Gospel Story Finder

May I share with you a flash of insight given me by the Spirit twenty years ago in which I learned about this university’s major role in building the kingdom. It concerns you, the students. The Bateman family had just returned to Provo from the East Coast following my appointment as dean of the School of Management. We had been away for four years with a multinational corporation and had enjoyed ourselves immensely. Although we knew the decision to return to Brigham Young University was correct because prayers had been answered, I was still struggling emotionally with the new assignment.

In September 1975 we attended the first multistake fireside of the school year, similar to the one held last Sunday evening. We were sitting high up in the Marriott Center near portal C. As the speaker began his sermon for the evening, I looked out across a congregation that must have totaled 18,000, including all of the missionaries from the MTC. They were easy to spot because they were allowed to take off their suit coats! Approximately 2,500 white-shirted missionaries filled the section under portal M, and it was a sea of white. I looked at them and realized that within weeks they would be scattered to the four corners of the globe. It was exciting to contemplate the people they would serve, the change that would occur in the missionaries as they matured spiritually, and the miracles that would bring new members into the Church.

Then a flash of inspiration opened my mind as to the purpose of Brigham Young University. I realized that 27,000 students were being prepared to enter the world. Every year approximately 6,000 would leave Provo, scattering across North America with some going on to Europe, others to Asia, some to Africa, and a number to South America. Some might even go Down Under. If the university performed its roles well, deepening spiritual roots and providing a first-class education, in the course of time strong Church families would grow up in hundreds and thousands of communities all over the world. These BYU families would be waiting when later missionaries arrived. My earlier experiences in London, Boston, Colorado Springs, High Wycombe, Lancaster, Bedminster, Accra, and Lagos had pointed to the importance of just one or two strong families to form a core around which the Lord could build a branch, then a district, and finally a stake. The BYU families would be good neighbors; have strong relationships with business associates; and, if well-trained, be leaders in their communities. These strong families by example and invitation would open doors for missionaries to enter.

I then knew why we had returned to Brigham Young University. It provided a satisfying feeling on the journey home that evening. Students leaving the university with a first-rate education combined with spiritual strength based on faith in Christ and his restored gospel have a tremendous advantage in the world. They know who they are. They need not be afraid. Faculty members should know that their teaching and research are building something of great worth. Brigham Young University is a major contributor to the central mission of Christ’s kingdom on earth.

As a boy, I remember driving in the car with my father and seeing individuals on the roadside who had found themselves in difficult circumstances or who needed help. My father would always make the comment “Pobrecito,” which means “poor little one.”
On occasion, I watched with interest as my father would help many of these people, especially when we would travel to Mexico to see my grandparents. He would typically find someone in need and then go privately and provide the help they needed. I later discovered that he was helping them enroll in school, buy some food, or provide in some way or another for their well-being. He was ministering to a “poor little one” who came across his path. In fact, in my growing-up years I cannot remember a time when we did not have someone living with us who needed a place to stay as they became self-reliant. Watching these experiences created in me a spirit of compassion toward my fellow men and women and for those in need.
Throughout the years, while serving in the Church, I have tried to seek after those who needed help in their lives, both temporally and spiritually. I would often hear the voice of my father saying, “Pobrecito,” poor little one.

In the vicinity where I lived and served, we operated a poultry project. Most of the time it was an efficiently operated project supplying to the storehouse thousands of dozens of fresh eggs and hundreds of pounds of dressed poultry. On a few occasions, however, the experience of being volunteer city farmers provided not only blisters on the hands, but frustration of heart and mind. For instance, I shall ever remember the time we gathered together the teenaged Aaronic Priesthood young men to really give the poultry project a spring cleaning treatment. Our enthusiastic and energetic throng gathered at the project, and in a speedy fashion uprooted, gathered, and burned large quantities of weeds and debris. By the light of the glowing bonfires we ate hot dogs and congratulated ourselves on a job well done. The project was now neat and tidy. However, there was just one disastrous problem. The noise and the fires had so disturbed the fragile and temperamental population of 5,000 laying hens that most of them went into a sudden moult and ceased laying. Thereafter we tolerated a few weeds, that we might produce more eggs.

“I don’t want to take piano lessons anymore,” I told my mother. I had been taking lessons for several years and was tired of all the practicing. I was ready to quit. I wasn’t very good anyway. Because I suffer from moderate hearing loss and wear hearing aids, I have never considered myself a person with musical talent. It always took a lot of practice to learn the tune of a song.
My mother didn’t say much but simply told me that I should keep taking lessons until I could play the hymns. After much complaining on my part and much encouragement from my parents, I decided not to quit.
Fast forward several years and thousands of miles to a chapel in the mountains of central Guatemala. As a missionary, I was attending a district conference. I had arrived early and found a piano there, so I sat down and started playing hymns. Most of the wards and branches had small electric keyboards that were hard to play, so I was very excited to play a real piano. I ended up being asked to accompany the congregation for the conference.
What changed my attitude between my younger years and my time as a missionary? I felt the power of the Spirit through music.
While serving a mission, I had many opportunities to use the musical skills that I had learned. I relished the many opportunities to sing and play the piano and played nearly every week in sacrament meeting. I will always remember listening to those faithful Guatemalan members singing the hymns. I taught members new hymns that they weren’t familiar with. I taught some basic piano lessons. My companions and I would sing to the people we were teaching. Even if we sang off-key, the Spirit was always there to touch the hearts of the people.
I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter what your talents are; you can still learn to develop musical abilities. I’ll never be a world-class pianist, and many of the members in Guatemala will never be in the Tabernacle Choir. But it didn’t matter. We could still enjoy feeling the Spirit through music. I’m so grateful that my parents encouraged me to keep taking piano lessons, and I’m grateful that I kept practicing.

