. He wrote in his journal,

"One of my children came in and said that Brother Newton Hall's folks was out of bread, had none that day."
"I divided our flour in a sack to send up to Brother Hall. Just then Brother Hall came."
"Says I, `Brother Hall, are you out of flour?'"
"`Brother Millett, we have none.'"
"`Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you was out.'"
"Brother Hall began to cry. He said he had tried others, but could not get any. He went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord, and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett."
"`Well Brother Hall, you needn't bring this back. If the Lord sent you for it you don't owe me for it.'"
That night Joseph Millett wrote in his journal, "`You can't tell me how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew there was such a person as Joseph Millett.'"[19] The Lord does know us, and he knows our hearts. He expects us to share our resources with those in need.

When I was 16, my seemingly healthy, vigorous 41-year-old father dropped dead while water skiing. As you can imagine, this was a shocking event in my life and caused me much anguish. Why did this happen? This event was cause for considerable reflection and much prayer as I struggled to set my own course. A few months later, standing on the newly grown grass over his grave at the Ogden, Utah, cemetery, I decided several important matters:
One, that I would always keep the Word of Wisdom.
Two, that I would serve a mission.
Three, that I would always make him proud that I was his son.
Four, that I would strive to be successful as he was.
Five, that I would always be active in the Church.
Six, that I would marry someone in the temple as fine as my mother.
These were simple yet life-defining decisions. They were as indelible as the words carved on my father’s headstone, for my resolve was, in effect, carved in stone—unalterable and resolute. I had “decided to decide.”

“Three weeks until summer break, Ryan!” my friend Logan said after recess. “I can’t wait to swim and hike!”
“Me too!” I said. I walked into the classroom smiling, but then I saw the chairs set in circles. That meant reading groups.
“Everyone get in your groups!” Mr. Carson said. “Blue group, Mrs. Bush is waiting for you in room 205.”
I trudged to my desk and grabbed my book. Most of my classmates had been able to read this book years ago. Everyone knew the blue group was for kids who couldn’t read well. I’d been part of it since kindergarten. That was when I found out I had a learning disability. Mom says it means my brain just understands things differently.
It’s not fair, I thought as I walked to room 205. I held the book to my chest so no one could see it was for little kids. I hated being different. I worked twice as hard as any of my friends. But I was still one of the worst readers in the whole grade!
After an hour of reading, Mrs. Bush said we were done. “Good work,” she told us. “I know reading is hard, and it would be easy to give up. But keep working at it! You can improve. And don’t forget your summer reading packet.”
I took the packet and walked back to my classroom. Every summer I got a reading packet with stories to read out loud, questions to answer, and other things to help me with my reading. None of my friends had homework over the summer. But I really wanted to be able to read, so the extra work was worth it.
At least I’ll still have some time to play this summer, I thought.
But when Mom picked me up from school, she had some news. “I just learned about a new computer program that can help you read better,” she said as I got into the car. “It will help your brain make better connections.”
“That sounds cool,” I said.
“You’ll need to work on it for a few hours every day.”
More homework over the summer? Part of me wanted to just quit trying. But an even bigger part of me knew I really wanted to read better. And that would take a lot of work. I took a deep breath. “OK, I’ll do it.”
It was a long, hard summer. I spent most of my time working on my reading exercises or the computer program. And I prayed every day for Heavenly Father’s help.
When school started again, I tried my hardest to follow along with the class reading. I was still pretty slow, but I could do it!
Soon my teacher asked to talk to me at lunch. That made me nervous. What would she say?
“Ryan, I’ve seen you reading along with the class this week. I know how hard you worked this summer,” Ms. Andersen said. “I’m going to put you in a higher reading group.”
“Really?” I said.
She nodded. “You’ll have to work a little harder than some of the other kids and promise to read every single day, but I think you can do this. Are you up for the challenge?”
Ryan finished high school and went to college. He had to work hard at reading. But it was worth it!
“Yes!” I said. I walked out to lunch feeling happy and strong. My hard work during the summer had helped me! And Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. I knew I could keep working hard. And I knew Heavenly Father would keep helping me.

