Gospel Story Finder

Our missionaries serving throughout the world are beautiful examples of those who are truly ambitious for Christ. A few years ago, Sister Yamashita and I served in the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our missionaries were so ambitious for Christ. One of those missionaries was a young man named Elder Cowan.

Elder Cowan did not have a right leg because of a bicycle accident as a youth. A few weeks after he entered the mission, I received a phone call from his companion. Elder Cowan’s prosthetic leg had broken while he was riding his bike. We took him to a good repair facility, and there in a private room, I saw his leg for the first time. I realized how much pain he had been suffering. His prosthetic leg was repaired, and he returned to his area.

However, as the weeks went by, the prosthesis continued to break again and again. The area medical adviser recommended that Elder Cowan return home for a possible mission reassignment. I resisted this advice because Elder Cowan was a great missionary and he had a strong desire to remain in Japan. Gradually, though, Elder Cowan began to approach his physical limit. In spite of this, he did not murmur or complain.

Again, I was advised that Elder Cowan be allowed to serve in a place that did not require him to ride a bike. I pondered this situation. I thought about Elder Cowan and his future, and I prayed about the matter. I felt impressed that, yes, Elder Cowan should return home and await reassignment. I phoned him and expressed my love and concern and told him of my decision. He did not say anything in reply. I could only hear him weeping on the other end of the phone. I said, “Elder Cowan, you don’t have to answer me right now. I will call you tomorrow. Please consider my recommendation with sincere prayer.”

When I called him the next morning, he humbly said he would follow my counsel.

During my final interview with him, I asked him this question: “Elder Cowan, did you request on your missionary application to be sent to a mission where you would not have to ride a bike?”
He said, “Yes, President, I did.”
I responded, “Elder Cowan, you were called to the Japan Nagoya Mission, where you would have to ride a bike. Did you tell this to your stake president?”
I was surprised by his answer. He said, “No, I didn’t. I determined that if that is where the Lord called me, I would go to the gym and train my body to be able to ride a bike.”
At the conclusion of our interview, he asked me this question with tears in his eyes: “President Yamashita, why did I come to Japan? Why am I here?”
I answered him without hesitation: “Elder Cowan, I know one reason you came here. You came here for my benefit. I have come to understand what a great young man I have been serving with. I am blessed to know you.”

I am happy to report that Elder Cowan returned to his loving home and was reassigned to serve in a mission where he could use a car for his travel. I am proud not only of Elder Cowan but also of all the missionaries throughout the world who serve willingly without murmuring or complaining. Thank you, elders and sisters, for your faith, your focus, and your strong ambition for Christ.

A few weeks ago my husband and I attended a temple session. As we entered, we were greeted by a temple worker, a dear friend from our ward. That greeting began a remarkable experience for us. We were met and served, more than any time I remember, by many people we knew: friends from previous wards, friends from the community, men and women we had served with in various callings. The last person I encountered was a young woman I didn’t recognize. She was lovely, and when she began to speak, I immediately remembered: Robin, one of the young women in my Laurel class when I was first a Young Women president. As we visited and exchanged memories and life updates, she told me how much that time had meant to her. I felt the same way.
I left the temple feeling moved by so much kindness, aware how important friends have been to me throughout my life. The Lord has touched my spirit time and again, and more often than not, His touch has reached me through the hand of a friend.

