Gospel Story Finder

One of my favorite true accounts involves the dramatic immigration from Great Britain of new converts with great expectations. In June 1863, the renowned British novelist Charles Dickens went on board the passenger ship Amazon, which was bound for New York. The passengers were converts to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Dickens was responding to the attention and interest of the British public in both our faith and the immigrants who were departing for the American West. Dickens wrote: “I went on board their ship to bear testimony against them if they deserved it, as I fully believed they would; to my great astonishment they did not deserve it.”5 He was surprised by what he observed because of the disparaging reports of the Church in British media. He eloquently described these English converts as, “in their degree, the pick and flower of England.”6

Kristin: “Trying to get acquainted in a new ward can be hard, even in the best of circumstances. But it can be truly stressful when you move in as a part-member family. People often think that because our spouse is not a member, we can’t be very active either. I started believing that myself once until my husband said to me, ‘Sometimes I don’t understand it when you talk about how much your church means to you—and then you don’t do the things you say you want to. I think that maybe you’re not as committed as you claim.’

“I was surprised, but then I realized he was right. All too often I haven’t attended meetings that I knew I should attend because I was tired or feared possible conflict with my husband’s plans. Not only was I missing the blessings of attending the meeting, but I was also giving my husband the impression that the gospel was something I could accept or leave alone!

“Since that day, I have earnestly striven to seek first the kingdom of God. (See Matt. 6:33.) Although I still fail at times, I have found that when I put the Lord first, the rest of my life is easier to handle.”

In the fall of 1992 we hosted the Danish minister of education, Bertel Haarder. He had just come from a seminar in Denmark, where he had gathered 100 of the leading Danish educators to discuss the future of Danish education. In preparation for the seminar, he sent a copy of Allan Bloom’s book The Closing of the American Mind to each participant. He asked the seminar participants to read the book and come prepared with ideas how they and the Danish Ministry of Education could avoid the problems that had developed in American education.

Minister Haarder was therefore very interested after holding the seminar to come to the United States and visit our university. Minister Haarder and his wife spent two days on our campus. He gave a lecture at the Kennedy Center and met with the university president, faculty, and students. Although the Haarders were very impressed with BYU, they were even more impressed with the quality of the LDS students and their willingness to interrupt their university studies for missionary service.

When we took the Haarders to the Salt Lake Airport on a Wednesday, it was very busy, even though it was 8:15 in the morning. Minister Haarder was curious why the airport was so congested at that early hour. I told him it was because missionaries were departing for their assignments, and their families were seeing them off. He asked how I could tell. I smiled and pointed out the new suits, white shirts, and missionary badges.

He asked, “Where are they going?”

I said, “Throughout the world.”

As we walked down the concourse, we approached a missionary who was saying good-bye to his family. I suggested to Minister Haarder that we ask him where he was going. I interrupted the family conversation long enough to ask, “Elder, where are you going?”

The missionary politely answered, “North Dakota, sir.”

I then introduced the missionary and his parents to Minister Haarder. Minister Haarder asked the missionary how he felt about serving a mission. The missionary responded that he was excited, but he would miss his family.

Minister Haarder commented, “Well, you will be able to come home for vacations and holidays, won’t you?”

The missionary responded, “No, sir. When I go, I am there for two years and won’t see my family until the end of those two years.”

Minister Haarder then turned to the parents and asked, “How do you feel about that?”

The mother replied, “We will miss him, but we are very proud of him. This was his decision.”

We concluded the conversation and again proceeded toward his departure gate. However, before getting there, we visited with other missionaries: one going to South Carolina, a second going to Moscow, and a third going to St. Petersburg. In each case Minister Haarder asked the missionary several questions regarding his desire to serve a mission, how he felt about interrupting his education, and what he hoped to accomplish during his mission. Minister Haarder was overwhelmed by the answers he received.

The airline was giving the final boarding notice as we came to the departure gate. However, I took time to ask, “Minister Haarder, you just came from a seminar where you read and discussed The Closing of the American Mind. That book suggests that American education is in an intellectual crisis. It portrays youth as self-centered, lacking commitment, having no direction in their lives, and having little identity with their culture and religion.” I continued, “How do you compare that image of American education and American students to what you have seen at BYU and the missionaries you have just met?”

He paused and thoughtfully answered, “What I have observed is the antithesis of what was portrayed of American education and youth. I am very impressed with your university and your students. Both are uniquely different.”

As a result of his visit to BYU and Utah, Bertel Haarder has become a friend of the university and the Church. The Copenhagen stake president shared the following account with me that demonstrates the impact these visits are having for the Church. One day not long after the minister’s return to Denmark, he heard a radio call-in show that focused on the Mormons. One caller made some critical comments about the Church. Other callers followed with equally disparaging comments. Then a caller came on the line and said, “This is Bertel Haarder.” Most Danes knew who Bertel Haarder was because he had been minister of education for 10 years. He then continued, “When I was a young man I probably had the same impression of the Mormon Church. But recently my wife and I visited Utah and saw the Mormons up close. What you are saying is incorrect, and I suggest you discontinue this discussion.” The radio station not only discontinued the topic, but they closed the program and played music for the balance of the program time.

