Gospel Story Finder

Lots of young men prepare financially to serve a mission. In Africa part of that preparation is earning enough money for a passport. Sedrick Tshiambine earned what he needed in an enterprising way: by selling bananas from the back of a bicycle.
Sedrick lives in Luputa, Democratic Republic of Congo. He’s one of 45 young men in the Luputa district who is working to save money for a passport to go on a mission. In DR Congo a passport costs $250, which is about two-thirds the cost of building a house.
But Sedrick was undaunted. He earned his mission money by cycling 15–30 kilometers (9–19 miles) from Luputa to small villages, where he purchased bananas, then cycling back across the hot African savanna, his bike heavily laden with fruit to sell in the city. Each week he traveled about 180 kilometers (112 miles) along the sandy roads, and only once did an unbalanced load cause a tumble.
For his efforts Sedrick earned about $1.25 a week, or $65.00 a year. It took him four years to save enough to purchase his passport, but now he knows his future will include a full-time mission because he is financially ready to answer the call to serve.

The story is similar with Shannon M., 16, who has earned her Young Womanhood Recognition, and Lucy W., 14. Lucy was halfway through her Personal Progress as a Beehive. She stumbled across the third value experience for Faith and hit a wall.
“I was supposed to look in the Bible Dictionary or True to the Faith,” says Lucy. “I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know exactly what to look for or how I could use it toward my experience.”
Shannon mentored Lucy, and the two went through the reading materials and set goals. Lucy was able to complete the value experience and carry out a family home evening, completing her goal. This experience strengthened Lucy’s testimony and helped her stick with Personal Progress.
“When you finish something and you have to pray about it and write about it in your journal, it strengthens your relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
Shannon says that working on Personal Progress helped confirm the testimony she knew she had. “I was born into the Church, and I never really had that experience where I thought, ‘I know this Church is true’—until Personal Progress,” says Shannon. “It has backed my testimony up. That was the turning point.”

