Gospel Story Finder

It was here, during my time as a student at BYU–Hawaii, that I met my husband, Thomas. At the time, it didn’t feel like anything extraordinary—it actually started in a very ordinary way. I was a staff writer for Ke Alaka‘i, and I had been assigned to cover a big event taking place in the ballroom that weekend. I ended up having one circumstance after another pile up, which meant I arrived at the event a little late and by the time I got there, I had completely missed the band that everyone had been talking about. I remember thinking, this is not ideal… I still have to write this article.

I told my friend, “I didn’t even get to see them play—what am I supposed to do?”

And she said, “Well, the good news is I know the drummer. He’s my Gospel Doctrine teacher, and he’s really nice—you can just interview him.”

So, I walked up to this tall, thin haole guy, wearing a skinny tie, and really cool shoes—which I noticed immediately, because I always notice people’s shoes.

And I introduced myself and explained, “Hi, I’m writing an article about your performance… but I didn’t actually see it.”

And he blinked at me a few times, kind of laughed under his breath, and said, “Seriously?”

And I said, “Yep. So… can you give me a quote for my article anyway?”

And he very kindly did. I don’t even remember what he said. But I do remember having a very clear impression at that moment: This person seems like he would be a really good friend. And at that point in my life, I really needed a good friend.

The next week, I was talking to someone from his band and mentioned that I had met their drummer and was going to quote him in my article.

And he said, “Oh—Tom?”

And I said, “I think so…”

And he said, “You two would actually really get along. I could connect you.”

And I said, “Absolutely not. That would be so embarrassing. I’m good—thank you.”

But, he gave him my number anyway. And Thomas called me the next day. We spent time together the day after that, and we have pretty much been together every day since. I went from missing his performance to attending just about every show his band played around the island—and even a few on Maui. And over time, that simple introduction became something much more. We built a life together. We have raised four beautiful children. We have gone through multiple graduate programs together. And we have walked through both joyful seasons and very difficult ones.

It’s a whirlwind BYU–Hawaii, Seasider, slightly punk-rock love story. But looking back now, I can see something I couldn’t fully see then. What felt like a small, even inconvenient moment—missing a performance, arriving late, was actually part of something much bigger. I was exactly where I needed to be. The Lord was quietly shaping my life in ways I didn’t yet understand. And even then, even in that early beginning, I was not alone.

1 That’s a great jack-o’-lantern, Wendy! Want me to help you put in the candle?
Thanks, David.
2 David, when you said you wanted to join the Mormons, I gave my permission reluctantly. I thought that you were making a big mistake.
I know.
3 Well, I was wrong. You’ve become an even better son and brother.
Thanks, Dad. I’m just trying to be the kind of person you taught me to be.
4 I think maybe we were afraid you’d become a fanatic and write us all off as sinners.
How could I ever do that? You’re the greatest!
5 Well, it’s pretty easy for people to focus on their differences.
It says right in the Articles of Faith that we should respect all religions. Joseph Smith knew what it was like when people didn’t.
6 So, what do you think?
Outstanding! What do you think?
Likewise!

Growing up, Sue was just part of the gang until the gang started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a different perspective than her friends.
“In my sophomore year, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but you can’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, no one is going to stick with you through this. You’re on your own.’”
That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to bring people up to a higher level. “Sue has always been a magnet towards the good. She has pulled up the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been affected.”

A few years ago, I lost a dear friend. He and I had spent many hours talking, working, and fishing together. I learned so much from him. I watched as he loved and served those around him in ways that I simply had never seen anyone do before. He was healthy and strong, his work ethic was unmatched. And then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, he was diagnosed with cancer and passed away. Left behind were his wonderful wife and eight children, two of whom were still young. In my mind, I can play out dozens of scenarios where his unique personality and capacity would have helped people and made the world a better place. I wish he was still here. I feel like he was taken too soon. It has been a few years, and it still feels like he was taken too soon.
To this day, I do not fully understand the Lord’s purpose in taking Big Wave Dave from this earth.

I am grateful to have experienced this in my life. I mentioned previously the difficult experience of losing my dear friend, Big Wave Dave. As the days passed after his death, I was struggling personally to deal with him being gone. During the services held to celebrate his life, I sat and looked into the eyes of his wife and daughters, whom I also love dearly, and I was overwhelmed. I felt their pain. I felt a desire, unlike anything I had felt before, to bear their burdens, mourn with them and comfort them. I tried to do that. I know it wasn’t enough to alleviate all their pain, but I hope it made a difference.

