Gospel Story Finder

Later, as I served in the British Mission, in 1962 our mission president, Marion D. Hanks, had us read and study the Book of Mormon. We were asked to first mark everything having to do with the Savior in red. In the second reading we marked doctrine in a different color; I chose green. President Hanks had been a General Authority for nine years before serving as our mission president. He would teach us the doctrine after we had marked the Book of Mormon. In reading 2 Nephi 5:21, describing a skin of blackness associated with being cut off from the Lord’s presence approximately 600 years before Christ’s birth, President Hanks was adamant that this phrase related solely to that people and during that period of time. Those people who were Lamanites were literal blood brothers and sisters to Nephi and his siblings. President Hanks had us immediately turn to 2 Nephi 26:33, which reads, in part:

And he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God, both Jew and Gentile.

That was our doctrine then and that is our doctrine now. President Hanks made it clear that if anyone had feelings of racial superiority, they needed to repent.

The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)

“The first time I went home teaching, I was really nervous about what I would have to say to the families,” admits Ryan Hunter. “I was glad when I only had to give the closing prayer.” But after just a couple months of home teaching, Ryan wasn’t nervous anymore. Now he looks forward to going. “My favorite part is talking to the people and learning more about them and how we can help them,” says Ryan. “If it were not for home teaching, people might not ask for help, even when they really need it.”

In the Allentown Branch, Reading Pennsylvania Stake (USA), Tracy Norton, the Young Women president, and the young women in her ward used True to the Faith while studying the Articles of Faith, a project they hoped would give them confidence to share the gospel by helping them better understand the Church’s basic points of beliefs.
“I try to use True to the Faith for my lessons as much as possible and encourage the young women to use it with their questions,” Sister Norton said. “True to the Faith covers many topics relating to the struggles the youth face and offers the Church’s stance on those and other important topics. I believe it’s important to introduce a source they can go to for answers.”
Sister Norton believes that because they were able to focus on individual topics, the young women she teaches were better able to understand each principle.
“Using True to the Faith helped increase my understanding of the gospel and helped me have a stronger testimony,” said 14-year-old Genesis Felix, a member of the Allentown Branch. “I keep the book with my scriptures now and often use it to look up topics I don’t completely understand.”

One Sunday I was substituting in a Primary class of particularly rambunctious five-year-olds. The lesson was about love. We began by singing the song “Jesus Said Love Everyone.”
Afterward I commented, “Jesus loves everyone, and we must do that, too.”
Robbie challenged me. “Oh, no, he doesn’t love everyone—he doesn’t love the bad people!”
“Yes, Robbie, he loves everyone.”
“He doesn’t love the robbers.”
“Even the robbers.”
Robbie thought a minute and said, “I know some people he didn’t love—he didn’t love the men who killed him!”
At that point I told Robbie about the Crucifixion.
“When Jesus hung on the cross,” Robbie interrupted me, “did they really put nails in his hands and feet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that must have hurt.”
“Yes, it did. Even after that happened, as Jesus hung on the cross in great pain, he said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ (Luke 23:34.) Jesus was speaking about the men who had placed him on the cross. He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. Yes, Robbie, Jesus even loved these people, and he forgave them.”
Robbie looked at me, furrowed his brow, and said, “I’m going to ask my dad if Jesus really did say that.”
After class was over, I was walking into sacrament meeting with my family, and I felt a tug on my dress. It was Robbie.
“Sister Wright, my dad says you’re right.”
The tenderness of this experience was that Robbie went from challenging the idea that Jesus could love everyone to a sweet trust of Christ’s unconditional love.