Joseph and Hyrum Smith’s martyrdom shocked every Latter-day Saint, including the youth of the Church.
One hundred and fifty years ago this month on June 27, 1844, Joseph and Hyrum Smith were murdered by a mob of angry men. The events of that tragic afternoon at Carthage, Illinois, have usually been seen through the eyes of adults. Yet there were many young men and women who knew the Prophet and the patriarch and who felt great grief at their passing. While we don’t have a great deal of information about young people who were affected by the deaths of their leaders, a few records do give us a view of the martyrdom through teenage eyes.
Fifteen-year-old Mary Ann Phelps told of being asked to help the Prophet. “When [Joseph] found he had to go to Carthage [to meet with Thomas Ford, governor of Illinois], he wanted a man by the name of Rosecrantz, who was well acquainted with the governor, to go with him.”
At the time, Mr. Rosecrantz’s wife was ill. The Prophet thought that if someone could be found to take care of her, Mr. Rosecrantz would be more likely to make the trip. He asked Mary to stay with Mrs. Rosecrantz.
“I went to stay with Mrs. Rosecrantz,” Mary recalled. “As [the Prophet and Hyrum] were going, they called at the gate with their company of about twenty men, and Joseph Smith asked me if I would bring them out a drink of water.” Mary took them a glass and a pitcher. Joseph leaned over and said to her, “Lord bless you.”1
Another young person, William Hamilton, met Joseph and Hyrum when, on their first night in Carthage, they stayed at his father’s inn. They arrived at the Hamilton House hotel five minutes before midnight on June 24. Early the next morning, the Smith brothers voluntarily surrendered to a constable. After a court hearing during the day, they met with Governor Ford. During the interview a justice of the peace appeared with a paper from a judge authorizing the jailing of Joseph and Hyrum Smith until they could be tried for treason—which was a change from the original charge of rioting.
Despite protests from their attorneys, Joseph and Hyrum were hurried off to Carthage jail, only a few blocks away. Several friends and associates were allowed to stay with the Prophet and the patriarch that evening. On the next day, June 26, the treason hearing was held. No witnesses appeared, so Joseph and Hyrum were required to stay in jail until another hearing could be held, this one scheduled for June 29. But the conspiracy to murder the Prophet and his brother was already in motion.
On June 27, 1844, William stood as lookout on the roof of the county courthouse. It was hot and humid. Sometime near five o’clock, William noticed a group of about 100 men with blackened faces going toward the jail. He hurried to report the movement, but it was already too late. The soldiers assigned to protect the prisoners were outnumbered by the mob. They stormed the jail, rushed up the stairs, and fired shot after shot after shot. Then a yell that the Mormons were coming caught everyone’s attention, and the mob fled.
William went into the jail, where he saw the body of Hyrum Smith. Outside the jail, the Prophet Joseph also lay dead in a pool of blood. John Taylor was severely wounded. Willard Richards was only grazed on his ear by a bullet.2
Fourteen-year-old Eliza Clayton also entered the jail. The doors were still open. She said it looked “as though the people had left in great haste.” When she went upstairs, she saw “some Church books on the table and the portraits of Joseph’s and Hyrum’s families on the fireplace mantel.” But when she saw the “blood in pools on the floor and spattered on the walls,” Eliza started to cry.3
Fifteen-year-old Henry Sanderson was one of the first in Nauvoo to hear the tragic news, “when a runner went past our house shouting that the Prophet was killed.” Henry recalled how “sad a blow” it was to him and his family.4
The news spread quickly. At Hyrum’s home on Water Street, not far from Joseph and Emma’s home, George D. Grant knocked at the door and delivered the sad tale to the family.
“The news flew like wild-fire through the house, and the anguish and sorrow … can be easier felt than described. But that will never be forgotten by those who were called to go through it,” recalled Mary Ann Smith, one of Hyrum’s children.5
On the morning of June 28, the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were gently placed on two different wagons, covered with branches to shade them from the hot summer sun. William Hamilton and his father Artois accompanied Samuel Smith and Willard Richards to Nauvoo with the bodies of the slain Church leaders.
They left Carthage about 8:00 A.M. and arrived in Nauvoo about 3:00 P.M., where they were met by a great assemblage. When the bodies were returned to Nauvoo, they were washed and dressed. Then family and friends were ushered in to see them.
When young Joseph Smith III entered the room, he dropped upon his knees, laid his cheek against his father’s, and kissed him. He was heard saying, “Oh, my father, my father!” Other children of the Prophet and the patriarch crowded around to see their slain fathers. It was an almost unbearable scene.6
On the following day, June 29, the bodies lay in state in the Mansion House while thousands of Saints silently filed past the coffins, grateful but sobered to see their beloved leaders one last time. Mary Ann Phelps’s father took her to the Mansion House early in the morning, before the bodies were prepared for the public viewing.
“I went down, saw them, and laid my hand on Joseph’s forehead,” she said. “The sheet that was around him was stained with blood. Still he looked very natural.”7

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place [and] was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. … He and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing anyone can do for this boy.”
“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “Willing and Worthy to Serve,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2012, 67, 68.

Grandpa learned to harness horses by helping his father. By the time he was eight, he could harness a dog to a small cart and ride around his parents’ dairy farm. By the age of twelve he could harness his family’s horse to a two-seater cart. Harnessing requires more, however, than just knowing how to put on the harness. You have to know how to train and handle horses and how to get along well with them. And you have to practice your skills often. You need to learn how horses are likely to behave in certain situations, and you must study each horse’s temperament. It takes patience, a good memory, and love.

Even though Corey was constantly busy with his academic studies and activities such as debate and drama, he made the choice to attend early morning seminary. He knew he would have to give up something, and that something was swimming. By then he knew he wanted to focus on academics, and that made dropping swimming much easier. Seminary, on the other hand, was too valuable. Corey says, “I’ve known all my life that I would take seminary. It is very helpful in understanding the scriptures. If you study the scriptures every day, you come to a better understanding of what they are all about.”