When my grandfather James E. Fisher, born in 1865, was set apart for his mission, he was told: “You may have the gift of tongues if necessary, that you shall use the language fluently that is foreign to your mother tongue, that those who listen to you may listen in their own tongue.”
Within a few weeks after his arrival in New Zealand, a Maori boy came running to him and excitedly speaking in Maori said, “Come quickly, my father is ill. He is possessed of an evil spirit.”
Elder Fisher understood every word the boy said. He and his companion quickly followed the boy to his house and found a frightening situation. The man was entirely out of control, screaming, cursing, and leaping high into the air. When the missionaries entered, he shrank away and said in Maori, “You can do nothing. Go away.”
James E. Fisher took hold of the man and said quietly, “Be calm.” The missionaries laid their hands upon his head, blessed him, and commanded the evil spirit, by the authority of the holy priesthood, to depart. The man then thanked them for their assistance.
From that time on, James E. Fisher could understand the Maori language and rapidly learned to speak it fluently. He never lost his ability to speak the language. More than 40 years later, he met some Maori people at general conference in Salt Lake City and carried on a conversation with them easily and fluently in their native tongue.

As a guest in the home of a choice young family only a few days ago, I was invited to offer prayer as we knelt together at the day’s beginning. Loving parents, who knew of my experience with little girls’ prayers, suggested that their three-year-old would like to pray first, as she regularly insists on doing. The tenderness of the moment increased as a six-year-old brother undertook to help her when she faltered.

The purity and openness of little children in their relationship with the Lord points the way for all of us. If we would seek the Lord, we must put off the “natural man” and become “as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [us], even as a child doth submit to his father.” (Mosiah 3:19.)

I want to begin with a brief test and a self-evaluation. The following episode was presented in a general conference address in 1966 by President N. Eldon Tanner (1898–1982), a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church.
““A young man came to me not long ago and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in debt, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledge.’”1

Among the many phonograph records we have at our home, none is as much enjoyed by our grandchildren as a record given to me in Korea that features singing by a chorus of little Korean orphan girls. The music is beautiful!
Soldiers serving in Korea often have spare time. Many of them waste this time, but a young man from Blanding, Utah, named Stan Bronson was not one of them. He decided instead to do some good with his extra hours, so he visited an orphanage where little orphan girls lived. Stan played his guitar and sang to them, and they were delighted with his music. Since the Koreans have beautiful voices, these girls soon joined Stan in singing. In no time he was the leader of a wonderful chorus of children.
These little girls sang to us at a Sunday meeting held in the chapel of the army base on the outskirts of Seoul, Korea. As they sang, I could scarcely hold back the tears. I watched Stan lead these beautiful girls, and I thought of Jesus’ statement, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14).
Among the songs they sang, I enjoyed most a song I learned as a little boy in Primary, “Give, Said the Little Stream.” They sang the first verse in English, the second verse in Korean, and then the third verse again in English. I would like to give you the words of that third verse:
Give, then for Jesus give;
Give, oh! give, give, oh! give.
Give, then for Jesus give;
There is something all can give.
Do as the streams and blossoms do,
For God and others live.
I have often thought of these words and of this young soldier who gave to help others and of the marvelous way in which the lives of these little children were brightened by his talent. Under his leadership, the girls gave of their talents to brighten the lives of others.
Truly, as the song says, “There is something all can give. Do as the streams and blossoms do, For God and others live.”

One night after contemplating the upcoming change, I dreamed about my great-great-grandfather Joseph Skeen. I knew from his journal that when he and his wife, Maria, moved to Nauvoo, he desired to serve, so he sought out the Prophet Joseph Smith and asked how he could help. The Prophet sent him to work on the prairie and told him to do the best he could, so he did. He worked on the Smiths’ farm.

Fulfilling callings requires faith. Shortly after Joseph began working on the farm, he and Maria became very sick. They had no money and were among strangers. It was a difficult time for them. In his journal, Joseph wrote, “We worked along [and] hung on to the Church with what little faith we had, though the devil tried to destroy us and turn us back.”

I, along with hundreds of other descendants, will be eternally grateful that Joseph and Maria did not turn back. Blessings come as we persevere in our callings and responsibilities and hang on with all the faith we have.

Shane Aldous steps to the front of his karate class.
“Taegeuk Seven Jang,” he shouts and begins leading students through a complex series of movements called a kata. The movements are liquid, light on water, motion flowing into motion. Shane Aldous, stocky and strong, drops down into a low stance. His hands move into position, palms up, fingers together. His eyes wide, alert, he steps into another low stance. The transition is smooth and fast. Then with practiced precision, a hand moves in a graceful circle, stops, pulls in, and punches upward. A fast high kick follows.
A karate class might seem an unlikely place for missionary work, but for Shane Aldous, 15, and his family, members of the Manassas Virginia Ward, almost any place can present an opportunity.
“Two years ago I was the biggest guy in my class,” Shane explains. “All of the tough guys wanted to fight me. But I didn’t like fighting. My mother saw an ad in the paper for karate classes and asked if I wanted to take lessons.”
Chol H. Kim, the instructor of the class, teaches TaeKwon Do, a Korean style of karate, which emphasizes both physical and mental discipline. “In TaeKwon Do character development is as important as physical development. It’s a school rule,” Shane says, “to show respect to your teachers and your parents.”
Shane’s parents and his brother Brad, 14, were so impressed with what Master Kim was teaching that they also signed up for his classes. “We do things as a family whenever we can,” Shane says.
Because they worked together and could help each other learn, the Aldous family progressed rapidly.
Brad and Shane began entering karate tournaments, and at the National Junior Olympics they took top honors in their divisions. Shane brought home a silver medal in sparring, and Brad won a gold in form and a gold in sparring.
From the time the Aldous family enrolled in his school, Master Kim had been watching them closely. There was something about them that made them stand out from other people. “I was impressed by the support they gave each other,” he says. “And by the emphasis they put on family and personal growth.”
Eventually the Aldous family invited Master Kim to church. He began taking the missionary lessons and was baptized.
Not long after he was baptized, one of his students, Gloria Lee, 19, was also baptized.
“I thought Master Kim was making a terrible mistake,” she says. “I’d heard some bad things about the Mormons. I didn’t want him to fall into a false religion and ruin his whole life. I decided to do something about it, so I confronted him and some other members of the Church. But I had a lot of questions about my own religion, and everything they told me about Mormonism made sense. I couldn’t deny it. I started taking discussions from the missionaries, and instead of saving Master Kim from the terrible religion, I ended up being baptized myself. I am pretty lucky. My family belongs to another church, and they worry about me the way I worried about Master Kim. It’s not easy, but I’ve never regretted joining. The Church is true. The Aldous family has always been a good example for me. Without them I would not have found the Church.”
According to Shane, working together as a family and living and knowing gospel principles are important keys to being successful missionaries. “You never know when people are watching you,” he says. “Or when they are going to become interested and start asking questions.”

