Gospel Story Finder

When I heard that Mama, Papa, and I were going to California with a whole shipload of Latter-day Saints, I was excited and couldn’t wait for the trip to begin. The minute I saw the Brooklyn anchored in the East River, my heart started banging in my chest. Everything a company could possibly need in a new settlement was lugged on board and stowed in the hold.
On Wednesday, February 4, 1846, after several delays, the ship was finally ready to leave New York. We waved good-bye to the friends and relatives who had gathered on the dock, and were soon on our way on the cold, gray, rough Atlantic Ocean.
No one had warned me that I might be seasick, and I never imagined that someone could die at sea! A raging storm was the farthest thing from my mind—but the terrors of the trip started right away.
One morning, Papa and I watched from the deck as the sky darkened and a strong gust of wind whipped by. Seamen suddenly appeared on the run, shouting instructions to each other. They scrambled up the masts and began taking down the sails. The captain came out of his cabin and told all passengers to go below. “We might be in for a bit of a blow,” he said. “You’ll be safer in your rooms.”
We lurched along, fighting to stay upright. I’d just eaten breakfast, and my stomach felt squeamish.
When we got to the cabin, Mama had already climbed into the bunk and was hanging on so tightly that her knuckles were white. Our belongings had been tossed into a tangled heap on the floor. The furniture slid in one direction, then another, mashing things together as the ship tipped back and forth in the rough water.
Something was banging up on the deck.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“They’re battening down the hatches,” Papa said.
“Battening?”
“Fastening canvas across the stairways by nailing on narrow strips of wood called battens.”
“You mean they’re nailing us in?” I felt all smothery just thinking about it. I never could stand to be in tight places. The thudding of the hammers overhead made me feel as if I were in a coffin with the lid being nailed down. “How can we get out?” I shouted in a panic.
“We can’t,” Papa answered, pushing me into the bottom berth just before a heavy chest skidded into me, “but the water can’t get in, either. That’s the idea.”
“What if I get sick?” I felt more and more like I was going to every minute.
“There’s the chamber pot,” Mama said.
“They’ll probably leave the hatchway to the captain’s cabin open,” Papa said. “He may need to come down for some reason, and it’s not exposed to the storm like the ones on the deck.”
Even though I knew that the captain’s hatchway was not for the use of the passengers, I felt better knowing that there was a possible way to get out.
All the lamps were extinguished except two in the hall. I hated the darkness.
The dim lights flickered as the tempest blustered and roared. I heard thundering thumps as huge waves crashed over the deck. I felt each upward thrust as the Brooklyn was lifted high on the surging crests. My breath was sucked out of me just as if I’d been punched in the stomach when the ship then dropped deep into the following yawning troughs of the wild and angry sea. The tired timbers of the old ship groaned and creaked as if they were splitting apart.
Babies screamed. Children cried out. The sick groaned for help. Mothers soothed and sang or joked or scolded. Men’s voices could be heard above the others, some impatient, some comforting.
“Don’t forget,” one brother said reverently, “that Jesus Christ stilled the storm on the Sea of Galilee.” We prayed and sang hymns—louder and louder as the storm’s fury increased.
The fire in the stove had been doused, so no food could be cooked. It didn’t matter—no one on that rocking, rolling ship wanted to eat, anyway. Almost everyone was seasick.
The storm raged and roared all day. When night came, Papa tied us in our berths so that we wouldn’t be tossed about like beans in a bag. I slept little, hoping and praying for the storm to end. It didn’t. It got worse.
By morning, water was outside our door.
“How’d it get here?” I asked Papa.
“It must have come down the captain’s hatchway. It either washed through his cabin—or his cabin’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“A storm like this could shatter it or sweep it right off the deck.”
“The captain too?”
“It’s possible,” Papa said. “But I doubt it.”
“Neither my cabin nor I have been swept away yet, lad,” Captain Richardson said, appearing behind Papa, “but I’m here to speak seriously to all the passengers.”
The singing stopped immediately.
“My friends,” he began, “there is a time in every man’s life when it is fitting that he should prepare to die. That time has come to us, for unless God interposes, we shall all go to the bottom. I have done all in my power, but this is the worst gale I have ever known since I have been master of a ship.”
One man replied, “Captain Richardson, we were sent to California. We shall get there.”
Another said, “Captain, I have no more fear than though we were on solid land.”
The captain shook his head in disbelief at their calmness. As he left, he muttered, “They are either fools and fear nothing, or they know more than I do.”
The wind-driven sea continued to lash and crash against the ship for four terrifying days. The foul air below was almost unbearable. “I can’t breathe,” I gasped, and Papa braved the dangers to take me up the only open hatchway.
We met the captain on the deck and watched the spars whip dangerously as the ship rolled on the rough sea. Then a Baptist—the captain—and two Mormons—Papa and I—prayed together for the safety of the ship.
The storm ended. The Brooklyn had survived the first terrifying trial of the voyage. But the Atlantic adventures were just beginning!
(To be continued)

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

At school, my chemistry teacher wanted to promote honesty in her class. She told us that we would check our own tests and report our own scores. As I checked my answers, I was tempted to add one single point to my score. I only needed that extra point to pass the test. I sat there for a while, wondering what to do.
While I sat there thinking, I suddenly remembered a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) that I had placed on the back of my identification card: “What a destructive thing is a little dishonesty. … The institution may be able to stand the loss of money, but the individual cannot afford the loss of self-respect” (“I Believe,” Ensign, Aug. 1992, 5). Underneath that quote was the phrase: “If the Savior stood beside me, would I do the things I do?”
I felt peaceful and happy when I knew what I was supposed to do. I didn’t change my failing score, but I knew that I had passed a more important test—the honesty test—and I was proud of the choice I made.
Natalie A., Philippines

