Gospel Story Finder

Dr. Ho-jik Kim was the first Korean to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He helped to establish the Korean Mission and a friend once said of him, “His righteous influence and simple faith in God was a great light for the people of Korea.”

While he was still a young man, Ho-jik searched many places to find the true religion. At one time or another he had joined several churches but none of them satisfied him; he wanted something more. After attending an agricultural college and a university in Korea, he decided to go to America to obtain a better education.

While studying at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, he met Oliver Wayman, a Latter-day Saint who became his friend. Oliver invited Ho-jik to attend some church meetings with him and later gave him the Articles of Faith, the Book of Mormon, and several other books. Ho-jik Kim read them all and believed they were true.

He was baptized in the Susquehanna River near where the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were baptized. The power of the Holy Ghost was strong and Brother Kim, thinking of the words of Jesus, “Feed my sheep,” felt that he should preach the gospel to his fellowmen.

He earned a doctor’s degree in education and returned home to Korea in 1951 where he held important positions in education with the government.

Dr. Kim played a big part in bringing the gospel to Korea and in helping the Church to grow there. He was an inspiration to the members and his example taught them humility, devotion, and faithfulness.

Many faithful Latter-day Saints have been warned by the Spirit when they were faced with injury or possible death. Among these was President Wilford Woodruff, who said:
“When I got back to Winter Quarters from the pioneer journey [1847], President [Brigham Young] said to me, ‘Brother Woodruff, I want you to take your wife and children and go to Boston and stay there until you can gather every Saint of God in New England and Canada and send them up to Zion.’
“I did as he told me. It took me two years to gather up everybody, and I brought up the rear with a company (there were about one hundred of them). We arrived at Pittsburgh one day at sundown. We did not want to stay there, so I went to the first steamboat that was going to leave. I saw the captain and engaged passage for us on that steamer. I had only just done so when the spirit said to me, and that, too, very strongly, ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, nor your company.’ Of course, I went and spoke to the captain, and told him I had made up my mind to wait.
“Well, that ship started, and had only got five miles down the river when it took fire, and three hundred persons were burned to death or drowned. If I had not obeyed that spirit, and had gone on that steamer with the rest of the company, you can see what the result would have been.”

“It can’t be done. It won’t work.” That’s what everyone said. But when 17-year-old Tanya Fisher took a courageous stand against an embarrassing “eyesore” in her community of Laramie, Wyoming, she made it work.
A huge retaining wall (100 feet long and 22 feet high) covered with graffiti stood at the intersection of two of the busiest streets in the city. Many efforts had been made by the city council to eradicate the graffiti. They had tried painting over it with white wash. But that encouraged youthful street artists to write on it again. Then the city council spent lots of money to have large streetlights installed hoping to deter the activity. All that did was give the artists more light to work by. It seemed to be a losing battle.
One day Tanya and her mother were chatting at the kitchen table when Tanya came up with the idea to paint a giant mural on that embarrassing retaining wall. She thought it would be a great project for the student council of Laramie High School. An ambitious idea was born that day, but to bring it to full maturity took a lot of time and energy.
Tanya fought opposition everywhere, especially with her peers. They said it wouldn’t work, that graffiti would cover the drawings immediately. But Tanya didn’t give up. During the summer of 1988 Tanya visited Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with her family. She contacted the Anti-Graffiti Network there and gathered more information. She took pictures of a wall that had been partially painted with a mural. Interestingly enough, there was graffiti all over the unpainted part of the wall. But the mural was left untouched. This gave her hope.
After much research Tanya’s first step was to present her idea to the student council at Laramie High School. It took a written proposal and some tall talking, but she finally won their support. The second step was to get the city council’s approval. Surprisingly, she was met with enthusiasm by both the council and the mayor, and the project took hold in the summer of 1989. It had taken more than a year to get to this point.
Ryan Fulton, a counselor at Laramie High School who became the sponsor of the project, said of Tanya, “That girl ramrodded the project and spent her time researching possibilities from other walls in other cities. She wasn’t afraid to present her ideas to the city council. That’s something for a high school student.”
The theme of the mural represents the three educational institutions of the community: Laramie High School, Wyoming Technical Institute, and the University of Wyoming. It was decided that there would be no advertising involved and neither the names of the schools nor the artists would appear anywhere in the drawings. Logos of the institutions are depicted in a kind of “new wave” art according to Tanya.
With about a dozen students from the high school and another dozen from the tech school, Tanya launched her project. John Kearnes, a Wyoming Tech student, was very helpful in the design and drawing of the mural.
Tanya had already met many challenges, but as the project began she found there were many more ahead. While the paint was still wet, rain washed away the first base coat. Hail ruined the surface in places another time. Tanya described the problems with the size of the wall. “There are 29 sections, only four where you can really stand. To get to the rest of it, we had to tie ropes around our waists and hang down the wall while we put in the measurements, did the sketching and the painting.” Over 600 man-hours were spent on this project. And Tanya personally contributed 87 hours. She also used this as her Young Women values project in the Laramie First Ward, Laramie Wyoming Stake.
Tanya’s mother Darlene Fisher, says, “Months have gone by and the wall is still fine. The whole city is proud of it. My husband (Monte Fisher) and I overhear people talking about the wall, and they don’t know we’re the parents of the girl who spearheaded the project. It makes us feel so good.”
What about upkeep on this huge project? The senior class of Laramie High School has formed a committee from the student council to provide maintenance on the wall. And the city council donates the paint.
Tanya said, “Everyone said it can’t work. But I said ‘Yes it can. If it can work in Boston and Chicago, it can work in a small town like Laramie.’” And it did! One young, determined girl, with a sense of community commitment, proved it.