First, from my own family, I mention a touching experience that has always been an inspiration to me.
My maternal great-grandparents Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie lived in Clackmannan, Scotland. Their families were engaged in coal mining. They were at peace with the world, surrounded by relatives and friends, and were housed in fairly comfortable quarters in a land they loved. Then they listened to the message of the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and, to the depths of their very souls, were converted. They heard the call to gather to Zion and knew they must answer that call.
Sometime around 1848, they sold their possessions and prepared for the hazardous voyage across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. With five small children, they boarded a sailing vessel, all their worldly possessions in one tiny trunk. They traveled 3,000 miles (4,800 km) across the waters—eight long, weary weeks on a treacherous sea, watching and waiting, with poor food, poor water, and no help beyond the length and breadth of that small ship.
In the midst of this soul-trying situation, one of their young sons became ill. There were no doctors, no stores at which they might purchase medicine to ease his suffering. They watched, they prayed, they waited, and they wept as day by day his condition deteriorated. When his eyes were at last closed in death, their hearts were torn asunder. To add to their grief, the laws of the sea must be obeyed. Wrapped in a canvas weighed down with iron, the little body was consigned to a watery grave. As they sailed away, only those parents knew the crushing blow dealt to wounded hearts. However, with a faith born of their deep conviction of the truth and their love of the Lord, Gibson and Cecelia held on. They were comforted by the words of the Lord: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
How grateful I am for ancestors who had the faith to leave hearth and home and to journey to Zion, who made sacrifices I can scarcely imagine. I thank my Heavenly Father for the example of faith, of courage, and of determination Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie provide for me and for all their posterity.

Chris Obzansky played ice hockey for three years before he decided it just wasn’t for him. When he was nine, he traded his hockey skates for figure skates and pushed off on a path that has led him to a successful career as an ice dancer. But it hasn’t all been smooth gliding.
“I got really determined to learn on those figure skates,” he says. “But I just kept stumbling on those toe picks!” Despite the difficulties, he found that ice dancing was what he really wanted to do. And besides, “I thought it was pretty cool to be skating with a girl instead of with a team of smelly hockey players,” Chris says, laughing.
He had big dreams. He and his partner had placed second at the junior level United States nationals, third at U.S. nationals, and first in an international competition in China. His plan was to compete in the 2006 Winter Olympics and then go on a mission after he turned 21. But when he was 18, just when everything was going smoothly, he ran into a snag.
“I wasn’t really enjoying it, and I was having a hard time with the sport,” he remembers. “I was just trying to push through it, and I could not do it anymore. I said, ‘Lord, what do I do?’”
Chris got the first part of his answer when he went to talk to his bishop, who encouraged him to pray about his plan to delay his mission. “His advice kind of went in one ear and out the other,” Chris admits. “But my life got to the point where I really did have to ask, and I really did have to listen.”
The second part of Chris’s answer came during a sacrament meeting. As he listened to his Young Men president talk about his own mission call, the Spirit told him, “‘Chris, you need to serve a mission when you’re 19, or you’re going to have a tough life.’ The message was so clear I actually turned around to see if someone was there,” he says. “The feeling came back 10 times stronger, and I knew I had to go on a mission.”
That night Chris called his partner and coaches to give them the news. When he had first started training with them, he told them that a mission was a possibility. But none of them had expected him to go—at least not yet. Although they were disappointed, Chris says, “They’ve been very supportive of me and my mission, and I give them credit for that.”
Chris feels peace about his decision and where his life is going. “I’m grateful Heavenly Father gave me that prompting,” he says. “But it’s been really hard since then. Satan tried to bring me down in any way possible.”
To combat the fears and temptations, Chris read the scriptures and prayed the way he used to dedicate himself to practicing at the ice rinks in Delaware, where he lived while he trained. He studied the scriptures at least twice a day, and he set aside time to pray earnestly at least three times a day. “That really protected me,” he says. He also credits much of his help to surrounding himself with good friends and family when he came back home to the Thirteenth Ward of the Salt Lake Central Stake.
There are lots of rules in ice dancing—lots of required and restricted moves. To succeed takes a lot of creativity and dancing talent. Chris thinks his experiences with ice dancing will help him on his mission—experiences like learning to get along with a partner, following strict rules, and being dedicated to something every day for a long time.
His call to the Baltic States Mission, Russian speaking, was exciting for Chris, especially since he knows speaking Russian will help him if he still wants to return to ice dancing after his mission. (Many of the competitors and coaches speak Russian.) He also wants to be a coach eventually. But for now, he says, “I just want to try to bring people to a knowledge of the gospel.”
Being prompted to go on a mission wasn’t the first time Chris asked for and received the Lord’s guidance in his life. He was 16, had just split from a skating partner, and was having a hard time. “My dad gave me a blessing, and he told me the Spirit would be with me and would comfort me,” he says.
After the blessing, Chris was prompted to read D&C 58. Verses two through seven have made a big difference in his life. “I thought they were written exactly for me,” he says. “Everything in those verses has come to pass in my life and is still coming to pass. Those verses have given me so much comfort.”
Trying to obey the counsel he received in D&C 58, Chris is serving a mission when the Lord asked him to, and he is ready to bear testimony of the Savior and the gospel in the Baltic states. He knows he will have more difficulties than toe picks and changing partners there, but he also knows that when he asks for guidance, the Lord will answer.