I would like to share a personal experience of being on the receiving side of love and service that came as a result of others acting on spiritual promptings.

About 8 years ago, I remember being called into a doctor’s office. My 7-year-old daughter Anuhea had an operation and we were back at the hospital for a post-operation checkup with her doctor. I felt a somewhat ominous feeling as the doctor asked to see me in her office. I honestly can only remember 3 words of what the doctor said. Those words were: malignant, tumor, and cancer. I sank deep into a feeling that can only be described as hopeless. This feeling increased along the long drive home. Being the only person outside of the doctors to know, I felt alone and in a dark place. When I arrived home, I shared the news with my wife and we wept together. It felt as if our whole world was turning upside down.

Later that night, I received a phone call from one of my best friends, who now lives on the mainland. We hadn’t spoken for a few months, but he felt prompted to call me. About 15 seconds into the conversation, he sensed something was wrong and asked if I was alright. I shared with him the news we had received earlier that day. He expressed his love, concern, and support for our family and he listened. It was nice having friends and family that mourned with us and comforted us as we stood in need of comfort.

That first night, the hopeless feeling I was experiencing continued. I felt mental anguish and pain that I had never experienced before. It literally felt like someone was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. It was even hard just to breath. I had a testimony of the Plan of Salvation and I knew that God loved us. I had faith and trusted that this life experience would eventually be a blessing to our family, but I still felt pain and hopelessness.

Early the next morning I received another call from this same friend. He had received a prompting during the night. He asked if it was alright if he did something for my daughter on social media. I agreed, and he organized a special fast. He set it up as a Facebook event, created a flyer, and set a date for the fast, which was about 10 days away. He shared it with friends on social media and invited them to fast and to share the event with others. The day came and there were hundreds of people fasting and praying for my daughter. Her name was on the prayer roll of temples around the world. I remember even receiving messages from people saying things like “We don’t know you or your daughter, but we want you to know that our family will be praying and fasting for her.”

With the united faith, prayers, and fasting of so many people, along with spiritual promptings and priesthood power, my daughter and my family experienced the miracle of healing. We still went through the prescribed treatment of chemotherapy and multiple surgeries, but we looked at it differently, not as a trial that we had to endure, but as a blessing that would help us to become more like our Savior. So many of these blessings we received at this time were a direct result of people acting on spiritual promptings.

What I didn’t learn until many years later is how this experience had a positive effect on my friend. He was lifted in a very difficult and trying time for him and his family. He had been praying for comfort and answers himself. He was seeking to live more like the Savior. By acting on the promptings he received, he was not only able to bless my family, but he experienced a lasting change in his own heart, which continues to this day.

A few days before the fast, our stake presidency visited our family and ministered to us. I know that their visit was also a result of acting on spiritual promptings. They were inspired to share with us scriptures and prophetic quotes which seemed to be exactly what we needed to hear. I was so grateful the Lord loved us and sent these brethren to our home. He prompted them to share the words that lifted us in our time of need. The darkness we were experiencing was replaced with light and understanding, the questions that we had were answered, and the pain and sorrow that we felt was replaced with love and joy. But, most importantly, hope was restored.

Now 8 years later, the whole experience has been one of the greatest blessings in our family. I do not know if we could have experienced the growth that we did without going through this trial together. But what I do know is that the Lord made our journey better by giving spiritual promptings to so many people around us. We were loved, supported, and blessed throughout the entire experience. Our hearts were not only deeply touched, but our hearts were changed forever.