Not long ago, one of our sons was married in the Idaho Falls Temple. We had assembled in the sealing room for the ceremony when the sealer asked me and the bride’s mother to bear our testimonies before he performed the marriage ceremony. As I spoke, I noticed that my oldest daughter was sobbing. Later, outside the temple, she told us that as I stood to speak, Matthew had entered the room accompanied by so much spiritual power that she could not control her feelings. As she was about to leave the room, lingering behind all the others, she had felt something warm touch her shoulder. A still, small voice had whispered, “That was your brother Matthew. He is the one who stood by your bed one night.”
The peace and joy this beautiful experience brought to us is inexpressible. What comfort there is in knowing that we are important to Matthew and that he cares about what we are doing, and to know that God loves us and has let us feel Matthew’s presence so that we can have that assurance.

About 150 years ago, 402 Latter-day Saints left their homeland in Europe to come to America. A Sister Jackson recorded a spiritual experience in her journal. She wrote that one night during the voyage, when the ship was near the shores of Cuba, it was particularly pitch dark and no one could see anything. The captain was afraid that the ship might be wrecked as he knew that land was near. Suddenly, a heavenly light illuminated the surroundings for a few seconds, revealing to the captain that a large rock rose boldly out of the ocean right in front of the ship only a short distance away. The captain quickly turned the ship just in time to avoid hitting the rocks. A terrible disaster was avoided because of the Lord's help. All 402 Latter-day Saints arrived safely in New Orleans.

A year after I joined the Church, I had a desire to serve a full-time mission. During my interview with the bishop to fill out my application, he asked me, “Do you have any problems with anyone that you have not yet resolved?”
I answered no, because I told myself that I didn’t, ignoring the bad feelings between my father and me. I declared myself worthy and ready to serve.
The days that followed were extremely painful. The idea that I would have to reconcile with my father bitterly invaded my soul. My father never worried about his children. We all had reached the point where we no longer spoke to him. If I was ever asked about my father, I answered without remorse, “He is dead.”
I really couldn’t see any reason to try to reconcile with someone who wouldn’t take time to listen to me. I didn’t feel that I had wronged him. On the contrary, I felt that he was the one who needed to come see me and ask for my forgiveness. Nevertheless, the idea that I needed to go see my father continued to torment me.
One evening I went to visit him. He lived some 220 miles (360 km) away. The first hour of our conversation was a time for insults, mutual accusation, and words that truly hurt. In spite of our angry words, my intention to reconcile was strong. With the help of the Spirit of God, we managed, after five hours, to end with positive feelings.
After many tears were shed, my father and I were able to embrace, happy to finally understand the core of the problem that had kept us so angry at each other for so long. At the end, my father took a container of warm water and, while speaking, slowly poured out its contents, as we do in Africa to represent a reconciliation. He then gave me his blessing after reviewing all that had happened in the past and committing to repent of his mistakes.
I am so grateful to Heavenly Father, who inspired me to seek such a discussion that gave way to mutual repentance. As a missionary in the Ivory Coast Abidjan Mission I was happy to wear a badge on which was inscribed two names: Lagoua, my father’s name, and Jesus Christ, my Savior’s name.