A year ago at Flagstaff, Arizona, a special banquet for Eagle Scouts was held. There were 1,150 Eagle Scouts. John Warnick, the director of Mormon Relationships, invited all those who would commit to go on a mission to stand. All 1,150 stood.
Later, one of the young men, a Catholic boy, went to the bishop and said, “I am not a Mormon, and I committed to go on a mission. What do I need to do?”
The bishop said, “Let’s talk to your parents.” During the visit with the family, it was decided that the family should hear the discussions. The family, including the Eagle Scout, are all members of the Church now.

Years ago, when my husband and I still had six of our children at home, we also had a foster home where we cared for elderly Alzheimer’s patients. At that time, we grew a large garden and preserved a lot of our food. One year we didn’t have access to peaches or pears, which were favorites of our family and especially good for the Alzheimer’s patients who needed soft foods.
I decided to pray about this need. I asked Heavenly Father to lead me to some inexpensive peaches and pears if He knew of some that were available. My hope was to find fruit that would otherwise go to waste.
A couple of days later, I drove my children to the church for a youth activity. A sister who was new in the ward approached me and asked me if I could use some ripe peaches. Her family had just bought a home with many peach trees in the yard, and there was more fruit than they could use. I was able to pick many boxes of peaches and preserve them at no cost.
Some time went by, and I didn’t find any pears. I reasoned to myself that Heavenly Father knew I was very busy getting the children settled in school and preserving the food from our garden and didn’t have time for the pears.
A few months later, after all the fruit was harvested, I was in the waiting room of my chiropractor’s office. As I sat there, a man came in and began talking with the receptionist. To my surprise, I heard him ask her if she knew anyone who could use some pears. He had bushel boxes of pears in cold storage and wanted to find a home for them so he could turn off the refrigeration for the winter. I was able to buy boxes of large, beautiful pears for only three dollars each—a highly discounted price compared with what I normally pay!
Heavenly Father answered my prayer from months before, and He also arranged for the pears to be kept cold until I had more time to preserve them.

I remember I learned a lesson one evening in a little country ward in Idaho while I was traveling for the University of Idaho. I traveled that wonderful state for eight years. I’ve been to every town and hamlet in the state. It was not uncommon for me to be away for two weeks. Then I’d go home, and as a stake officer, I would take a bath, change clothes, and be gone again to a Stake meeting. My wife used to say, “Well, when you’re not away traveling, you’re away to meetings.” Once when this happened, one of my little girls came to the door, waved, and said, “Come visit us again, Daddy.”
I used to miss my family, and this particular time I was in Pocatello, Idaho, on Sunday. I got thinking about my family, so far away, and I thought, “Well, I’ll just run down to Whitney and see if I can attend sacrament service and renew my acquaintance with some of the wonderful people there.” So I drove down and arrived just as the meeting was about ready to start and the bishop was going into the church.
He invited me in with him. He had the custom of going up on the stand and sitting there ten minutes before the meeting started so he could see the people come in. He’d have his counselors down at the door. And as I sat there, I watched these groups come in. There were family groups with father, mother, children, and I knew practically all of them. I knew all of the parents and could identify the children by association.
Well, the meeting got started, and the counselor was conducting. He called on me to say a few words. And while sitting there, I’d been thinking, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could be home every Sunday and go to church with your family? Just think what a joy it would be.” Well, as he introduced me, he said, “Brothers and sisters, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we all had a job like Brother Benson? He’s traveling this great state of Idaho all the time. He’s always on a trip.” I thought, “Yes, how true to life. Other blessings look better than our own.”
I hope we can be happy where we are, be grateful for our blessings—now—here, accept the challenge that is ours and make the most of it, and don’t be envious of others.
God help us to be grateful. Someone has said that an ungrateful man is like a hog under a tree eating apples and never looking up to see where they come from. Do we look up to see where our blessings are coming from?
God help us to be grateful for our blessings and never to be guilty of the sin of ingratitude.
“And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea more.” (D&C 78:19.)