The doctor at the army base near Taejon, Korea, looked up at me and smiled. I had been congratulating him and his colleagues on their brilliant management of a carbon monoxide poisoning incident. As Chief of Professional Services for the Surgeon of the U.S. Army and for the United Nations Forces, I had been so impressed by this young doctor’s actions that I came down personally to review the case with him.
In his tent we chatted about the incidence of such poisoning among soldiers. Korean homes are heated with a soft coal, called yantan, which is pressed into large bricks and burned in a stove beneath one corner of the house. Smoke and fumes are ducted through the clay and tile floor to a chimney on the opposite side of the structure, warming the building and its occupants. If a leak develops, carbon monoxide is released into the house.
Often U.S. soldiers would leave their base of assignment, go into a nearby village, get drunk, and fall asleep near a yantan stove. Occasionally they suffered carbon monoxide poisoning and were returned to the base unconscious. In the course of treatment, it was customary to check the alcohol level in their blood.
I asked the doctor what this soldier’s blood-alcohol level had been, and his answer was both startling and satisfying.
“Oh, I didn’t get a blood-alcohol reading on Private Christian,” he said. “He’s a Mormon.”
I pretended not to understand why that would make a difference.
“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked. “This soldier went into town and was found unconscious. How do you know his unconsciousness wasn’t caused by alcoholic intoxication?”
The doctor replied, “Because this is Christian. He never does anything that is not proper and exemplary.”
The doctor explained that nearly everyone on the base knew that Private Christian was a returned missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had served his mission in Korea, spoke the language, and during his off-duty hours he often went to the village to visit with the people. He had taught some of them about his church, and they had joined. They lived in a small hamlet next to the base but had gone with Christian to religious services in Taejon.
The private had returned home with them Sunday evening and was invited to spend the night. Because he was the honored guest, he was given the place closest to the smoldering yantan. But it was a cold night, and all the openings in the building had been closed. A crack in the floor had not been noticed. As the American soldier slept, he had been overcome by the gases.
With utmost pride I informed my medical colleague that I, too, was Mormon. I marveled that he could have known this young private so well. He replied that he didn’t know many soldiers closely but that Christian’s life was so distinct that it set him apart from all the other men on the base. I have never had the opportunity to meet Brother Christian and can only speculate about the total amount of good he did in an environment that normally draws out the base instincts of men. But I will never forget the impression he made on the doctor who treated him and the example he set for me. He had made proper decisions about many things in life years before being plunged into the challenges of military life, and he had not allowed his environment to deter his power to be good. The other soldiers knew him for what he was—uncompromising. I am sure that many of them carry his example in their memories, even as I do, and I’m grateful to him for letting his light shine.

Our names are Ashley, Jessica, and Amanda Alessi. Sundays are very long because Ashley and Jessica usually go to church around 7:00 A.M. with our Dad, and church doesn’t end until 12:30 P.M. We’re always tired and hungry by that time, but for the last few years, no matter how tired and hungry we are, we visit a member of our branch, Sister Terry, each week after church.
When we visit, we like to sing songs like, “I Am a Child of God,” “Love One Another,” “I Am like a Star,” “Book of Mormon Stories,” and “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.” Sometimes she tries to do the hand motions, and sometimes she even smiles. We like it when she smiles. The other residents in the hall seem to like the songs, so sometimes we sing to them too. We like to share the gospel by singing.
On nice days, we take Sister Terry outside for a walk. We wheel her around and hope she enjoys the flowers, trees, and fresh air. Most of the time, we have to visit with her inside her room. Mom and Grandmother read scriptures to her, and we all pray with her. Jesus Christ said we should visit the sick, and we’re glad that we can, because it makes us happy and because we love Sister Terry. We think it makes her happy too.

I love to read my own grandfather’s missionary journal. His first entries are classics. He wrote: “Today I married in the Salt Lake Temple the girl of my dreams.” The very next night the journal entry read: “Tonight the bishop called at our house. I have been asked to return to Scandinavia for a two- year mission. Of course I will go, and my sweet wife will remain at home and sustain me.” I am grateful for a missionary heritage.