You’re going to say I should have arranged housing in advance. But if I had, where would I be now?
After filling out a mountain of forms at registration, I drove around Provo looking for a place to stay. Finally I picked out one of the new apartment units near the campus. The office girl told me they had a vacancy in number 33.
The apartment complex is in the shape of a big C, with a swimming pool and frisby field in the middle. I walked across the lawn to number 33 and knocked on the screen door. Nobody came, although I could hear voices inside. I knocked again.
...
We finished the dishes and sat down around the kitchen table. I took out a sheet of notebook paper and wrote at the top "Operation Engagement."
"We’ll make a list of the things a fellow looks for in an LDS girl. First: testimony. Second: a nice face, a good figure. Third: common interests. Fourth: sense of humor. Fifth: a supporting attitude."
"Let’s go down the list," Cher said. "Testimony. I’ve got one, Tony. I really do."
"Okay," I said. putting down a check on the paper.
"Face." She held out her hand, rotating it to the right and then to the left in a gesture familiar to Easterners. "I don’t know. What do you think?"
"It’s very good. Like a Greek goddess. Do you have many cavities?"
"Our water had fluoride—53% fewer cavities."
I put a check beside "Face."
"Wait," she said, "except for the glasses."
"You have to see."
"I’ll get contact lenses."
"I like you the way you are."
"It’s not you we’re trying to impress," she said coolly. Then, quickly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind."
"No problem."
"Figure?"
I cleared my throat. "Fine."
"You don’t think I’m too skinny?"
"No, ma’am."
"Aren’t you going to say anything more about the figure?"
"No, ma’am."
"Do I dress modestly enough?"
"You dress like a lady."
"Maybe I should dress less modestly to get B.J.’s attention."
"If he noticed you that way, I’d punch him out."
"Okay. Common interests." she said.
"I think B.J.’s biggest interest is himself. So you have a common interest."
"You don’t know him very well. Be constructive."
"Okay," I replied. "Boys from the West are crazy about deer hunting. Do you know anything about deer hunting?"
"What’s there to know?" she asked.
"Do you know how to clean a deer?"
"Do they get dirty?"
"I will ignore that. Probably your biggest common interest is the Church. Maybe that’s enough. Let’s see, sense of humor."
"I don’t think B. J. has a sense of humor."
"If you marry him, you’re going to need one. A supporting attitude. That means you help him on his campaigns. Or you try to do nice things for him, like cooking his favorite food to show him that he’s special to you. You’re doing fine, Cher."
"Tony, there’s one other thing. I have some of that Eastern cynicism. I’m not like your average coed. Maybe I seem too cynical. I need to be more sincere." She wrote down another word at the bottom of the list, sincerity.
The next afternoon when I came in after my lab, she was already working on supper.
"Tony, look what I picked up in the bookstore today. You’re not going to believe this. It’s perfume in a time-release capsule. You just open this little pill and scatter the tiny beads on your hair with this little can. The beads are programmed. The aroma starts out kind of mild, but in about three hours it’s really something. I’m going to put some on."
She applied the contents of one of the small capsules.
"Do you want to smell?"
"In the interests of science," I said.
"Let’s see. It’s 4:30 now. We’ll eat at 6:00. So if I can get around B. J. by 7:00, I’ll give him the full dose."
She started peeling potatoes. I sat at the table and thumbed through a book I was supposed to be reading. The perfume did change aroma as time went on.
"I pick up my contact lenses on Monday, Tony. And I’ve really worked at being sincere. Look at me."
She was standing with her head up, looking at the ceiling.
"What are you looking at the ceiling for?"
"I’m looking at the clouds as the sun breaks through."
"We’re in a room. There are no clouds," I said.
"I know. But you’ve seen those movies where they close with someone looking at the clouds. Now that’s a sincere look, right? Well, I’ve got it, right?"
I stood up, grabbed a dish towel, and draped it over her sincere face.
...
"That’s really great, B.J.," Cher said as she leaned down by him, ostensibly to look at his appointment book but really to allow him a whiff of "T + Three Hours and Counting" perfume.
It was at that moment I realized I loved Cher and didn’t want her to be around B.J.
Monday when I came in, Cher had her contact lenses.
"So how do you like me now?"
"You can really see me?"
"Sure."
"But why are you crying?" I asked.
"My eyes are just watering a little. It’ll clear up once I get used to the lenses."
"I can’t even see them on you. Let me get a little closer." I moved very close to her and looked into her eyes.
"How’s that?" she asked.
"Fine."
"I mean, can you see them now?"
"I’ll have to get closer."
"That’s close enough," she said, moving away.
"Are they hard to take out?"
"Not at all. You just put your finger here on the corner of your eye and blink." She put her other hand below her eye, but the lens missed her hand and fell to the floor.
"Just stay there, Cher. I’ll look for it." I got down on my hands and knees and started looking for it. I soon found the small, green, plastic lens. "Cher, can you see anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Nothing." I put the lens in my shirt pocket.
"Cher, maybe if you get down and help look for it."
She got down on her hands and knees also. "I think we should both concentrate our efforts over here where you were when you dropped it." I moved over by her.
We looked and looked. Finally we decided to take it one tile at a time.
"Tony? You have your hand on top of my hand," she said, looking down at our hands.
"Oh, I do. Do you want me to move it, Cher?"
"I don’t know. I can’t decide."
"Cher, you are really good looking."
"With contacts, I’ll look better. Maybe that’s been my trouble all along."
"No, I mean with glasses, and without the time-release perfume, and without the forced sincere look. You are beautiful. You don’t need any improvement."
"No, I’m not beautiful."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not," she insisted.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not."
"Well, maybe not beautiful. But definitely pretty."
"So you don’t think I’m beautiful!"
"Yes, I do. But you wouldn’t accept it, so I figured I’d compromise. And Cher, you are sincere. In fact, you are just about the most sincere person I’ve ever met. Truly."
"Thank you. I try to be sincere. And Tony, you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to without wondering what I’m supposed to say. With you I’m just myself."
"Cher, you have a nice hand."
"We shouldn’t be here alone like this."
"We’re not alone, Cher. Boris is on the couch, and Enrico is looking at the chalkboard."
"I know," she whispered, "but it’s like being alone."
"Cher, you are very special to me."
"I don’t want to hurt you, Tony."
"Who’s hurting? My knees are a little sore, that’s all."
"That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to fall in love with me."
"It’s too late. I already have. I want to marry you, and I’m asking you."
She started crying.
"If you want to wait before you give me an answer, that’s okay."
I got up to get her a box of tissues. When I returned, she was sitting on the chair in the kitchen. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and sat there.
"Tony, I really like you, but I’ve been thinking about B. J. for so long there’s no more room for anyone else in my heart. Can we be good friends?"
The next day I paid a visit to B.J.’s office in the Wilkinson Center. "B.J., I want to talk to you."
I told him about Cher and the way she felt about him. "The poor girl," he said. "I had no idea she felt so strongly about me."
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked him.
"I guess I’ll have to take my shirts to the cleaners and tell her to buzz off."
I slammed my hand down on his desk, breaking his plastic, desk name plate. "No, B.J., that’s not what you’re going to do. You’re going to take that girl out and try to fall in love with her. You are going to treat her like a queen, or some morning you’re going to wake up with your head shaved."
"Perhaps I should go out with her," he said quietly.
For the next several weeks, I stayed clear of Cher. I spent my late afternoons watching the Foucault pendulum swing, or listening to music, or taking long walks. Then I would go home around 8:00 and eat whatever was left. Cher was cooking for B. J. now. She made homemade wheat bread, beef stew, meatloaf—the things that B. J. liked.
It was especially bad when I knew they were going out, and I stayed away from campus for fear I’d see them together. Every couple seen from a distance looked like them. Every time I saw a girl with her head on some boy’s shoulder, I got cold chills. I wished I had never met her.
One weekend B. J. took Cher home with him to meet the family. That was the Saturday I ran. I got up early and put on sweat pants and sweat shirt and drove out to a country road. After parking the car I started running. Soon there was just the road, the pain in my side, and the crunch of my feet against the gravel. But the pain in my mind diminished as the pain in my side increased. So I kept on. Finally I collapsed on the side of the road. It was a long time before I could make myself get up and walk back to the car.
A couple of weeks later B. J. had to go to a conference of student leaders in New Mexico. That Tuesday night I entered the apartment at 8:00 expecting to see the usual empty kitchen with a plate of food in the refrigerator.
Cher was in the kitchen cooking. "I thought you were never coming," she said. "Sit down and get started."
She sat down across from me, and we said the blessing.
We got through the salad in silence. Removing the salad plate, she replaced it with a plate of lasagna and garlic bread.
"Why are you cooking with B. J. gone?"
"I get paid to cook here, remember?"
"But why did you wait for me? I’m two hours late."
"Your name Tony Versalino? Of Italian ancestry? You like Italian food?"
"Yes."
"That’s what it means."
"Cher?"
"Item five, a supporting attitude. ‘Like cooking his favorite food.’"
I put down my fork and held her hand. "What about B.J.?"
"He was a dream in my mind for all those years, but a dream with no reality. Besides, it finally occurred to me that it wasn’t necessary for all members of the Church to walk and talk and live like they came from Panguitch, Provo, or Parowan. I can’t fit the Utah-Mormon mold. I like the East, and I want to go back and help the Church grow there."
"You mean, the West is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there?" I caught the aroma of her perfume in the last stages of its time-release cycle. "Lady, what you need is a nice Mormon boy from Pennsylvania."
"I don’t want to push you, Tony."
"I’m your man."
"You know what Daddy is going to say?" Cher said. "‘Queens? He’s from Queens? I send you by plane across the country, you live in a desert for years, and you find a husband from Queens? For Queens, I could pay subway fare. Now you tell me you want to get married in a temple in Utah? We got plenty of temples in New York, and I know a rabbi …’"
For dessert we had a dish of Italian ice.