“When I was only 15 years old,” said Colleen Webb Asay, “I committed myself to living the gospel.”
At the time, having proven herself capable and dependable, she was called to serve as the stake organist. In those days stake officers were set apart by visiting General Authorities. Elder John A. Widtsoe, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, laid his hands on this young girl’s head and, with the authority that he held, pronounced a blessing.
“I’ll never forget that,” she said. “It’s hard to explain it, but it was like an electrical feeling that went clear through me, and after it was over, I didn’t want anyone to talk to me or shatter that feeling. I remember thinking how great the gospel is. I guess the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that day how important it is. I remember the feeling I had. I wanted to serve the Lord however or whenever I could. That was a great day. I made a commitment.” And that early commitment has made a difference in all the rest of her life.
For Sister Asay many challenging days followed that commitment. On those days she always went to the Lord first, “to receive comfort and direction.” She had learned from experience that he would hear her. “I just know He’s there,” she stated in a reverent tone of unquestioning faith.
“Another thing that has made a difference for me,” she explained, “is my patriarchal blessing. One of the first things it says is that ‘this blessing will help you over the slippery path of youth.’” With a radiant smile of confidence, she remembers how, if she ever got discouraged, she would read her blessing. In her words, “It made my self-worth come back.”
But there were times when she really didn’t feel that self-worth. In fact, “I’ll tell you of a real heartbreak I had,” she said, reflecting on her youth. During her first year at college two of her good friends belonged to a social unit. Sister Asay felt like “just a little kid from a little country town,” but her friends assured her that she would be included in their group. She was invited to all the preliminary parties prior to the evening of the final selection for membership in the social unit. That night her friends confidently told her, “Wait for us, and we’ll come for you.”
“That experience is one I’ll never forget,” she said. She waited and waited and waited, and no one came. “I was heartbroken. It seemed as though I was the only one who didn’t make it. My sister, my sister-in-law, and everyone except me, it seemed, was in the social unit.”
How did she handle that situation? “All I can remember,” she said, “was that I went to the Lord and he took away the hurt, and then it didn’t matter so much anymore. I turned to my music and service in the Church. I needed to do the Lord’s work first. I decided that maybe being a big wheel on campus wasn’t that important after all. Looking back, it doesn’t seem so important to me now, but the tests in life come at the times when these things are important to us.”
Sister Asay shared other experiences that strengthened her early commitment. “You know,” she said, “when I was a Beehive girl, just 12 years old, a young man from our ward returned from a mission. That was really something in those days. There weren’t so many missionaries then. He spoke in our sacrament meeting and had the most wonderful spirit. I could actually feel it. I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to marry someone just like him some day.’” She quickly added, with a twinkle in her eye, “And of course I married someone even better.
“Carlos and I were childhood sweethearts. I can’t remember when I didn’t know him.” Her countenance and tone of voice revealed much more in this beautiful relationship than was being spoken. “When we decided to get married,” she said, “Carlos was very much involved in athletics at the University of Utah. He had been offered a contract to pitch for a professional baseball team, and a lot of other opportunities came his way. I believe they came as a test at that time, because those things have high priority in a young man’s life.” And then she said, “Like a flashback to years before, I could see that young returned missionary standing at the pulpit in our little church in Monroe. I remembered my feeling then. I had committed myself to marrying someone who had the spirit of a returned missionary, and Carlos wasn’t a returned missionary.” Then in a matter-of-fact tone, she explained: “I just went to the Lord. ‘Please call Carlos on a mission,’ was my simple request. Do you know,” her smile broadened, “Carlos called two days later and said that the bishop wanted to see him. Then I became anxious again. I went back to the Lord, and this time I fervently requested, ‘Please touch Carlos so he’ll want to go on a mission.’”
She was concerned because of Elder Asay’s desire to get started in school; he had just gotten out of the service, and most boys weren’t that committed to a mission in those days. But Elder Asay accepted his first mission call to Palestine-Syria, trusting in the admonition to “seek first the kingdom of God.” When he came back Sister Asay married her returned missionary.
Sister Asay recalled another incident when she poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven: “Carlos has always made me feel that I’m the greatest person in the world, and I just never want to let him down, or do anything that will slow his progress.” She told of the time she had the responsibility of handling their very meager finances. “We had our money budgeted in little envelopes,” she explained. At that time her young student-husband was teaching school and also going to night school. As he left for school one morning with full confidence in his sweetheart and wife, he said, “I’ll need the tuition money ready so I can register after school tonight.” Colleen had this horrible feeling come over her. She realized that through some misplanning, perhaps paying a bill before it was due or something like that, there was no money for the tuition.
“He trusted me. I just couldn’t let him down. He needed the money then so he could continue his schooling, and there was no money and no way of getting it unless it was to just drop out of the sky.” With a desperate feeling, and yet with the unwavering faith she had developed over the years, she talked to her Father in Heaven: “There is no money. What am I going to do? Carlos thinks there is, and he is coming home, and I just can’t disappoint him.” Sister Asay hesitated a minute, then leaned forward and reverently bore testimony: “That was one of the greatest spiritual experiences I’ve had,” she said, “and I’ve had a number of them.
“You know, when I got up from my knees, I looked out of the window. I saw the postman coming down the walk. The thought came to me immediately, ‘There will be some money in the mail.’ I confidently walked to the mailbox and—nothing. I could hardly believe it. My heart sank. There was no money. Disappointed and heartsick, I turned to go back in the door, full of concern, thinking of Carlos’s education and our future. At that moment the postman came back around the corner of the house. ‘Here is a letter,’ he said. ‘It was in the bottom of the bag and I didn’t notice it.’” She quickly opened the letter to discover a seminary check—two payments in advance—for the exact amount of the tuition. “I just started to cry,” she said. “The Lord did hear my prayers. I said to the children, ‘Look, here is some money from the Lord.’” Those dear little children sensed their mother’s excitement and ran all the way up and down the block, where there were nonmembers, and publicly announced to all their friends, “The Lord has sent us some money.”
“That’s how instantly I’ve had prayers answered,” Sister Asay explained. “Sometimes answers don’t come that quickly, but sometimes they do!”
On one occasion her fervent prayer was actually interrupted because the answer came so quickly. She told of the time when, with four little children under four years of age, she was called to be the ward Relief Society president. It was a frightening experience for her. She felt inadequate. She was concerned about her relationship with the other sisters who were all older and more experienced. She was new in the ward. She told of the great expectations the bishop had when he called her and outlined some of the special challenges in that ward. She felt the tremendous responsibility but knew that if the Lord called her there would be a way provided for her to fulfill this assignment. The first meeting was to be held in her tiny, modest apartment, with makeshift furniture and four small children. Her husband was at school, and he wouldn’t be there to tend the children. She spoke of her desire to establish a trusting relationship during that first meeting and to share a spirit of love and harmony that would set a foundation for the future. She felt this just couldn’t be accomplished if she had to keep running to the bedroom to hush crying children.
She planned the entire day very carefully and had everything ready for this special meeting. “I had everything done,” she said. “Then I bathed the children, hoping they would go right to sleep. Well,” she continued with increased intensity in her voice, “they didn’t. After their baths they seemed to get new life and energy. There wasn’t a thing I could do to settle those children down. All four of them were in one bedroom, so they just kept each other fired up.” With only 15 minutes before the meeting was to begin, this young mother, full of faith and anxious to serve the Lord effectively, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and knelt down to pray. She told her Heavenly Father that she wanted the sisters to feel his Spirit and to feel her spirit. She explained how she really did want to serve him and to make the Relief Society one the sisters would enjoy. She told the Lord about the problem with her four small children.
“When I knelt down to pray, it was just like bedlam all over, but right in the middle of my prayer, all of a sudden, it became quiet. It shocked me so much, I don’t think I even finished my prayers. That’s how surprised I was.” She immediately hurried into the bedroom to find, to her surprise, each child in a deep sleep. “All four of them,” she emphasized. “It was amazing, and I just knew that my prayer had been answered right on the spot.” Sister Asay recalls with humble gratitude the spirit of the meeting that evening. She described it as a time when “the Lord was there to bless us. I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to a group of women than I was on that occasion.”
With many years of precious and sometimes challenging experiences shared with her husband and family of eight children, she now reflects with deep gratitude on their many accomplishments, trials, challenges, and victories. “Yes, we have our challenges,” she said, in a gentle tone of warm acceptance. And then as if by way of testimony, she declared: “The Lord can do anything. The Holy Ghost can bear testimony to you at any time. I remember just looking at the sunset or watching my children go out the door and feeling as if I were going to explode with happiness. It’s the spirit of the Holy Ghost. I don’t know how to explain that feeling, but I remember once when I was a little girl, riding my bicycle down the street. All of a sudden, the world seemed so great! Everything was so good! The Lord had been so good to me that I just swelled up with happiness. At that age you don’t always know what those feelings are; you don’t recognize the Holy Ghost bearing witness to you and being a part of your life every day.”
Sister Asay, thoughtfully, as if making an inventory of all of her blessings over the past years, looked straight ahead as she said, “You know, if the Lord is with you, everything is right and you can feel that.” And now, with her unwavering faith born out of loyalty to her childhood commitment, she faces the future with confidence as a helpmeet to her husband, Elder Carlos E. Asay, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. She stands at his side well-prepared to be a source of constant and continuous strength, a daughter of God.