As soon as I was old enough to really begin to understand the gospel, I began to have doubts about it. I often wondered if the gospel was true. But my parents insisted that I attend our ward in Germany with them each Sunday, even though I had little desire to be there. I figured I already knew everything that would be said, and I was bored by the routine.
Not wanting to be there, I was critical of the Church and Church members. I assumed members should always live perfectly what they said in their talks and testimonies. However, I noticed that some parents and children fought, some people gossiped, and some young people drank and smoked. Blinded by my prejudices, I noticed only those members who didn’t rush to help the homeless people who occasionally came into the church building. Where is that famous charity mentioned in the scriptures? I wondered. Somehow I missed seeing those who did reach out to help others.
While I was caught up in this spirit of criticism, my nonmember friends offered me cigarettes and alcohol, and I tried them. But that was not all. After a while, I stayed out at night longer and more often, and I always got home late on weekends. And then, of course, I had no desire to go to church because I was so tired.
These friends—combined with the hypocrisy I thought I saw in some Church members, the temptations I succumbed to, my boredom in church, my pride, and my disobedience—led me to not want to know anything about the Church.
Then I made a mistake that forced me to go to court. The prospect of suffering legal penalties forced me to think, and I decided I needed to make some changes in my life.
I went to a trusted Church member and talked with him about my problems. The Lord prompted him to say the right words to me. He helped me recognize that I was at a crossroad. I had to return to the Lord’s way, or I would sink in the mud and go under. This realization was difficult to come to, but it was so clear that I could not misunderstand it. My friend then spoke to my father and asked us to kneel and pray together. My father prayed, and I felt tears in my eyes because I felt such a strong spirit.
I realized then that if my parents had not insisted that I attend church with them, something worse could have happened. I could have fallen completely away.
I have learned that friends outside the Church are okay if you look for good friends with your standards. If friends offer you something and ask you to do something that is not in accordance with the gospel, you should say no. If they continue, it is best to part with those friends, even if it is difficult. It was difficult for me.
I still don’t like hypocrisy, but I now recognize that I have faults of my own to work on. The talks at church are still similar and the meetings the same—but I’m not critical of that anymore. I realize that Church meetings can be interesting in spite of that. It is not easy for me, but I try to listen. I do not want to stray away.
I am developing a greater interest in going to church and in keeping the commandments. It is difficult, but with the help of the Lord and my parents, I can and will do it. It feels good to have loving parents and friends who are active in the Church. It is good to be understood, to be taken seriously, to be loved. It is good to know the Lord is always there.