He gave his final talk in the Dewsbury Ward, Huddersfield Stake. The chapel was packed with past and present service missionaries who came to hear him and celebrate his great success. One brother, who had not been to Church for some time, commented that he felt the Spirit very strongly in the meeting and would be coming back to Church. This Spirit was probably due to the many angels who I believe attended that meeting to offer their appreciation for his wonderful missionary service, as he helped in gathering Israel on the other side of the veil.

A contemporary prisoner of Christ is my good friend Heinz Konrad Masurek. Ten years ago Heiko, as he is called, was a young music student in Vienna during the time I was serving in the mission presidency in Austria. One day Heiko was walking down the streets of Vienna when a Book of Mormon street display caught his eye. His Latter-day Saint girlfriend had awakened in him some interest in the Church, so he stopped to talk with the missionaries, and they gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon. He began to read it and accepted the missionary discussions; eventually he was baptized.

Shortly after his baptism he moved back to Germany to accept a position in a symphony orchestra and a job teaching in a music school. I was concerned that this new convert might get lost in the shuffle of moving to a new ward in a new country so shortly after baptism. I knew Heiko’s new stake president since the days when I served in Germany as a young missionary, so I called President Ulrich Rueckauer and asked him if he could give Heiko some special attention to assure that he remained active in the Church.

A few weeks later this caring stake president invited Heiko to make a three-hour train trip to Stuttgart to share his conversion story in a Saturday afternoon stake priesthood leadership meeting. Heiko accepted the invitation with considerable fear and trepidation.

He had never spoken to a large audience before, so the evening prior to his appointed speech he spent a rather sleepless night tossing and turning. When the alarm clock finally rang, he turned it off and promised himself he would just sleep for a few more minutes and then get up. But he was so exhausted from his fitful night’s sleep that he awoke too late to catch the train for Stuttgart in time to arrive punctually at the stake center to give his talk.

He hurriedly dressed and called a taxi to take him to the small airport outside of town, and, although he was a financially struggling musician, he chartered a small plane to fly him to Stuttgart. The cost of the flight was 900 deutsche marks, or about $450. Upon landing, he checked on the bus schedule into the city, and it was immediately clear that the bus made too many stops along the way for him to arrive at the stake center in time. So, although the taxi fare for the twenty-mile trip was another forty dollars, he hired a cab and headed for Stuttgart.

President Rueckauer called me in Vienna after the meeting and described how Heiko had arrived all out of breath just ten minutes after the meeting had begun. But he gave a marvelous and inspiring talk, and all in attendance were grateful for the sacrifice he had made to attend.

Several months later Heiko came to visit us in Vienna, and we asked him to recount his experience of chartering the small plane to Stuttgart in order to attend the meeting on time. After he rehearsed the details, I asked him: “Heiko, why didn’t you just call up President Rueckauer and tell him you would not be able to make it to the meeting and that you would be willing to speak on some future occasion?”

Heiko looked at me almost indignantly as he said: “When the missionaries taught me the gospel, they explained the importance of commitments and of covenants, and they said that when we make a promise to the Lord or to one of his servants, we are expected to keep our commitment.”

I had a sad errand to perform one day as I went with a mission president to tell an elder in the field of the passing of his father. He met us at the door to tell us how thrilled he was with the work of that day and what had been accomplished. Then we asked him to sit down for a moment, and we delivered the message. I shall never forget the experience.
He said, “I have learned a lot of things since I have been out in the field and have had time to think them through. I wish I could have talked to my father one more time because I had so many things to tell him.”
This is true of most of us in life. The letter we did not write, the word of appreciation we intended to express but did not take the time to do so—there are so many little things we could have done to brighten our lives and to brighten the lives of others.