Between 1990 and 1994, Rwanda was torn apart by an ethnic conflict that led to hundreds of thousands of killings between April and July 1994. These tragic events impacted the lives of nearly every person in the country. During this time, 11-year-old Agnes Twagiramariya witnessed a neighbor killing her parents, four of her siblings, and many of her extended family members. For the next 12 years, Agnes wrestled with the pain of her family members’ deaths. “To lose my family, especially my parents,” Agnes explained, “is a very bad thing in my life and it had caused some behaviors like being alone, to hate people, to be unhappy for some time with a broken heart.”
In 2006, while she was studying at the University of Kigali, Agnes moved into a home with her cousin Yvonne, who was a member of the Church. While they lived together, Yvonne began to share Church videos about Jesus Christ and the Restoration of His gospel through Joseph Smith. Eventually, Yvonne invited Agnes to read the Book of Mormon and to attend Church meetings with her.
“The first thing that attracted me was the teachings,” Agnes said later. “The other thing is the behavior of some Church members; they behave like children of the Lord.”
Agnes was baptized on June 13, 2010. Soon she was called to teach children in the quickly growing Primary of the Kigali Branch. As her joy in the gospel grew, however, Agnes still wondered if she would see her family again, if they were still in pain, and what life after death was like for them. In 2012, Agnes traveled to Johannesburg, South Africa, to attend the temple for the first time—and be sealed to her deceased parents and siblings for eternity.
While loss will always be a part of her life, Agnes found healing through the restored gospel. “I have started to smile and talk again,” Agnes said. “I made changes in my life, and I can be happy for a long time. I’m peaceful with a forgiving heart.”
“I am able to forgive those killers of my family,” she noted. “For me, forgiveness is a gift I’ve received after understanding the gospel.”
Christ, who had suffered in the house of His friends (see Zechariah 13:6), knew how to reach her in her struggles.
“The true Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints became my bridge to leaving the life of confusion to the life of truth, from the sadness to the real happiness, from sorrow to joy, from anger to forgiveness,” she said. “I testify that our Savior Jesus Christ loves us, and He wants us to be happy and to have real joy.”