I had about two months left on my mission in Costa Rica, and I was serving with an American companion, Sister Nguyen. We were excited to be celebrating Christmas and were preparing small bags of sweets and cookies to deliver on Christmas Eve to friends and families in the small city where we lived.
I had spent most of my mission in very poor areas, and I was grateful. The Lord had blessed me by allowing me to teach people in humble homes, to live among them and learn of their kindness, their humility, and their spirit of sacrifice.
The last family we visited to drop off some treats was the Carmona family, a large family that was one of the poorest in the ward. They all—parents, children, in-laws, and grandchildren—lived in a small wooden hut covered with sheet metal, lacking electricity and any other modern comfort. They were preparing traditional tamales that they would eat during the holidays. We made our delivery and returned to our house.
Very early on Christmas morning we heard a knock on the door. To my surprise, I found myself face-to-face with Minor, the 13-year-old son of the Carmona family. He was holding a small package in his hand.
“Sisters,” he said, “Mother sent me to give you these tamales. Have a merry Christmas!”
I was so thankful they had thought of us—we who had not yet received anything from our own families, we who had not been expecting anything. And this family that probably had just enough for themselves offered us a part of their Christmas “feast.”
I showed my companion the package, and I could see tears running down her cheeks. “Sister, what’s wrong?” I asked.
She answered me very simply: “Sister Burcion, it’s Christmas!”
Yes, it was Christmas, and they had shared the little they had with us, the missionaries, as they would have shared with Christ. It was the only gift we received that Christmas day, a gift I will never forget.

I am not a Mormon yet, but I sometimes read the New Era. I want to say thanks for the beautiful pictures in the August New Era, especially the ones by Kris Rasmussen, because I know her. She introduced me to the Church. The first time I saw Kris she was in complete traction (her arms, head, pelvis, and legs). I was on volunteer nurse’s aid duty, and I could hear her laughing clear down the hall. At first I thought her pain pills made her laugh, but the registered nurse said that Kris refused to take pain pills. She was singing Mormon songs with four too many people in her room. She said, “Hi, Becky.” (I had my name tag on, but I didn’t understand how she could read it clear across the room.) “Come in and join us. We need another alto.” (How did she know I sing alto?) That cracked me up, so I went in, and we sang pioneer songs.
That was my favorite wing at the hospital from then on. She was there for many weeks, and we all hated to see her go. She told everybody about Joseph Smith, and if she wasn’t talking, she was listening to the Book of Mormon on cassette tapes. She always asked if it was too loud, but you could tell she wanted everyone to be able to hear it. Sometimes she would get very excited about a part of it, and then she would turn off the tape recorder and tell us about it. She liked the part about the little submarines the Jaredites made and how God made lights for them with his finger. I liked it when she told me about Christ coming to America. She took time to listen to my problems and even introduced me to a cute Mormon guy. I wrote on her body cast too.
Kris believes that God wants her to go on a mission for the Church, and I know that she will in spite of everything. She never said how much it hurt her when she was in the hospital. You could tell it did, but she’d never cry in front of anybody.
Becky FreeportLarkspur, California

Thomas B. Marsh, once one of the Twelve, left the Church. His spiritual slide to apostasy started because his wife and another woman had quarreled over a little cream! After an absence from the Church of nearly nineteen years, he came back. To a congregation of Saints, he then said:
“If there are any among this people who should ever apostatize and do as I have done, prepare your backs for a good whipping, if you are such as the Lord loves. But if you will take my advice, you will stand by the authorities.” (In Journal of Discourses, 5:206; see also Gordon B. Hinckley, in Conference Report, Apr. 1984, pp. 109–12; or Ensign, May 1984, pp. 81–83.)