It was in the Queens Ward that Robert, a college sophomore, met Mary Crandall, also a college student, whose family had recently moved to New York from Los Angeles. “After I met her, I never went out with anyone else,” says Elder Hales. “We were together every evening after work for the first two months sharing family activities. She’d help me wash my car, and I’d help her baby-sit her brothers; it was as though we were never going to be apart.” At the end of the summer, they both went back to college in Utah—Robert to the University of Utah and Mary to Brigham Young University. The following summer, on 10 June 1953, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

Let me share with you the true account of one sister, Ellen Yates from Grantsville, Utah. Early in October, 10 years ago, she kissed her husband, Leon, good-bye as he left to go to work in Salt Lake City. This would be the last time she would see Leon alive. He had a collision with a young man 20 years of age who was late for his first job and had tried to pass a slower vehicle, resulting in a head-on collision that killed them both instantly. Sister Yates said that after two compassionate highway patrolmen told her the news, she plunged into shock and grief.
She records, “As I tried to look ahead in life, all I could see was darkness and pain.” It turned out that her husband’s best friend was the bishop of the young man’s ward. The bishop called Sister Yates and told her that the young man’s mother, Jolayne Willmore, wanted to talk with her. She remembers “being shocked because I was so centered on my grief and pain that I had not even thought about the young man and his family. I suddenly realized that here was a mother who was in as much or more pain than I was. I quickly gave my permission … for a visit.”
When Brother and Sister Willmore arrived, they expressed their great sorrow that their son was responsible for Leon’s death and presented her with a picture of the Savior holding a little girl in His arms. Sister Yates says, “When times become too hard to bear, I look at this picture and remember that Christ knows me personally. He knows my loneliness and my trials.” One scripture that comforts Sister Yates is “Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.”
Each October, Sister Yates and Sister Willmore (both of whom are here together in the Conference Center today) go to the temple together and offer thanks for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for the plan of salvation, for eternal families, and for the covenants that bind together husbands and wives and families on both sides of the veil. Sister Yates concludes, “Through this trial, I have felt the love of my Father in Heaven and my Savior in greater abundance than I had ever felt before.” She testifies that “there is no grief, no pain, no sickness so great that the Atonement of Christ and the love of Christ cannot heal.” What a wonderful example of love and forgiveness these two sisters have demonstrated. It has allowed the Atonement of Jesus Christ to be efficacious in their lives.

About a year ago, I had a letter from a woman who related this story. She said that she had married a man who was not a member of the Church. Together, they had had five children, and they had had a good life. But recently, their oldest daughter had come to them and said she was in love with a member of a polygamist family and she wanted to marry him. As a result, she was going to pull away from her own family and her religion. This mother was devastated. She said, "I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to handle this." It was her stake temple day that week and so she decided to go and spend the entire day in the temple. She started in the baptistery that morning. She said,
"I just began with a prayer in my heart and felt somehow the Lord would be mindful of my need and help me with this terrible problem."
Early in the day, a thought came into her mind, and she heard herself say these words to her daughter, "It will be very sad for us when someday we go to the temple as a family, and you are not with us." But she immediately brushed it aside, thinking, "There is no way I can make such a promise. My husband is not even a member of the Church." She spent the day doing some endowment sessions, and that thought continued to come to her. But each time this thought came, she discounted it. Late in the day, while participating in an ordinance, she said,
"I was just overcome with this sweet sense of gratitude. I knew that the Lord knew that we were having a problem. I didn't know what to do, but I knew the Lord knew, and He would help me."
And so it was in the ensuing weeks she had an opportunity to visit with her daughter. She said,
"In the course of the conversation, I heard myself saying the very words that had come to me that day in the temple. 'It will be very sad for us when we go to be sealed as a family, and you are not with us.'"
The remarkable thing is, the daughter responded. She found the courage to break up the relationship. And she is now engaged to a young Latter-Day Saint man, and they are now planning a temple marriage. She then added this postscript:
Last week, after nearly a year of learning the gospel through the love and patience of eight dedicated sister missionaries, my husband has finally arrived at a baptismal date.
This is a woman who paid attention to the thoughts that came into her mind and the feelings that came into her heart that day when she was in the temple. She then took those feelings and thoughts into her home, and she saved a daughter.