Within the first few months of our marriage, my dear wife expressed her desire to study music. Intending to please her, I decided to orchestrate a big, heartfelt surprise for my sweetheart. I went to a musical instrument store and bought her a piano as a gift. I excitedly put the purchase receipt in a box with a beautiful bow and gave it to her, expecting an effusive reaction of gratitude for her extremely loving and attentive husband.
When she opened that little box and saw its contents, she lovingly looked at me and said, “Oh, my dear, you are wonderful! But let me ask you a question: Is this a gift or a debt?” After counseling together about the surprise, we decided to cancel the purchase. We were living on a student budget, as is the case with many young newlyweds. This experience helped me recognize the importance of the principle of full partnership in a marital relationship and how its application could help my wife and me to be of one heart and one mind.

Rusty Rooster wanted to crow. Although he had never crowed before, he declared, “Today I’m going to crow! I’ll fly up on the fence post, flap my wings, and crow, Cock-a-doodle doo! Then all the hens will hear and look at me and I’ll be so proud.”
Up on the fence Rusty Rooster flew. He flapped his wings, stuck out his chest, flipped his tail, opened his mouth, and out came a squeaky, “Cock-a-diddly-dub!”
“Oh, my!” he said to himself when he heard these strange sounds.
The hens down on the ground laughed noisily in a cluckety-chuckly way.
Pussycat Pete stopped on his way to the barn and stared at Rusty Rooster.
Dubby Duck came waddling from the pond. “Poor fellow,” he said.
Rusty Rooster flew down from the fence post as fast as he could and hurried off to a far corner of the pasture. “I’m no good for crowing!” he said, hanging his head. “I guess I’ll never amount to anything. I just can’t crow!”
Pussycat Pete and Dubby Duck felt sorry for Rusty Rooster so they followed him to the pasture.
“You just need more practice,” said Pussycat Pete. “It takes time to become a good crower.”
“Please try again,” begged Dubby Duck. “We won’t laugh at you!”
Rusty Rooster looked at them and smiled. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I’ll try once more.”
Then he jumped up on a rock, opened his mouth, stretched his neck, and crowed, “Cock-a-diddly-dub!”
“It’s no use. I’ll never be able to crow!” he sighed.
“Yes, you will,” said Pussycat Pete. “You can start by making a soft sound like this—Meow! Try it!”
Rusty Rooster tried. “Meow!” he said in a quiet voice.
“Fine! Fine! Beautiful!” cried Pussycat Pete.
“Now,” said Dubby Duck, “make loud clear sounds like this—Quack, quack, quack!”
“Quack, quack, quack!” said Rusty Rooster much louder.
“Excellent! Wonderful!” said Dubby Duck. “You see, you can do it. Now keep practicing.”
Pussycat Pete and Dubby Duck went back to the barnyard while Rusty Rooster practiced in the meadow. He practiced all day. When evening came, he ate a few grass seeds and then practiced some more before he went to sleep.
“Where is Rusty?” the hens asked early the next morning. They looked everywhere for the little rooster, but no one could find him.
The next day the hens asked again, “Where is Rusty Rooster? We hope he isn’t lost.”
All the hens clucked when they saw Rusty Rooster come strutting into the barnyard later that afternoon.
“Going to criddle-crow again today, Rusty?” one hen asked with a chuckle.
“I’m going to crow,” Rusty answered firmly as he flew to the top of the fence post. He proudly flapped his wings, flipped his tail, and fluffed out his chest. Then he opened his mouth and crowed loudly, “Meow! Meow!”
The hens that were gathered below gasped in astonishment. Pussycat Pete’s tail stood straight up in surprise, and Dubby Duck’s eyes began to blink open and shut, open and shut.
But before any of them could say a word, Rusty Rooster stretched his neck and crowed, “Quack, quack, quack!”
The hens stood silent and Pussycat Pete and Dubby Duck couldn’t move either.
Then Rusty Rooster threw back his head, stuck out his chest, and crowed, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” The sound was loud and clear and sure.
The hens cackled with joy and danced about making scritchy-scratchy markings on the ground with their yellow feet.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” they cried, spreading their wings and flipping their tails. “Rusty Rooster can crow three ways! He’s a marvel—the best in the country!”
From high on the fence post Rusty Rooster winked at Pussycat Pete and Dubby Duck. He nodded his head to say thank you, and Pussycat Pete and Dubby Duck smiled and winked back.

