Gospel Story Finder

Now, please indulge me by allowing me to share one last story - my own.

My father was born and raised in Kahuku. At that time, Kahuku was mainly a plantation town with an operating sugar mill. My father's grandparents were amongst the first laborers to work in the cane fields. They had several children, and my grandfather was the first to be born in Hawaii. They raised their children as devout Catholics. My grandfather had limited education and after marrying at a young age, he also went to work on the plantation to support their seven kids. Sending their kids (my father amongst them) off to go to college was an expensive proposition, which was left up to them to pursue.

My dad's plan after High School was to enlist in the military. He and 6 of his friends, mostly plantation kids, went down to Fort Derussy less than one month after graduation to enlist. This was during the time of the Vietnam war, and they felt the need to volunteer and fulfill their civic responsibility instead of being drafted. My father wanted to go into the Air Force and have a career as an Aircraft Mechanic. However, after taking the hearing and vision tests, he was told to go to the processing window for reclassification instead of going with his friends to get physicals. He was processed out as a 4F - exempt from military service and selection. His friends considered him lucky, but he didn't think so at the time. But that perspective would change!

Somewhat unsure about what to do next, he decided to check out that Church school down the road – the Church College of Hawaii. He knew of some members in High School with last names that we still find here in the community, like Goo, Enos, and Owan. But it was the Huston family from Alaska that made a particularly positive impact upon my father. They had befriended him, and it was with their good influence in mind that he enrolled. He took some challenging classes and excelled, but his most challenging course would be in the subject called "The Book of Mormon." He sought out help with this class (as struggling students should). He approached Kimo Poai, who had just returned home from his mission. It wasn't long before the help extended not only in the subject matter but into the waters of baptism. My father was baptized in December of 1967, and Dennis Mau confirmed him.

After the school year ended, my dad was invited to stay with the Huston family for the summer break in the Seattle area. He was fortuitously hired by Boeing to work with aircraft attachment points and earned an excellent wage for the time - $4 an hour. This job was a reassuring blessing to my father since he hadn't been able to join the military to be an aircraft mechanic as previously planned. That earlier disappointment was pivotal in the opening of the door for my father to join the Church. Although it would be a year later, he was still blessed with the opportunity to work on aircraft. He ended up working for Boeing through the year and returned to school with good savings. As a point of reference, tuition was only $125 a semester at the time.

He would later decide to transfer to BYU in Provo to pursue engineering. By this time, his membership in the Church was nearly two years, and his friends who were serving missions were returning to school. One RM who was in the right place at the right time was Pete Kindara, who specifically asked my father if he thought about going on a mission himself. That rattled around within my father for a while. And before finishing the semester, my father withdrew to prepare to serve the Lord.

In the summer of 1971, he found himself on a mission to the land of his heritage in the Philippines. This call to serve in the Philippines would give increased appreciation to my father's parents in his decision to join the Church. His mission was the right thing to do and it put him in the right place at the right time as my father was very fortunate to meet old friends and relatives that would have otherwise remained strangers to him and lost to his parents. Another blessing that would come to my father was the offer of financial support by the Huston family. They were very gracious and angels to him.

In my father's first area, He would serve with a newly called leader, Bishop Selfaison. Little did he know at that time that this experience would pay dividends in his future as that Bishop's daughter was attending school at the Church College of Hawaii. After his mission, he would later meet and date her. They married in 1974 and had two children; Sonya and I.

I am a product of BYU–Hawaii. I am a result of the faith-filled decisions of my parents. Both my mother and father were pioneers in their own respect. Both were converts to the church and first-generation college students. Like many of the students we have here today, they come from very humble beginnings. Some of the turns they took in life were unexpected, but they allowed for the very blessings that I have received in my own life.

One of those blessings that illustrates how things are divinely orchestrated is the detail that the Hustons were baptized into the Church upon the invitation of a neighbor in Alaska named June Oberg - a recent convert herself. Her invitation came at the right time. The Hustons, who later moved to Hawaii, in turn, were instrumental in introducing the Church to my father and also later supported him on his mission. As you all became acquainted with my wife at the beginning of this devotional, what she didn't share about herself is that she was born and raised in Alaska. Her grandmother is the June Oberg, who introduced the gospel to the Hustons, who then shared it with my dad. All these events happened at their own respective right times and in the right places. And these sequences allowed my wife and I to meet and have an eternal marriage and family.

