Gospel Story Finder

William again left his prospering business and a growing family in 1880 to a mission to his home country. Near the end of that otherwise successful mission he reported:
“I preached the Gospel to my dear ones, my father, mother, brother, and sister, and although none of my own kindred have obeyed, they had to acknowledge they could not confute the doctrine, and they feel today that I am not what they judged me to be twenty-seven years ago. When a boy … All my dear relations have treated me with marked kindness, as they have any of the Elders that called upon them at the time. I know God will bless them for that.”

I was sitting in my seminary class only half-listening to my teacher discuss the trials that Joseph Smith and the early Saints endured.
We were studying Church history, and although I had an excellent teacher, I was not interested in being there that day. I was feeling sorry for myself. I had taken my seat without so much as offering a smile to Brother Anderson, who always had a cheerful word for everyone. He didn’t say much, but I could tell he knew something was wrong.
Well, why shouldn’t there be something wrong? I had every right to feel this way, I thought. I was tired of everything in my life. I was tired of school, tired of my teachers, and tired of living in a small town with nothing exciting to do.
In the midst of my depression, something I heard in class seemed to reach out to me. Brother Anderson was telling about a time Joseph Smith and some of his friends were locked up once again for crimes they hadn’t committed. In desperation, Joseph pleaded with the Lord for deliverance, asking him why they were being allowed to suffer when they had been so faithful. Then Brother Anderson read to us Doctrine and Covenants 122:7–8 [D&C 122:7–8], the Lord’s answer to the Prophet Joseph Smith:
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thing enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
He emphasized every word in the last sentence, and the room was completely silent as we pondered those words. I felt like I had been hit over the head with a hammer.
“Wow,” I muttered.
Brother Anderson looked at me and smiled. “Yes, wow,” he said. Who was I to complain? What right did I have to tell the Lord that my life wasn’t fair? How could I have been so ungrateful?
I have never forgotten that day or the way I felt. That scripture seems to be constantly in the back of my mind, and as soon as I want to ask, “Why me, Lord?” I hear Brother Anderson’s deep, smooth voice saying quietly and slowly, “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
I will always be grateful to the Lord for this experience. How my attitude has changed. My outlook on life was turned around, and I can keep my trials in perspective now. Nephi said, “For I know that 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” (1 Ne. 3:7). I, too, know this to be true. I probably have not yet experienced even half of my life’s trials, but I will forever remember that day in seminary when I was so effectively humbled and brought to a full realization of the sacrifice suffered by our Savior, Jesus Christ, so that we might have eternal life.

A sister in the United States was gone from the Church for many years. Her story of coming back includes powerful lessons for parents and family members who anguish over loved ones who step away. She wrote:
“I could list a myriad of reasons for why I walked away from the Church, the gospel, and in a way, my family. But they really don’t matter. I didn’t make one big decision to leave the Church—I probably made a thousand choices. But one thing I have always known is that my parents did make one big decision, and they stuck to it. They decided to love me.
“I couldn’t possibly know how many tears have been shed, how many sleepless nights, nor how many heartfelt pleading words of prayer have been uttered on my behalf. They didn’t call me out on my sins; rather, they called out to me in my sinfulness. They didn’t make me feel unwelcome in their home and at family gatherings; any of those feelings were of my own doing. Instead, they continued to welcome me. They must have seen my light dim over time. But they knew that the person I was back then was just a shadow of who I was yet to become.
“Just as my path away from the Church was complex, so was my way back. But one thing that was not hard about coming back was the feeling of being back home where I belong.”

How do you remember to choose the right? Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles tells a story about a young boy and his friends who found a package of cigarettes: “They decided to go down on the cliff alongside some large boulders and smoke. … They lit up, and the young man said that as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette that he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out. … He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for” (Ensign, Nov. 1993, 66).

In 1956, after graduating from Kumamoto University Medical College, he visited Tokyo Women’s Medical College and saw heart surgery being performed.

He was so impressed by it that he decided to become a heart surgeon. It took five years of intensive training. During that time, he visited New York City for research purposes. Before he left Tokyo, one of Brother Nakamura’s friends told him that on his way back to Japan, he should travel across the United States to see Salt Lake City, Utah, and the beautiful Mormon temple.

Although Brother Nakamura was unable to visit Salt Lake City, his friend’s words were influential in changing his life.