A short family history story illustrates this counsel.

Several months ago I read the testimony of my great-grandfather’s sister Elizabeth Staheli Walker. As a child, Elizabeth immigrated to America from Switzerland with her family.

After Elizabeth married, she and her husband and children lived in Utah near the Nevada border, where they ran a mail station. Their home was a stopping place for travelers. All day and all night they had to be ready to cook and serve meals for travelers. It was hard, exhausting work, and they had little rest. But the greatest thing that concerned Elizabeth was the conversation of the people they associated with.

Elizabeth said that up to this time she had always taken for granted that the Book of Mormon was true, that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been authorized of God to do what he did, and that his message was the plan of life and salvation. But the life she was experiencing was anything but what would strengthen such a belief.

Some of the travelers who stopped were well-read, educated, smart men, and always the talk around her table was that Joseph Smith was “a sly fraud” who had written the Book of Mormon himself and then distributed it to make money. They acted as if to think anything else was absurd, claiming “that Mormonism was bunk.”

All this talk made Elizabeth feel isolated and alone. There was no one to talk to, no time to even say her prayers—although she did pray as she worked. She was too frightened to say anything to those who ridiculed her religion. She said she didn’t know but what they were telling the truth, and she felt she could not have defended her belief if she had tried.

Later, Elizabeth and her family moved. Elizabeth said she had more time to think and was not so distracted all the time. She often went down in the cellar and prayed to Heavenly Father about what was troubling her—about the stories those seemingly smart men had told about the gospel being bunk and about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.

One night Elizabeth had a dream. She said: “It seemed I was standing by a narrow wagon road, which led around by the foot of a low rolling hill; halfway up the hill I saw a man looking down and speaking, or seemed to be speaking, to a young man who was kneeling and leaning over a hole in the earth. His arms were stretched out, and it looked as if he was reaching for something from in the hole. I could see the lid of stone that seemed to have been taken off from the hole over which the boy was bending. On the road were many people, but none of them seemed to be at all interested in the two men on the hillside. There was something that came along with the dream that impressed me so strangely that I woke right up; … I could not tell my dream to anyone, but I seemed to be satisfied that it meant the angel Moroni [instructed] the boy Joseph at the time he got the plates.”

In the spring of 1893, Elizabeth went to Salt Lake City to the dedication of the temple. She described her experience: “In there I saw the same picture [that] I had seen in my dream; I think it was [a] colored-glass window. I feel satisfied that if I saw the Hill Cumorah itself, it would not look more real. I feel satisfied that I was shown in a dream a picture of the angel Moroni giving Joseph Smith the [gold] plates.”

Many years after having this dream and several months before she died at nearly age 88, Elizabeth received a powerful impression. She said, “The thought came to me as plain … as if someone had said to me, … ‘Do not bury your testimony in the ground.’”

Generations later, Elizabeth’s posterity continues to draw strength from her testimony. Like Elizabeth, we live in a world of many doubters and critics who ridicule and oppose the truths we hold dear. We may hear confusing stories and conflicting messages. Also like Elizabeth, we will have to do our best to hold on to whatever light and truth we currently have, especially in difficult circumstances. The answers to our prayers may not come dramatically, but we must find quiet moments to seek greater light and truth. And when we receive it, it is our responsibility to live it, to share it, and to defend it.

I recall as a boy hearing of the experiences of my Miller ancestors. In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed across the Atlantic Ocean. They reached the port of New Orleans and traveled up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
When the family arrived in St. Louis, planning to earn enough money to make their way to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera struck the area. The Miller family was hard-hit: in the space of two weeks, mother, father, and two of their sons died. My great-grandmother, Margaret Miller, was 13 years old at the time.
Because of all the deaths in the area, there were no caskets available—at any price. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make crude caskets for the family members who had passed away.
The nine remaining orphaned Miller children and the husband of one of the older daughters left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.

I, like Nephi, was truly born of goodly parents. They taught me to be happy. But I think one of the happiest moments of my life was to finally graduate from high school. Because of a promotion for my father, our family moved from San Diego to Los Angeles. I ended up going to three different high schools in my senior year. In my last high school, the school officials weren’t even sure I was going to graduate because of the differences in requirements. All I knew is that I had purchased my cap and gown and I was walking in that graduation, with or without their approval! I did get their approval and I did graduate. And I was so happy!

The reason why I was so happy was because now I could go on my mission! I couldn’t wait to serve the Lord on a mission. I went to South America, the Kentucky-Tennessee Mission. That’s south in America . . . Deep South. I even learned a new language! I loved serving the Lord and those good people there. I never knew a happier time in my entire life than teaching the gospel all the time! I knew that the mission was to last two years, and then I would graduate that part of my life and return home to be with my family. Again, although sad to leave those good people of my mission, I was very happy to hop on that plane and arrive at the Los Angeles International Airport. The plane arrived nearly a half an hour ahead of schedule. My heart could hardly contain itself as I waited for my turn to walk off the airplane and have that joyous reunion with my loved ones! When I walked into the terminal, there was no one there to greet me!!! I was too early! When I finally saw my family running into the terminal and being able to hug them all, I felt as Alma, the younger, meeting up with the sons of Mosiah after their wonderful mission experience. This had to be true JOY!!