My family has been blessed by the legacy of faith of those who followed their faith and persevered - despite uncertainty and unknown twists in the road. Our lives have also been blessed by this place, this institution, and, more importantly, the Gospel. Because we have been so tremendously blessed, we, in turn, strive to live by our family motto, which is to "Be a blessing."

Comforting the sick and helping them be positive takes sensitivity to the Spirit. At one point in my life, I had not slept well in many months, usually averaging about two to three hours per night of disrupted sleep. I was suffering greatly from anxiety and exhaustion; I had been to many doctors to no avail. Finally, a friend referred me to a Latter-day Saint doctor who immediately gave me a proper diagnosis. But what he said next was a surprise: “Merrilee, the most important thing you need to do is to turn your anxiety over to God.” He then encouraged me to meditate each day for a short time on “The Living Christ: The Testimony of the Apostles.”

I had tried this meditation a few times without success, but I was desperate for healing. The next day, I quietly meditated on the powerful words, “We offer our testimony of the reality of His matchless life and the infinite virtue of His great atoning sacrifice.”2 A thrill ran through me as I began to ponder the testimony of our great Healer and knew that I had found comfort and peace in my soul.

As we study the scriptures in order to emulate Jesus in His works of healing, we read of Jesus doing one thing over and over: He paid attention to those around Him.

Christ noticed people. He spoke with the Samaritan woman despite cultural taboos. He took time to bless the children. He ate with publicans and sinners and ministered to lepers and outcasts. He gave His attention to each.

As followers of Christ seeking to learn His healer’s art, we can begin to look upon people with the eyes of Christ. We can take the time to say hello, to smile, to ask about their day. We may never know the healing balm that our efforts may be to those around us who are lonely, depressed, sick, weak, or suffering. Even simple gestures of love can have a powerful influence.

As we do the works of Christ and participate in the healing of others, great blessings will flow. As Christ stated, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40). To Him who healed each of us, to Him who has wrapped us in His loving arms more times than we even know, to Him who has offered us the healing balm of His Atonement, we can offer our small efforts to help heal our brothers and sisters. This is truly the healer’s art.

Recently, while cleaning out my mother’s things, I came across some beautiful, barely touched hand-crafted quilts given to her by her mother. I didn’t know that these works of art even existed. They were packed in plastic casings and tucked away in the closet.

Immediately, I felt guilty for not doing the same thing with my own “grandma quilt.” Had I made a mistake in not preserving mine in plastic? Then I remembered, Grandma Rose made my quilt to warm and comfort me, so I accepted the gift and used it. Today, my blanket has noticeable wear and tear, something I hope she is proud of. I don’t believe she wanted it sitting on a shelf collecting dust. More importantly, my children know the source of their favorite soothing blanket and the hands who designed it with love!

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert O’Brien; illustrated by Zena Bernstein. Atheneum, 1971. Mrs. Frisby’s husband died suddenly last summer, and in the spring she and her four children have to move to a summer residence or be plowed under by the farmer’s tractor.
Mrs. Frisby starts out to find help. She befriends a crow named Jeremy, visits a wise owl, and then goes to the rats of NIMH for help.
These intelligent rats have a highly developed underground colony; however, they have found life too easy for them and have made plans to become self-sufficient. How the rats and Mrs. Frisby help each other is an exciting science fiction story. This book won the 1972 Newbery Award for the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children.

My friend Tom Anderson told the following story:
There was a little crippled boy who ran a small newsstand in a crowded railroad station. He must have been about twelve years old. Every day he would sell papers, candy, gum, and magazines to the thousands of commuters passing through the terminal.
One night two men were rushing through the crowded station to catch a train. One was fifteen or twenty yards in front of the other. It was Christmas Eve. Their train was scheduled to depart in a matter of minutes.
The first man turned a corner and in his haste to get home to a Christmas cocktail party plowed right into the little crippled boy. He knocked him off his stool, and candy, newspapers, and gum were scattered everywhere. Without so much as stopping, he cursed the little fellow for being there and rushed on to catch the train that would take him to celebrate Christmas in the way he had chosen for himself.
It was only a matter of seconds before the second commuter arrived on the scene. He stopped, knelt, and gently picked up the boy. After making sure the child was unhurt, the man gathered up the scattered newspapers, sweets, and magazines. Then he took his wallet and gave the boy a five-dollar bill. “Son,” he said, “I think this will take care of what was lost or soiled. Merry Christmas!”
Without waiting for a reply the commuter now picked up his briefcase and started to hurry away. As he did, the little crippled boy cupped his hands together and called out: “Mister, Mister!”
The man stopped as the boy asked, “Are you Jesus Christ?”
By the look on his face, it was obvious the commuter was embarrassed by the question. But he smiled and said, “No, son. I am not Jesus Christ, but I am trying hard to do what He would do if He were here.”
And that, my friend, is what it means to be a Christian, even on Christmas Eve. It’s a matter of impersonation. [American Opinion, December 1971, pp. 13–14]