One such couple, parents of a friend of mine, exemplify this principle for me. The husband worked at a steel mill in Utah. At lunch he would pull out his scriptures or a Church magazine and read. When the other workers saw this, they ridiculed him and challenged his beliefs. Whenever they did, he spoke to them with kindness and confidence. He did not allow their disrespect to make him angry or upset.
Years later one of the more vocal mockers became very ill. Before he died, he requested that this humble man speak at his funeral—which he did.
This faithful member of the Church never had much in the way of social status or wealth, but his influence extended deeply to all who knew him. He died in an industrial accident while stopping to help another worker who was stranded in the snow.
Within a year his widow had to undergo brain surgery, which has left her unable to walk. But people love coming to spend time with her because she listens. She remembers. She cares. Unable to write, she memorizes her children’s and grandchildren’s telephone numbers. She lovingly remembers birthdays and anniversaries.
Those who visit her come away feeling better about life and about themselves. They feel her love. They know she cares. She never complains but spends her days blessing the lives of others. One of her friends said this woman was one of the few people she had ever known who truly exemplifies the love and life of Jesus Christ.
This couple would have been the first to say they were not of much importance in this world. But the Lord uses a scale very different from the world’s to weigh the worth of a soul. He knows this faithful couple; He loves them. Their actions are a living witness of their strong faith in Him.