Jeremy Miller is a lively, 18-year-old priest in La Habra, California, but because of a car accident when he was three, he is also a quadriplegic—paralyzed from the neck down.
Constant care is required for Jeremy. He must have a nurse, a family member, or knowledgeable friend with him at all times. He is usually attached to a small respirator and can move only by maneuvering his wheelchair with a device he activates with his chin. But Jeremy is far from helpless.
As a matter of fact, Jeremy is constantly involved in helping others. And his efforts are not confined to the southern California community where he lives—they’ve even reached overseas. “It’s a blast doing things for other people,” he says in his deep, enthusiastic voice. “It’s just so great!”
Jeremy’s latest endeavor will help thousands see. For his recently completed Eagle service project, Jeremy was responsible for collecting over 2,000 pairs of used glasses to send to an optometry school, which would then catalog them and send them to Central and South America.
Many are surprised that Jeremy is involved in Scouting at all, but it’s a family tradition he refuses to break. His three older brothers earned the rank of Eagle Scout. It hasn’t been easy for Jeremy to work on all his merit badges, and it’s required quite a bit of help from those around him. But everyone involved agrees it’s worthwhile.
“I love Scouting,” says Jeremy. “Besides, it saved my life.” When the car struck Jeremy, his older brother Russell used the life saving techniques he’d learned in Scouting to keep Jeremy breathing until he got professional care.
But just as Jeremy helped many people with his Eagle project, many helped Jeremy complete it. Jeremy created over 3,000 flyers, which the Scouts in his troop helped deliver. Soon both local and national papers picked up the story, and Jeremy was receiving glasses from all over the country. The Los Angeles Temple sent a box of glasses left by patrons over the years, and a car rental company sent a crateful of glasses that had been left in their cars. Encouraging letters accompanied many of the offerings.
“It was so great hearing from all those people,” Jeremy says. “I can’t believe so many would respond. Every time the doorbell rang, Dad would look at me and say, ‘More glasses!’”
“It just shows you that you can do anything if you put your mind to it,” Jeremy says, and then thinks a minute. “Well, maybe not anything. I’d really like to go scuba diving someday, but of course that’s impossible. Still, there are a lot of things I haven’t done yet that I plan on doing.”
Jeremy recently graduated from high school with a 4.0 grade point. His classmates there were always eager to lend a hand, and the school even tried to accommodate his special needs by acquiring a voice-activated computer. “My friends are really supportive,” Jeremy says. “It’s awesome.”
And Jeremy, in his own way, has given something back. At an awards banquet, where the top 100 students were honored, Jeremy received a special award and as it was presented, it was pointed out that Jeremy had provided a great experience for the student body. Not only had he given them an opportunity to extend themselves in service, but he’d provided an incredible example of tenacity, courage, and high spirits.
Ward members have been extremely supportive of Jeremy as well, and in return he serves as the first assistant in the priests quorum. He makes innumerable phone calls, takes his turn conducting Bishop’s Youth Committee meetings, and carries out most of the responsibilities his position requires, but there’s one thing he is still working on. “My goal is to bless the sacrament,” Jeremy says. “Now it’s set up so I can’t get up the stairs to where they bless it. The wheelchair is a problem, but we’ll get around that somehow.”
When Jeremy is not doing schoolwork, church work, or socializing with his friends, you might catch him involved in another rather surprising activity. Jeremy is a painter. His mother, an accomplished artist herself, has been a tremendous help and inspiration to him in this area and many others. With his canvas propped up in front of him, he holds the brush with his teeth and produces some impressive artwork. His favorite subjects are birds, but he created a Christmas scene that the Make-A-Wish Foundation used on their annual Christmas card. Make-A-Wish had previously helped Jeremy by making his lifelong dream of visiting Hawaii come true. By letting them use his painting, he was able to help them in return.
Jeremy is now trying to prepare himself so he won’t be completely dependent on his parents in the future and will have the power to give a little back to them as well. He’s involved in a two-year program that will teach him more about computers and enable him to take an active part in the computer industry. He already works part-time using a mouth stick to type tests into computers.
The Book of Mormon has also done a lot for Jeremy’s life. “It teaches me things I don’t know. One of the neatest things I’ve learned from it is how to get along with family and friends.” Jeremy would like to share the Book of Mormon on a full-time mission, but for health reasons, he probably won’t be able to serve in the traditional way. He’s always eager to tell about the goodness of the gospel, though, and many have heard his testimony.
That testimony includes a major helping of gratitude—for his life, which is a miracle in itself, and for the helpfulness of those around him. People feel good around Jeremy. They like to help him. In return, Jeremy does his best to see that what comes around goes around.
As the New Era went to press, we received word that Jeremy passed away. He did achieve his goal of blessing the sacrament before he died.

By the autumn of 1838, the spirit of his missionary calling began to press so heavily on his mind that he longed to engage in its labors, though he had been ill through much of the summer. His strength was depleted, but he felt if he would make the effort to embark in the Lord’s service that God would supply the needed strength. Therefore, contrary to the advice and wishes of his parents, he set out to share the gospel. At first he could only walk a short distance before he was forced to sit down and rest, but gradually his strength returned and he was completely restored to health.

During this missionary journey he labored in four states. February found him in Kentucky, preparing for his return to Ohio, a journey of five hundred miles through deep snow. He had only $1.25 in his pocket, but he had a deep faith that the Lord would provide.

This return trip was a difficult one. During most of the trip his socks were wringing wet from mud, snow, and rains, and he was fortunate if he found lodging before a fire. The trip completely emaciated the young missionary, and when he returned to his friends in Ohio, he was not recognized. Under the care of his friends he collapsed and was seized with a violent fever, lying many days prostrate in bed.

Such were the missions in the early career of Lorenzo Snow—and the beginnings of many more. The following year he went to Great Britain. He was upon the sea forty-two stormy days. Writing to his aunt he described the storms:

“Just look at me in your lively imagination, in one of these terrific storms, seated to a large hogshead of water—holding on, with both hands, to ropes near by … the ship reeling and dashing from side to side—now and then a monster wave leaping over the bulwarks, treating all present with a shower bath—see, sitting near me, a man weeping bitterly with terror on his countenance—the next moment a wave shoots over the bulwarks, dashing him from his seat and landing him … on the opposite side, from which he arises with a broken arm and dripping wet.”

Below, boxes were broken loose and were tumbling about among the groaning and crying women and children. Yet, through it all, Elder Snow was filled with peace, for he was on the Lord’s errand. This scene was much like one described by Luke, involving the Apostle Paul. In fact, there was much in Lorenzo Snow that was like Paul in terms of missionary labors. Elder Snow’s mission to Britain was followed in coming years by missionary labors in Italy, Switzerland, Malta, Hawaii, and the Holy Land. Before his missions were completed, he had crossed the ocean eight times, traveled over one hundred and fifty thousand miles, and borne his own expenses through it all.