Plan an attention-getting introduction.The first two minutes of any lesson are critical. It is usually during these 120 seconds that class members decide whether or not they will devote their mental energy to the lesson. To introduce one Relief Society lesson, Roxana San Martín de Seguel of the Providencia Ward, Santiago Chile Las Condes Stake, passed a mirror around and asked the sisters to tell what they saw in it. “A face,” said one. “A daughter of God,” said another. The class members were instantly involved, and the lesson began with a wonderful spirit, Sister de Seguel recalls.

This call from one generation to another is one of the reasons we hold priesthood meetings with dads seated next to sons, and priesthood leaders at the side of those whose fathers may be absent. It was in a stake priesthood meeting with a format very much like this one that the then twelve-year-old Gordon B. Hinckley stood in the back of the old Salt Lake Tenth Ward building—his first such stake priesthood meeting as a newly ordained deacon—feeling just a bit lonely and a little out of place.

But upon hearing the men of that stake sing W. W. Phelps’s stirring memorial tribute “Praise to the Man,” this young boy, who would one day be a prophet himself, had it borne upon his soul that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God, that he had in truth “communed with Jehovah,” that “millions shall know ‘Brother Joseph’ again” (Hymns, 1985, no. 27). Yes, some part of the preparation for this morning’s solemn assembly began when a twelve-year-old deacon heard faithful, experienced, older men sing the hymns of Zion in a priesthood meeting.

When Jane Seppings, of Victoria, Australia, discovered that Cardinia Shire was calling for cloth face masks for refugee and migrant residents, the busy mother and youth leader with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, set to work with her sewing machine.
She made 22 cloth face masks of varying sizes.
“I’m grateful that the gospel of Jesus Christ encourages us to love and serve others,” she said.
As a nurse and midwife, Jane says she values her health and the health of her family and her patients.
“This was a way I could further contribute to other families in the community by doing something as simple as making masks for those that don’t have access to them,” Jane explained. “It is always nice to help out where I can.”
The masks were acknowledged gratefully by the Shire’s cultural diversity facilitator, Glenda George.

Some months ago a ninety-year-old patriarch and dear friend of my own father was quietly laid to rest in this valley. My father passed away during the height of the Great Depression in 1932, and ten days later my oldest brother, age fourteen, died. During forty-seven years of my mother’s widowhood, this gentle man frequently visited our fatherless family to give wise counsel and encouragement and priesthood blessings. His example and personal concern, coupled with the goodness of many other priesthood leaders and loving neighbors, helped my mother and her five remaining children face the problems of economic depression and wars and the many worldly influences and daily challenges with which each of us must cope. His life in many ways touched scores of others in similar circumstances.
To me he was the epitome of the “pure religion” described in the epistle of James: “To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world” (James 1:27).

When I was 10, I got very bad allergies. I normally played outside in the summer. Not that year! My allergies made it hard to breathe. I mostly stayed inside. Everything I wanted to do, like playing soccer, took a lot of extra energy.
After that year, my allergies came back every summer. We couldn’t find medicine that helped. But we did find that I could breathe better in the bathroom than anywhere else in the house. So from May to August I slept in the bathroom. My family didn’t complain. They let me sleep there every summer for five years.
Illustration by Mark Robison
At the start of each summer, my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. Year after year, he blessed me that my allergies would go away. My mom, sisters, and brother all prayed for me. But the blessings and prayers didn’t fix my allergies right away.
My allergies taught me a lot of important lessons during those five summers. I learned to do hard things. I learned to rest so I could use my energy wisely. I learned not to be afraid. Finally, when I grew older, my allergies did get better.
Today I can work hard for a long time, even after other people get tired. I still take time to rest so I can use my energy wisely. And I am not afraid, because I have faith in Jesus Christ.
It may sound funny, but today I am grateful that I had bad allergies! They were a blessing because of the lessons they taught.