Charles worked in a brickyard and as a watchmaker. He also had the opportunity to help build the temple. A musician all his life, Charles played the flute and the dulcimer, a stringed instrument something like a harp, in the Nauvoo Band.
Sarah and Charles were happy in Nauvoo and grateful that they had joined with the Saints. However, the Saints began to be persecuted by mobs. Charles and Sarah’s first son, John, was born in June, 1844, just a few weeks before the Prophet was martyred. John died in January of 1846 while the first group of Saints was preparing to leave Nauvoo for the West. A second son, Charles Edward, was born in August of that year, when the mobs were gathering to drive the rest of the Saints from Nauvoo.
Charles helped Mary Fielding Smith, Hyrum Smith’s widow, move her belongings across the river. He and Sarah and little Charles Edward spent the winter at Winter Quarters, then, in March, fit out for the trip West. In fitting out, Charles bought a yoke of oxen, a wagon, a cow, food, and other supplies. They left Iowa City in March, joining Isaac Higbee’s company, and entered the Salt Lake Valley in September, 1848.
The Smith family needed a home to live in, so Charles began making adobe bricks so that he could build a house. Charles also worked at his trade and was the first watchmaker in Salt Lake City.
Not long after the Smiths were settled in their new home, Charles Edward, who was two years old, fell into a pot of boiling water and was scalded to death. Of the nine children born to Sarah and Charles, only five lived to adulthood.
A second mission call came to Charles, and he returned to his homeland in 1852, leaving Sarah with a small daughter. He was thrilled to see his mother and family again. Still, none of them were interested in the Church.
Charles received another mission call in 1862. This time he was to take his family and help settle St. George, where he planted cotton, corn, peaches, and sorghum. St. George was a difficult place in which to live because it was very hot and dry. The pioneers tried many times to dam the Virgin River so that they could irrigate their farms, but each time a spring flood washed out the dam. At times Charles had to go back to Salt Lake City to work as a watchmaker for a while to earn enough money to feed his family. Finally, after ten years of his family’s living in a one-room house, he was able to build a larger home in St. George.
Throughout the trials that he and his family endured—the deaths of their children, persecutions of mobs, separation from his family during his three-year mission, and difficult living conditions—Charles remained faithful and enthusiastic about the gospel. A devoted student of the scriptures, he was second counselor to Bishop Henry Eyring in the St. George Second Ward. Later Charles served on the stake high council there for twenty-seven years, and he spent many years doing temple work. For the last five years of his life he was the patriarch of the St. George Stake.
His granddaughter Ethel Smith Matheson remembered him as a very gentle, soft-spoken man who always carried a pocketful of peppermints. His grandchildren always ran to him for a handout and a kiss. She recalled that for many years he climbed the steep stairs of the town clock in St. George to take care of the clockwork.
Charles Smith, like many other early converts to the Church, helped build the kingdom quietly and steadily. Because he listened to the missionaries and was willing to leave home and family, hundreds of his posterity have enjoyed the blessings of the gospel.

The next stop was in Trinidad and Tobago, where both sisters comforted families in their homes and also trained the leaders of that country.

Devrani Barrios, a Church member from Trinidad and Tobago, remarked: “It was good, I enjoyed it. Their sense of humor and their interactions with the kids was amazing. The prayer they left with my family is unforgettable.”

Taramatie Kotiah, another sister from Trinidad manifested: “I truly enjoyed the home visits. The sisters were very friendly with us all, as if we knew each other. They have such a welcoming spirit. They taught me what ministering truly is.”

Twins Vince and Wayne Watson of Anchorage, Alaska, saw the wheels of big government really roll on a recent visit to “Washington Workshops.” The brothers’ trip, sponsored by four area banks and the local Teamsters Union, gave them the opportunity to spend two weeks touring historic landmarks, sitting in on legislative sessions, and enjoying the spectacular beauty of the nation’s capital. While in Washington the two also visited the temple and did baptisms for the dead.
Vince and Wayne have long been interested in government and leadership. For four years they alternated as class president and vice president; this past year Vince served as senior class president and Wayne as student body head at Bartlett High School in Anchorage. Both attended the .American Legion Boy’s State, earned Duty to God Awards, hold the rank of Eagle, and have participated in Church and school dramas and musicals, including Saturday’s Warrior.
Vince and Wayne have also completed four years of seminary, which in Alaska means getting up at 4:30 A.M., while holding down 20-hour-a-week jobs.