The evening before each of the temple dedications took place, magnificent cultural events were held. In Curitiba, Brazil, 4,330 members from the temple district, supported by a choir of 1,700 voices, presented a most inspirational program through song, dance, and video. The enormous soccer stadium where the event took place was filled with spectators. The wind had been blowing, and rain threatened. I offered a silent prayer asking Heavenly Father to look with mercy upon those who had prepared so diligently for our entertainment and whose costumes and presentations would be damaged if a heavy rain or wind enveloped them. He honored that prayer, and it wasn’t until the end of the show and later on that evening that rain fell in abundance.

“The rest of my family is Buddhist,” Chung Wen-yi, 17, of the Second Ward, said. “But among the students at my school, there are many who believe in Christ. I became interested in Christians. I saw many churches. But they all seemed to just read the Bible from the pulpit and give some explanations. They didn’t seem to care whether the congregation got the message or not. Then they asked for donations. I felt like I didn’t learn anything from them.
“Then a classmate gave my name to the missionaries. They came to my door. What they said was all so orderly, so logical and right. They helped me understand my Father in Heaven as a loving father, and his son Jesus Christ as my friend and brother. After several discussions, they asked if I would like to be baptized. I prayed about it. Sometimes I felt so happy I couldn’t even sleep at night. I knew it was right. I joined willingly, not being pushed or forced.”

Evelyn loved to come to Primary. She always raised her hand to say prayers. She also loved to help her teachers.
But today was Evelyn’s first time giving a talk. As she walked to the front of the room, her stomach felt wiggly. Then her heart started to beat fast. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“Hi,” Evelyn said when she reached the front of the room. “My name is Evelyn. My family just went to the temple so we can be together forever.”
Evelyn told the Primary children about the white dress she wore. The temple was very white too. She told them that she and her parents and sister were sealed together forever.
“I know Heavenly Father loves us,” Evelyn said. “He lets us go to the temple to be with our families forever.”
Evelyn sat back down. She felt happy. It felt like a warm light was shining through her body. She was happy she went to the temple.

Aurelia Spencer Rogers began at a very young age to choose the right and do good. She was six years old when her parents joined the Church. Her family moved from Deep River, Connecticut, to Nauvoo, Illinois. When the Saints were forced to leave Nauvoo, Aurelia’s mother died, leaving seven young children. They and their father crossed the Missouri River and went to Winter Quarters, Nebraska, where he built a log cabin for them to live in. When Aurelia was 12, her father was called to serve a mission in Great Britain. While he was gone, Aurelia and her 14-year-old sister, Ellen, took care of the family.
Throughout her life, Aurelia loved and was concerned about children. When she was a young married woman, she felt that parents needed help in teaching their children the gospel. When the Primary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was established in 1878, Aurelia was called to be its first president. Today, all of us can enjoy Primary because Aurelia Spencer Rogers followed Heavenly Father’s plan, choosing the right and doing good.

When I was baptized, I was very excited to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the same time, I remember being extremely anxious about joining a church where I didn’t know anyone besides the missionaries who had taken their time to teach me about the restored Church and the Book of Mormon. I was living in Austria at the time. I got to know a few members in the Church but at that time I had not really made strong connections with anyone. My first Sunday as a new convert was truly blessed as the young missionary who had convinced to come to church sat by my side translating what was being said as my German was still poor. The sacrament meeting left me with so much peace in my heart as I felt an understanding of the message of the day. I was introduced to Sister Toni who smiled and sat next to me during Sunday School and Relief Society meetings.
After church she invited me to her home for lunch and I met with the rest of her family. This family became my first friends in the church, they always picked me up for church activities. Through them I began to know more and more about the gospel and every Sunday I looked forward to going to church. Other Church members were equally friendly.