President Snow should be remembered for many things: for his gentlemanly manner, for his deep spiritual commitment to the Lord, for his great abilities as a colonizer, for his value as an educator; but among all his other virtues, he should be especially remembered as a missionary par excellence. One of the major thrusts of his administration was that of fostering missionary efforts worldwide. He even sent out MIA missionaries to serve in other stakes for a period of five or six months. He assigned Elder Heber J. Grant to open Japan to the teaching of the gospel. He spoke of carrying the gospel to Russia and Austria. And during the first year of his administration, he called over one thousand missionaries to labor throughout the world—a number that had never been sent out before in the history of the Church, and never was again for twenty years.

One is left to wonder what might have happened if Lorenzo Snow, as a busy young college student, had decided that religion was not for him. How many thousands of individuals might not have had the chance to accept the gospel!

This photograph, taken during Lorenzo Snow’s presidency, shows him as he is most often portrayed today.

Another time the dynamic duo decided to play a little joke. In nearby Provo Canyon there is a 430-foot waterfall that plunges down a sheer cliff into the Provo River. A tram climbs on a cable to a small restaurant at the top, and there is no visible way up to the restaurant except by the tram, and even that’s a scary vertical trip. Nevertheless, the lady in charge one afternoon was startled by two young men tapping her on the shoulder.
“Can we have a ride down the tram,” one asked. Her mouth hung open. They had not come up on the tram.
“Can our dog ride down too?” the other asked. Her eyes dilated. There stood George, wagging his tail benevolently and panting. No dog had ever ridden up the tram. Before the confused lady could develop any serious emotional problems, they explained that they had come in by the “back door,” a hike of 20-plus miles over rough mountain terrain. They got a free ride down the tram, and George became the first and last canine passenger.

A home teacher I know in our ward was recently sitting at home one evening when the prompting came into his mind--"Go visit Brother Jones! Now!" (And it wasn't even the end of the month!) He acted on that prompting and visited Brother Jones at a critical moment to comfort him. Brother Jones, whose wife had passed away, and some of his family members needed to hear the home teacher's testimony of eternal life. That teaching moment, that singular opportunity, may have passed forever if the prompting had not been headed.

Don't we all marvel at the inspirational stories President Thomas S. Monson tells of visiting widows, serving the poor, blessing suffering hospital patients--each exemplifying President Monson's personal ministry to bless Heavenly Father's children? Besides teaching us service, what else do these stories tell us? That when the voice of the Spirit prompts President Monson, he responds. If we respond to those quiet promptings that come to us, I promise we will find that our ability to feel the voice of the Spirit will increase and it will come with more frequency. On the other hand, I fear that if we ignore the promptings, the Spirit will withdraw and prompt us less and less often.

I remember the day my father died, my mind was somewhat in anxiety and turmoil. I returned home, sat in my favorite chair, and picked up the scriptures. I read a little, then closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye I saw my father as a young man, and he was dressed in white. Although he had never become a member of the Church, I knew I would see him in the resurrection and, furthermore, I had seen him as he would appear. My mind was at peace again. When we rely on the Lord, we can have fulfillment of his promise, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: … Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). He is “The Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:6).

The San Jose 18th Ward was in charge of the decorations for the dance. Jeanne Meeks, the Laurel adviser, said a month of planning was involved in the decorations. “The kids did it all. That’s one thing that made it so much fun for them,” she said, noting that several nonmembers helped in designing bow ties, eyes, and a hat that were attached to the Volkswagen.
A late-model Beetle had originally been chosen as the car to be brought into the gym. But when the dance committee tried to get it in the door, it was two inches too wide! Someone commented that older cars were smaller. The committee contacted Brother Bert Smith, a science teacher at one of the local schools, and they were able to squeeze his older car through the opening.
The dance committee also asked Brother Smith to use test tubes to set up a “mad scientist” booth at which he brewed root beer. With a wig on his head, surrounded by a cloud of dry ice “steam,” and dressed in a white lab coat, he served thirsty dancers throughout the evening.

During the message I delivered at general conference in October 1975, I felt prompted to direct my remarks to a little girl with long blonde hair who was seated in the balcony of this building. I called the attention of the audience to her and felt a freedom of expression which testified to me that this small girl needed the message I had in mind concerning the faith of another young lady.
At the conclusion of the session, I returned to my office and found waiting for me a young child by the name of Misti White, together with her grandparents and an aunt. As I greeted them, I recognized Misti as the one in the balcony to whom I had directed my remarks. I learned that as her eighth birthday approached, she was in a quandary concerning whether or not to be baptized. She felt she would like to be baptized, and her grandparents, with whom she lived, wanted her to be baptized, but her less-active mother suggested she wait until she was 18 years of age to make the decision. Misti had told her grandparents, “If we go to conference in Salt Lake City, maybe Heavenly Father will let me know what I should do.”
Misti and her grandparents and her aunt had traveled from California to Salt Lake City for conference and were able to obtain seats in the Tabernacle for the Saturday afternoon session. This was where they were seated when my attention was drawn to Misti and my decision made to speak to her.
As we continued our visit after the session, Misti’s grandmother said to me, “I think Misti has something she would like to tell you.” This sweet young girl said, “Brother Monson, while you were speaking in conference, you answered my question. I want to be baptized!”
The family returned to California, and Misti was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through all the years since, Misti has remained true and faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Fourteen years ago, it was my privilege to perform her temple marriage to a fine young man, and together they are rearing five beautiful children, with another one on the way.

Katsumi Nakahara of the Iwamizawa Branch has been a member for a little more than a year. He met the missionaries when they were proselyting on the street. “I did not think it was strange,” he says. “But they were foreigners. So I thought I would go and visit the church. I received a brief lesson. But during that lesson I felt the Holy Ghost. Since then it has been a process of following the Spirit from one step to the next.”