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). This is the first scripture mastery verse I learned in my first year of seminary. After I memorized it, I tried to follow its teaching. I never knew who was watching me, but I wanted to set a good example for them. As I became good friends with my piano teacher, I learned that we can shine as bright as a candle and stand out in a group.
I’d begun practicing piano in kindergarten. After I finished sixth grade, my family moved to a different state, so I had to find a new music teacher. A friend at church suggested I take lessons from her instructor, Susan. At the time, Susan was teaching about 80 lessons a week and her schedule was very full. But she agreed to teach me and squeezed my piano lesson in right after school.
At each lesson, the first song I would practice would be a hymn. As I played, Susan sang the words and would often ask me questions about the scriptural meaning of the piece. This served as a great missionary opportunity. Susan and I had fun as we played duets and learned more about each other. I found out that she worked as the music director at her Catholic church. She always showed a great love for God, and I am glad we had such a strong relationship.
One day, Susan sent out invitations for a recital. At my lesson, she told me it would be our last performance. To her dismay, she had to close down her piano studio because our economic times hurt Susan financially and she knew she couldn’t pay the rent for her studio and keep her two other jobs going.
The night of the recital arrived and was filled with splendid talent and beautiful music. Before each student performed, Susan shared something unique about the person or information about the song he or she would play. As she stood before the audience to introduce me, she began to tear up. “I know that God sends certain people into our lives for a reason,” she began. She said she could see something bright and different about me. As she spoke about our friendship, I felt the Spirit strongly, and I could tell she felt it too. Then I played a duet with Susan for the finale of the recital.
The impact and importance of my lessons stretched far beyond improving my piano talent. There was a reason Susan chose to teach me even though she already had an overflowing list of students waiting for an open lesson. I know that because I tried to set a good example for Susan, she is now more familiar with the Church and its teachings. She has not given up her own religion to change faiths, but she knows about the restored gospel. I’m glad I could share my light with her.

An example of this comes from a mission president as he describes an unforgettable couple:
“I confess,” he said, “that when Elder and Sister Leslie arrived, I wondered how well they would do. He was seriously overweight and wore a hearing aid. She was limited with two artificial knee implants. But their spirit was sweet and their enthusiasm so strong. Two wonderfully ordinary people—full of love.
“I felt inspired to send them to Jamestown, Tennessee,” he said, “where we had a tiny, struggling branch that had been without missionaries for years.
“I knew they couldn’t tract, and for the first few weeks nothing was noted on their weekly reports. Their letters said, ‘We are getting to know the people.’
“After a few weeks their letters told of nonmembers who were attending church with them—at first two, then four, then seven. They had as many as twenty-four investigators at church on one occasion. Soon the baptisms started to flow. No set of missionaries, young or old, equaled the baptisms they brought about.”
And the mission president went on to say, “I doubt that either of them could give the missionary discussions in a way that closely resembled the suggested form that we have for the regular missionaries. What they had was a great love for the people. They wove themselves into the fabric of that little community, winning them over with friendship, compassionate service, and understanding hearts.
“Today, the Jamestown Branch is thriving, with a new building and more than 100 members attending. Many contributed their faith and works, but none more significantly or generously than Harry and Frances Leslie.”

For eight years he served in the cabinet of the president of the United States. Before the first Cabinet meeting, then-Secretary Benson suggested to President-elect Eisenhower that they commence with prayer. President Eisenhower spoke of the weight of responsibility on the new administration and the need for divine guidance, then called on the Secretary of Agriculture to open the meeting with prayer. That practice continued throughout the Eisenhower administration.

We had a seminar of our key people from various parts of the world not too long ago in Salt Lake City. There was a man from the South Pacific, Brother Bill Roberts. He had charge of all of the South Pacific at that time. Another man, Immo Luschin von Ebengreuth, from Frankfurt, Germany, plus a man from the Orient, and a half dozen or so key people from throughout the world also attended the conference. As we closed this several-day seminar with a little luncheon and a testimonial meeting, Brother Roberts in his testimony was very overcome emotionally. I wondered a little about it. He said, “You know, I want to express love for Brother Luschin.”

When Brother Luschin stood to express his testimony, he reciprocated the statements made by Brother Roberts and said, “I have in my heart a very special love for Brother Roberts. Perhaps you’d like to know why we are making these kinds of expressions. Brother Roberts was a commissioned officer in the New Zealand armed forces; I, a commissioned officer in the German armed forces. We fought each other in Africa, in Italy, and right up into Germany. At that time, we were trying to kill each other. Now, we know that that feeling has been completely erased, and we love each other with all our hearts.” That’s some idea of what the word will do as it impresses the mind and the heart of a member of the Church.