A few years ago I had the wonderful opportunity of serving as the bishop of a BYU married student ward. It was a marvelous experience being able to associate with hundreds of wonderful couples. As I was getting close to being released, my stake president asked me a question that he asked all of the bishops at the end of their service.

He asked me, “What is the most important thing that you learned while you were a bishop?”

I quickly responded, “The incredible healing power of the Atonement.”

I had fine young people come into my office in the depths of despair because they had done things that had greatly offended their spouses as well as God. As part of our conversation they would often ask, “Bishop, how can I ever be forgiven for what I have done? How can I ever make it right with God and with my spouse?” We would then talk about the Atonement and its ability to cleanse each of us from sin if we sincerely repent.

I had wonderful people come into my office devastated because they had been terribly hurt by the actions of their spouse. Through their tears they would ask, “Bishop, how can I ever forgive my husband (or my wife)?” We would then talk about the Atonement and its ability to heal broken hearts and to give us the ability to forgive.

I had couples come into my office who were bitter toward each other. In just a few short years the interactions between them had deteriorated to the point where they were characterized by power struggles, bickering, angry accusations, and fighting. They felt hopeless that their relationship would ever improve. They would ask, “Bishop, is there any possibility that our marriage can be fixed?” We would then talk about the Atonement and the hope and healing that it brings to spouses who sincerely repent and who strive to forgive each other.

I saw miracles while I was a bishop. I saw individuals repent of their sins and earn back the favor of God and the trust of their spouse. I saw brokenhearted spouses find peace and the ability to forgive. I saw couples who were on the verge of divorce turn from destructive patterns of constant fighting to humbling themselves, looking inward, taking responsibility, apologizing for mistakes, and striving to forgive each other. Every one of these miracles was made possible by the healing power of the Atonement.

Disengaging from sin can be difficult. Breaking a habit can cause pain and anguish. This past spring I decided to personally remove a large pine tree in my backyard. The tree was about 24 inches in diameter, 50 feet tall and required extensive work with a chainsaw to bring it down. It also needed to be cut into smaller pieces so it could be hauled away.

Then I had the difficult task of removing the stump. Some of the roots were 10 inches thick and spread out like the spokes of a wagon wheel. Removal required many hours of digging and chopping with an axe. Unfortunately, I developed an injury in my right hand and, as a consequence, had to have carpal tunnel surgery.

That tree started out as a tiny seedling, easily removed by pinching it with my two fingers and yet, as a huge tree, many hours of hard labor and pain and even surgery were required.

Lyle says he is not the kind of person who accepts things on faith very easily. “It took me a while to realize that the Spirit of the Lord is a substantial, real thing, not just a belief.”

When Lyle’s younger brother Skyler was being ordained a deacon, Lyle was gathered with his father, uncles, and cousins in a circle to help with the ordination. “I thought, What could be better than to spend eternity with these people? I would do anything for anybody in this circle. The Spirit was very strong. That’s when I started thinking, It’s real, it’s substantial, it’s God’s power, and it’s been here all along. The thing I see happening in the family, the spirit that can be there, is the most important thing to me. I’d drop robots right now if the choice was between them and my family. I’m playing with little toys that pale in comparison to that.”

My family went on a sailing trip and didn’t see land for over three weeks. After the first two weeks, we were hit by a crazy storm. Our sails broke in the wind, and waves crashed onto the deck, completely submerging the front of the boat. On top of all that, we were almost out of drinking water—so if we survived the storm, we still had that to worry about.
My family crammed down into the only dry part of the boat and prayed for almost an hour. I didn’t know if we’d survive the night, but I knew that, no matter what, I would be with my family because we were sealed together.
When we finished the prayer, we saw that the wind had settled down and the waves had stopped. Soon after, it started pouring rain, which is extremely rare in that part of the ocean. We used a tarp to fill our tanks and miraculously got enough water to finish the trip.
That experience showed me how powerful prayer can be and how much Heavenly Father cares about us. When I think back on that storm, I know the gospel is true and real.