Tim Ryan listened to the wind howling through the empty city streets. Night was rapidly approaching, the night of December 24. In other years the day of the 24th itself and most especially the day to follow would have been joyful days for Tim Ryan. But not this year. No, most definitely anything but joyful. Upstairs in the back bedroom on the third floor of the house that he was just leaving, Maggie was dying.
“Only hours,” the young doctor had said. “Your wife has a very short time to live, Mr. Ryan.” He seemed to take a smug satisfaction in being able to so casually measure off the time of life remaining to another human being.
That had been this morning. The hours had dragged by slowly since then. The pale sunlight of December had brought little warmth to Timothy Edward Ryan, caught in the middle of his 67th year.
Long ago, and it seemed to be a part of that other world in which he and Maggie had been born, little Tim would have taken comfort from what the priests would have offered him. He had been faithful in his church, and when he married Maggie, the ceremony had been performed by Father Kelly. He hadn’t considered any other alternative.
Forty-eight years had gone by since that day. In those 48 years, Christmastime had been special to the Ryans. Their house had been filled with the laughter of six children and the children’s friends. Twenty years ago the first grandchild had seen Christmas at the Ryan’s.
Now December 24 or 25, and it didn’t really matter which, was about to become a day etched in pain and sorrow in the mind of Tim Ryan. There was a part of him up there, a part of him that was slowly, painfully slipping away. He wanted to cry, but no tears would come.
As he began to move away from the front steps, moving in some direction, any direction to be away from this place, he took a companion with him. The companion was Bitterness, and he had been with Tim for some time now.
Bitterness laughed at long-held beliefs. “See, Tim? It all must end this way. This is the end of the laughter. That was temporary; this is not.”
At 4:30 he pulled on his scarf and followed with his heavy parka. He told the nurse that he would be back, that he needed to get out and get some air. Really Tim wanted to go and embrace the cold and the coming darkness, for without Maggie, would there be anything left but cold and darkness in his life?
The sunlight had faded rapidly away and become the dark of night. Tim walked aimlessly through the streets of his adopted city, about to be alone for the first time. “I must make a plan,” he thought. “I must see to the future. There is hope—”
The word hope stuck in his throat. His companion, Bitterness, told him that to believe in hope at this point was a cruel joke on himself. Why, it was like believing that angels would come and lift their voices to the heavens! Both hope and angels were things of the past, Bitterness told him.
Bitterness became quiet as Tim turned his mind to thoughts of past years. When he was just a boy, he had left Ireland with his two older brothers and a younger sister to come to America. They landed in New York and then moved to Baltimore to join an uncle.
The streets of Baltimore hadn’t been paved with gold. They had had to work long hours in their uncle’s store. Slowly the hours began to pay off, and the sweat and toil became the mortgage price of prosperity. Ever so slowly, poverty released its strong icy fingers from around the immigrants.
When he was 17, Tim Ryan had let his brother Michael talk him into going to a parish dance. “Come along, Timmy. It’s time that you began to think about the ladies. And what better place to meet them than at the parish house?”
Tim went with Michael, shyly, unwillingly at first. He stood off on the sidelines, watching the others dance and hating them for their social graces and himself for his shyness. Then Maggie appeared and the climate changed.
She was short, no taller than his five foot three inches, with long black hair. She smiled often, and once, when he looked enough in her direction, she smiled at him. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks.
He summoned up the courage to go over and introduce himself. She asked him with that ever-present smile if he always blushed so brightly. “No,” he said, “it only happens when I talk with a beautiful young lady. And by the way, may I have the next dance?” She said yes.
Tim Ryan walked Maggie Rourke home that night after the dance. They saw each other often in the next year. Then, one night, on the anniversary of that dance in the parish house, he asked her another question. She answered yes to this one too, and they made arrangements with Father Kelly to perform the ceremony.
The old man that Tim Ryan had become shook himself to break the train of thought. He had walked so far as to arrive in the department store district. The big stores were closed now, their displays of Christmas merchandise garish in the neon sun.
“I will walk a little further,” Tim thought. “Just a few more minutes here in the cold and I will be ready to return and face what I know I cannot avoid.” He headed slowly up the hill into the wind, with its blasts tearing at his face and jacket.
“One more house, Brother Henderson?” That was Jan Andrews’s question.
Gregory Henderson looked at his group. He had come into the city with a dozen of the kids from his Sunday School class to visit some of the older members of the ward and sing Christmas carols. They had seen all of the families on their list with the exception of the Billings, and it was getting late and the kids were getting cold.
“Face it, Henderson,” he thought, “you’d like to go home too. You have a family to be with on Christmas Eve and a wife who would like some help in decorating the Christmas tree.” Another part of him spoke up quickly, though, and put things into perspective.
“Yes, we’re going to see the Billings. They live on Clayton Avenue. It shouldn’t take too long to get there. I think we’ll sing three songs, like we’ve been doing, and then head for home.”
As the kids piled into his car and Dave Maxfield’s van, he could see on their faces that one last visit would be about enough. He hoped that the project had touched some of them. They needed to start learning a little about service.
His car moved on through the dark Baltimore streets in silence. Inside were the most active kids in the ward, the doers and movers. Jan Andrews, Tony Morgan, Bob Smith, Carol Miller—his wife called them the angels. They had been the biggest helps to him so far.
After several minutes’ ride, Greg saw the turn-off for Clayton Avenue. He swung the big Dodge into the narrow street and continued down the two blocks to the Billings’ house. The young people piled out again, ready to conclude the project, thinking thoughts of home and the next morning.
Jan called the group together outside the house: “Let’s start off with ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,’ then go to ‘Joy to the World,’ and close with ‘Silent Night.’ The Billings are both pretty sick and haven’t been able to get out to church for a long time. They’ll appreciate this a lot.”
Tim Ryan turned the corner onto Clayton Avenue. He was only a few blocks from home, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. His thoughts had led him downward into a valley of despair. His normal energetic step had become the shuffle of a man worn down by age.
Then he heard the voices. Like the clear, pure sound of a tinkling chandelier, the voices cut through the cold night air, reaching his ear with cheerfulness. They brought his mind back to what day would fall tomorrow.
Tim stopped to listen more closely, despite the still-insistent voice of Bitterness inside. He wanted to hear what they were singing and find out who they were. How could they be happy on a night like this when he was about to lose the most important thing in his life? Didn’t they have any feelings?
The words, carried to him on the back of the wind, began to enter his mind. Subtly at first, and then more quickly, a light that had been burning low within Tim Ryan began to flare up once again. The flame began to thaw the ice that had been forming inside and outside.
Once upon a time, when Michael had asked him what about Maggie had first attracted him, he had said that she had the laughter of an angel. Laughter fell clear and pure from her lips. Hearing her laugh made him feel that he had been able to set a foot into heaven.
Now, this group of young people, singing to an unseen audience in the house across the street, were touching him in that same way. They were like angels with their clear voices, simple and pure in the message which they presented.
“Oh, Lord,” he thought, “I cannot turn the tide of what must come. But I can learn to hear the bells again and look past tragedies. I must go home quickly, quickly.” Tim had intended to stay and talk with them when they finished. Instead, the urgency of the moment directed him homeward.
In the back of his mind, Greg Henderson wondered if the old man standing across the street was enjoying the singing. The thought faded just as rapidly as it had come, and Greg turned his mind back to the music.
It was late, almost midnight. Tim sat by the bed, holding Maggie’s hand. It was an act that he had performed often in 48 years. Tonight it took on special meaning.
“My dear, you would have loved it. They were like angels with their clear voices. I doubt that I have ever heard the songs of Christmas sung so beautifully or received such enjoyment out of the sacred music.”
She said nothing for a long time. Then she looked up at him with a smile, one like the smile that he had first seen so many years ago.
“Tim, you’re happier tonight than I’ve seen you at any time since I … since I’ve been ill. That makes me happy.”
Maggie lapsed into silence again.
The clock stretched forth both its hands to 12. Christmas would have already dawned over the desert where it had first been celebrated so many years ago.
“Tim.”
“Yes, dear. What is it?”
“Tim, I think I’ll sleep now. I feel so in need of rest. Will you hold my hand while I sleep?” She closed her eyes. Some of the worry and pain that had written itself across her face in the last year began to fade.
The little man with the shock of wind-blown white hair looked down at his Maggie. Great soft tears, tears like the drops of a gentle spring rain awakening the earth, began to well up in his eyes. The tears were sweet, though. He had heard the angels sing, and he was beginning to understand.
Somewhere out in the suburbs, Greg Henderson rolled over in bed. He had just finished assembling the last toys, and he was tired and wanted to rest before the children would patter in asking mommy and daddy if they knew that it was Christmas Day.
Just before the last trace of consciousness fled, Greg thought about the old man who had listened to them sing on Clayton Avenue. Greg wondered if the man had liked the kids’ singing. Then sleep came and chased the thought from his mind.