After finishing my studies in technical administration, I worked with a young executive who later became my husband. What a marvelous time of my life it was! But one month after our wedding, as my husband and I were traveling from Bogotá, Colombia, where we lived, to visit my parents in Duitama, we were involved in an automobile accident. The accident took my husband’s life and left me with amnesia. I couldn’t remember anything of the previous six years, couldn’t walk, and couldn’t move my left arm.
After months of physical therapy, I was finally able to walk again and move my arm somewhat. Gradually, my memory returned to the point that six years after the accident I could recall the events of my life except for two years: the one preceding the accident and the one following it. Still, my previous capabilities were much diminished. I had trouble converting my thoughts into words, and I found it difficult to repeat something after hearing it. Because I easily forgot details, some people took advantage of my lapses.
Eventually, the doctors felt they had done all they could. I tried to appear happy and enthusiastic, but I often felt frustrated and angry. What was I to do with my life?
When I was at my lowest point, I read in the scriptures where the Lord promises that we will not be tried above that which we can bear (see 1 Cor. 10:13; D&C 64:20). I prayed for a testimony of this promise.
I finally returned to the company where I had worked before the accident. Since I could not handle my old job, I worked at less demanding assignments—but even these tasks proved difficult. Nevertheless, I didn’t give up. I fought to complete my six-month contract. As I did, a marvelous feeling of hope illuminated my spirit, inspiring me to keep trying to improve my capabilities.
By staying close to the Lord, I reestablished confidence in myself and could feel the influence of the Holy Ghost in my life. This influence soon led me to consider serving a mission. I know some people thought my desire foolish, but when I spoke with the branch president, he gave me the courage I needed. To prepare myself, I decided to read the Book of Mormon in its entirety—something I had not yet accomplished in my 12 years as a member.
However, my poor memory posed a real challenge. After starting with 1 Nephi at least 10 times and not being able to remember a thing I had read, I knew I needed a different approach. I prayed to find a solution, and soon a method entered my mind: I would write a summary of each chapter as I read it.
I bought a notebook and read the first chapter of 1 Nephi. Since I had only a vague idea of what I had just read, I read the chapter again. Only then was I able to summarize in my notebook the main ideas in that chapter.
Prayerfully, I moved on. After completing 1 Nephi, I found I no longer had to read each chapter twice; once was enough to write a good summary. I read the entire Book of Mormon this way. When I finished, I was left with a strong spiritual witness that the book is true, and I could also testify that the Lord strengthens us if we turn to Him.
I next completed the missionary health form, and I answered each question honestly, even though the answers could frustrate my desire to be a missionary. How great was my joy when I received a call to serve in the Colombia Cali Mission! There I discovered the truth of another of the Lord’s promises, found in 1 Nephi 3:7: “The Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”
After I returned from my mission, I came to live with my parents on a farm where we grow products to sell. I have also developed a talent for knitting, which allows me to earn money and leaves me time for spiritual growth. I live a happy and productive life.
Of course, I would have preferred not to have had the accident, but I recognize the tremendous growth I have experienced because of it. I’ve learned that we may lose our dreams and hopes, even our loved ones, and our talents, riches, and strength might disappear—but the Lord will always support us. He gives us new dreams to replace those we have lost. In spite of all the difficulties we encounter, the Lord can help us move forward. He compensates—and He always keeps His promises.

Learning by study was a very high priority in my family. My parents were plantation laborers on the “big island” of Hawaii. Both of them had been obliged to leave school at about the sixth grade. High school was out of the question for both of them, and college was an impossible dream. But they desperately desired an education for their children. Perhaps because I was their only child for five years, they dreamed that dream for me, even though it is unusual for a daughter to receive more advantages than a son in traditional Japanese families. They made many sacrifices so that I could go to high school and more so I could graduate from college. They did the same for my brothers with their chosen professions, although my brothers did not pursue academic interests. Neither one of my parents ever set foot on a college campus until my graduation. The only college graduate they knew socially was one teacher in our village.

But they gave me my tools, and they gave me trust. What do I mean by tools? They taught me to be curious, to ask questions, to observe nature closely, to watch people—especially in a new environment—to treat people respectfully and learn how to make connections with them, to work very hard, and to always do my best. They believed that no matter what I chose to do with my life, these skills would help me. And they were right.