Jung Sung Eun of Korea didn’t pass the qualification exam to become a teacher. Tina Roper of Utah, USA, lost a job that she had expected to turn into a career. Todd Schlensker of Ohio, USA, received a spiritual confirmation to marry but saw his engagement come to an end. Alessia Mazzolari (name has been changed) of Italy ended what appeared to be the perfect relationship.

Todd faced a bright future upon returning from his mission. While attending school, he met a wonderful young woman. After several months of courtship and a spiritual confirmation, Todd proposed and she accepted. They planned their wedding for the end of the summer, and both returned home from school to prepare.

“Three weeks after we said our good-byes at school, she ended our engagement,” Todd recalls. “Heartbroken could not express my feelings strongly enough. There were so many unanswered questions in my mind; it didn’t make sense. I had received a confirmation in the house of the Lord, and now our relationship was over. My testimony had never been tested this hard.

“Unfortunately, for years following my breakup, I couldn’t get past it. I didn’t know how I could ever trust a feeling of confirmation again. I had always trusted in the Lord and tried my best to keep the commandments,” he continues. “It all seemed for naught.”

In their respective experiences, Todd and Alessia both eventually recognized that even though a key relationship in their lives was altered, they couldn’t abandon their obedience and allegiance to the Lord. He became their anchor when everything else was changing and uncertain.

“I didn’t have all the answers to why I got a confirmation to marry someone, and it didn’t happen,” Todd recalls. “But I realized that didn’t matter. What did matter is that I still had faith in Christ, and I was going to use that faith to trust in whatever the Lord had in store for me.”

After being confronted with unanticipated setbacks, all four of these young adults struggled to find the courage to live in the present and again plan for the future. But they found that their faith in the Lord grew.

Todd continued trying to date for six years and worked to develop trust in the Lord. Even when he met women he admired very much, he had to fight to keep his doubts from the past from destroying his hopes for the future. “Finding the determination not to succumb to my doubts of six years was not easy,” he says. “But I was firm in attempting to prove to myself that I really did trust in the Lord and His promptings, even though I had been angry with Him before.” A new relationship eventually led to a temple marriage.

“I often wonder why the Lord blessed me with someone as great as my wife when I struggled so long to fully trust the feelings of the Spirit,” reflects Todd. “It is a testimony to me that the Lord is waiting to bless us, but it’s always on His timetable.”

Justin knew he’d seen that guy across the room before this party. But where? He thought about it most of the evening but couldn’t remember. Then it came back. He was passing the sacrament that time I went to church. Could it have been almost two years ago?
“Hey, you’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” The voice interrupted Jared’s thoughts.
“Yeah,” said Jared. “Are you?”
“Well, I was baptized by the missionaries four years ago, but I haven’t gone to church in a long time.”
“Well, it’s good to know there’s another member in our school. I’m Jared McInelly.”
“I’m Justin McKinley. Hey, with a last name like McInelly, I bet our lockers are close.”
And so it went. The two found they had a lot in common. Their lockers, arranged alphabetically, were in the same hall, they both played football, and they ended up living in the same ward boundaries.
Jared thought a lot of Justin and wondered how he could interest him in attending church again. He decided the youth activities would be the way to go. So one day after practice, he gave it his best shot.
“Hey, Justin, our stake is planning a youth conference next Saturday. There will be workshops in the morning and afternoon, a great lunch, and a dance that night. Why don’t you come and check it out? I could pick you up.”
“Well, I guess I could try it. I probably won’t stay for the dance, though.”
“All right,” Jared said. “We’ll come by about 9:30.”
Jared thought about Justin and the youth conference all week. Would the classes appeal to him? Would he feel accepted? Would the kids be friendly to him, and would he feel the Spirit?
Jared had talked to his teachers quorum adviser, Brother Gunnel, about how they could help reactivate Justin. He knew his leader would be coming to the conference, so he called him about Justin.
“That’s great news, Jared. How about if I pick you both up, and then we can visit on the way?”
Right on schedule they picked up Justin. He seemed to really enjoy the classes. Over lunch he said, “This reminds me of how I used to feel when the missionaries taught us. Those guys were the greatest. I’ve always wanted to be like them.”
After lunch, Brother Gunnel approached the two.
“So, Justin, are you planning on coming back to the dance tonight?”
“Well, I’d like to, but I don’t have a tie, and they said ties were required.”
“A tie?” Brother Gunnel asked. “I have a ton of ties. What color do you want?”
“Pink.”
“Pink? No problem.”
It was true. Brother Gunnel did have a lot of ties in a lot of colors—just not pink. And although pink may seem an odd choice, it was very popular at the time. But a great leader wasn’t going to let that barrier keep Justin from the dance. And if a pink tie could make Justin feel like all the rest of the kids, then he would get a pink tie. A quick consultation with the Young Women president gave Brother Gunnel directions to the nearest mall and a store that was bound to carry a pink tie.
Before the end of afternoon classes, Brother Gunnel was back at the stake center clutching his prize.
“Here you go, Justin. Will this do?”
“Hey, thanks, Brother Gunnel. It’s the perfect color.”
“Great. Have fun tonight.”
It just so happened that Jared was planning on wearing his pink necktie that night too. The girls did a good job of fellowshipping Justin at the dance, and he had a great time. From then on, he came to youth activities and then to Sunday meetings. His parents came, too, sporadically at first, then every week.
Jared and Justin became best friends.
And the pink tie? It went to all the stake dances—just in case someone needed it.