Renisha also tries to encourage her friends in the Church, as they encourage her. A special memory for Renisha happened at a youth activity last year. A testimony meeting had been planned, and many of the youth were nervous about bearing their testimonies. Renisha and the Young Men president talked and encouraged each other to go first. “We said we would go up and be an example,” she said. “We didn’t want to be scared. We just did it.” After they bore their testimonies, many other youth followed. It turned into a powerful and joyful experience. Everyone felt the Spirit, and afterward, the youth took photos together, smiled, and were happy about the experience. “It just takes one person to be brave,” Renisha said. “That day strengthened my testimony.”

As a serviceman stationed in one of the more remote areas of Vietnam, I want to thank you for the confidence, knowledge, and small touch of home your magazine brings to me and the members here in Phu Bai. Before arriving here, I was scared of the possibility of spending a year here away from family and Church, and I could imagine all types of long days ahead as a result. However, the anxiety was needless. Within a day I saw the chaplain and he referred me to other Latter-day Saints. On Sunday when we met, it was like coming home after a long trip. In the truest sense, members of the Church are one family, and I am always pleasantly surprised at the warm response given to all who seek them out. It is like an oasis in the desert. The gospel is truly a beautiful companion and guide; and here, away from all that is familiar to me, I’ve come to recognize that God is over all and that as long as we are faithful and do his will, we have a constant strength. Since I’ve come to know this, it has been much easier to forget myself and the time and to concentrate on what God would like to use me for here. Thank you for your magazine. We are all more fully aware of our responsibilities, our callings, and our obligations, especially in a place like this, because of it. Our branch is growing. We baptized two new converts last week. A group of us flew to the China Sea for the baptism, ferried by an all-Mormon helicopter crew.
SP4 Jerry D. WilliamsVietnam

Easton’s first sacrament meeting in Germany had just ended. He thought it would be really different, but it was a lot like church where he used to live. Only here he got to wear headphones to listen to the talks being translated into English.
Mom and Dad were talking to the family sitting behind them. It looked like they had a boy his age!
“These are the Finottos,” Mom told Easton. “GianMarco will be in your class at school.”
“Cool!” Easton smiled at GianMarco. His name sounded kind of like “John” and “Mark” squished together—with an “o” at the end. “So where are you from?”
GianMarco smiled back. “We’re from Italy. But we just moved here from China.”
“Wow!” said Easton. “I’ve never been to China.”
The next day Easton went to his new school. He was a little nervous. But then he saw GianMarco waving at him from across the classroom. At least he had one friend already. There were kids from all over the world in his class. Maybe he would like this school.
“Good morning!” The teacher smiled at everyone. “I’m Ms. Albano. To start off, can anyone tell me what identity means?”
A girl raised her hand. “It means who you are—what’s most important to you.”
“Exactly!” said Ms. Albano. “So let’s get to know each other. What are some things that are part of your identity? What things make you you?”
“I like video games!” said a girl in the front row. Ms. Albano smiled and wrote hobbies on the board. “What else?”
GianMarco raised his hand. “I’m from Italy.” Ms. Albano nodded and wrote down country.
Easton tried to think of something to say. “I go to church,” said a boy in the back.
That’s a good one! Easton thought. I should’ve said that.
Someone laughed. And then some other kids started laughing. Easton looked at GianMarco, confused. GianMarco looked confused too. Why would they laugh?
When he got home, Easton told Mom what happened.
Mom nodded. “Some people don’t understand why church is important. They think it’s silly.”
“Oh,” said Easton. He didn’t think church was silly at all.
A few weeks later, Ms. Albano asked the students to do a presentation with a parent about their family’s identity.
“What should our project be?” Mom asked as they set the table for dinner.
Easton thought about how the class had laughed. “I think we should do it about the Church,” Easton said.
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
“And could GianMarco and Sister Finotto do it with us?”
“I’ll call them after dinner to find out.”
The next day GianMarco and Sister Finotto came over. First they all talked about what they thought was most important about the Church. Mom wrote down all their ideas in a notebook. Then they got poster boards and found pictures of Jesus and prophets and temples to glue onto it.
When it was time for the presentation, Easton stood with GianMarco and their moms at the front of the class. He took a deep breath.
“We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he began. They each took turns explaining things about the Church. GianMarco talked about scriptures. Mom talked about prophets. Sister Finotto talked about family home evening. Easton talked about baptism.
Easton felt pretty good when they were done. Nobody laughed—the kids actually seemed to like it! He was glad he could share something so important with his class. He smiled. He knew his identity. He was a child of God!