And what do I mean by trust? They sent me away to high school at age fifteen. They let me know in dozens of little ways that they trusted my decisions, trusted me to stay focused on my goal, and trusted me to lead an upright life. It is one of the great joys of my life that I did not disappoint my parents.

Because I was willing to study the gospel of Jesus Christ, I became a member of the Church and developed great faith in the Savior. My faith gave me more strength to seek knowledge by study. I cannot separate learning by study and learning by faith. Both of them touch my heart, enlighten my mind, and encourage me in service.

Learning by study and learning from the Spirit are the two halves of my life. These oars have helped me row my professional boat, make a good marriage, raise my sons, and serve in the Church. I need them both as I strive for self-reliance. You need them both as you strive for self-reliance.

I had occasion the other evening to do a little research on the Willie and Martin handcart companies of 1856. There were more than a thousand in those companies, converts to the Church from Scandinavia and the British Isles. They were late in arriving in the States, and dangerously late in leaving Iowa City to begin the long walk to this valley. They became trapped in the snows of Wyoming. Fortunately they were passed on the way by several missionaries who were returning from England and who, when they saw the plight of the handcart Saints, pushed on to this valley and reported to President Brigham Young. That was on the Saturday of the October conference of 1856. The next morning, Sunday, he stood before the people in the old tabernacle that stood on this square, and said in the morning session:

“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak to-day and during the conference,” he announced. “It is this. … Many of our brethren and sister are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …

“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people.”

He called for teams and wagons and drivers, and then said:

“I want the sisters to have the privilege of fetching in blankets, skirts, stockings, shoes, etc. for the men, women and children that are in those hand-cart companies … hoods, winter bonnets, stockings, skirts, garments, and almost any description of clothing.”

That was on Sunday. On Tuesday morning, two days later, sixteen wagonloads of food and supplies began moving out of this city drawn by sixteen strong four-mule teams, handled by twenty-seven young men.

This was the beginning, and other wagonloads followed as the men responded with their teams and wagons, and the women from their own meager stores gathered in food, clothing, blankets, and other necessities. (See LeRoy R. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, Glendale, California: Arthur H. Clark Company, 1960, pp. 119–26.)

There is no more heroic episode in all of our history. As these poor people, many of them with badly frozen hands and feet, some of them nearer death than life, arrived in the valley, the women who were here opened their homes to them, nurtured them, dressed their wounds, fed them and encouraged and blessed them through that long, bitter winter.

Weak from kidney surgery, and abandoned by those dearest to me, I was totally discouraged. Life had become intolerable—hopeless. I was sick, paralyzed from the neck down, and broken in spirit. There was nothing nor anyone left to turn to. Or so it seemed.
Inactive for ten years, I had no formal connection with the Church except for a soft-spoken, unpretentious home teacher, Brad K. Robison. I had known Brad for about two years and had grown to regard him as kind and thoughtful. But it wasn’t until he walked into my hospital room at this, my life’s lowest ebb, that I realized what he represented and that the hope and promise he brought with him could make my life meaningful.
The first time I spoke with Brad, two years earlier, had been on the phone. A close friend had requested that someone from the Church look in on me, so Brad was assigned to be my home teacher. Knowing nothing about me, Brad asked, “Why haven’t I seen you at Church?”
Cynically, I answered, “My legs just can’t seem to get me there on Sunday.”
“Oh,” he replied. “Some Sundays I have the same problem.” Chuckling, he then asked me if he could visit me. I agreed, without telling him that I was unable to move my arms or legs.
When he walked into my home and realized my condition, Brad turned to me sorrowfully, paused, and then burst into laughter. I couldn’t help but laugh with him. We began talking and found we had quite a lot in common, including the desire to practice medicine—a goal I had been prevented from achieving by my auto accident and the resulting paralysis.
After a pleasant visit, Brad asked if he might come back another day. Thinking I would never see him again, I answered, “Sure.”
To my amazement, month after month, Brad returned. Even when my only words were “Go away!” he never let my moodiness or bitterness put him off. Always he would return, just to talk and ask if there was anything he could do. Not once, in all his early home teaching visits, did we talk about the Church, God, or anything religious. Patient, insightful, or just polite—I’m not sure which—Brad seemed to sense that my pain and suffering wouldn’t allow me, at that time, to accept the idea of a loving God. Brad became a friend when friends were scarce.
In time our friendship grew. The longer I knew him, the more his behavior reminded me of someone in my past—his quiet, inner peace; his sense of who he was and where he was going; his honesty and humility. But who it was, I couldn’t remember.
So it went until Brad, my diligent home teacher-turned-friend, cautiously walked into my hospital room that day. Once again, as when I had decided to join the Church, the truthfulness of the gospel and its witness washed over my being and became undeniable. Peace filled my heart. My self-pity and bitterness left me, and the sense of abandonment faded. I knew things were going to be all right. Suddenly, what before had seemed strangely familiar about Brad now no longer puzzled me. He was the reflection of myself when I was active in the Church and armed with the priesthood, the Holy Ghost, and a knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Renewed with hope, I asked if the bishop would visit me.
Bishop C. Lynn Mahoney came and further convinced me that there were still good people—people who cared about others. Graciously, he helped solve my immediate temporal problems and warmly invited me to become active in the ward. He has since supported my efforts to be active by escorting me through the temple to receive my endowment and by asking several of the brethren to assist me to priesthood and sacrament meetings.
Is home teaching really important? I know it is. Because of a dedicated, persistent home teacher and his visit at a time when life seemed hopeless and no longer worth living, I’m once again active in the Church and have a second chance to live life according to Christ’s teachings. My home teacher helped me to see that the gospel offered hope—not only for salvation, but also for happiness in the here and now.