Jed and Stuart were best friends and next-door neighbors. They did everything together. They built a secret castle and fought off armies of fierce make-believe creatures. They played hide-and-seek and knew all the best hiding spots. They climbed the biggest trees in the neighborhood with ease.
They even had the chicken pox at the same time. When school was in session, they walked together, sat together, played together, and ate lunch together every single day. They always tried to eat lunch very quickly and be the first ones out to play so that they could get the soccer ball.
However, there was a little problem that made it difficult to be the first ones done with lunch. Jed’s sandwich was always so big that he couldn’t finish it very fast. Stuart would finish his lunch in a flash, look over, and see Jed still munching away on his giant sandwich.
After waiting for him about a thousand times, Stuart finally figured out why it took Jed so long to eat. "It’s your bread!" he announced. "Your bread is weird. It’s not like regular bread."
Jed looked at his sandwich. "It looks regular to me. It’s the same bread I always eat."
The next day Stuart waited to eat his sandwich. "Look," he said to Jed, "hold your sandwich up next to mine so we can compare." Jed’s sandwich was much bigger than Stuart’s. "We may have the same things inside," Stuart insisted, "but the outside is definitely not the same. Your bread is strange looking. Where do you get it?"
"My mom makes it."
"What for? You can just go to the store and buy it, and it tastes great—all soft and squishy. Yours looks kind of stiff."
"My mom makes it for a lot of reasons," Jed answered. "For one thing, we have a lot of flour in our year’s supply, and she doesn’t want it to get old."
"What’s a year’s supply?"
"Come over after school, and I’ll show you."
After school, Stuart saw the storeroom Jed’s father had built. There were shelves full of cans and jars and boxes and barrels, Stuart couldn’t believe his eyes.
"It’s like your own grocery store!" he exclaimed. "Why do you have so much stuff? Can’t you just buy more when you run out?"
"We keep extra food in our house in case something happens and we can’t get to the store. The leaders of our church have taught us to be prepared in case anything bad happens," Jed explained. "It’s not just food we store. We have blankets, candles, toilet paper, soap, matches, a first-aid kit, and lots of other things."
"When are you ever going to need all this stuff?" asked Stuart.
"We eat the food and replace it as we go along. We hope we never have to use some of the other stuff, but our church leaders have told us that we need to be ready, just in case."
After that, Jed still brought his giant sandwiches, and Stuart still waited for him to hurry up and finish. Jed often offered some of his sandwich to Stuart, but Stuart didn’t think he’d like year’s-supply bread.
Late in March, there was a terrible storm. It snowed for days and days, and the roads into town were blocked. No trucks could bring in food, and soon the stores were running out of things. People were getting worried that they wouldn’t have enough to eat if the storm didn’t quit soon. Things were getting pretty scary.
One day Stuart told Jed that there wasn’t much left to eat at his house. That night, Jed’s mom invited Stuart and his family over for dinner. They had a nice big meal, and Stuart’s family wondered where all the food came from.
"It’s from their year’s supply," Stuart explained. He told his family all about Jed’s family’s "grocery store."
The following day, Jed took a big, warm loaf of homemade bread next door. Stuart’s family was very happy to have it. Until the roads were cleared and things were back to normal, the two families shared all they had and made it through the hard time.
One day not long afterward, Stuart and Jed were having lunch with some other boys. They were all trying to hurry so that they could get the soccer ball. One of the boys noticed Jed’s giant sandwich.
"What kind of weird sandwich is that?" he asked. Before Jed could answer, Stuart stood up tall and told the boy, "That’s made with year’s-supply bread, and it’s the best bread in the whole wide world!" Then he sat down and took a bite from his very own giant year’s-supply-bread sandwich.

Ten dollars
When leaving Tonga for Hawaii in March 1960, my parents were still on their mission in Tongatapu. During this time in Tonga, members of the Church would sell everything they owned in order to earn the fare to go to New Zealand to attend the temple and receive temple ordinances. I knew my parents wouldn’t be able to go because they did not have enough money. So I made myself a promise - if I find some money in Hawaii, I will save it to send my parents to the temple. When we got to Hawaii we found that the Church took good care of us. They provided everything we needed, plus we were given ten dollars in cash every month so we could buy soda, ice cream, and go to the movie.
When I received my first $10, I remembered the promise I made. So I took it to Lola, my supervisor’s wife, and asked her to please make me a savings account and put this ten dollars in it, and told her what it was for. She helped me do that and also offered to donate an additional $10 a month to my account if I would come and clean their yard. Her neighbor found out what I was doing and offered to donate $10 to my account for cleaning her yard. There were others who also donated. By the summer of 1962, I collected enough money to send my parents to New Zealand to the temple. One of my brother’s wrote me a letter and said, it may seem that you love our parents more than we do, but that is just because you were in the position to help them to go to the temple, but we love them just the same.
These two stories, the $10 and the watermelon, show that with God, a penniless young man from Tonga can gather enough money to help do His will in sending his parents to the temple and finding eternal marriage.

About halfway through seventh grade, I wanted to be part of the “in” crowd. I started changing just to fit in. I got mad easier, I tried to make a boy I liked think I was someone different from who I really am, and I started hanging out with people who didn’t have the best reputation. At the beginning of the fourth quarter of school, I noticed that I’d changed.
I had a lot of fond memories of the year before: no swearing, no bad influences. I’d had great friends—friends who actually cared about me and were good influences.
I decided to stop trying to change and just be myself, including keeping the commandments. Not long after that decision, when a boy asked me out, I told him, “No, I won’t date until I’m 16.” He asked why, and I responded, “I’m LDS.” He was sort of mad because I turned him down, but I knew I’d done the right thing. It felt good to stand up for my beliefs.
I thought, “If my friends leave me because of who I am, then they’re not really my friends.” I’m now a lot happier, and I know that from now on I’ll choose my friends wisely and be true to myself.