I was taking care of some of my grandchildren last month while their parents were out of town. The high school senior was under a lot of pressure—schoolwork, activities, social life, etc. I noticed that she would take a break from studying every once in a while, pick up her guitar and play and sing for 5 or 10 minutes, then go back to her work. That’s a smart girl. I didn’t say she closed her book and went off to the beach for the whole afternoon. A little break where we tap into creativity will rejuvenate our soul.

You may have had the experience of being made stronger by the people you were called to serve. I was once called as a bishop of young single adults. I am not sure whether the Lord’s purposes were more for what changes I could help Him make in them or the changes He knew they would make in me.

To a degree I do not understand, most of those young people in that ward acted as if I was called of God especially for them. They saw my weaknesses but looked past them.

I remember one young man who asked for counsel about his educational choices. He was a freshman at a very good university. A week after I had given the advice, he scheduled an appointment with me.

When he came into the office, he surprised me by asking, “Bishop, could we pray before we talk? And could we kneel? And may I pray?”

His requests surprised me. But his prayer surprised me even more. It went something like this: “Heavenly Father, You know that Bishop Eyring gave me advice last week, and it didn’t work. Please inspire him to know what I am to do now.”

Now you might smile at that, but I didn’t. He already knew what the Lord wanted him to do. But he honored the office of a bishop in the Lord’s Church and perhaps wanted me to have the chance to gain greater confidence to receive revelation in that calling.

It worked. As soon as we stood up and then sat down, the revelation came to me. I told him what I felt the Lord would have him do. He was only 18 years old then, but he was mature in spiritual years.

He already knew he didn’t need to go to a bishop on such a problem. But he had learned to sustain the Lord’s servant even in his mortal weaknesses. He eventually became a stake president. He carried with him the lesson we learned together: if you have faith that the Lord leads His Church through revelation to those imperfect servants He calls, the Lord will open the windows of heaven to them, as He will to you.

From that experience, I carried away the lesson that the faith of the people we serve, sometimes more than our own faith, brings us revelation in the Lord’s service.

There was another lesson for me. If that boy had judged me for my failure to give him good advice the first time, he never would have come back to ask again. And so, by choosing not to judge me, he received the confirmation he desired.

Yet another lesson from that experience has served me well. As far as I know, he never told anyone in the ward that I had not given good counsel at first. Had he done that, it might have reduced the faith of others in the ward to trust the bishop’s inspiration.

A rest home may not seem like the best place to go for a night of fun and action, but the young men and the young women of the Spokane Third Ward, Spokane Washington North Stake, found that with lots of enthusiasm and a great attitude, almost any place can be fun.
The youth donated items from home that were no longer in use (planter boxes, games, etc.), and then took them to a local rest home to “auction” to the residents there. Each youth was paired with a resident and given play money to “buy” items with.
“I wasn’t sure I would like this, but it was really fun,” says deacon Luke Shaw.
The youth enjoyed the activity so much, they are considering going once, going twice, going three times a year!