It was years after I was a deacon when I learned what that means practically. For instance, as a high priest, I was assigned to visit a care center sacrament meeting. I was asked to pass the sacrament. Instead of thinking about the process or precision in the way I passed the sacrament, I instead looked in the faces of each elderly person. I saw many of them weeping. One lady grabbed my sleeve, looked up, and said aloud, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

The Lord had blessed my service given in His name. That day I had prayed for such a miracle to come instead of praying for how well I might do my part. I prayed that the people would feel the Lord’s love through my loving service. I have learned this is the key to serving and blessing others in His name.

Kathy listened as Mr. Sodeberg explained how people migrated in the United States. She was excited about her new history class. Flipping through the pages of her new history book, Kathy stopped at a picture of Brigham Young. She had never realized Brigham Young’s significance in United States history before.
Mr. Sodeberg finished his lecture. “There will be homework every day,” he said. “Your first assignment is due tomorrow.”
At home Kathy sighed as she looked at all the questions Mr. Sodeberg had assigned.
“Tough day at school?” Mom asked.
“Homework every day,” Kathy said. She remembered the picture in her history book. “Mom, Brigham Young is in my textbook. What makes him so important in U.S. history?”
“He directed the migration of thousands of Latter-day Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Then he organized them into settlements,” Mom said. “That took a lot of planning. It was a significant part of the country’s westward migration.”
The next day Mr. Sodeberg announced, “Next week we will perform a readers’ theater. Each of you will dramatize a character of the westward migration. Your parents and other students will be invited to attend the performance.”
Mr. Sodeberg began assigning characters and handing out scripts. When he asked who wanted the part of Brigham Young, Kathy quickly raised her hand.
“Tonight’s homework is to begin memorizing your part,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “You must recite it perfectly. Your grade depends on it.”
Kathy read over her part as she and her friend Laura left class. A terrible feeling came over her. “This is all wrong,” she said to Laura. “It makes Brigham Young sound dishonest.”
“You just see things differently because of your church,” Laura said.
“I can’t say these things,” Kathy said.
“You have to recite them perfectly,” Laura reminded her.
Tears rolled down Kathy’s cheeks as she ran home and burst through the front door.
“More homework?” Mom asked.
“Worse,” Kathy said, handing her the script. “Read this.”
Mom read the script and shook her head. “This writer didn’t know a lot about Brigham Young.”
“What should I do?” Kathy asked.
“First let’s find a Brigham Young costume,” Mom said.
Kathy tried on Grandpa’s long black coat and rolled up the sleeves on her brother’s white shirt. Mr. Grandi next door showed Kathy how to walk with his extra wooden cane.
Mom found a tall black hat in a closet and put it on Kathy’s head. “You’d make Brigham Young proud,” Mom said. “Now you need a new script.”
Kathy looked for information about Brigham Young in Church history books and on the Church website. Soon the script was rewritten.
“The true story of Brigham Young,” Kathy said.
On the day of the performance, Kathy’s class gathered in the auditorium. Parents and other students waited in their seats. Mr. Sodeberg introduced the program; then he stood offstage as the students recited their parts.
Alex recited his script perfectly, but Randall mixed up his words. Mr. Sodeberg made him begin again. Kathy squeezed her cane. When it was her turn, Kathy recited the true story of Brigham Young.
“Did you change your script?” Laura asked after the performance.
“Yes. I told the truth,” Kathy said.
“Here comes Mr. Sodeberg,” Laura said.
“Well done, ladies,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “Kathy,” he continued, “you were the best Brigham Young I have ever seen.”