Another scene is quickly before us. A grieving young father and his two children sit alone after a makeshift dinner. The children have been staying with Grandmother while their mother has slowly slipped away in a lingering illness; now they and their father are home again after her funeral. The little girl drops off to sleep and is carried to her bed. The little boy fights off sleepiness until he finally asks his father if tonight, just tonight, he can sleep with him in his bed. As the two lie silently in the dark, the lad speaks: “Daddy, are you looking at me?”

“Yes, son,” the father replies, “I am looking at you.”

The boy sighs and, exhausted, sleeps. The father waits a time and then, weeping, cries out in the dark: “God, are you looking at me? If you are, maybe I can make it. Without you, I know I can’t.”

Recently my granddaughter Jennifer was invited to go with several of her school friends to a dinner and a movie. The girls all agreed on the movie they were going to see, and Jennifer was comfortable attending. However, the girl who left dinner to buy the movie tickets for the group returned with tickets to a different movie than was planned! She said, “It is a great show, and it’s R-rated.”

Jennifer, caught by surprise, couldn’t believe the situation had changed so quickly. But fortunately she had made up her mind before she ever found herself in this position that she would not watch R-rated movies. She was able to stand firm and say to her friends, “I can’t go see an R-rated movie. My parents would not approve.” To which the girls replied, “Oh, come on! Your parents will never know!” Confronted with this, Jennifer went on to say, “Well, actually it doesn’t matter whether my parents will know. I just don’t go to R-rated movies!”

Her friends were upset and tried to get her to relent. They told her she “was ruining everything.” When she would not give in, they threw the ticket and change in her face and deserted her for the R-rated movie. It wound up being a lonely night full of rejection from her friends. But it was a great moment for Jennifer and our family. She gained confidence, self-worth, and spiritual power.

Elisa M., 15, who lives in Germany, will never forget the first time she met a refugee family. Her family decided to participate in a community Patenschaft, a mentoring program where they would befriend a family that had had to move from Syria because of the war. The two families met in a park to get acquainted.
“I was nervous,” Elisa says. “I didn’t know what to expect.” The Syrian family had three children, ages 7, 4, and 2, and a baby on the way. “My parents and their parents talked a little, but the children were kind of shy. They didn’t speak. They were just observing.”
Then her brothers, Alexander, 12, and Joseph, 6, started kicking a soccer ball. That broke the ice. Soon the seven-year-old and the four-year-old started kicking the ball too. “We just had to show them where to start,” Alexander explains, “and Fußball [soccer] is a ‘language’ that we have in common.”
The families became friends. “We have helped them to better understand German, and to get settled in their apartment,” Elisa says.
Assisting others comes naturally to Elisa, who has already helped to make school kits for refugee children. “This summer at youth conference we sewed cloth bags and then filled them with pencils and other supplies they would need for the first day of classes.” Helping also comes naturally to Alexander, who recently became a deacon. “Holding the priesthood means we should always pitch in,” he says.
Elisa and Alexander agree that actually meeting refugees increased their compassion for them. “Getting to know them makes you want to help them even more,” Elisa says. “They’re always thankful and have a smile on their face. Their example teaches me to be more grateful.”
“We keep finding out they’re like us,” Alexander says. “They joke, sing, laugh, and eat. And they know more about enduring tough things in life than we do, because they had to flee from war. By being friends with them, we’re doing what the Savior would do. He cares about everyone, and we should too.”