When Loniana Fifita wants to make changes in the world, she begins with recognising her passion, and being mindful of those around her, then starts using her skills and talents wisely.
Along the way, she seeks to align her plans with what God wants her to do, accomplishing what He has given her the talents and opportunities to do. And above all, she does it with love.
The United Nations Youth Day on 12 August had the theme, “Youth Engagement for Global Action”—seeking to highlight the ways in which the engagement of young people at all levels is enriching institutions and processes, and thereby enhancing youth opportunities for influence.
Loni’s talents and love have changed the world for many Tongan children who now have access to a public library—the first in the country.
Loniana Fifita is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Auckland, New Zealand. She was born in Ha’apai Tonga and moved to Auckland with her family when she was nine years old.
Loni has been engaged as a youth advocate since she was 15 years of age. She served as a youth representative on the Maungakiekie-T?maki local board, one of the 21 local boards of the Auckland Council.
While attending University of Auckland, Loni also served on the Auckland Council Youth Advisory panel, working alongside Auckland mayor at the time, Len Brown.
With her focus and passion on youth, she explained, “I wanted to make my area [Maungakiekie—T?maki] liveable . . . because that’s the whole purpose of council.”
Loni started looking at projects and preventions for many issues facing Pacific youth. She kept asking herself, “What can I do?”
Because of the rising number of social issues in the community, she joined a passionate group of community change makers in creating initiatives to help solve social issues concerning youth. One of the key initiatives was “Phenomenal Young Women” which focused on building young women’s well-being in all aspects of life.
Phenomenal Young Women creates “safe spaces for young women in T?maki to connect, grow well-being, feel confident to try new things, and have fun.”
These experiences, Loni’s connections within the local and city councils, and her ability to connect with people, prepared her to be the librarian at the local board’s library in T?maki. But when approached about taking that post, she hesitated.
Loni has always wanted to work as a humanitarian. She never thought she would be a librarian, and she didn’t go to the library when she was young.
“I felt like Heavenly Father just handed me opportunities, but I was trying to ignore it, because it was not part of me,” she said.
“You know how you have your own plan, and He gives you His plan?”
After praying and fasting about it, she decided to take the position.
“My dream was to be a humanitarian, and this was the door to it,” Loni reflected. “Working in the library, I always wanted to give back . . . but I didn’t see the [opportunity] until Cyclone Gita hit [Tonga].”
It was in the aftermath of Cyclone Gita, that Loni’s engagement on the national level began. Being a librarian and also Tongan, and well-known for her work in the T?maki community, she was asked to help establish the first public library in her beloved island nation of Tonga and serve as the first librarian.
With schools and educational resources destroyed, Loni worked tirelessly with founders, Kahoa and Brendon Corbett, as donations of thousands of books from over 50 Auckland Council libraries, as well as computers, and even bicycles, were brought to the renovated community fale (centre).
The library opened in October 2019, in the village of Kolovai, with plans for a second library underway in a nearby town.
Loni paid her own fare on her trips to Tonga, lived by herself, and donated her time and talents to establish the library. She started weekend English classes, children’s programs, computer and family history classes, job application skills classes, and even bicycle rentals.
She says, “Tongans now understand that a library is more than a building—it is a safe place for growth and development, connections, and learning for many different reasons.”
For Loni, the definition of humanitarian is: “Love for humanity, doing things for the well-being of the human being without price . . . no matter what it is . . . or where [people] are from, or what their circumstances are. And so, my drive for humanitarian projects is the pure love that service brings.”
“Being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is one of the greatest things,” says Loni. “If I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t understand my Heavenly Father’s plan and my plan, to align [them] together and it will be bigger than what I think it could be.”
UN Youth Day is an opportunity to celebrate and reinforce the achievements of young people. Loniana Fifita’s accomplishments and achievements are great examples of what a young person can achieve with passion, talent, and lots of love.