It happened in the life of Sister Abie Turay, who lives in Sierra Leone. A civil war began in 1991. It ravaged the country for years. Sierra Leone was already one of the poorest countries in the world. “During the war, it was unclear who [controlled] the country—banks … closed, government offices were shuttered, police forces [were ineffective against rebel forces], … and there was chaos, killing and sorrow. Tens of thousands of people lost their lives and more than two million people were forced from their homes to avoid the slaughter.”6
Even in such times, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints grew.
One of the first branches was organized in the city where Sister Turay lived. Her husband was the first branch president. He served as a district president during the civil war.
“When guests visit Sister Turay’s home [now], she loves to show them two [treasures] from the war: a blue-and-white striped shirt [she got] from a bale of used clothing [given by members of the Church] and a blanket, now worn and riddled with holes.”7
She says, “This shirt is the first … clothing I [received]. … I used to wear it to go to work—it was so good. [It made me feel so beautiful.] I didn’t have other clothes.
“During the war, this blanket kept us warm, me and my children. When the rebels [would] come to attack us, this is the only thing I [could] lay [my] hands on [as we fled to the bush to hide]. So we [would] take the blanket with us. It would keep us warm and keep the mosquitos away from us.”8
“Sister Turay speaks of her gratitude for a mission president who would make his way into the war-torn country with [money] in his pocket.” Those funds, from the fast-offering donations of people like you, allowed the Saints to buy food that most Sierra Leoneans could not afford.9
Sister Turay, speaking of those who were generous enough to donate for them to survive, says, “When I think [of] the people who did this … I feel that [they were] sent by God, because ordinary human beings made this kind gesture for [us].”10
A visitor from the United States sat with Abie not along ago. During his time with her, he found his eyes “drawn to a set of scriptures that were on the table.” He could tell that they were a treasure, “well-marked with notes in the columns. The pages were [worn;] some were torn. The cover was detached from the binding.”
He held the scriptures in his “hand and gently turned the pages. As [he did, he found a] yellow copy of a tithing donation slip. [He] could see that, in a country where [a dollar was worth its] weight in gold, Abie Turay had paid one dollar as her tithing, one dollar to the missionary fund, and one dollar as a fast offering for those who, in her words, were ‘truly poor.’”
The visitor closed Sister Turay’s scriptures and thought, as he stood with this faithful African mother, that he was on sacred ground.11

One day I invited Mike* to come to church and sit in my class. Mike was my age but had stopped attending church completely by the time he was 12. We had remained friends over the years as I had served as the deacons quorum president, the teachers quorum president, and first assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. He had been the topic of many fellowshipping discussions and was often part of my prayers as the years had passed. Once in a while Mike would accept my invitations to come to an activity. It always surprised me when he did, so I kept inviting him.
At that time, Mike had long, black hair and a beard. His complexion was dark and pleasant. I don’t remember when I invited him to my Primary class, but one day he showed up.
“Class, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mike,” is how I began my lesson. “He is visiting us today.”
Mike sat next to me in front. The children sat in a semicircle with their eyes fixed on him. They were much quieter than usual. I was about five or six minutes into the lesson when one little boy got up from his chair and walked across the room and stood directly in front of my friend. The boy paused for a moment and then climbed onto his lap. I continued with the lesson as I watched the two of them from the corner of my eye.
The boy sat looking into Mike’s face. Mike was quite uncomfortable but did not interrupt the lesson or turn the boy away. The other children watched the two of them for a few minutes.
Then one of the girls climbed off her seat and approached Mike. I was intently interested in seeing how Mike would react and did not want to instruct the two children to return to their seats. The girl stood with her hand on Mike’s knee looking into his face.
Then it happened. The boy on Mike’s lap reached up with both hands and turned Mike’s face directly to his. I stopped my lesson to see what was about to unfold.
With the innocence of a child, he said to Mike, “Are you Jesus?”
The look on Mike’s face was total surprise. It seemed, as I glanced at the children’s faces, they all had the same question on their minds.
Mike looked at me as if to say, Help, what do I say?
I stepped in. “No, this is not Jesus. This is His brother.”
Mike looked at me as if in shock.
Then without hesitation the boy in Mike’s lap reached up and wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck. “I can tell,” the boy said as he hugged Mike.
The rest of the children smiled and nodded in agreement as their simple question was answered. Mike blinked back the tears in response to the love he felt from this small Sunbeam. The lesson went on, but that day the teacher who taught the most was a three-year-old child.
Mike spent more than a year getting ready to serve a mission. It thrilled me to learn that he left for the mission field a few months before I returned. I still think of the scripture in Matthew 18:5: “And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.”