The next day the city tour began. After breakfast we boarded the sight-seeing bus. Our group spokesman explained to the attractive guide our desire to start each morning excursion with prayer. She looked puzzled at first, and I became uneasy. Then she consented to the unprecedented request. Our prayer was the second peculiarity Tanya had noticed about our group; the first had been our abstinence from coffee and tea at the morning meal. Her curiosity was aroused.

After the simple prayer of thanksgiving, we were off to witness the grandiose and unforgettable sights of Russia’s second largest city—the Winter Palace, stormed in the October 1917 Revolution; the Hermitage Art Museum, with over 30 Rembrandts among its priceless opere d’arte; the Peter and Paul Fortress, where Leningrad was founded and the author Dostoevsky was imprisoned. But in the city of 4 million souls only 19 churches were “functioning,” as Tanya described those places where people were still permitted to worship: Fifteen Russian Orthodox churches, one Catholic cathedral, one Jewish synagogue, one Baptist meetinghouse, and one Moslem mosque. The only religious edifices we were shown, however, had been converted into museums by the government.

On Sunday we traveled to Moscow by air. One lady in our group sat beside our amiable and, as we were discovering, open-minded guide. She explained to her the Latter-day Saint concept of family salvation, the role of Joseph Smith in restoring Christ’s church in this dispensation, and the history and purpose of the Book of Mormon. Tanya admitted knowing the story of Christ’s birth and death and seemed pleased to know what we Mormons believed in. She stated that the Soviet hope, in her opinion, was to prepare a better world for the next generation. She also confided how much she enjoyed our daily group prayers; she felt our group was much more united and loving because of them. That afternoon, when our “group missionary” shared her proselyting results with us, I was thankful we had not hesitated to pray that first morning in the bus.

Niels Johnson first heard about the Mormons when his father one day declared to his mother that he had heard the Mormons preach in their village in Denmark. With his breath reeking of liquor, as was often the case, Niels’ father informed his wife that he wanted to join the Mormon Church if she was willing. She told him that she would do just about anything if he would quit drinking. He promised he would if she, too, would join the Church. In January 1857 they were both baptized. Niels Johnson’s father kept his promise and never touched tobacco or liquor ever again. This remarkable transformation made such a powerful impression upon their family that 11-year-old Niels desired to join with the Mormons as well. In 1862 the Johnson family left their Danish homeland to join with the Saints in Zion. (See History of Bear Lake Pioneers, comps. Edith Parker Haddock and Dorothy Hardy Matthews [Paris, Idaho: Daughters of Utah Pioneers, Bear Lake County, Idaho, 1968], pp. 324–25.) It took faith for the Johnsons to join the Church. It took consecration and sacrifice to leave behind their Danish home and friends and family members to journey to Zion. It took trust in God and hope in Christ as they buried a son at sea. But perhaps in some way even greater than this, it took the fire of faith and commitment to covenant for Brother Johnson to give up drinking and smoking.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.

I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.

It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”

In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”

“What will the number be?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”

She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

Elder Gary G. Johnson recalled an experience that happened in the college town of Mankato, a community nestled in farmland on the banks of the Minnesota River.