My family moved to a little desert town in the United States during one of the hottest months of the year. But among the Latter-day Saint kids, my reception was cold.
I was 15, and my family had already moved 10 times, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to make friends. I tried everything I knew to break the ice, but after five months I still didn’t have a single friend who was a member of the Church.
Luckily, I had lots of good nonmember friends at school. But that didn’t make it any easier at early-morning seminary and church. I actually sat through five months of seminary without anyone saying hello to me, except my seminary teacher. And in my Sunday School class there was always one empty seat between me and everyone else.
Tom Jeppson* was the ringleader of the LDS kids. He had never really said anything to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he had noticed me until one morning when he met me at the seminary doors.
“Go home. We don’t want you here,” he said.
I started to laugh. He had to be joking, right? But when I looked at his face, I knew he wasn’t kidding. I looked at the others standing close behind him. They didn’t say anything, which I figured meant they agreed.
As I turned away, I heard the doors slam behind me and muffled laughter.
I’m never going to seminary again, I swore to myself as I walked the short distance to the high school. It is all their fault.
That day seemed like it would never end. After school I rode the bus to my street, but I didn’t go home. I went to my seminary teacher’s house. He lived a few doors down from me, and I really liked him. In fact, I liked his whole family.
He usually gave me a ride to seminary each morning, so I wanted to tell him not to worry about picking me up anymore. Actually, what I really wanted was some sympathy.
Sister Murray answered the door. Brother Murray wasn’t home yet, but she invited me in for a drink of lemonade. It wasn’t long before I was telling her the whole story. She was sympathetic until I said I wasn’t going to seminary anymore and that I might not go to church ever again.
“If this is really the true Church, people wouldn’t act like that,” I said.
I expected her to plead with me to come back. I wanted her to tell me she would talk to all the kids’ parents and get them in a lot of trouble. I thought she would be ready to do almost anything to keep me active. Instead she said, “Well, fine. You’re not hurting any of those kids by not going. You’re hurting only yourself.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I quickly finished my lemonade and told her I had to go.
I stayed away from seminary and church for three weeks. My seminary teacher called a few times to check on me. I missed seminary, but I was too proud to admit it. I kept telling myself everyone was probably feeling pretty guilty they had made me become inactive. I told myself they would be in trouble on judgment day.
Still, I couldn’t forget what Sister Murray had said about me hurting only myself. And then, one day when I was reading the Book of Mormon, a scripture caught my eye: “See that ye do all things in worthiness, and do it in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God; and if ye do this, and endure to the end, ye will in nowise be cast out” (Morm. 9:29).
As I read the words, the Spirit filled my heart and I realized Sister Murray was right. Sure, the kids had been real jerks. But they couldn’t keep me away from the Church if I was determined to be there. And best of all, they couldn’t cast me out in the end, when it really mattered—not if I endured.
I got out of bed and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M., so I wouldn’t miss seminary the next day.
We lived in that hot, windy desert town for five more months and nothing really changed—except my heart. For the first time, I understood that no one was responsible for my salvation but me. I didn’t miss another day of seminary or church. And although the LDS kids were still cold, it didn’t matter. I was filled with the warmth of the gospel.

Haruki, it is time for bed. Did you say your prayer yet?
No, not yet.
We will kneel with you.
Haruki knelt down and started to pray.
Thank Thee for my family, my house, my friends, and my toys. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Haruki, that was a good prayer, but you forgot to start by saying, “Heavenly Father.”
Why do I have to say that?
When we pray, we are talking to Heavenly Father. He loves us.
When we pray to Him, we can thank Him for everything He gives us. We can also ask Him for things we need.
Heavenly Father loves me?
Yes, He does. How does that make you feel?
I want to say my prayer again!
Heavenly Father, thank Thee …