Then I was called to be the second counselor in the elders quorum. Even there I had a manual, but I couldn’t use it. All the Church members had manuals they could use, and I wondered if it would be a heavy burden for me to depend upon other people to always read for me and record it. I started praying and asking my Father in Heaven to help me find something I could use to better understand the gospel. While praying, I felt the Spirit say to me that if I have faith, I can even move mountains.
During a home teaching visit, I told the sister we visited, “I cannot read the scriptures because I cannot see. I want to go to a school where I can learn how to read and write Braille.”
Her brother worked at a school for the blind. He helped me apply. I studied Braille every day. I even woke up at night to practice reading Braille. It took me only four months to be able to read it.
I finished school and told my branch president that I could now read Braille. He gave me a box with a manual for the priesthood and all the scriptures in Braille. I never knew that the Church had those things. It was then that I started really understanding and enjoying the gospel.
I have been called in the bishopric, and I’ve been serving in that calling for I think about 10 years. I can now stand in front of other people and teach by the Spirit. Because reading Braille in the lesson would take a lot of time, I practice and I learn the lesson at home so I can teach without a manual in front of me.

To Joseph Fielding Smith, “family is the most important organization in time or in eternity.”7 He was raised in a family governed by love, faith, high moral standards, and diligent work ethic, and he sought consistently to bring those same principles into his own family. (See chapters 4, 15, and 16 of Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Fielding Fielding Smith.)
He married Louie Emily Shurtliff in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898. One year later he was called on a mission to Great Britain for two years and was loyally supported by his wife. Upon his return, the two resumed their lives together and were blessed with the births of two daughters. Sadly, during a difficult third pregnancy Louie passed away.
In his sorrow Joseph prayed, “Help me, I pray Thee, to so live that I shall be worthy to meet her in eternal glory, to be united again with her, never again to be separated. … Help me to rear my precious babies that they shall remain pure and spotless throughout their lives.”8
At the urging of his father, the bereaved father of two prayerfully sought for a wife and a mother for his young children. His righteous desires were blessed in having Ethel Georgina Reynolds brought into his life. They were married in November 1908 in the Salt Lake Temple. This marvelous woman became the mother of Joseph’s first two daughters and later gave birth to nine additional children.

When I was eight, I chose to be baptized. As I was immersed in the water, I felt a special happiness that came from the Spirit. Shortly after my baptism, my mother passed away. I felt sad, depressed, and frustrated. No child should have to know how it feels to lose their mother.
However, three years later we went to the temple and were sealed as a family. The special feeling of the Spirit came back that day, and I felt that my mother was there by my side in the temple. I have faith that I will see her again someday.

Illustration by David Malan/Malan Creative
When our first child, Caden, was 10 months old, my husband, David, and I left him in the care of my parents for the first time. We went out for dinner and then went to a movie theater. Once we got our popcorn and sat down, my mother called.
Our baby wasn’t breathing, and an ambulance was on the way!
We drove home in a panic and ran inside to see Caden in my mother’s arms, smiling at the paramedics. He was fine, but he had experienced a seizure.
Doctors couldn’t determine the cause of the seizure or two subsequent seizures, but they prescribed medication to help. As a first-time mother, I was devastated. Caden seemed OK, but the experience shook my faith. I became consumed with stress and worry.
Two years later a neurologist recommended performing an electroencephalogram (EEG) on Caden, a test that would measure his brain activity while he was asleep. If the results looked good, he could stop taking seizure medication.
I worried about the test because Caden had stopped taking naps a year earlier. How would we get him to sleep in a busy doctor’s office with electrodes all over his head?
The night before the test, David gave Caden a priesthood blessing. As the blessing began, I felt the strong presence of the Spirit. I knew everything would be OK. It was the first time since his first seizure that I felt peace.
The next day doctors attached electrodes to Caden’s head. Then we laid him on the exam table and turned off the lights.
He was asleep in minutes. This may not seem like a miracle, but he hadn’t taken a nap on his own for over a year.
Heavenly Father hadn’t forgotten us. His Spirit was there in that doctor’s office, calming Caden and comforting me. My attitude toward trials and priesthood blessings shifted that day. I know that the power of the priesthood is real.
Caden is now a young adult. He hasn’t had a seizure since he was a baby. He has faced other challenges but has overcome most of them. I know that the Lord continues to watch out for him and calm my fears (see Luke 8:50).