“We baptized a woman, Gayle Von Ohlen, and her 12-year-old son, John Chambard. As a baptism present, we gave him a subscription to the New Era, and he really liked it. He was impressed with the way it was written, and I think he was amazed that there was so much about spiritual matters in a teenage magazine. His mother was impressed too. The New Era helps kids feel like they’re a part of something.”

As a young man just returning from military service, I anxiously looked forward to attending BYU, completing my degree, beginning my life’s work, and getting married. I had been away nearly two years and saw many of my friends getting married and doing the things I wanted to do. While in the service I had saved my money, worked an extra job on the army base several evenings and weekends, and begun my college training by taking several classes at the local college. I was really enthused about the prospects for the future and, now that I had completed my military commitment, I could move forward without further interruptions.
On returning, I purchased the car I had worked and saved for and entered BYU. Life was good. I was living at home among friends of many years, and the prospects for the future were excellent. At BYU I became involved as a cheerleader, joined several service agencies, worked part-time, and became totally immersed in the Church. My life was full to overflowing.
Then, one day several months later, my bishop tapped me on the shoulder and asked me in for an interview. What did he want, I wondered. I had just recently come home, and I was already teaching Sunday School and serving as president of the M-Man class. And then I learned: he wanted me to accept a call to serve a mission. Oh yes, the thought had crossed my mind several times, but very few young men went on missions in those days following the end of World War II because of years away from home and also because of age and a desire to settle down and complete their education.
My first thoughts were, I don’t have time now; there is so much to do, so many years of education ahead. Then I remembered several things. First, my patriarchal blessing said that I would be a missionary; and second, I had been taught by parents that the Lord would bless me as I accepted any calling that came to me. I must admit today that those were anxious moments for me, being pulled in one direction by the life I enjoyed so much and contemplating leaving all that to serve a mission. I enjoyed every day and awakened with enthusiasm for the many things that lay ahead that day and week. And yet, there I was with a patriarchal blessing—“your own personal plan of salvation,” as President Harold B. Lee used to say—and a request from a bishop to go and serve the Lord.
I thought that two and a half years would cause me to forfeit many of the goals that were important to me, all of which I thought were creditable and acceptable to the Lord. I would be behind so many of my friends, some of whom were already married. But the Spirit of the Lord continued to work upon me, and after much supplication unto the Lord I knew, by the Spirit, what I must do and began to develop an anxiousness to serve the Lord in the mission field.
I would be the first, the very first Paramore ever to serve a full-time mission and would be setting the example for others of our family to follow. It would be little repayment indeed for the blessings that had come to our families—the Paramores from England, the Nielsens from Denmark, the Maxwells and Lamonts from Scotland—because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the eternal sealings that had been done for our families and the principles of truth which had come to be ours. I would go and take these blessings to others, first, because I was asked to go, and then, because I wanted to share these blessings with others.
The weeks passed and finally an interview (in those days this was always done by a General Authority) with Elder Marion G. Romney, who was then a member of the Council of the Twelve. And finally that special day arrived when my call came to serve the Lord in the French mission. That day will always live in my mind, and, as I have reflected hundreds of times since in my life, it was one of the most important days and one of the most important calls to ever come to me to serve here upon the earth. I have thought many times, suppose I hadn’t served? There would have been some testimony I would not have received, people I would never have known and helped to love the gospel and receive its blessings.
That time in the mission field was one of the most dramatically important experiences of my life. It gave me hundreds of witnesses that the gospel is true, that it was established by the Lord Jesus Christ upon the earth, and that it brings joy, health, peace, progress, and eternal blessings to every person who fully embraces it. I would have the witness in my life forever, and it would propel me to serve the Lord all the days of my life. What a foundation for the future, for my family, to know from missionary service what the gospel can do for all who are involved.
How did I know then how the Lord would use me in the future? What were his plans for me here upon the earth? The mission was the first crossroad that I had to walk through, and since then it has been easier when faced with important decisions to ask, “What would the Lord have me do?”

Looking out over a sea of graduates in a commencement address at Brigham Young University–Hawaii in December 2005, President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, recounted the first time he came to Hawaii’s shores.
He was but a few years younger than most of the 250 graduates he addressed and was stationed on the island of Kauai as a bomber pilot in the midst of World War II. A number of friends and classmates had already become casualties of war, and he said that his family didn’t know where he would be going or what would become of him.
Yet when news came that the war was over, his joy was only temporary. He thought he was going home, but instead, he was assigned to Osaka as an operations officer.
“I asked the Lord why—why would He do this to me?” President Packer said. He had earned the necessary points. He was eligible to be released. He had kept his standards. But he was denied the thing he wanted most. Looking back now, he knows why.
“If I hadn’t gone to Osaka then, I wouldn’t be standing here now in this capacity,” President Packer said.
In his new post, he met and was involved with baptizing the first Japanese members of the Church after the war.
From this experience, President Packer said he learned to love his fellow man, and he learned to recognize revelation when it came to him. He learned the importance of receiving revelation again in his capacity as a seminary teacher, as a General Authority—called at age 37—and as an Apostle of the Lord.