“I remembered his reference to Salt Lake City and the Mormons when, in April 1971, two young men came to my home in Kumamoto and said, ‘We are Mormons.’ I was interested in hearing what they had to say; although, as a doctor, I had always thought that I didn’t need religion. I felt there was no need to ask help from Buddha or from God.”

“Our first impressions of the missionaries were good. They were only twenty years old, but they had such a kindly, respectful attitude, and they presented some thought-provoking concepts,” says Brother Nakamura. “I was thinking that perhaps my son and daughter could become like the elders if we listened to what they had to say.”

The missionaries made return visits to the Nakamura home and the entire family listened to the lessons. “Whenever the missionaries asked a question, one of my two children would correctly respond,” remembers Brother Nakamura.

“My wife and I wondered why the children’s responses to the missionaries’ questions were in harmony with the truth, while our answers were rather vague and lacking in comprehension. It made us feel humble. We were moved by the fact that our children could recognize truth.”

The Nakamuras were especially impressed with the emphasis on families. “Families should be the most important part of the home life,” says Brother Nakamura. “It was my hope that by listening to the missionary lessons, our family would become much happier.”

In July 1971, the Nakamuras were baptized, and in September of the same year, Brother Nakamura performed his first heart surgery. “I felt as if the Lord took away my fears and apprehensions,” he says. “I think if the heart surgeon has faith in the Savior, the special power of God helping may be felt.”

As Brother Nakamura gained experience in the Church, the idea of being sealed in the temple and of serving the Lord in that sacred building grew in his heart. Then, in 1973 (about seven years before the Tokyo Temple was dedicated), the Nakamura family had the opportunity to travel to California to be sealed in the Los Angeles Temple.

While traveling to the temple, they almost missed some airline flights and even wondered whether their airplane would arrive safely. But their prayers for a safe journey were answered. Brother Nakamura says he realizes now how important that trip was. “My main goal after that was to spend time in the temple, especially serving with my wife.”

The Nakamuras decided to accept a mission call to temple service. They knew it would mean a complete change in their lives, but to them, it was worth it.

Before their mission call, says Brother Nakamura, he was very busy in his profession and in the Church. He was enjoying his activities as the head of the hospital where he worked, and as the principal of a school of nursing where he was also an instructor. During this time he also served both as a counselor in the mission presidency and as a district president. He received many telephone calls—day and night—from patients who needed his help, which he freely gave.

“In the temple there are no midnight telephone calls,” he says. “The most wonderful thing is that the temple is the house of the Lord. It is peaceful everywhere. Now everything in my daily life is spiritually based. All of the ordinance work in the temple is to serve God.”

“It is a great privilege to act for our dead brothers and sisters,” he says. “As the Lord told us, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’” (Matt. 25:40).

“When I was working in the hospital and involved in my Church duties, I was gone so many days and nights that my wife got lonely,” says Brother Nakamura. “Now we are working together all the time in a holy place. We are very happy.”

At the conclusion of his mission, says Brother Nakamura, he wants to return to his profession, but not in a government hospital as he was before. Instead, he says, he would like to be a doctor for senior citizens.

“Temple work is also missionary work. It means we serve God,” says Brother Nakamura. “It is the best place to serve, the best place to work, the best place to spend your life.”