“No tree?” I sat up in bed.
“That’s right,” my companion replied.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
I couldn’t believe it. Only eight days before Christmas and Elder Sonderegger was telling me we weren’t even going to have a Christmas tree.
“Good night, Elder Mitchell,” he called out from the other side of our small apartment. Our room, which was barely large enough for two beds, a closet, and a desk with one broken leg, was again silent. I quietly lay thinking.
“No tree,” I muttered to myself. That was too much. I thought of the Christmas my family would be having—good food, carols, snow, friends, and of course, a tree. The only carols I’d heard were sambas; snow was nonexistent; all my friends were in the States; and now to top it off, no tree. I rolled over in my lumpy bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Too soon, out of the corner of my ear, I heard a familiar buzzing.
“Oh no, not again tonight!” swatted in the general direction of the sound but missed. Quickly, I pulled a sheet over my head for protection, but this only intensified the humidity and heat. The perspiration began beading on my back. I stayed under the cover until my pajamas began sticking to my body, and then I furiously kicked it off. However, it was not much cooler since we didn’t even have a window in the room, and I still had the mosquitoes to contend with.
Suddenly, a flea began crawling up my leg. I reached down in time to pull it off before it bit me, but I knew I would not be so lucky all night long. I sighed, for I also knew it was going to be another long night. And mom had written that week, “Have a merry first Christmas in Brazil, Greg.”
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the wayyyyyy. Hey, get out of bed, Elder Mitchell. Only seven days till Christmas. Yes sir, Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way to the shower. Ooohhhh what fun …”
The door of our small apartment slammed shut as my companion went out to shower. The night before hadn’t been very restful between the mosquitoes, fleas, and sticky, humid heat. Lying back in bed, I decided to rest a few more minutes. It was only a short time later that I heard a familiar monotone coming up the hall.
“… one horse open sleighhhhh. Hey, you’re still in bed.”
“Hey, I’m meditating,” I replied.
“Well, do your meditating in the shower.” Elder Sonderegger stood in his robe, with water dripping off his six-foot-three-inch, 215-pound body. “It’s 6:48, Elder Mitchell. Time to be up and Adam.”
“That’s at’em,” I corrected.
“Like I said, ‘Adam.’”
Pulling off my covers, I kicked my feet onto the bare, wooden-tile floor. Putting on my shoes and grabbing a towel, I turned to Elder Sonderegger.
“No tree, huh?”
“Oh.” He stopped whistling. “That’s right. This is your first Christmas here, isn’t it?”
“Yup and some Christmas this is going to be. They don’t even have the simplest Christmas tradition of a tree.”
“Oh.” He nodded understandingly. “Well, they do have some trees, but they’re pretty expensive.” His brow wrinkled and his lips came together as he pondered the situation. “Look, you go shower, and I’ll see what I can do. Okay?”
I shrugged my shoulders. What could he do? I guess this was just one of those times on your mission when you had to sacrifice. After showering, I felt cooler and a little better. Reentering our room, I noticed Elder Sonderegger sitting at the desk reading his triple combination and wearing a suspiciously mischievous look. Turning to my bed I saw why.
“What’s that?” I cautiously asked, pointing to an oblong-shaped package on my bed. It looked like a bomb.
“Don’t have the foggiest, old chap,” he said in his best phony English accent. “Why don’t you open it and see?”
I walked to my bed and pulled the papers off the package. Inside I found a small, green, artificial Christmas tree. True, it looked as if someone had sat on it, but it was a tree nonetheless.
“It’s not in really great shape,” Elder Sonderegger hastened to say, “but it might do in a pinch—or on a mission.”
It wasn’t in the greatest condition, but it didn’t look too bad. “Where’d you get it?”
“My ex-girl sent it last Christmas, and I’d forgotten all about it until you started this talk about trees and Christmas. It’s been through some pretty rough transfers though,” he said, picking up one of the bent aluminum branches and sticking it into the base of the tree.
I didn’t know what to say. “Thanks, Elder Sonderegger.”
“It’s okay. Come on, hurry and get dressed. Remember we have an 8:00 appointment this morning.”
As I dressed, he looked in his Bible for a devotional scripture.
“Here’s a good one. Will you read it?” he asked, handing me the Bible.
I began reading. “Matthew 25:40: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’” [Matt. 25:40] I looked up.
“Amen, brother. Since you read the scripture, I’ll say the prayer.”
After prayer, we grabbed our briefcase, ran out the door, and hurried down the street to the blue and white pole marking the bus stop.
“Elder Sonderegger, I appreciate what you did about the tree and all,” I said, as we waited for the bus. “I was wondering if you could do anything about the snow situation?”
We laughed.
“To be honest, Elder Mitchell, being from Colorado, you wouldn’t know what good snow was if it hit you right between the earlobes.”
“You think Washington snow is better, I assume.”
“You know it.”
The bus came, and we left, but on the way we held an in-depth discussion on the relative merits of Colorado versus Washington snow.
Sorocaba, Brazil, is an interior city. And in our mission, interior is synonymous with hot, humid, and muggy. As the morning progressed, the temperature rose. After our lesson, we checked out some referrals and made some contacts, and then we were ready to return home for lunch. Leaning against the pole marking the bus stop, I was surprised by a tugging at my hand.
“Feliz Natal (Merry Christmas),” a small girl said, holding out her hand. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, although her eyes looked older.
“What does she want, elder?” I asked, turning to Elder Sonderegger.
Crouching down, he spoke with her for a minute and then stood up. “She said her father died three days ago, and they don’t have any food in the house.”
“Okay,” I said, “if she wants something to eat, let’s buy her some milk and pão dôce (sweet bread).”
Elder Sonderegger glanced again at her ragged, brown dress. “I think we at least ought to check it out. Maybe there’s something we could do.”
I looked at my watch. “We’ll be late for lunch if we go, and besides, we don’t have time to waste on some wild chase.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Oh, come on, Elder Sonderegger. Don’t be so naive, so gullible. We’re not out here to play welfare worker. We’re here to teach the gospel. Besides, even if we did go, we’d probably find her father in the house, unemployed but healthy.”
She looked up in polite confusion as we spoke in English.
“Elder Mitchell,” Elder Sonderegger reminded me, “Matthew 25:40: ‘When ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren. …’” [Matt. 25:40]
“Doesn’t apply.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t apply?”
Stubbornly, I insisted. “Just what I said. She’s probably lying, and you know that. Come on, it’s time to eat.”
A trickle of sweat slid down my back. He still gave me the “I think we ought to go” look, and sighed. I was obstinate, but in the month we’d been companions, I’d learned he was even more so when he felt he was right.
“All right, all right. You win, but I bet dollars to doughnuts we find the father home—alive, well, and lounging around.”
A swirl of dust from down the road announced the coming of the bus. It careened toward us and slammed to a stop ten feet past the bus stop. We ran, two large Americans and one small Brazilian, and grabbing the handrail, jumped inside. It started up again, and I jerked open a window for some fresh air while Elder Sonderegger leaned across the aisle and began conversing with the little girl. Her name was Angela; she had never been to school, never had shoes, and from the looks of her skinny body, hadn’t eaten a good meal for some time. I began to feel a little sorry for her (and a little ashamed of myself) since a majority of the Brazilian kids attend school, are neatly dressed, and eat fairly well. After a 15-minute ride on the dusty bus, she indicated it was time to get off. We did so and began walking up a steep dirt road into a poor section of the city. There were no cars, no glass windows no grass—none of the things that could be seen in the rest of the city. Here there was nothing but dirt—dirt roads, dirt houses, and dirty children. And unlike the rest of the houses in the city that were kept in good repair, most of the red-tiled roofs here had holes and the walls were either unpainted or had peeling and chipped paint. I felt out of place in my clean white shirt and tie.
Finally, we arrived at what she called home. Most of the homes in Sorocaba had a good gate and fence surrounding them. Her gate consisted of a few strands of wire tied between two posts, which she opened and invited us to enter. In the back of the lot stood a two-room shack made out of cardboard and old signs. On either side of the dirt path leading to the house, instead of flowers, grass, or beautifully tiled entrances, as was the custom, we saw litter, debris, and one scrawny chicken scratching for something to eat. Not seeing a flower or tree anywhere, I doubted whether even weeds would have grown. Angela scurried inside and quickly reappeared at the doorway with a man, also thin, with blue eyes and dark hair, who appeared startled to have visitors.
“Entrem por favor (Come in, please),” he said, still looking surprised but apparently pleased to have guests.
“My name is Antonio.”
“You’re her father?” we asked, pointing to Angela, who was now just one of seven or eight small children scattered on the dirt floor.
He nodded. Most homes had at least a gas stove, but here a thin, pregnant woman was kneeling by an open fire, stirring a black kettle.
“Did you know she was begging this morning? And she told us you died three days ago.”
A look of surprise crossed his face. “I’m shocked to hear she was begging, and as for being dead, well, as you can plainly see, I’m not.” He laughed at his joke.
“Come on, Elder Sonderegger. I think we should go,” I said quietly.
Ignoring me, Elder Sonderegger said, “No, you’re not dead, but you still need help. We’re missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Stop,” he said shaking his head. “We have our own religion. But if you really want to help,” he said, looking at our clothes, “a hundred cruzeiros would be very helpful.” He eyed us again as if wondering whether he should have asked for more.
“No, we won’t give you money,” Elder Sonderegger said. “Have you tried looking for a job?”
Antonio protested. “But I’ve looked all over, and there isn’t one.”
Elder Sonderegger thought for a minute. “Okay, I’m sure we can help you find something. In fact, this morning I saw an opening for a mechanic’s helper at a garage. If you want it, we’ll take you down right now.”
Antonio turned and looked at his wife. “Well, we were just going to have lunch …” His voice trailed off.
Just as I thought. He didn’t want to take advantage of an opportunity put right in his way.
“But I guess I could go,” he hesitantly added. “If my wife would save some lunch for me.” She nodded unemotionally. “All right, senhores, let’s go.”
I thought I detected just a hint of trembling enthusiasm in his voice.
The three of us left and walked down the hill to where the bus was parked. Entering, we paid his way, sat down, and the bus began its journey, dust billowing behind. It was about a half-hour ride to the garage, but since it was close to where we ate lunch, I could last that long. I looked at Antonio sitting on the bench across the aisle.
“Elder Sonderegger, you’re probably wasting your time again,” I whispered. “Do you honestly think that if we found him a job, he’d work? He probably wouldn’t stay more than ten minutes if he stayed at all.”
Shrugging, he simply said, “Maybe.”
Unexpectedly, Elder Sonderegger reached up and jerked the cord that signaled the bus driver to stop. Getting up from his seat, he raced to the front of the bus. I grabbed our briefcase and Antonio and followed. Ignoring my “What now?” look, he pointed to a sign he had seen from the bus window, Precisa-se serventes.
“The sign says they need construction workers. Why don’t we try there? It’d be closer to his home, and the pay would be better.”
By that time I had given up hope of ever seeing our lunch. “Lead on,” I wearily said. “We’re right behind you.”
It took only a few minutes to walk to where a few houses lay in half-completed shells.
“Have you ever worked construction before?” I asked. He shook his head and I shook mine in unison, looking at his lack of muscle. He reminded me of the skinny guy in the weight-lifting ads who always got sand kicked in his face, but he evidently was in good health. Elder Sonderegger started down to talk to the supervisor, and after a few minutes motioned us to come down too.
“Antonio,” Elder Sonderegger said, “the foreman has agreed to hire you starting early tomorrow. Do you want the job?”
“Do I want it?” he exclaimed. “You bet I want it! I’ve been all through this area looking for work. I didn’t know they needed workers so close to home.”
Antonio continued, “Can my son come, too? He’s only 17, but he’s strong.”
Hesitating, the foreman looked at us, then at Antonio. “Okay.”
Antonio walked to Elder Sonderegger and shook his hand vigorously. “You just don’t know what this means to my family, now that we will have two working members.” He turned to the foreman. “Six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning, I’ll be here with my son. Thank you, senhor.” Taking Elder Sonderegger by the hand again, he said, “And thank you.” I thought I saw a tear in Antonio’s eye.
“We’ll come back and see how you’re doing in a couple of days,” Elder Sonderegger said. “Okay?”
“Please do, and we’ll invite you home for dinner. Até logo, amigos.”
“Até logo, Antonio.”
We watched as he walked down the dirt road toward home, and once again we began walking to the bus stop and lunch.
“Elder Sonderegger …” I paused. I wasn’t sure how to say it. “I think I owe you an apology. I believe you were right and I was wrong.”
“That’s okay, Elder Mitchell.” Reaching the bus stop, he set the briefcase down. “Really makes you feel good, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does.”
A dusty cloud could be seen coming up the road. “Hey, here comes the bus,” he said. “We’ll have to hustle to get any lunch. I hope the dona didn’t throw it out.”
“The only question I have,” I said, stepping into the bus, “is how are we going to count these last two hours on our evaluation? It wasn’t member work or proselyting, and helping people find work isn’t listed on the sheet. Compassionate service?”
“Nope. We’re not in the Relief Society.”
We both laughed as the bus lurched to a start.
The next week was busy, with many families to teach during the holidays. We were so busy with lessons and contacting that besides being kept on the run, we hadn’t even had time to put up our little tree. A couple of days before Christmas we gave a lesson near the construction site where Antonio was working. Since it was only a few blocks away, we decided to drop in and see how he was doing.
“You know something, Elder Sonderegger?” I said as we walked toward the site. “You probably did more for that guy than anyone ever has. Why, this might be just the break he needs to pull out of the life he’s been living.” Crossing the street, I continued: “Think of what could happen now that he’s working: good food on the table, clothes and shoes for his wife and kids, and maybe even a nicer house one day. He could live like other Brazilians and have you to thank for it all.”
Elder Sonderegger blushed and tried not to show his enthusiasm. “That would be neat, wouldn’t it?”
We spotted the foreman easily but when we looked for Antonio, he couldn’t be seen anywhere.
“Probably in a corner somewhere or working on the inside of a house,” I suggested as we walked to the foreman.
“Who?” the foreman asked when we inquired about Antonio. “Oh yeah, that skinny guy you brought here last week. Neither he nor his son showed the next morning, and I haven’t seen them since.”
“Didn’t show up?” Elder Sonderegger asked unbelievingly. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” he replied.
“Thanks,” Elder Sonderegger said dejectedly. He kicked at a dirt clod. “Let’s go, Mitchell.”
Picking up the briefcase, we silently walked out onto the street. “That Antonio,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Elder Mitchell. You were the one who was right. I should have followed your advice.” Angrily he finished, “What a waste of time!” He stomped down the street.
But somehow, something wasn’t right. I just knew it wasn’t. Suddenly, as if in a flash, I understood. “Wait, Elder Sonderegger,” I called out. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What?” he asked, turning around.
I ran to where he stood. “I said, “‘It doesn’t matter.’”
“It doesn’t matter?” he asked lamely. “What doesn’t matter? Has the heat gotten to you, Elder Mitchell?”
“No, no, you don’t understand. It doesn’t matter what Antonio does. ‘When you’ve done it unto one of the least of these my brethren …’”
He paused and looked away. Then slowly he smiled. “You turkey. I guess you’re right. It really doesn’t matter.” He picked up the briefcase. “Come on, let’s go home and get that tree up. After all, what’s Christmas without a Christmas tree?”
I laughed. “That’s right. Can’t have Christmas without a tree.”
We sang “Jingle Bells” until the bus came. Still singing, we jumped on amid the mixed smiles and stares of other passengers. I didn’t mind, though, because they didn’t understand that this was my first Christmas.