Mark felt a tightness inside as he slid into his seat. This was the third elementary school that he had attended in the past few years. And although the first day in a new school was always the hardest, something far worse was bothering him: Grandpa Jim was dead. And nobody in his family could explain to Mark what really happens to someone when he dies.
Mark looked down at his desk as the announcements came over the loudspeaker. By the time they stood for the Pledge of Allegiance, he had his emotions under control. When he sat down again, he noticed the girl across the aisle staring at him.
What’s with her? he thought. He felt like making a face at her, but instead he got out his new notebook and the worn, gold mechanical pencil Grandpa Jim had given him.
“I want you to have this, Mark,” Grandpa had said. “It has been exploring with me through miles and miles of wonderlands. I used it to write my best ideas and thoughts in my journal. Sometimes I thought of the ideas myself. Other times I read or heard a good thought from someone else and jotted it down. I’ve had some wonderful adventures while going idea hunting, and I have a hunch that you’re ready to start your own search.”
Oh, Grandpa Jim, Mark had thought, looking at the thin face lying on the hospital pillow, You’re not finished adventuring! And how can I search alone? Don’t leave me, Grandpa Jim. But Mark hadn’t said anything except “Thank you” in a very quiet voice.
And Grandpa Jim had stopped adventuring. One winter afternoon Mark had stood aching and helpless beside a silent grave. Even Grandpa Jim’s gold pencil in his pocket had given him no warmth.
Mark got through his first day at school by avoiding everyone. When some of the guys invited him to play baseball after lunch, he just shook his head and wandered around inside the school yard until the bell rang. After school he walked home alone. Two blocks from his house, someone came up behind him. He moved aside, but instead of walking by, the girl who had stared at him in class fell into step beside him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Marci. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders.
“I live on the corner, down from your house,” she said. “I saw your moving van. It’s nice to have someone my age on our block.”
Mark thought, Why don’t you go away, but he just said, “Oh.”
“Do you like to play tennis?” Marci asked. “There are courts next to my house. We could play today if you want. My little brother sometimes plays with me, but he isn’t very good yet.”
“I’ve never played before,” said Mark, hoping to discourage her.
“Oh, that’s OK. We have an extra racket, and I can teach you. You look like you’d be a good player. I’ll come by at four o’clock to get you. See you then.”
Before Mark could protest, she was running down the sidewalk. “Now what’ll I do,” he groaned. “I don’t want to play tennis or anything else!”
Marci rang his doorbell right at four o’clock. His mom answered and called Mark to the door. “Have fun,” she said, gently pushing him out the door after Marci.
Marci explained how to serve and the various ways to hit the ball. Before long, Mark was running around the court, chasing the ball and sometimes even smacking it soundly across the net. He was surprised at how good it felt. He set his jaw and concentrated on each return, until soon he was getting more balls over the net than he was missing.
“You’re good!” shouted Marci, stepping back to serve. “It’s hard to believe that you haven’t played before.”
Mark felt a flush of pleasure as he stretched to return Marci’s serve.
When they had to go home for dinner, Marci said, “I’m glad that you moved here.” Then she jumped into the air, curled into a forward roll, and sprang up beside him again, grinning. “You’re neat.”
Marci asked Mark to do something nearly every day after school. They played more tennis, and she took him exploring in the forest behind her house. They hunted tadpoles and turtles, found giant yellow mushrooms and more kinds of fungi than Mark had ever seen, and chased squirrels until they scampered, chittering angrily, high into the trees’ foliage.