As a teenager, David was the only consistently active member of the Church in his family. He has an older brother and sister and a younger brother. “Having to stay active alone can either push you away or pull you in. I guess it pulled me in.”
David said, “I looked up to several people in my ward. I wanted to be around people who understood the gospel. To me the Book of Mormon is so obviously good and right. It just exudes this goodness. When you read it you feel like the Lord is right there and nodding his head. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching, but I felt like I had the testimony to see me through.”
His interest in the gospel also led to his college major. He wanted to learn more about the ancient land of the prophets, but during his stay in Jerusalem he became more interested in the modern Middle East. “I get very emotionally involved when I hear reports from the Middle East. It’s a powerful place, and it has its own beauty. I find the Arabic language an incredible challenge,” said David.
That challenge might be the thing that leads David away from cartooning. He presently works for a computer firm specializing in Arabic software. And he would love to continue his Near Eastern studies into graduate school.
But right now there’s this slope-shouldered, big-nosed, bemused fellow with no forehead that keeps popping up in the strangest places. And he’s making a lot of people laugh.

I took the New Era magazine with me to work to read during my break time. At one point during my shift, I went to the back to get some things from the freezer and found one of my friends flipping through my magazine while she was on break.
“This must be yours,” she said as I smiled at her.
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s the New Era magazine I receive each month through my church.”
Later that evening, she asked if she could borrow the magazine for the night and read through it. Ever since then I have brought the New Era with me to work each month and have had quite a few friends ask me questions about my beliefs and about different principles of the gospel. I have also been able to give the friend I mentioned earlier a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I’m grateful for the chance to share the gospel in such a simple way. It has brought joy into my life.

Illustrations by Vivienne To
If there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s bullies.
If there’s one word I don’t like, it’s ugly.
If there’s one thing I don’t like doing, it’s crying.
And if there’s one person I don’t like, it’s Olivia. She’s a bully. She calls me “ugly,” and that makes me cry. Plus, she picks on my friends. She makes fun of my clothes. And her name even sounds like olives—the one thing I don’t like on pizza.
I had to do something about Olivia. So I made a plan. I would tell her what I really thought. I would hurt her back.
All morning I practiced my speech in my head. I could imagine the scene exactly. She’d walk past me at recess and say something rude. Then I’d step in front of her and put my hands on my hips. She would suddenly look very small.
“Olivia,” I’d say, “you think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not. I’m four months older than you. I get better grades in reading than you. And I’m nicer to people than you.” Everyone on the playground would stare at us. They would see how cool I was. They would see how awful Olivia was. Olivia would beg me to forgive her, or maybe she’d just run away and cry.
I liked both ideas.
At morning recess I was ready. Olivia walked past me just like I knew she would. “Don’t you know half the people at school think you’re ugly?” Olivia said to me.
I wanted to give my speech, but now it just sounded silly. “Well, you’re uglier,” I finally said.
Olivia just laughed. “Whatever.”
I couldn’t say anything else, so I just walked to the bathroom with my head held high. But once no one could see me, I cried and cried and cried.
When I looked at my face in the mirror, it was splotchy and red. Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe I was ugly.
I felt ugly on the inside too. What had happened to my plan? This was no good! I had tried being mean, and it only made me feel worse.
When the bell rang, I washed my face so no one would see how much I cried. The splotches went away. The bad feeling didn’t.
I sat in class and tried to think of a new plan. But I was stumped. If being mean didn’t work, what would?
At lunch I ate as fast as I could and then hurried outside to hide from Olivia. I sat by the wall and tried to squeeze all of me, even my shoes, inside its shadow.
When Olivia came outside, she didn’t notice me. She just strutted to the corner of the playground. I watched her play with a small rubber ball. She bounced and caught, bounced and caught, bounced and … didn’t catch. A boy on the playground caught it first.
“Give it back,” I heard Olivia tell the boy.
“No way, Ugly Face. I caught it,” the boy said.
“But it’s mine,” she said.
I felt like I should help her. Help Olivia? I thought. Help the bully who calls me “ugly” and makes me cry?
But Olivia was being bullied now. I knew how bad that felt. So I stepped out of the shadow and marched over to the boy.
“It’s hers,” I said. “Give it back.”
“No.” He laughed and waved it in front of Olivia’s face. Then he threw it as hard as he could and ran away. “See ya, losers!” he called over his shoulder.
He didn’t see where the ball went. He didn’t care. But I did. I saw it hit the basketball hoop. I saw it bounce twice and land in the grass. So I found it and took it to Olivia.
When I got close, I could see there were tears on her face. If there’s one thing I didn’t know Olivia could do, it’s cry.
I pretended I didn’t notice, though, so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. “Here you go.”
Olivia took the ball. “Thank you,” she said. If there’s one thing I didn’t know Olivia could say, it’s “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” If there’s one thing I didn’t know I could do, it’s feel good for being kind to Olivia.