Merrell: Besides Indian and Three Warriors we have done Take Down and most recently Harry’s War. Would you like to hear the story connected with my doing Take Down?
Merrell: Kieth told me they probably wouldn’t use me on Take Down because the investors wanted someone with a big Hollywood name to help sell the film. My opportunity to do it began, strangely enough, when the BYU basketball team lost to the University of Utah. That night as I was trying to sleep, an arrangement of the “Cougar Fight Song” that I hadn’t heard before kept running through my mind. I finally got up, took a tape recorder, and dictated what I was hearing. A week later I orchestrated it, went to London, and at the end of the regular recording session, recorded the National Philharmonic playing my new “Cougar Fight Song.” It had a combination Star Wars-Rocky-disco sound and I loved it! I wanted it to be perfect because I planned to give it to Coach Arnold to help inspire his team to win.
Well, the day I returned to Utah I was in the studio listening to it and received a call from Kieth. He said, “Merrell, I’m totally frustrated; I’ve gone through composer after composer and no one strikes a bell. Do you have anything with a sports theme that sounds like Rocky and Star Wars combined?” I couldn’t believe it! I told him what I had and then sent him down a rough mix. After listening to it, he called in the investors and had them listen to it, and within three minutes they decided they wanted me to do the music for Take Down.
Later when Kieth talked to me, he said, “I don’t care what you do in the rest of the picture, but I want the end titles to sound like your Cougar song without the Cougar melody.” And that’s how close I came to getting the exact music he wanted before he had even asked me to submit a song. To me that was really a faith-promoting experience because I had been inspired several months earlier to be almost overwhelmed by a certain sound, write it down in the specific style Kieth wanted, record it, and have it ready the very day Kieth called.

Consider, for example, the case of one Latter-day Saint couple I worked with, John and Susan.
Several years after they were married, John began to drink. Susan, because of her love for him, tried everything she could think of to make him stop. She would hide his liquor or his wallet and try to keep him away from drinking friends. Repeatedly when he came home drunk she explained away his unusual behavior to others. She would call his boss and make excuses: “John has a touch of the flu. I’m afraid he can’t come to work today.” She also began lying to the children, saying, “Dad’s just having trouble at work and is under a lot of pressure.”
The children soon realized what was going on. Because of the pressure at home they stopped bringing friends over, and they protected their father by hiding his behavior or making excuses for his behavior.
Susan was also ashamed to go to the bishop. How could she possibly tell him that John was drinking?
This story, or one similar to it, is re-enacted over and over. And a surprising number of people may get involved. The bishop may begin to provide meals and clothing when family resources are depleted. Friends at work may try to make it seem that his work is getting done or assume extra responsibilities so that men like John won’t lose their jobs. Employers may ignore shoddy performance or give the person repeated chances because they feel it would be unchristian to fire him: “What would happen to his family if I did?”
These behaviors usually prove to be destructive. They shield a person from the consequences of his behavior and make it convenient for him to continue drinking.
One of the first steps in helping families like John and Susan’s is to reach Susan and the others involved and help them eliminate those elements of their supportive behavior that make the problem worse. They have to learn how to exercise “tough love,” which I define as doing what has to be done even though it hurts, or not doing something for others that they should do for themselves.
“Tough love” isn’t always easy. It isn’t easy to break the silence and confront a loved one in a firm spirit of love and helpfulness. It can be extremely painful for a woman to leave her husband all night in the chair where he passed out, and to make him clean up after himself in the morning. It’s hard for children to say to their friends, “Mom’s drunk,” instead of making excuses for her.
And it’s hard to always be sure of yourself when you’re dealing with someone who has become an expert at shifting responsibility to others. As a matter of survival, drinkers become expert manipulators. John, for example, manipulated Susan into believing that it was her fault that he drank.
She was hurt inwardly and became more and more resentful—until she learned what he was actually doing. When it was impressed upon her that one person can’t make another become a problem drinker, she began to take control of her feelings and was thus able to avoid manipulation and the bitterness that sometimes follows such manipulation.
One way or another, a drinker must assume responsibility for (in other words, suffer the consequences of) his negative behavior before he or she can be motivated to change.
Unfortunately, the very teachings that instruct the Saints not to drink may cause us to develop harmful attitudes about those who fall into the alcohol trap. Harsh opinions, injudicious labeling of the drinker, and misunderstandings about alcohol and what it does to people commonly interfere with our ability to help.
Consider the rejection John felt when he attended a Church activity and a couple nearby got up and moved because they could smell liquor on his breath. This doesn’t always happen, of course; but when it does happen, the hurt felt by a person like John can be intense. He needs to be helped, not ignored.
I have discovered that we can be helpful to another when we view the drinker as a child of God with the same eternal worth as any other person, but one who has a disease and needs appropriate help. This is a time when love, concern, and acceptance are needed more than at any other time.
Let’s compare John’s experiences with those of a Latter-day Saint teenager named David.
In open defiance and rebellion against his father, David stole the family car. Succumbing to the excitement of high speed, he failed to negotiate a turn, rolled the car several times, and was critically injured. Fortunately, those who were riding with him received only minor injuries.
The family and ward members fasted and prayed for David’s recovery. He was given a special blessing by his home teachers and was visited often in the hospital. Even the other young men in the accident and their parents visited and expressed hope for his recovery. Although David was left somewhat crippled and scarred, he recovered and everyone thanked the Lord for preserving his life.
David had made a serious mistake, but he received the support he needed at a critical time in his life. John’s experience was much different, however. When John finally acknowledged that he needed help and was admitted to a local drug and alcohol treatment center, only his wife visited him. Ward members did not fast and pray for his recovery. He was not given a special priesthood blessing. And when returned from the center, he found that people around him were apprehensive, uncertain, and doubted that he could stay sober.
I have learned that pure love, personal fellowship, and increased understanding can bless the lives of those suffering the effects of alcohol as much as they can bless the lives of those suffering from other problems.
Perhaps the hardest part of being supportive to a problem drinker in his struggle to overcome alcoholism is learning to accept relapses without being upset or discouraged. Recovery takes time, and usually there are setbacks and disappointments. Often there is a great temptation to simply give up—to feel that all your hopes have been wasted and that all progress has been for naught.
The difficult thing is to maintain perspective—to be able to stand back mentally and view the problem from a position of control, instead of feeling mentally trapped in narrow confines with nowhere to turn. Family members must learn to relax and to accept small improvements, always maintaining hope that this family problem can be overcome, and sharing that hope with one another. Of course, they must continually seek divine help. The Lord can bless us with insight far beyond our own, and increased testimony of the gospel can give us strength to endure.
Patience and perseverance will help the family to continue in love and encouragement after a relapse instead of being demeaning and discouraging.
This does not mean that we will always be successful in influencing a loved one to stop drinking. The principles still apply, though. And if the problem drinker is unable to solve his problem, at least our own lives will be improved.
A great deal of heartache can be avoided if non-drinking family members will get early help. It is important that everyone involved take the initiative to learn all they can about alcohol, the process of addiction, and the ways in which family members and others unintentionally contribute to continued drinking.
For non-drinking family members, potential resources include home teachers, quorum leaders, the bishop, and other concerned priesthood and Relief Society leaders, and members who are reformed drinkers.
For the drinker, in addition to the above resources, there are groups who specialize in helping people with drinking problems such as Alcoholics Anonymous and other similar resources. It is vital to know that in many cases recovery without the help of professional programs to overcome drinking is virtually impossible. Help for alcohol-related problems is available in most communities if affected families seek assistance.
Application of the above guidelines, although challenging, has given many families a meaningful course to follow and has led to some beautiful experiences. Seeing a person overcome an alcohol problem and watching a family unite once again is a wonderful thing.
The Lord’s declaration that “the worth of souls is great” and that “great shall be (our) joy” if we bring “save it be one soul” (D&C 18:10, 15) is certainly true of our labors with those who have alcohol addiction. With the help of the Lord, we can bless the lives of those who are affected by alcohol, offering them real hope for recovery.