This story took place in Zimbabwe.
Tashi took a deep breath as his teacher gave the students their tests back. Even though it was only a practice exam, he was nervous about seeing his scores.
It was Tashi’s last year of primary school, and he had lots of exams. Besides tests in maths and science, he also had to take language tests. In Zimbabwe, they learned to write and speak in English and Shona. Shona was the hardest for Tashi.
“Here you go, Tashi.” Tashi’s teacher handed him his scores. He scored well on maths! And pretty well in English. But then Tashi saw his score for Shona, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t do well at all!
Tashi looked at the ground the whole walk home from school.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I got a bad grade on my practice exam for Shona,” Tashi said. “I’ve always been bad at Shona. What if I fail the real exam?”
Mom sat down with Tashi. She looked at his scores. “It looks like you need more practice.”
Tashi groaned.
“What if you set a goal to work on writing in Shona?” Mom pulled out Tashi’s Children’s Guidebook. Then she read the scripture on the first page. “And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”* She smiled at Tashi. “Jesus grew a little at a time, and so can you.”
“OK,” Tashi said. “Do you think Heavenly Father will help me?”
“I know He will.”
That night, Tashi said a prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, please help me to pass my Shona exam. Please help me to learn and get better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Tashi was grateful that he could pray for help. But he knew he needed to work hard too. Every day, Tashi practiced writing in Shona. He got extra help from his teachers. Sometimes he wished he could play with his friends or do something else. But he kept practicing.
“You are improving so much,” Tashi’s teacher said.
Tashi felt proud of himself for working hard.
Soon the day of the exam came. He said one more prayer and asked for Heavenly Father’s help.
The teacher gave the exams to the students, and Tashi picked up his pencil. As he began to write, he felt a warm, peaceful feeling. He knew it was the Holy Ghost. Heavenly Father was comforting him and helping him.
When the test was over, Tashi was excited to tell his parents about it. He didn’t know what his score was yet, but he felt good about it. He had done his very best.
“I’m proud of you,” Mom said.
“Thanks!” Tashi smiled and pulled out his Children’s Guidebook to read the scripture again. But he changed one tiny part. “And Tashi increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”
Illustrations by Pauline Gregory