Fifty years ago, Kathy and I met an impressive couple who had also been recently married in the house of the Lord. Life was promising. They had children. She was talented and full of faith. His work prospered. They kept their covenants.
Unexpectedly, the young woman developed serious health issues.
Their son recently shared these reflections with me:
“In my younger years, my sweet mom went through crushing periods of severe depression, bringing extended periods of difficulty in taking care of even her own needs. It was a new reality for both of my parents. Life would be different than they had anticipated.
“My dad had never experienced mental illness and sought the help of his Heavenly Father. I can’t count the number of times I walked in on him while on his knees, or the number of Sundays he was quietly fasting again. He served my mother—and served us—with incredible love, patience, and humility. He sought the influence of the Holy Ghost, hoping to love, act, and react as the Savior would.
“My mother was the love of his life. These seasons would be but a small moment. They were bound to one another forever. As they remained faithful, they would spend eternity together in health and happiness. That promise gave him a perfect brightness of hope.
“While many times my mother felt that her challenges created a burden for my dad, he saw it differently. He loved serving this incredible, precious daughter of God.
“As my mom bravely—and miraculously—overcame many of her health struggles, they experienced light and joy together: as a couple and as parents and grandparents.
“Later, in her 60s, she faced an entirely different set of trials, including breast cancer and neurological issues that impacted her ability to walk. Once again, she and my dad doubled down on their commitment to each other and their covenants with the Lord.
“They did it together through the final day of her mortal journey.”
Eternal marriage is an eternal journey.

Wilford Woodruff, too, could see humor winking at him through the hardships of his mission. He writes of his experience in January of 1830 when he was twenty-seven years old. He and his companion walked sixty miles in two days, without food. On the first day they were confronted by a bear, lost their way, were followed by wolves, and finally, late at night, reached a cabin where they were given nothing to eat, though they were allowed to sleep on the floor. That, writes Elder Woodruff, was “the hardest day’s work of my life.” The next morning they walked twelve miles in the rain to the house of a man who, they discovered, had been in the mob that drove the Saints from their homes in Jackson County, Missouri, a year earlier. As they reached the cabin, the man’s family were sitting down to breakfast. To read from Elder Woodruff’s account:
“In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you, so he asked us to take breakfast. … He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”7

Finally, let’s look at maintaining gratitude in physical trials. Elder Uchtdorf said, “True gratitude . . . comes from acknowledging that we do not always understand the trials of life but trusting that one day we will.” [18] Danny Seplak is my husband’s cousin. He is an example in our family of a strong spirit. While serving as a missionary he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of bone cancer. Treatment gained him two more years, but the cancer eventually overtook him. Before he passed in June 2000, he drafted the following:

I’m not angry [and don’t] feel cheated in getting this disease. . . . I’ve realized that the important things in life [are] to enjoy my family, my friends, my time, and to find meaning and purpose in my life. . . . Some of the most pleasant and happy moments occur when we just take the time to reflect on life and be grateful. . . . I do have faith in a loving God. I have faith that He cares about our welfare and that He has a plan for us.

In the early 1950s the United States was at war on the Korean peninsula. Because of the draft policy of the government at that time, young men were not allowed to serve missions but instead were required to join the military. Knowing this, I enrolled in the Army Reserve Officers’ Training Corps when I went to college. My goal was to become an officer like my oldest brother. However, when I made a visit home for the Christmas holiday, my home-ward bishop, Vern Freeman, invited me into his office. He advised me that a young Church leader by the name of Brother Gordon B. Hinckley had negotiated an agreement with the U.S. government permitting each ward in the Church in the United States to call one young man to serve a mission. This young man would receive an automatic deferment from the military during his mission.
Bishop Freeman said he had been praying about it and felt he should recommend me to serve as a full-time missionary representing our ward. I explained to him that I had already made other plans—I had enrolled in the Army ROTC and expected to become an officer! My bishop gently reminded me that he had been prompted to recommend me to serve a mission at that particular time. He said, “Go home and talk to your parents and come back this evening with your answer.”
I went home and told my father and mother what had happened. They said the bishop was inspired, and I should happily accept the Lord’s invitation to serve. My mother could see how disappointed I was at the prospect of not becoming an army officer right away. She quoted:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
That night I went back to the bishop’s office and accepted his invitation. He told me to go to the Selective Service Office and advise them of my decision.
When I did so, to my surprise the lady who was chairman of the Selective Service Office told me, “If you accept a mission call, you will receive your draft notice before you can reenter Army ROTC. You will serve as an enlisted man, not as an officer.”
Despite this unexpected change, my mission was wonderful. It changed the course of my life as it does for those who serve. But true to their word, the government sent an induction letter drafting me into the U.S. Army about one month before my mission release.