The “little handful of members” includes pioneers like Vichit Ith, a convert who was instrumental in helping the Church gain official recognition in Cambodia.
“The Church provides Cambodians with a way to seek spirituality, which for many Cambodians has been nearly absent for the past 20 years,” says Brother Ith: “The teachings of the Church help me more than anything else. I am more focused on my family life, and I am striving to keep the commandments.”
Though Cambodian refugees have been joining the Church around the world since the 1970s—in fact, several cities throughout the world have Cambodian-speaking units—the gospel did not officially enter their homeland until January 1993. Larry R. White, who was serving as Thailand Bangkok Mission president, heard a favorable report about religious progress in Cambodia. Elder John K. Carmack of the Seventy (then a member of the Asia Area Presidency), Brother Ith (who was then living in Thailand), and President White entered Cambodia to ask government representatives about the possibility of establishing humanitarian projects. They received a positive reception.
The time seemed right for their visit. Cambodia’s political and social situation has been extremely volatile—even brutal at times—since the nation became independent from France in 1953. Nevertheless, a United Nations-sponsored peace treaty was signed in 1991. Elections held soon after the first visit of Church representatives in 1993 went smoothly, allowing Cambodia to make much progress toward democracy and rebuilding. At that time, Brother Ith received an appointment as a special adviser to the new prime minister. (Today he is employed as president of Cambodia’s national airline and as secretary-general of the Cambodian Investment Board.) His influence was invaluable in helping Church leaders present their case.
Elder Carmack and President White soon returned to Cambodia to submit the Church’s formal application for legal recognition and to arrange for couple missionaries to assist the Cambodian people by teaching English, distributing clothing donated by Church members, participating in technical university projects, and sharing the gospel.
Legal recognition was granted to the Church in March 1994, and before the month ended, Donald C. and Scharlene Dobson of Logan, Utah, were transferred from their missionary labors in Madras, India, to Phnom Penh as Cambodia’s first missionaries. The first Church meeting was held at a hotel on 27 March 1994, with six members and nine investigators in attendance. On 9 May 1994, Sister Pahl Mao became the first member baptized in Cambodia.
Other humanitarian-service couples soon arrived, and four young proselyting elders were transferred to Cambodia from Cambodian-speaking missions in the United States of America.
Now, three years later, the Church in Cambodia has more than 400 members in four Phnom Penh branches—three Cambodian and one Vietnamese. The branches are under local leadership, with support provided when needed by couple missionaries. Four couples from the United States are advisers to the Royal University of Agriculture—two teaching English and two assisting in the university’s agricultural business operations. They, with 15 proselyting missionaries, serve in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, which was created this year. In addition, the first native-born Cambodian missionary has been called. Elder Leang Chhay Suy now serves in the Idaho Pocatello Mission in the United States.
Prior to the creation of the new mission, Cambodia was part of the Thailand Bangkok Mission. Mission president Troy Lee Corriveau, who completed his assignment in Thailand in July, says that in the months following President Hinckley’s visit to Cambodia, there was a marked increase in converts. “We had approximately 40 converts a month for the next couple of months. Although many were single, we also had whole families baptized. It was a joy to see the happy faces of fathers and mothers coming to church with their children.
“The Saints here are excited about the gospel and the blessings it brings into their lives, especially the promise of eternal blessings in the temple. It’s a financial challenge for the Saints to get to the Manila Philippines Temple, but we hope to see the first Cambodian members making the trip this year.”
In the early days of the Church in Cambodia, one of the first converts was 18-year-old Vietnam native Phuong Hong Hanh. She first attended church in July 1994 because she was interested in learning English but she was soon converted to the gospel. “I knew it was right,” she said.
Another early convert, An Chea Maline, a Cambodian who joined the Church in May 1995 and served as a branch Primary president before emigrating to Australia, recalls that for a long time she knew nothing about God. “But now I know this Church is true,” she says. “It is a bright sun for me.”
Seng Suon, a convert of nearly a year, was a university student when missionaries met him. “I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon and the Church were true and if Joseph Smith was a prophet,” he says. “The answer came around midnight. I awoke, and everything seemed bright. I had the feeling that it all was true.”
When Theany Reath, a young adult in Cambodia, was investigating the Church two years ago, she worried that her family would be offended when she stopped praying to their deceased ancestors. To her relief, her parents have been tolerant of her new beliefs and behaviors. “I feel the love of my parents a great deal,” she says. “They respect my new practices, such as fasting, and they no longer expect me to drink tea with them.” Today she serves as a branch Young Women president.
Oum Borin, Cambodia’s first native branch president, along with his wife, Samay, joined the Church more than two years ago. “One night, my wife had a dream of two stars that fell into the house,” he recalls. “Then two missionaries came to our house, and we felt the stars symbolized the elders. I know this Church is the true Church of Christ.”
Ha Phuoc Thach and his wife, Nguyen Thi Hong, are Vietnamese converts of nearly three years. In 1990 all three of their teenage children were lost at sea in a boat filled with Vietnamese refugees. Despite—or perhaps because of—this tragedy, the couple embraced the gospel when they heard it. Speaking about their baptism, Ha Phuoc Thach says: “Our lives changed. It was a spiritual change.” His wife adds, “I want everyone to pray, because God does answer prayers.” He serves as a counselor in the branch presidency of the Vietnamese-speaking branch. His wife is the Relief Society president. When asked why with all they have suffered they are always smiling, the couple respond, “Because now we are happy.”
Their sentiments doubtless will be echoed in the years ahead by numerous other Asians as they embrace the gospel. In the dedicatory prayer, President Hinckley asked the Lord’s blessing upon “this land and this people that there may be peace, that there may be prosperity, that there may be harmony, and that Thy work may succeed.”