Elder Joseph Cottam, of the Spain Madrid Mission, commented, “I’ve always been fully into music, ever since listening to my iPod Touch and my headphones when I was seven years old. At that age, I started playing the piano a little bit and the guitar, but I started playing the drums when I was 11 years old and that’s when I started rocking. My brother, Dan, and I started to rock the roof off our living room when we started playing the drums and guitar together. We then gathered the band together and played through all our teenage years pretty much every week until we were headlining shows, playing at festivals, winning competitions, and recording music videos. Then the time came when I had to start considering a mission; it was honestly something I had tried to avoid thinking about up to that point. I had a mindset that if we made the band big and rocked the world, we would be the best missionaries in the world. Obviously, God has different ideas to us. After a lot of prayer and thought, I and my brother decided to start with our mission papers. The reason being that I figured out that God knows what is best for us. He has shown us the path to follow, and we just must follow it without trying to compromise or trying to make our own paths. I also had a trust that God would make sure that everything went okay. He knows what means a lot to us in this life and he will cater for our desires if we always put him first. So that’s what I decided to do. Leaving everything behind we worked for was a blow for a while; it was our dream; it was everything we wanted to do but then the quarantine came, and everything stopped. The world was on pause and then I said to myself, “Wow. God does know best; He knew that if we accepted that record deal and continued, we would have been in a massive pickle.” That was the time when I knew for a fact God was guiding us in this.”