For Clara Leticia Cruz Cano of Puerto Rico, her love of the Book of Mormon started when she was about four. She noticed that her older brother got to take a turn reading in their family’s nightly scripture study, and she wanted a turn also. She asked her parents to help her, and soon she was part of the reading circle.
At age 12, Clara took on a new challenge. Instead of reading in her native Spanish, she read the Book of Mormon in English. At age 14, she read it in French; at age 15, in Portuguese; and at 16, in Italian.
In August 2005, when President Gordon B. Hinckley asked Latter-day Saints to read or reread the Book of Mormon, Clara was already into it in German.
“This is harder, but I will get through it,” she said.
Her reading in various languages has expanded her vocabulary. “When I come to a word I don’t know, I look it up. Soon I get tired of looking it up, so I memorize it,” she explains. Her study of languages has also helped in her schoolwork. Last year, at 17, Clara became the top public school graduate on her island.
Clara has uncovered some gems in her multilingual study. She even found that her middle name, Leticia, means “gladness” in the Italian translation (see 2 Nephi 1:21; 8:3).
Like some others, Clara has a collection of copies of the Book of Mormon in several languages. But, she says, “I decided I wouldn’t have any copies of the Book of Mormon I can’t read.”
That means her next project is already on her bookshelf. Her bishop, Hector Alvarez, saw her perusing a copy of the Book of Mormon in his home and gave it to her. She now has the self-assigned opportunity to learn not only another language but also a new alphabet. The book is in Russian.

Illustration by Alex Nabaum
My father is a good man. But when you’re 12 and you find pornography hidden in a remote file folder on your father’s computer, your emotions get sliced open. I felt like it would be difficult to see him in the same way again.
Two years later, when I was 14, I was looking through the computer’s history files and again stumbled upon a few websites he had viewed and was forced to admit that maybe my father had a problem. I knew I had to talk to my mother.
She and I were driving together in the car when I blurted it out.
To my astonishment, she was not surprised.
She sighed. “Your father’s been struggling with this for a while now,” she said. “He’d told me he’d stopped, but I guess not.”
When we got home, I watched as she typed a letter to my father explaining what I had told her. After that, I tried to put it out of my mind again.
My father and I argued bitterly during my early teen years. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t like him, I didn’t respect him. I mistakenly thought, “Nobody else’s dad looks at pictures like that. He must be a bad person.”
It escalated when I was 15. Sometimes I would come into the room and glance at his computer screen and see that a pornography site was minimized to the task bar. He would pretend to have been playing a game of solitaire. I watched as my father didn’t take the sacrament, and I listened as my mother explained how my father had finally been convinced to go to the bishop. I felt burdened by humiliation.
What I didn’t realize at first, of course, was that these were incredibly wonderful steps on the path to full repentance. I later stumbled once or twice upon my father deep in fervent, aching prayer. This image is burned into my brain just as deeply as that file I’d found when I was 12.
At 16, the problem had not gone away. Once, I was doing homework late at night and overheard my mother sobbing and shouting at my father.
I crept back to my room, knowing from my father’s silence that he was suffering. I felt his remorse radiate through the house, as well as his sense of helplessness.
My brother and sister knew nothing about it, and I wanted it to stay that way. The only thing they knew was that sometimes, especially when Mommy wasn’t home, Daddy would come out of his room in an awful mood.
My father was trying. The bishop sent him to a support group for men with problems like his. I had learned to respect him again, learned how, on the good weeks when we read scriptures as a family every morning and he whistled hymns, to like and even love him again. I saw that there was much more to him than simply this ugly problem. I learned to let him ask me about school without turning it into an argument. I learned to pray for him.
Good men can do wrong things. My father gives a generous fast offering, he’s always willing to lend a helping hand, he serves in his Church calling readily, he never swears or speaks vulgarly, but most of all he wants to be better. He knows that what he’s done is wrong, and he is hopeful that he will change.
To anyone else in my situation: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and He will carry you through. He will carry you through not only if you’re the one who struggles under the burden of sin, but also if you are the one who stands by, watching as the one you love fights for salvation.

The bishop knows, as do others close to the family, just how difficult Sage’s healing has been. At times, the pain has been almost more than she could bear. Once when she was undergoing some therapy at home, she begged her mother not to hurt her anymore. Denise told her about a little girl who cried so much that her parents stopped giving her therapy. Now that little girl can’t walk.
Sage wept. “I wish I could give my body so that little girl could walk again.”

I'll never forget one meeting I had with one of my professors when I was an undergraduate student at a different campus. As we met I told him that I wanted to become a professor some day. His response was, "I don't think that's for you, it requires a lot of hard work and lots of brains." Perhaps because I was a young surfer from Hawai‘i, who still mostly spoke da kine pidgin, that he thought, "Oh, I don't think he can accomplish this task." However, through personal inspiration, I knew that the Lord was encouraging me to become a college professor. So, I left that meeting with a stronger determination to accomplish this goal. Fortunately, after transferring back to BYUH, I found a couple of professors who did believe in me. Eight years later, in 2005, I finished my Ph. D from the University of California, got hired as a tenure-track professor, and published much of my research on Hawaiian history and Hawaiian surfers. I accomplished these things only because I believed in the Lord and then he taught me to believe in myself. As students, you should also feel empowered and able to accomplish great things while here at BYU-Hawai‘i. So take your education serious, and prove your critics wrong.