“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” I smiled, as the boy I loved whispered in my ear. We were holding hands, waiting to enter the sealing room of the temple, where we would be sealed for time and all eternity. As we entered, I caught a glimpse of us in one of the golden-edged mirrors in the sealing room. We did look beautiful—both of us, dressed in white, smiling, glowing, filled with a joy we didn’t know existed. I felt my eyes become moist as I watched the room fill with friends and family. The Spirit of the Lord was strong.
As the door closed I reflected on a time when I did not feel so beautiful. Four years before I didn’t know much about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some of my friends were members, and I knew they didn’t smoke or drink alcohol, but I didn’t know much about their religion.
My first year at college was exciting. It was the first time I was away from home, and I was determined to do and try everything I had never done before. I ate junk food and stayed up all night chatting with my roommate, who was a member.
Then I began to date Todd. He began to take me to parties at his fraternity. At the time I did not have the gift of the Holy Ghost, but I could still sense darkness at those parties.
Soon Todd began to pressure me to do things I was uncomfortable with—things my parents had warned me against. After one such night of resisting his pleas, I lay in bed and wept for hours. I remembered a feeling I had when I was a child that was sweet and pure. I had felt close to God. Now, I felt far from Him.
I knelt and began to pray. I pleaded with the Lord to forgive my sins, and I told Him I would give anything to feel sweet and pure again. Afterward, I felt as though a burden had been lifted off of my shoulders. I had a warm, peaceful feeling in my heart. I knew the Lord had heard my prayer. Everything would be all right.
The next day my roommate asked if I would care to come to church with her. I reflected on the previous night with Todd, and agreed to go. I needed some spiritual guidance.
The church was much different than the ones I had attended as a child. I was surprised there was no priest. It was fast and testimony meeting, and I was interested to see how deeply the members felt about their religion. I began to feel a desire to be that committed to the Lord.
I started talking to the missionaries. I liked what they told me, but each night I asked the Lord if the Church were true, and each night I received no answer. My parents were upset that I was investigating the Church. They gave me some anti-Church literature that confused me. I asked my member friends about what I had read, and every question I had about the Church was answered. Finally, I felt as if I would burst if I did not know. I knelt in my room and pleaded with the Lord to reveal to me if this was His true Church.
What happened then is hard to describe. It was as if the veil was parted, and I remembered what I knew from the premortal existence. Everything that was confusing before was now crystal clear. I saw the truth so strongly that I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church of Jesus Christ. I was filled with an indescribable peace. I knew the Lord had answered my prayer to find my childhood feeling of peace again.
I made the decision to be baptized. It was not an easy decision. My parents told me I would tear the family apart if I went through with it. Many of my friends, including Todd, would not speak to me when they heard I was joining the Church. I felt alone.
When I was baptized my parents did not come, but as I came from the waters of baptism I knew I was home. I had found the truth and I would never let it go. I felt closer to God than I had ever felt before.
I felt beautiful. It was the deep and glowing beauty that comes from righteousness. It was the same beauty that I saw in all the faces surrounding me in the temple. And as I knelt across the altar from my future husband and saw our reflections go on forever in the mirrors that surrounded us, I knew I would give up everything to be worthy to be in that room. I would give up everything to feel the peace and joy and beauty that filled my soul. It was beautiful, and nothing on earth could ever compare.

Although it often took an hour to make it through one chapter of the Book of Mormon, Cham Nap Kong didn’t get discouraged. Every Tuesday the 14-year-old Cambodian boy would struggle through a chapter of the first English book he ever tried to read outside of school.
He had received a Book of Mormon for Christmas. When summer arrived and the pressures of school were gone, he asked soft-spoken Delaures Harkness, a sister in his ward, to help him read it. When she met Cham Nap, Sister Harkness “just took a liking to him. He really wanted to study the scriptures,” she says.
“I wanted to know about Jesus and the Mormon church. I wanted to understand it,” explains shy Cham Nap in a suddenly decisive tone.
Progress was slow. It took all summer to make it through 1 Nephi.
Cham Nap’s schooling, before he came to the United States four years ago, was very limited. As a child he attended kindergarten, but political unrest in Cambodia prevented him from attending any more school. In 1979, he went to Thailand with his aunt, uncle, and cousin to escape the war. There they lived in a refugee camp. Cham Nap has not seen or heard from his mother or brothers and sisters since then.
“In Thailand I went to school for about one month and learned to read and write a little Cambodian,” he explains. That’s also where his friends first told him about Jesus Christ and the LDS church.
Before coming to America, he and his relatives were sent to Indonesia for seven months to learn English. “I just learned the first words—‘hello,’ ‘how are you,’ and a few to use in the home.”
They arrived in the United States in 1981 and settled down in Salt Lake City. Cham Nap attended school with many other Southeast Asians at South High School. He had an LDS school teacher who invited him to go to church, and then she sent the missionaries to his home.
His friends in Thailand had told him the LDS church was a good church. “I heard that Mormons didn’t drink, and they went without food and water the first Sunday every month,” he says. “The missionaries taught me about the gospel. It made me excited because it’s so good. I wanted to clean my sins and be a good person.”
He had attended other churches, but he felt strongly that what the LDS missionaries taught him was true. He was baptized on October 23, 1982, in Salt Lake City. About that time he became friends with Delaures and Harold Harkness. Brother Harkness was a counselor in the presidency of the Cambodian Branch of the Salt Lake Park Stake. Cham Nap occasionally ate dinner with them, and they often gave him a ride to church.
During the summer, he would go to their home every Tuesday, and for half an hour to an hour he would struggle to read one chapter in the Book of Mormon. “We didn’t read a lot every time because it just seemed awfully hard for him,” Sister Harkness says. “I tried to explain what the words meant as we went along. Then we’d talk about what we read. It was hard for him to grasp at times.”
When Cham Nap first started going to church, he didn’t understand anything except for sacrament meeting, which was translated into Cambodian. But he kept on going because it made him happy. “Even though I didn’t understand in the classes, I felt the Spirit and I liked to go. Afterward I’d go to Sister Harkness and ask her questions and she would teach me.”
Cham Nap now lives with a foster family in Farr West, Utah. He is an eager eighth grader who wants to perfect his English, so he takes two English classes. It is still difficult for him to read, but he studies the scriptures regularly, usually for an hour on Sundays and frequently after school. “The words I don’t understand I look up in the dictionary,” he notes.
He has three church books in Cambodian, including Book of Mormon Selections, which he studies along with the scriptures in English.
Cham Nap says he likes to study and learn more about the gospel. “I want to be a missionary and teach people and make them happy. I want to share what I have learned.” Just like Ammon, the Book of Mormon prophet he’s reading about right now.