The summer after I turned 16, I saw my mother trying on one of my father’s old coats. “Money is tight again this year,” she said, “and mine’s worn out.” Right then, I knew I needed to help her. But how?
My first thought was that I could save enough money to surprise her with a new coat. After all, I was the oldest. But the longer I thought about it, the more I sensed there was one thing missing from my plan—one thing that would make the surprise even better. I should invite my two teenage sisters and my 11-year-old brother to help me.
“How about we each donate 10 percent of whatever we earn?” I said, after explaining the problem to them.
“I don’t make much money,” my brother said.
“That’s okay. If you make $1.00 and put in 10 cents, then you’ll have done your part.”
“We’ll go together to buy the coat, right?” asked one of my sisters.
“Yes, at Christmas.”
They looked at each other. “Let’s do it.”
For the next several months, we worked and saved for Mom’s surprise. Sometimes we gave more than 10 percent, and sometimes 10 percent was almost more than we could give after already paying 10 percent for tithing. But no matter how hard it was, we stuck to our commitment. I particularly remember one hot afternoon when my brother, dirty and sweaty from several hours of lawn mowing, came into my bedroom and handed me a dollar. I felt like I had just received the widow’s mite (see Mark 12:41–44).
Finally, one week before Christmas, we counted our money and discovered we had more than enough for the coat, so much more, in fact, that we could buy gifts for everyone in our family. We could hardly wait to see their faces when they found their surprises.
On Christmas morning, we got up before our parents. When my youngest sisters saw the dresses we had bought for them, they twirled around the room with them, saying, “Thank you, thank you!”
“Wow, thanks for the toy cars, Mom and Dad!” my eight-year-old brother shouted as he examined his gift.
“What’s going on?” Dad called from the bedroom.
“We didn’t get you that!” Mom added.
Within moments, they were beside us, staring in disbelief.
Then Mom saw her coat. She picked it up. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Who did this?”
We didn’t answer. We wanted it to remain a secret. Besides, I don’t think we could have spoken if we’d tried.
That morning, my sisters, brother, and I felt the true spirit of Christmas, the one that comes from service and sacrifice. And we felt something else too—unity. We had worked together to reach a common goal. We had done it without complaint, and we had each given the best we had. For those few months, we had become one.
And that was the best surprise of all.

I read this wonderful story about an experience President Howard W. Hunter (1907–1995) had in a small store in California. He paid the clerk 10 pennies for 10 pieces of liquorice. Upon counting the pieces later on, he realised that he had ended up with 11 pieces instead of the 10 that he paid for. While he could have overlooked the error—after all, it was just a penny, and who would know the difference—he didn’t think twice and went back to the store. He explained the problem to the clerk, apologised and paid for the extra piece of liquorice, much to the surprise of the clerk3.