Last March, as you remember, devastating rock and mud slides engulfed six small towns in the mountains east of Lima, Peru. All of these towns were within the Lima Peru San Luis Stake. The slide left 25,000 people homeless. Eighteen LDS families lost their homes completely, and 198 other families were left in dire need of food, clothing, and medical supplies.
The day after the slides, one member of the stake presidency and two other Church members waded through waist-high mud and debris for five kilometers to assess the damage. They found that more than three hundred people, members and nonmembers, had taken refuge in the Chosica chapel.
The following day, the stake presidency called a meeting of their eleven bishops and branch presidents. They made many assignments to furnish needed supplies. They asked each ward and branch to furnish work teams to go to the homes of members and help them clean up.
The stake presidency resolved to handle the problem without seeking help from outside stakes. They soon found that they could not handle it all alone. They went to their Regional Representative and asked him to coordinate economic help from other stakes in the region. The Saints of Peru rallied together.
As an example, the Iquitos stake sent thirteen crates of clothing, each weighing thirty kilos (about sixty-six pounds). Other stakes and wards donated food, bedding, and mattresses.
Selling quilts and refreshments, young women raised more than three hundred dollars. One young priest, a senior at his high school in Lima, led a group of twenty-eight of his classmates, all nonmembers, to Chosica to help with the cleanup.
The stake Relief Society presidency visited the area frequently and instructed the sisters in classes on hygiene, sanitation, nutrition, and “how to organize family living in a tent.”
The stakes did not intend to seek assistance from the general welfare funds of the Church. Stake leaders called in all fast-offering reserves from their wards and branches. They asked stake members to participate in a special fast on 29 March 1987 to raise funds that would help cover the expenses.
Some bore tender testimonies. Let me share just two. Sister Guadalupe, a nonmember, lost everything. Then in the shelter of a little room in our chapel, she gave birth to a baby boy. She stated that the Lord had helped her escape. She learned that everything of the world is temporary and can be lost. She thanked the branch and the Church for opening its doors to her and for the assistance she received.
Sister Leonora de Contreras, a Relief Society president, said she knew the gospel was true. She expressed thanks for her husband, who holds the priesthood and is a pillar of strength. The catastrophe destroyed the fruits of their lifetime of labor in less than thirty minutes. She recalled the words of their son who is serving in the Peru Trujillo Mission. As he left home, he said to her, “Mami, whatever happens, if you need help, ask the Lord, and stay close to the Brethren.” She expressed appreciation to stake leaders for their assistance.

I had been on my mission in Honolulu, Hawaii, USA, for only four and a half months when I had a major seizure and was subsequently diagnosed with epilepsy. The ensuing months brought hospital visits, countless tests, and a new medication with frustrating side effects.
Until then, I had been so focused on missionary work that I hadn’t experienced much homesickness, but from the moment of my seizure, my heart ached. I missed my parents and felt alone even while surrounded by wonderful, caring people. I didn’t want to go home, but I wanted to feel peace.
With my mission president’s permission, I spoke with my parents on the phone about my medication. My father, who had just fulfilled his lifelong dream of joining the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, assured me that he would be singing his heart out for me in general conference, which began the next day.
The next morning, I prayed fervently for the peace I so desperately needed. I had received answers to specific questions during general conference before, and I trusted that I could receive guidance again. As conference opened, the choir sang “Dearest Children, God Is Near You” (Hymns, no. 96). Within the first minute, I saw my dad on the TV screen. The camera zoomed in on his face for quite some time.
Tears came to my eyes as a tremendous feeling of peace enveloped me. I knew that God loved me. He knew exactly what I needed that day—a simple assurance that He was near and was aware of me. I felt God’s love, and by extension, the love of my family, my companions, and my mission president. Instead of feeling burdened, I now saw an opportunity to grow closer to the Lord.
My health challenges didn’t disappear. I had to leave my mission early after all, but I knew that God was there and that He loved me. That assurance has followed me through many more heartaches and has given me hope in my darkest hours. Others may call it a coincidence, but I know that seeing my dad sing about God’s love was a small miracle in my time of need.