In the summer of 1915, Rafael Monroy served as the president of a branch of around forty Saints in San Marcos, Hidalgo, Mexico. On July 17, a group of rebel troops overran the village, set up headquarters in a large house at the center of town, and demanded that Rafael, a prosperous rancher, provide them with beef.1
Hoping to appease the troops, Rafael gave them a cow to slaughter.2 After Rafael delivered the cow, some of his neighbors began talking to the rebels. One neighbor, Andres Reyes, was unhappy about the growing number of Saints in the area. Many Mexicans opposed foreign influences in their country, and Andres and others in town resented the Monroys for leaving their Catholic faith to join a church widely associated with the United States.3
Hearing this, the soldiers followed Rafael back to his house and arrested him just as he was sitting down for breakfast. They ordered him to open the family store, claiming that he and his American brother-in-law were colonels in the Carrancista army who were hiding weapons to use against the Zapatistas.
At the store, Rafael and the troops found Vicente Morales, another Church member, doing odd jobs. Believing he was also a Carrancista soldier, the troops arrested him and began ransacking the store as they searched for weapons. Rafael and Vicente pleaded their innocence, assuring the troops that they were not the enemy.
The soldiers did not believe them. “If you do not give us your weapons,” they said, “we will hang you from the highest tree.”
The soldiers brought the two men to a tall tree and slung ropes over its strong limbs. Then they placed nooses around their necks. If Rafael and Vicente would abandon their religion and join the Zapatistas, the soldiers said, they would be freed.
“My religion is dearer to me than my life,” Rafael said, “and I cannot forsake it.”
The soldiers pulled the ropes until Rafael and Vicente dangled from their necks and passed out. The rebels then released the ropes, revived the men, and continued to torture them.4
Back at the store, the rebels kept up their search for weapons. Rafael’s mother, Jesusita, and his wife, Guadalupe, insisted there were no weapons. “My son is a peaceful man!” Jesusita said. “If it weren’t so, do you think that you would have found him in his home?” When the soldiers again demanded to see the family’s weapons, the Monroys held out copies of the Book of Mormon and Bible.
“Those aren’t weapons,” the rebels said.
By that afternoon, the Zapatistas had taken Rafael and Vicente to their headquarters, where they were also holding Rafael’s siblings—Jovita, Lupe, and Natalia. Lupe was shocked at Rafael’s appearance. “Rafa, you have blood on your neck,” she told him. Rafael walked to a sink in the room and washed his face. He looked calm and did not seem angry, despite everything that had happened.
Later, Jesusita brought her children food. Before she left, Rafael handed her a letter he had written to a Zapatista captain he knew, seeking his help to prove his innocence. Jesusita took the letter and went looking for the captain. The Monroys and Vicente then blessed their meal, but before they could eat, they heard the clatter of footsteps and weapons outside the door. The soldiers called for Rafael and Vicente, and the two men exited the room. At the door, Rafael asked his sister Natalia to come out with him, but the guards pushed her back inside.
The sisters looked at one another, their hearts pounding. Silence settled over them. Then gunshots split the night.5
On the night of the Zapatistas’ invasion of San Marcos, Jesusita de Monroy had been on her way to speak with a rebel leader, hopeful that he could help her free her imprisoned children, when she heard the fateful gunshots. Hurrying back to the prison, she found her son Rafael and fellow Latter-day Saint Vicente Morales dead, victims of the rebel bullets.