On February 4 of 1990, our third son and sixth child was born. We named him Tyson. He was a beautiful little boy, and the family greeted him with open hearts and open arms. His brothers and sisters were so proud of him. We all thought he was the most perfect little boy who had ever been born.
When Tyson was eight months old, he aspirated a piece of chalk that he had found on the carpet. The chalk lodged in Tyson’s throat, and he quit breathing. His older brother brought Tyson upstairs, frantically calling, “The baby won’t breathe. The baby won’t breathe.” We began to administer CPR and called 911.
The paramedics arrived and rushed Tyson to the hospital. In the waiting room we continued in fervent prayer as we pled to God for a miracle. After what seemed a lifetime, the doctor came into the room and said, “I am so sorry. There is nothing more we can do. Take all the time you need.” She then left.
As we entered the room where Tyson lay, we saw our lifeless little bundle of joy. It seemed as though he had a celestial glow around his little body. He was so radiant and pure.
At that moment it felt as if our world had come to an end. How could we return to the other children and somehow try to explain that Tyson wasn’t coming home?
I will speak in the singular as I relate the rest of this experience. My angel wife and I experienced this trial together, but I am inadequate in expressing the feelings of a mother and would not even try to do so.
It is impossible to describe the mixture of feelings that I had at that point in my life. Most of the time I felt as if I were in a bad dream and that I would soon wake up and this terrible nightmare would be over. For many nights I didn’t sleep. I often wandered in the night from one room to the other, making sure that our other children were all safe.
Feelings of guilt racked my soul. I felt so guilty. I felt dirty. I was his father; I should have done more to protect him. If only I would have done this or that. Sometimes even today, 22 years later, those feelings begin to creep into my heart, and I need to get rid of them quickly because they can be destructive.
About a month after Tyson died, I had an interview with Elder Dean L. Larsen. He took the time to listen to me, and I will always be grateful for his counsel and love. He said, “I don’t think the Lord would want you to punish yourself for the death of your little boy.” I felt the love of my Heavenly Father through one of his chosen vessels.
However, tormenting thoughts continued to plague me, and I soon began to feel anger. “This isn’t fair! How could God do this to me? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” I even felt myself get angry with people who were just trying to comfort us. I remember friends saying, “I know how you feel.” I would think to myself, “You have no idea how I feel. Just leave me alone.” I soon found that self-pity can also be very debilitating. I was ashamed of myself for having unkind thoughts about dear friends who were only trying to help.
As I felt the guilt, anger, and self-pity trying to consume me, I prayed that my heart could change. Through very personal sacred experiences, the Lord gave me a new heart, and even though it was still lonely and painful, my whole outlook changed. I was given to know that I had not been robbed but rather that there was a great blessing awaiting me if I would prove faithful.
My life started to change, and I was able to look forward with hope, rather than look backward with despair. I testify that this life is not the end. The spirit world is real. The teachings of the prophets regarding life after death are true. This life is but a transitory step forward on our journey back to our Heavenly Father.
Tyson has remained a very integral part of our family. Through the years it has been wonderful to see the mercy and kindness of a loving Father in Heaven, who has allowed our family to feel in very tangible ways the influence of Tyson. I testify that the veil is thin. The same feelings of loyalty, love, and family unity don’t end as our loved ones pass to the other side; instead, those feelings are intensified.
Sometimes people will ask, “How long did it take you to get over it?” The truth is, you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fulness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the First Resurrection.

Last August, I had an important decision to make. I could either go to Young Women camp with my ward or attend a volleyball camp. I would be trying out for the volleyball team at school, and the volleyball camp was highly encouraged. It showed you were dedicated if you attended it. I had been praying about whether I should go to Young Women camp or volleyball camp. I had a strong impression to go to Young Women camp.
The biggest lesson I learned at Young Women camp was about blessings we receive when we follow the Lord. The following week, I went to tryouts. I made the volleyball team and progressed to varsity at the end of the season. My testimony grew immensely. I know whenever we are faced with decisions, we can pray and receive answers.

Illustration by Phil, i2iArt.com
During my freshman year of high school, my parents got divorced. For years, I had watched my dad not take the sacrament. I knew he struggled to keep the commandments, but I did not understand the extent or length of those struggles. It was only when my parents told me about his excommunication that my sister and I finally learned the details.
“I hate you!” I yelled over and over, sobbing. I was furious. How could he do this to our family? I thought. How could he lie to us for so long?
The initial shock and anger didn’t last long. Within a couple of weeks, my anger gave way to numbness. At first, numbness was a relief from the anger and pain I felt, but eventually my relief changed to desperation. I felt my life crashing down around me. More than ever before, I needed to feel connected to heaven. I needed to feel God’s love, guidance, peace, and healing.
Soon, general conference came. During one session, I listened and waited to feel God’s comfort. But it didn’t come. There in the dark chapel, I thought, I cannot feel the Holy Ghost, but I’m sure He’s here. He has to be here. As I thought this, I started remembering the many small witnesses I had received that the scriptures were true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that Heavenly Father had blessed my family, and that keeping the commandments brought peace. It was as if I had a reservoir of testimony.
The more I reflected on my past spiritual witnesses, the more I realized that even though I desperately wanted to feel the Spirit, it really didn’t matter that I could not feel His influence at that exact moment. I already had a store of quiet, constant witnesses that the gospel was true.
That knowledge sustained me and gave me the desire to continue keeping the commandments even when there seemed to be no immediate payoff. Gradually, I felt Heavenly Father’s and the Savior’s love more in my life. Staying close to Them, even when I couldn’t always feel Them near, brought me an undeniable peace and a stronger testimony of the Savior’s gospel. This continues to influence me now when I face uncertainty or heartache. I know I can trust Heavenly Father and the Savior, and that They will heal, uplift, and strengthen me and each one of us.