I awoke to the screech of the alarm clock, which seemed designed to double as an air raid siren in the event of a bombing. The man who had invented this clock must have been an electronic mastermind. He had somehow combined the gentle lowing of a disgruntled water buffalo with the cheerful melody of a less-than-well-oiled disc brake and five or ten of the world’s other most annoying sounds. My companion, whose hearing range automatically excludes the top 10,000 kilocycles before 7:00 A.M., had not stirred, so I staggered over to the still frantic clock. Then I realized that it was Christmas morning! All over the world, children would be awakening early and scurrying excitedly to the Christmas tree to find the gifts left by the traditional visitor. I silenced the clock and looked around. This was definitely not like the Christmas of childhood memory.
I was in a small apartment, nearly 7,000 miles from home in a land where words like thermostat and central heating described facilities available mostly to the well-to-do. I dove back into my bed (a mat on the floor) as the icy bite reminded me that my pajamas were not constructed for warmth. There is something unsettling about seeing your breath when you are indoors. It does not conjure up the same feeling that one receives while looking at a cheery Christmas postcard depicting rosy-cheeked children with clouded breath, gleefully frolicking around a newly built snowman. No, this was quite a different feeling.
I reached for the heater, trying to keep as much of the surface area of my skin from contacting the frigid air as possible. To my dismay, the heater would not light. Further inspection revealed the worst—no more gas! In our excitement and busy schedule during the holiday season, we had forgotten to have the tank refilled. Morning study would be held shivering under a blanket. My sometimes overactive imagination recalled a book I had once read on the Donner party, a group of early pioneers who had become trapped in the Sierra Nevada mountains during the winter, eventually freezing to death. What a wonderful Christmas this would be!
After a freezing morning study period, during which my toes and fingers threatened permanent inactivity, we sat down to a Christmas feast of mugi (a Japanese wheat cereal) and mizo (a soup made of bean curd). I tried to imagine myself eating roast turkey and drinking eggnog, but the consistency was simply not there. I tried to console myself with the thought that we were eating more healthy foods than Americans. No fat-ridden meats and calorie-strewn desserts for us! When I found that we were out of cinnamon and butter and would have to eat the mugi plain, however, all attempts at rationalization died. The Sugar Plum Fairy would be replaced by the Pickled Radish Ogre this year. What a wonderful Christmas this would be!
At 10:30 A.M. sharp, as families celebrating the day were just finishing the unwrapping of gifts, we bundled up and set out for church. Since the church was some distance, we rode our bicycles. The “Green Dragon” bicycle, as it is nicknamed by the missionaries, is built like an army tank, for durability rather than looks or speed. Like its military counterpart, it comes in a lovely shade of camouflage green. Although the army’s tank is said to weigh a few more pounds, the bicycle makes up for this by its ability to reach excessive speeds, sometimes 15 or 20 miles per hour. Both are able to withstand mortar fire for prolonged periods of time. Finally, it is fitted with a unique, slow-acting brake system that avoids sudden stops by bringing the vehicle to a standstill only after 50 yards of desperate braking, at the same time emitting a sound which is guaranteed to alert all other motorists within a two-mile radius. This would be as close as we would come to a one-horse open sleigh.
The meetinghouse is the top two stories of a small three-story building near the Kumamoto train station. We were having a special Christmas sacrament meeting. I was to be the program’s principal speaker. I have learned just enough Japanese to begin a very impressive sounding sentence while lacking the skills to finish it. Japanese is interesting in that you must think backwards to translate. If then you become stuck in midsentence and still think in English, being somewhat new to the language, you must look ahead in the sentence, think forward what you desire to say, and then translate backward and finally say it. (I won’t attempt to even broach the subject of pronunciation.)
I think my planned speech on “the meaning of Christmas” came out as a third-person account on the wise men’s camels. The members, however, were kind as always and smiled even at the more blatant grammatical errors, although I saw one or two of the sisters wince. I knew it had gone badly afterwards when one of the brothers told me that the talk was “good.” In Japan, everything is on an elevated level. If they don’t say it was “terribly good” or “amazingly skillful,” then it was really bad. “Terribly” or “amazingly good” mean just plain good. If in fact it really was excellent, then the complimentary phrases will be repeated 10 or 15 times. My talk, therefore, being only “good,” was not good at all. It’s all a little confusing.
After church, we returned to the apartment for lunch. Again the usual Christmas feast gave way to tuna fish sandwiches and soup. No figgy pudding.
Afternoon dendo (proselyting) was without success, unless you count success as making a large dog very happy by allowing him to take two missionaries by surprise and chase them unceremoniously out of his yard. Things turned from bad to worse when I was attacked by the flower cart. Really, it happened. I was riding along minding my own business when out of thin air an old woman pulling a flower cart appeared in my path. To this day I believe nothing outside of a formula racer could have appeared that quickly from nowhere. But from the looks of the cart, it had been a few years since the last Grand Prix. I tried to swerve and brake but clipped the side of it, sending me sprawling on the roadside, Swedish knit and all. The Japanese, due to their attention-shunning nature, try to ignore anything less than a major traffic fatality, so she kept right on going without a second look. I was tempted to cry “hit and run,” but she probably hadn’t done any running since before I was born. Besides, with my complete ignorance of the road rules here, I was probably somehow at fault. There wasn’t much to do but dust myself off, check for bodily damage (of which there was none), and thank the Lord that one of the few inexpensive things here in Japan was dry cleaning. With that I set off after my companion, who was losing a personal battle to not let the humor of the situation (from an observer’s standpoint) show on his face. At the time, I did not find it at all funny, however. What a great Christmas!
With afternoon dendo finished, we again returned to the apartment for dinner, the crowning event of Christmas Day. The curry and rice, however, did little to enhance the day.
We left the apartment to proceed directly to the evening’s only appointment, the Nagata family. I was grateful that the day was nearly over. It had become somewhat of a physical and mental marathon in which I had dropped out, mentally at least, at the 400-yard mark. The moment we emerged from the covering that roofs the apartment’s walkway, it began to rain, then snow. Real snow! Not enough to cover the ground, of course. Anyone living above the 38th parallel would scoff at it, yet there it was, the only bit we received all year. I had always thought that it would be more homelike to have a white Christmas, but at the moment I could only shake my head at the incredible timing that began the downpour as I left umbrella-less to face the elements. What a wonderful Christmas!
The Nagata’s invited us in with the customary Japanese formality, which we gratefully accepted partly due to an established sense of custom and partly because we would have accepted an offer to step into almost any shelter if it had been warm enough. The Nagatas were an elderly couple whose children had long since left home. They had allowed us to talk with them several weeks earlier and had shown interest during the subsequent introductory lesson, so we had made a December 25 appointment for lesson 1.
As we finished renewing introductions and cultural niceties and began to teach, it struck me that we were teaching about the birth and life of Christ on Christmas Day, a unique opportunity. I was glad that I knew the lesson well enough to be able to add some extra comments and feelings relating to the Christmas season. As the lesson progressed something special happened—not an event so much as a feeling, yet one so tangible that all within the room could feel it. I could see on the faces of the family the whisperings of comprehension as they heard for the first time the story of mankind’s greatest benefactor. We taught of the Atonement, the mighty struggle that took place within the Savior’s suffering body so our sins could be purged at the price of life’s blood; then the glorious renewal, the answer to Christ’s humble request, “Glorify thy Son, that thy Son may glorify thee” (John 17:1).
The Spirit was with us that night as we spoke. The Nagatas knew that we were not just two young men giving an historical account but two messengers testifying of their Master. We then instructed them in the simple steps of prayer. After offering a prayer of his own, my companion invited Mr. Nagata to do the same. As that humble little man, for the first time in his 60 years on earth, began to call upon his Eternal Father, I felt a happiness and a sense of purpose that transcended all other feelings. Gone was the cold, the loneliness of Christmas away from home. Banished were the thoughts of rebelliousness and complaint. The single purpose of a mission from God became very clear as a tangible blessing was manifested. Mr. Nagata had told us of the joy he had felt when some of his children had called from America, for Christmas. I could imagine that the Lord felt that sort of joy after a beloved child called from even greater time and distance.
As we rode home that night, the cold didn’t seem to bite quite so hard. Maybe I was too busy marveling at the many blessings the Lord had given me. The chance to live in an age when I could travel thousands of miles in a single day to share what I had been given. The love of family and friends. The joy of knowing my purpose and reason for living. The apartment beckoned as we rounded the final corner knowing that some hot chocolate and a blanket were moments away. A starlit Christmas night, now devoid of clouds, testified of an Eternal Creator with endless dominions who had sent his Son on a night like this. What a wonderful Christmas it had been!