“Mom!” Desiree cried. “I’m scared!”
Mom appeared in Desiree’s doorway and turned on the bedroom light. Desiree squinted into the corner where the scary shadows had been. Nothing was there.
“I thought I saw a wolf in that corner,” Desiree said.
Mom wrapped her arms around Desiree, making her feel snug and safe. “When the light is on, we can see that there’s really nothing there,” Mom said.
When Desiree felt better, Mom turned out the light and went back to bed. Desiree closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Then she opened one eye and looked at the wall. The shadows were still there.
“Mom!” she cried again.
This time Mom didn’t smile when she turned on the light. She looked tired. She asked, “Desiree, do you remember what you were watching on television earlier?”
Desiree nodded. She had watched a program about wolves.
Mom sat on Desiree’s bed. “What we watch can really influence us—our thoughts, our actions, and even our feelings.”
“But the show I watched about wolves wasn’t bad,” Desiree said.
“What we watch on television can affect our thoughts, even if it isn’t a bad program. I think that what you watched tonight played a part in how you are feeling,” Mom explained.
Desiree thought about what Mom said. She had never noticed being affected by what she watched before.
“Wow,” Desiree said. “I’ll have to be more careful in deciding what to watch.”
Mom smiled. “That’s a good idea, Desiree.”
“But what about tonight? I still feel scared.”
“I have an idea,” Mom said. She took a picture of Jesus Christ off Desiree’s desk and pulled it out of its wooden frame. Then she neatly taped it to the wall where Desiree had seen the scary shadows. “He will always be there for you, Desiree. Remember that when you are afraid.”
As Mom turned off the light, a warm feeling filled Desiree’s heart. She knew what Mom had said was true. Jesus would always watch over her, help her, and quiet her fears.

My wife and I have tried to teach the values of work and service to our children. All seven sons—one was a foster child who came to live with us when he was a teenager—and our daughter worked at my lumber company as they were growing up. And one of the Christmas traditions that we started many years ago is still carried out each year by the entire family, including grandchildren: On the Monday before each Christmas, we take homebaked gifts and visit old friends and the widows in the neighborhood where I grew up.

At one time, Ben, Jr., and Brad, my two oldest boys, belonged to a Japanese Scout troop because our ward didn’t have a Scout troop. One day the Scoutmaster took the boys on a hike in the Zion Narrows in southern Utah. Their progress was slower than anticipated. Concerned that the park officials whom they had checked in with would be worried about them, the Scoutmaster asked my sons and a couple of other boys to hike ahead by themselves and let the park officials know that everyone was OK. The boys took a wrong turn into a dead-end canyon and didn’t know what to do. The other boys were not Latter-day Saints, but they turned to Ben and said, “Maybe you’re the one who ought to pray for us to help us get out of here.” After he offered a prayer, Ben said, “Let’s go,” and they turned and walked out without any problem. How grateful I was that my children had learned to pray, that they had faith in that prayer, and that our Father in Heaven would help them find their way safely out of the canyon.

My message to children is: Follow the counsel of your parents, and know how much they love you. Know the value of having good friends. Choose good friends with the same high standards and values that you have.

Sister Dolly Nyandeni, from the Dobsonville Ward in the Soweto Stake, loves family history and explains how she got started: “I attended the family history class at church and learned more about the filling of the pedigree chart and other important aspects about my family.”
“Through fasting and prayer, the Holy Ghost guided me to know other things such as names and dates that were needed for my ancestors. Also, family gatherings helped me to obtain more information.”
“I gained more insight in Malachi 4:5–6. The prophet Elijah taught about the turning the hearts of children to their fathers and of fathers to their children, before the coming of the dreadful day of the Lord. That gave me insight into the bond and love we have with our ancestors. They are with us in spirit.”