A few years ago our stake youth went on a pioneer trek to Martin’s Cove, an area in Wyoming where the stranded handcart pioneers took shelter from the storms and waited for help to arrive. As a stake we had planned and prepared for this experience for months. On the second morning of the trek, around 4 a.m., I awoke suddenly with terrible stomach pains from food poisoning.
In the early morning hours I slowly paced back and forth in significant discomfort. I sat for a while on a wooden bench and watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon. I knew that it was very unlikely that in just a couple of hours I would be able to walk with the youth from our campground to the cove.
All morning I had had a prayer in my heart that I would be able to accompany the youth. However, at one point I stopped and specifically prayed that I would be healthy and able to go to Martin’s Cove. I told Heavenly Father that after all the months of planning and effort, I really wanted to go and have that experience.
At approximately 6 a.m. I received a message that a member of the stake presidency wanted to give me a priesthood blessing. To be honest, I had not thought about asking for a blessing, but I readily accepted the offer. In that blessing President Smith told me that Heavenly Father was mindful of me. He blessed me that my body would rid itself of what was making me sick and that I would be able to fulfill my responsibilities with the youth.
By 10:30 a.m. I was able to leave camp, meet the youth at the cove, and fulfill my responsibilities as promised. I then walked back to camp, a distance of about four miles. I had the strength to do this despite the fact that I had been sick, had slept only a few hours, and had eaten very little food.
I had often wondered why the Lord allowed those faithful handcart Saints to suffer so much. Surely he could have intervened and tempered the storms. As I stood in Martin’s Cove and pondered the pioneers who lived and died there, the Spirit whispered to me that just as the Lord was mindful of me that day, He was mindful of those pioneers in 1856. He knew of their suffering and pain. Just as those pioneers came to know the Savior in their extremities, I too have a testimony that when we have trials and challenges, we can, if we are willing, draw close to the Lord and that He will strengthen and bless us by the power of His almighty hand.