“Let’s have a picnic,” Marci suggested one afternoon. “I know a place along the creek where there’s a deep pool full of fish. Do you fish, Mark?”
“I used to,” said Mark, suddenly serious. He hadn’t taken out his rod since Grandpa Jim had become too weak to go with him.
They met early Saturday morning and tramped deep into the forest. “It’s really beautiful here,” Mark said. The leaves were in full color, and the colors astounded him. He was used to subdued hues of tan and yellow. The flaming oranges and brilliant golds here filled him with wonder. He almost felt happy.
After an hour of walking, they reached the pool. They baited their hooks and cast into the pool.
“I sure hope we catch something,” said Mark. “I love fresh fish.”
“I hope so, too,” said Marci. “You’d better be good, Mark, because I promised Mom that we’d bring some fish home for dinner.”
“I’m already good!” shouted Mark as his rod bent double. He planted his feet and began reeling in a large, speckled trout.
“That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!” Marci cried. As Mark reeled it in, she added, “He must be awfully old to be so big. I bet he’s a grandpa.”
Mark went cold. He looked down at the fish. A grandpa. A grandpa he was about to send to his death. He reached down, unhooked the frantic fish, and threw it back into the water.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Marci.
“I couldn’t let him die. He’s a grandpa.” His eyes filled with tears in spite of his efforts to prevent them.
“Oh, Mark,” said Marci. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s my Grandpa Jim,” choked Mark. “He died last winter. I miss him so much. I don’t understand why he had to leave me. I don’t know where he went or if I’ll ever see him again.”
Marci reached out and took Mark’s hand. “You will see him again, Mark,” she told him. “I know why he died, and I know where he is.”
Mark looked up at her, startled. “Where?” he whispered. “Where is he?”
“His body is dead,” Marci explained, “but his spirit lives in the spirit world.” She smiled at Mark. “Did you grandpa believe in Jesus?”
“Yeah,” he said. “He did. I don’t know much about Jesus, but Grandpa told me one time that some of his best ideas came from the Bible. Grandpa Jim liked good ideas.”
“Here’s one of Jesus’ teachings,” Marci said. “‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’*
“So, you see,” Marci went on, “only your grandpa’s body died. His spirit is still alive. Someday, because of Jesus, his spirit will come back into his body, and he will be resurrected. That’s why Jesus said that He was the resurrection and the life.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I really do,” Marci told him.
“Why?” Mark asked.
“Because my dad died two years ago.” Marci turned and looked into the pool. “At first I thought that I would never be happy again. I missed him so much! I still do. I guess I’ll always miss him, but I’m not sad anymore. My dad believed in Jesus, and so do I. Mom had us memorize that scripture so that we could be comforted.”
“Marci, will you help me learn that scripture, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Marci. “I wrote it in my journal on the day that we buried my dad.”
“Grandpa Jim wrote in a journal. He gave me his gold pencil to write in my own journal, but I haven’t started one yet. Maybe I’ll do it today. Do you have any more good scriptures that I could write down?”
“Lots,” Marci told him. “In fact, I can give you a whole book of them when we get home. You can use your pencil to underline them right in the book because there will be too many to copy.”
“What book is that?” asked Mark.
“The Book of Mormon,” said Marci.
Mark looked at her beaming smile and felt a warmth creep into his heart.
“The Book of Mormon,” he repeated. He’d never heard of it before. But if the Book of Mormon helped make Marci happy, he thought, maybe it can do the same for me.