When an earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010, Jean-Elie René raced home to make sure his family was safe. Upon arrival, he spotted one of his three sons crying in the street, and he could hear the screams of another son from beneath the rubble where the family’s home once stood.
The 32-year-old father followed the cries and dug through the rubble until he found his five-year-old son and the body of his pregnant wife, still sheltering their nine-month-old baby from the collapsed roof of their home.
Brother René serves as ward clerk in the Leogane Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Although he lost his wife, his unborn child, and his home, he doesn’t complain or get angry about his situation. Most days following the earthquake, Brother René could be found at the meetinghouse, with the baby on his lap and his two other boys at his side, helping the bishop coordinate relief to ward members and others who made the meetinghouse their temporary home.
The story of Brother René is touching, but it is not unique. Members of the Church throughout Haiti suffered greatly from the magnitude 7.0 earthquake’s destruction, but the calamity served to reveal the strength of Haiti’s growing membership. Like Brother René, many members—both longtime and first-generation members alike—rose to the challenges and found peace and comfort in faithfulness and obedience.
Throughout their trials, members of the Church in Haiti have stood strong in the gospel as they continue to care for and strengthen each other and those in their communities.
“It is true that all we possessed, even our material possessions and our families, disappeared. But our faith in Jesus Christ was not destroyed,” said Yves Pierre-Louis, bishop of the Leogane Ward. “It was a good opportunity for us to evaluate ourselves as disciples of Christ.”
Local priesthood leaders in particular were a great example of faith and testimony as they rose to the challenge, learning to fulfill their callings in difficult times and help others in need, said Elder Francisco J. Viñas of the Seventy, Caribbean Area President.
“They used their priesthood keys to bless the lives of members and nonmembers,” he said. “They worked in council and received guidance from the Spirit to deal with the difficult challenges day by day.”
The aftermath of the earthquake’s destruction created a challenge, particularly for bishops in Haiti, said Prosner Colin, president of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Bishops and other Church leaders were left responsible for the care and aid of hundreds of ward members, as well as their own families.
“[The bishops] continue to help,” President Colin said. “They understand that they lost many things, but they have the gospel. They encourage [members] to continue to live worthily.”
Bishop Pierre-Louis became a community leader after the earthquake. Through the weeks and months following the devastation in Haiti, he devoted his life to the service of members and nonmembers in Leogane—tending to the needs of hundreds.
“He is the most amazing, humble servant you will ever meet,” said Chad Peterson, a doctor from Arizona who spent time with Bishop Pierre-Louis as a volunteer following the earthquake.
Many stories have been shared of members throughout Haiti whose resilience and faith in the Lord carried them through their trials.
“Though the faithful Haitian Saints have suffered greatly, they are filled with hope for the future,” said Elder Wilford W. Anderson of the Seventy in his April 2010 general conference address. “Like the early pioneers in 1846, their hearts are broken, but their spirits are strong. They too are teaching us that hope and happiness and joy are not products of circumstance but of faith in the Lord.
A demonstration of such obedience and faith was found when, immediately following the earthquake, Church meetings proceeded without interruption.
Regardless of the destruction of their country, members in Haiti arrived at church clothed in their Sunday best, wearing smiles on their faces. The gospel was the lifeline many relied on to pull them from their sorrow and despair.
“Despite losing their homes, jobs, and family members, the people are so loving, trusting, and good-natured. They have amazing faith,” Brother Peterson said.
Today, the Church continues to flourish in Haiti. Attendance in sacrament meeting has increased, President Colin said, and the people in Haiti continue to work to rebuild their communities.
“The members are doing well to serve others,” he said. “They visit them; they are looking for job opportunities for themselves and for the others.”
Berthony Theodor, a native Haitian and the director of welfare in Haiti, says he and other current and future leaders of the Church in Haiti gained valuable experience as a result of the disaster.
“We have the opportunity to serve others, showing them once again how much we love them,” he said. “We have come to learn once again that we are not alone in the world, that we are members of the people of the Lord.”
Brother Theodor said the earthquake—or any other disaster—couldn’t take away the peace or joy of members in Haiti.
“It’s my testimony that the Lord never forgets His children,” he said. “He knows where I am, my situation. He won’t ever leave me alone.”