Many people qualify as heroes in my life, but one great example to me was a little cocker spaniel dog named Pepper.
I remember the day that my Aunt Madge gave Pepper to my brother, Max, and me. Pepper was a tiny black puppy, and we were thrilled to have him. He had a long, heavy tail, and long ears that nearly touched the ground.
One day Pepper was seriously injured by an automobile. His shoulder was crushed, and afterward he always walked with just one of his front legs. He was a funny-looking little dog. My friends all made fun of Pepper, but my brother and I loved him. He was our loyal friend.
I was born with some birth defects that required several major surgeries on my left leg during my childhood. I couldn’t run and play like the other children. When I was twelve, I was in an accident that left my leg so badly broken that I had to use crutches or a wheelchair for the next six months.
One day as I was hobbling with my crutches to the local grocery store, I was attacked by a large dog. He bit me on the legs and arms and knocked me to the ground. I remember screaming for help but thinking that no one could hear me. Suddenly a little black figure came flying into the fight and began to defend me. It was a savage battle between a crippled little cocker spaniel and a ferocious, much larger dog. Pepper gave me enough time to get one of my crutches and join the battle. Together we were able to chase the dog away.
Pepper and I were both hurt, Pepper much worse than I. He suffered from his injuries for many days, but he did finally heal.
Pepper—my gentle, little, crippled friend. He was quite willing to give his life for me. I learned a great deal about friendship from the example of this little black dog. He didn’t require a single thing in return for his love and loyalty. He was pleased just to be patted on the head and treated with kindness. Maybe in some way I can return Pepper’s gift by remembering him and following his example of friendship. Because of Pepper, I have tried to be a loyal and devoted friend myself.

“I had a good time as a youngster,” Elder Glen L. Rudd said. “We had a fine, big shepherd dog. My brothers and I would harness him to our wagon in the summer, and we would let him pull us around the block. In winter we would harness him to a sled, and he would pull us all over the neighborhood. I liked all kinds of sports, especially tennis, and I played basketball as long as I could. Even as a bishop, I played on the ward basketball team.
“When I was growing up, I had a great bishop, Bishop William F. Perschon of the Fourth Ward, one of the oldest wards in Salt Lake City. My twelfth birthday fell on a Sunday, and Bishop Perschon called me to the stand during sacrament meeting and told the congregation that I had been interviewed and was worthy to be ordained a deacon. After I was sustained, he announced, ‘We’d like to ordain him right now.’ He got a chair, and the stake president, who was there, ordained me a deacon in front of the whole ward!
“When I was sixteen, Bishop Perschon called me into his office after Sunday School and talked to me for forty-five minutes. He told me things that I needed to know and convinced me that I should change a few things in my life, such as not playing tennis on Sunday. I needed that talk, and it changed my life.
“He had spent another forty-five minutes that day talking to my friend Arthur Sperry, and ten years later, when I was in that same office as bishop, Arthur was serving as my counselor. He became the bishop when I was released, and he became a mission president and a temple president about the same times that I did. I have counted twenty-nine bishops, eleven mission presidents, and three temple presidents who grew up in the Fourth Ward while Bishop Perschon served there as bishop. Elder Theodore M. Burton, whose life was also influenced positively by Bishop Perschon, grew up in that ward too.”

A woman in our community with cancer needed an operation but didn’t have enough money for it. Some of her friends sent out flyers reading, “Will you please help save a life?” to ask for donations. When my little brother, Ben, who is six, read one of the flyers, he got all the money he had and put it in an envelope to give to the woman.
I said, “Why don’t you give just part of your money? Then you would still have some for yourself.”
“Which is more important, keeping some of my money or helping to save a life?” he asked. That really impressed me, and I decided to donate some money, too.
My parents kept saying how good Benjamin was because he gave all the money he had. This made me a little jealous of him because, although I didn’t give all the money I had, I donated more money than Ben!
Then I remembered a scripture story about a poor woman who had only a little money. She gave it all to care for the poor. Some rich people came and gave lots of gold. They were proud of how much money they had given to the poor. But Jesus Christ said that the poor woman had given the most because she gave all she had. (See Mark 12:41–44.)
I was sorry for being jealous of my brother. I felt good knowing we could help raise the money for the operation. Most of all, I was glad my little brother helped me learn an important lesson about giving.