When Mamie was 14, a little sister was born at the ranch. Her father, by now stake president, had gone to general conference in Salt Lake City. Before leaving, however, he had brought from Kanab a midwife, Macey Stewart, who promised she would stay till his return, or at least till the mother was able to be up and around. “When the baby was a week old,” wrote Mamie, the midwife got homesick and “regardless of her promise to Father that she would stay, she left Mother in bed with me to care for her and the baby, besides all the housework, washing, etc., for the family and hired men. Talk about responsibility for a 14-year-old!” she concluded.

When I entered BYU Provo in September 1965, Bishop Glenn L. Pearson, a religion professor, was our bishop. Bishop Pearson taught us our first Sunday about the law of the Sabbath, the sacrament, and that our sacrifice to the Lord was to be of a broken heart and a contrite Spirit. He made a promise: “If you look at the Sabbath Day as a day to focus upon the Lord and worship Him, and offer your sacraments and oblations, and not do things for yourself or study—then you will have better grades and a richer education experiences than if you studied on the Sabbath.” I knew I needed help. I decided that each Sabbath I would do the Lord’s will and that I would do all I could to worship the Lord so I could gain the Bishop’s promise of good grades, an enriched education and also have a marked spiritual influence that would stay with me through the week.

I learned something very early in that process. I realized that how I approached the Sabbath—whether on my own terms or from the perspective of the Lord’s commandments—dramatically affected my own vision of discipleship and spirituality. Developing an attitude of worshipping on the Sabbath started to drive my desire to be there on time, to be kind and charitable to all, to be helpful to teachers giving lessons, and, most of all, to seek to connect with Heavenly Father during the time the sacrament was administered. I felt a sense of responsibility to be prepared for Sunday lessons, and to look for ways to do Church service; indeed, I was benefitted greatly by focusing upon worshiping God rather than “attending Church.” I also learned that when one participates in an ordinance—one is exposed to the promises of the powers of heaven—and especially the sacrament where we are promised that we will have the Spirit of the Lord with us ALWAYS.

I had some faith-promoting and enriching educational experiences. One of the most impressive to me came some 8 years later when I had finished my course work for my doctorate. My doctoral chairman, who had been in Europe for the year, learned that I would be leaving the university to take another teaching assignment in California. She called me and asked me to take my comprehensive exams with only ten days’ notice, so I could complete them before I moved. I was greatly troubled by her request. I went to the temple, I visited with each member of my committee, I fasted on both Sundays and studied. When I sat for my four days of comprehensive exams, on several questions I felt like I had answers dictated to me. I truly did receive better grades and a much richer education through Sabbath Day Worship.

His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Australia. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.
One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos family joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father that if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you promise something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.
By the time Domingos turned 18, his Church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he would find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to Church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father to attend church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
The next time he got ready for church, his father again told him that if he went, he could never return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can come only about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
While at his grandmother’s home, Domingos had developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on, my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
He found that if he completed his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he would have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. Domingos continued something he had done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father ordered him out of the house for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission. He said if I went, I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
Domingos’s branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited him to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, uplifting music, Church activities, missionary work, and scripture study. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly, and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was thinking only about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he is eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

Another faithful missionary was Carl A. Carlquist, born near Vänersborg in 1857. At age 17, he felt a strong desire to preach the gospel and was called to distribute Church tracts around Jönköping. He was poor, so members of his branch, seven widows and their children, obtained a suit coat and boots for him. Carl didn’t own an overcoat when the winter season came, but he was allowed to borrow one a few hours every day from some of the members when they didn’t need theirs.5

During the next few months, I spent a lot of time at home and had plenty of time to think. I grieved for the loss of the person I thought I would be in my later years. I grieved for the future that my wife and I had previously envisioned. I endured days of discouragement. I prayed a lot as my symptoms grew worse. My need to find positive ways of coping increased.
Then the Lord provided an unexpected source of support. My wife and I were called to be our ward’s welfare and self-reliance specialists. As part of our calling, we facilitated a group meeting on emotional resilience. I had not thought about needing the class personally. However, by the end of the first meeting, I thought, “Wow! This is for me!” We talked about avoiding negative thought patterns, being positive, controlling our feelings. It gave me some practical tools that, over time, helped me—and my wife as well—to develop a healthy attitude toward my disease.

Whether it’s sitting together in white as they wait to be baptized and confirmed, reading the scriptures together under the statue of the angel Moroni high atop the temple’s spire, or pulling weeds together on the temple grounds, these youth pull together. Paige Payne, 13, of the Aberdeen Ward remembers one activity that not only brought them closer together but also got them all soaking wet: “We were pulling weeds. They were growing around some sort of plant, and we had to clear all the weeds—and there were millions. It was pouring rain, so we got all muddy. And we were on a slope, so every time you tried to walk, you would slip. It was really fun. The temple workers couldn’t believe we kept working. Since we were all doing it together, it sort of strengthened us all.”

“You don’t have to be a child to enjoy the activities in the children’s section of the Liahona,” says Martha Mabel Martínez of the Caleta Olivia Ward, Comodoro Rivadavia Argentina Stake. “Our family consists of my father, my mother, and me—their grown daughter. It used to be very difficult for us to hold family home evening, but ever since we started using the children’s section, everything has improved—especially the good spirit we feel when we’re together. Sometimes other members of our family just happen to come by, and they participate too and are just as enthusiastic about family home evening as we are.”