Sometimes young women have special challenges when the family isn’t complete. Last summer in Alaska, I met a Young Women president whose mother had died when she was three. She had been raised by her father, joining the Church at age 14. I asked her how she had learned to do all the feminine things, like fixing her hair and setting a pretty table. She said: “I watched my Young Women leaders! When I saw one of them who knew how to cook, I thought, I want to be just like her. Now, every time I clean my house, I think of my Laurel adviser.” So even if your own families are less than perfect, you can think about and plan for your own future family.

A big decision following my mission was a career. What should I do? A new position opened with the Union Pacific Railroad Company as a passenger representative. After two months, other choices confronted me. An opportunity came to return to ZCMI in its finance division, plus part-time work as an early morning seminary teacher serving Salt Lake East High School; or to work as a mathematics teacher in Tucson, Arizona, High School, or as director of music at the Box Elder High School in Brigham City. I made it a matter of study and prayer. On an eventful afternoon I walked over to Temple Square during my lunch hour for a special, quiet prayer. The decision followed. The formula—prayer, study, work, consultation with parents and trusted friends—produced results.

A week later the fire was still burning when Latter-day Saints gathered to hear President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, speak. He pronounced an apostolic blessing upon them. After the meeting, he shook hands with every person, including 16-year-old Tori Gross.
“President Packer reminded us that we lost our houses, not our homes,” Tori says. “When a boy at school said he was homeless, I said, ‘You’re not homeless, you’re houseless.’ Our house burned to the ground and so did part of the new house we are building. But our family survived. Since the fire, I feel closer to Heavenly Father, and I rely on the gospel more.”