A sister missionary told the story of three men she met during a district conference in Africa. They came from an isolated village far away in the bush where the Church had not yet been organized but where there were 15 faithful members and almost 20 investigators. For over two weeks these men had walked on foot, traveling more than 300 miles (480 km) over paths rendered muddy by the rainy season, so they could attend the conference and bring the tithes from the members of their group. They planned to stay for an entire week so they could enjoy the privilege of partaking of the sacrament the following Sunday and then hoped to set out on the return trip carrying boxes filled with copies of the Book of Mormon on their heads to give to the people of their village.
The missionary testified how touched she was by the sense of wonder these brethren displayed and by their wholehearted sacrifices to obtain things that for her had always been readily available.
She wondered: “If I got up one Sunday morning in Arizona and found that my car wasn’t working, would I walk to my church only a few blocks away from home? Or would I just stay home because it was too far or because it was raining?” These are good questions for all of us to consider.

Nicholas Ofosu-Hene was a young policeman assigned to guard an LDS meetinghouse during the freeze. His duty was to watch over the building at night. When Nicholas first arrived at the meetinghouse, he saw that things had been scattered around, with papers, books, and furniture in disarray. In the midst of this disorder, he saw a copy of the Book of Mormon. He tried ignoring the book because he had been told that it was evil. But he felt strangely attracted to it. Finally, Nicholas could ignore the book no longer. He picked it up. He felt impelled to start reading it. He read through the night, tears running down his cheeks as he read.

The first time he picked it up, he read all of 1 Nephi. The second time, he read all of 2 Nephi. When he got to 2 Nephi chapter 25, he read the following: “And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”2

At that point, Nicholas felt the Spirit so strongly that he started sobbing. He realized that in the course of his reading he had received several spiritual promptings that this book was scripture, the most correct he had ever read. He realized that the Latter-day Saints, contrary to what he had heard, strongly believe in Jesus Christ. After the freeze ended and missionaries returned to Ghana, Nicholas, his wife, and his children joined the Church. When I saw him last year, he was a police commander and was serving as the president of the Tamale Ghana District of the Church. He says: “The Church has transformed my life. … I thank the Almighty God for leading me into this gospel.”3