I explained to Kami that we definitely had been chosen because we would not seek such a challenging assignment. This was reinforced just a few days later when Sister Brough and I were assigned to travel to India for a missionary conference. The flight from Hong Kong to New Delhi, India, was a late-night flight that arrived in New Delhi at about two o’clock in the morning. Even at that late hour, there were hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to provide our transportation. After selecting a driver, we began our journey of about 40 kilometers to the hotel. Even though it was late, the roads were crowded with animals, people, and other vehicles. As we were going through an intersection, the taxi’s motor quit. I watched with increasing anxiety as the driver fruitlessly attempted to start the motor. Finally, in obvious frustration, the driver turned to me and in his very best English said, “Push taxi!” It was three o’clock in the morning, and my wife and I were very tired. I got out of the taxi and tried to push it across the intersection but was not able to do so. The driver then said to my wife, “Push taxi.” Lanette got out of the car and began to help me push the taxi through the intersection. As we were struggling to get the taxi through the traffic, I said to my wife, “There were a few things we didn’t understand when we were given this assignment.”

I shall never forget the experience we had in June of 1993 at a special meeting in Beijing, China, with couples who were then teaching English in North Vietnam and Mongolia. After two days of training and inspiration, we closed with this familiar song:
It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea,
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me.
(“I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270)
As we were singing, my wife leaned over and whispered in my ear: “But it might be ‘on the mountain height,’ or it might be ‘over the stormy sea,’ or it might be ‘at the battle’s front.’” The Lord surely had need for these beautiful people serving in this interesting area of the world. These wonderful missionary couples did not choose to come to these countries. Yet as we now look at the results of their service, I know that they were chosen by the Lord for their special calling.
On four different occasions, Sister Brough and I and our family have excitedly opened the envelope containing the mission call and assignment for one of our children. Each time, we have contemplated with excitement the various possibilities for their service. While preferences were expressed, the moment their eyes saw the words “You are hereby assigned to serve in the (blank) mission,” without exception a wonderful feeling of good and right came over each family member. We each knew that a prophet had guided a divine selection process to which four of our children have gladly responded. Tens of thousands of returned missionaries can also testify of this process and the divine inspiration of their own missionary calling.
I never completely satisfied little Kami’s question that night. Over the years, we have recalled that challenging evening when a small child was a bit overwhelmed with life. We have explored other scriptures and many other stories since that time. We have received the wonderful promise to those the Savior had chosen “that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it [to] you” (John 15:16).
That promise—of answer to our prayers—is directed even to a small child. This was reaffirmed recently when I heard Kami, now 15 years old, respond to a question directed to her by an adult friend: “How come you were so lucky to live in Hong Kong when you were a child?” She looked directly at me as she gave her answer to our friend: “It wasn’t luck; we ‘were chosen.’”
That personal and prophetic revelation is the foundation upon which our Church service is firmly based is my witness, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One young woman, serving in a stake Relief Society presidency and at the time also laboring under the pressure of an especially challenging project, lost her temper one morning during a presidency meeting. The cause of her unhappiness had little to do with the question at hand and was related more to the fact that at the time she was laboring under intense home pressure on a major task and was feeling frustrated and frazzled. Afterward, she was embarrassed at her behavior and immediately called to apologize for her outburst. Her friends in the presidency were generous and told her not to think another thing about it. Still she wondered if they might think less of her, now that they’d seen her at less than her best. But that evening the doorbell rang around dinnertime, and there stood the other members of the presidency with dinner in hand. “We knew when you lost your cool this morning that you must just be worn out. We thought a little supper might help. We want you to know we love you.” The young woman was amazed. In spite of her outburst that morning, her friends were there to offer support rather than criticism. Rather than seize the opportunity to bash her, they were filled with the spirit of charity.

It was a big day for Julie. It was her first day in first grade.
It was a big day for Caroline too. It was the first day she wouldn’t have Julie to do things with.
Mother fixed a big breakfast.
After eating, Julie brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and picked up her new lunch box. Then Mother and Caroline walked with her to the corner, where Mother kissed Julie good-bye and Julie got on the school bus. Caroline and Mother waved as the bus drove away.
“I want to go to school, too,” Caroline said to Mother.
“You aren’t old enough yet, Caroline,” Mother told her. “But since this is a special day for Julie, why don’t we do some special things too?”
“Can we ride on a school bus?” Caroline asked eagerly.
“No,” Mother said as they walked home, “but we can go for a ride in the car.”
It wasn’t like riding in the car usually was, because this time Caroline got to sit in the front seat instead of the backseat. She could see everything much better.
First, they went to the library and Caroline picked out two picture books all by herself to take home.
Then they went to the park, where they fed the squirrels. And at the playground, Caroline got to go down the slide as many times as she wanted to.
They had hamburgers and french fries for lunch—with a sundae for dessert!
Next, they went shopping at the grocery store. Caroline got to help push the cart.
When they went home, Caroline helped Mother put away the groceries. Then they played her favorite board game.
Even though Caroline loved her special day, she missed not having Julie to talk to and play with.
Soon, however, Mother told Caroline, “It’s time for Julie to come home.”
They walked to the corner and waited. Along came the big yellow bus. It stopped, and Julie got off.
“We went to the library today, and I picked out two books all by myself,” Caroline told Julie as they walked home. “And I got to sit in the front seat of the car all the time! And feed the squirrels. And push the grocery cart.”
“I have my very own desk,” Julie said. “And my teacher is Miss Larson. And we had recess. And I have a new friend named Kathy.”
“I missed you,” Caroline said.
“I missed you, too,” Mother said.
“And I missed both of you,” Julie said. “School was fun, but I’m glad to be home.”

A long line of cars and large trucks sped along the freeway through the steady rain, tires hissing on the wet pavement. Water squirting from under the wheels of the trucks formed a curtain behind each speeding colossus. Every time we passed one of those road giants, a streaming shower blocked our view.
Often, when a long line of cars was in front of us, we had to drive for minutes beside one of those enormous vehicles. Shivering with fear, my wife would look up at the monster that thundered along only a couple of meters away from us.
I grumbled to myself because we had left so late that I had to hurry in these dangerous weather conditions to arrive on time for our appointment.
Suddenly we heard a mysterious sound against the side of the car. It went “klack-klack-klack-klack,” sounding like the first four beats of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, of which the composer said, “That’s the way fate knocks at the door.” The sound repeated itself every so often.
I stopped the car in the emergency lane and inspected the tires and the body of the car. I could find nothing that could have caused this knocking sound, so we continued our trip. After several kilometers, we heard the same knocking sound. I stopped and inspected the car again. Nothing was to be found. But when I stopped a third time, I did discover something—a bump on one of the tires that slowly grew to the size of a coconut!
When the mechanic who came to change the tire inspected the inside of the tire, he whistled fearfully. Even though the tire had been new, it had a big tear in the canvas—a factory defect. “You couldn’t have driven another kilometer with this,” the man said. “The tire would have had a blowout.”
I shivered with the thought of what could have happened if we had had a blowout when we were driving next to one of those huge trucks. That day, I clearly felt the protecting power that we so often plead for in our daily prayers.
We are not wise people, just a simple couple striving to keep the covenants we made with Heavenly Father when we were married in the temple. We feel protected. Perhaps we are protected many more times than we even realize. Certainly, we believe that it was the hand of our Heavenly Father who saved us twice from misfortune.