I really don’t know how I let Sister Moffat talk me into it in the first place. Before I knew what was happening, I had agreed to give a five-minute talk in sacrament meeting about being a Cub Scout. All the other guys were pounding me on the back, saying that they were glad it was me, not them.
“You really are a pal, Alan,” Will said. “You saved all the rest of us.”
Yeah, I thought, but who’s going to save me?
When I got home, I told Mom about it. “I don’t know why I said I’d do it. I can’t talk for five minutes.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity to me,” she said, smiling.
Somehow I knew she’d say that. That’s what mothers always say. “But five minutes,” I said. “That’s a long time to say I like Cub Scouting because it’s fun and helps me learn new things.”
Mom chuckled. “Five minutes isn’t nearly as long as it sounds to you. I’ll help you. Together I’m sure we can think of enough to take up five minutes.”
“I sure hope so,” I said. I was glad she had volunteered to help though. It was kind of like she had picked up the other end of a heavy load that I had been trying to lift by myself.
Because this was a talk for sacrament meeting, and because Dad says that sacrament meeting is probably the most important of all our Church meetings, I knew that I couldn’t put off preparing it until Saturday. So after school on Monday I asked Mom if she had had time to write any of my talk.
She looked at me in surprise. “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say that I would write your talk. I said that I would help you write one.”
“But you always wrote my talks before,” I said. “I thought that that’s what you meant when you said that you’d help me.”
“You’re old enough now that I don’t have to do everything for you. Wasn’t it you who was telling me last week that a ten-year-old ought to have more privileges than his eight-year-old sister?”
“But I don’t even know how to begin,” I wailed. “You said that you’d help me.”
“I will,” Mom answered. “But there’s a difference between helping you and doing it for you.”
Well, when Mom finally convinced me that she really wasn’t going to do it all, I pleaded for suggestions. She said that we should start with prayer. Then, by asking questions, she helped me get a better idea of what I wanted to say. After that, she helped me decide in what order to say things.
I still had to sit down and write the talk out myself, but it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be, because I knew what I wanted to say. When I finished, Mom helped me correct some grammar mistakes.
Once the talk was written, I started feeling kind of glad that I was going to talk in sacrament meeting. I practiced giving it every day in front of a mirror. By the time Saturday rolled around, I felt pretty confident. As long as I had my paper there to remind me what came next, I could give most of the talk by just glancing down once in a while.
Sunday morning I made one last trial run with Dad as my audience. “Alan, that is a very fine talk,” he said. “You’ll do just great in sacrament meeting. But there is one thing that you don’t want to forget.”
“What’s that?” I asked, a little disappointed to think that something wasn’t just right.
Seeing my disappointment, he said, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your talk. I just want to remind you to ask Heavenly Father to help you do your best.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling much better. “I will.”
Sitting up on the stand, I felt pretty important. I glanced at the clock—two minutes until the meeting started. I felt a nervous excitement as I reached into my pocket for my talk. It wasn’t there! I felt in my other pockets. I looked on the floor. It was gone! Just then the bishop got up and announced the opening song and prayer.
What was I going to do? I caught Mom’s eye and gave her a pleading look. She just smiled at me. I began praying fervently that the paper with my talk on it would miraculously appear. I felt in my pockets again—nothing. When I put the hymnbook under my seat, I felt around the entire area for my paper—still nothing.
When the deacons were just about finished passing the sacrament, I knew that my miracle was not going to happen. I began praying that I would be able to remember my talk or that I would at least know what to say.
Suddenly I heard my name as the bishop announced me as the first speaker. With leaden feet I walked slowly to the pulpit. I could see my mother and father smiling at me. Will was pointing at me.
I was sure that everyone could see me shaking. Very slowly I announced the topic of my talk. There was Sister Moffat. She was smiling too. I just stood there quaking for a minute. Then something miraculous did happen: I remembered the first few sentences! As I began speaking, I remembered more and more. It was almost like I was standing in front of the mirror at home, except that I felt a warm, radiating glow around me.
I was finished before I knew it. The rest of the meeting was like a pleasant after-glow. I felt wonderful. That feeling was only intensified by all the compliments I received when the meeting was over.
“Alan,” Dad said, “you were great!”
“You really were,” Mom said as she planted a kiss on my cheek. “We’re proud of you.”
“But you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t think that I was going to be able to do it, because I lost the paper with my talk on it. When I discovered that it was gone, it was too late to do anything else but pray for help. So I did. Heavenly Father really came through for me.”
“It sounds like you learned more than just how to give a good talk,” said Dad, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“Yeah, I really did.”

During the past several years, since the series of events began that led to my divorce, I have experienced more sleepless nights and have prayed more earnestly than at any other time of my life.
Why had the one thing I feared most happened to me? How could I rebuild my shattered hopes? I remember seeing a cartoon of a small boy giving a book report, saying, “This book taught me more about horses than I ever wanted to learn.” I often told the Lord in my heart, “This experience is teaching me more about emotional maturity than I ever wanted to know.”
One night in particular, I poured out my heart to God. I felt overwhelmed by the events that left my children without a father in the home. During that dark time, it seemed impossible to bear the thought that I had destroyed something precious and had lost something vitally important to me, and to my children. I did not sleep well that night.
I knew Christ had died so that we might not have to bear the weight of our failures and guilt indefinitely; but I could not see how even my repentance and Christ’s atonement could undo what had gone wrong in my own, my former husband’s and my children’s lives. I thought, “The Lord himself has never injured anyone, as I have, through ignorance, selfishness and poor judgment. He has never failed. He does not have to bear the constant burden of knowing that he has damaged a loved one’s life.”
“Neither do you,” came the quiet answer in my mind. I was suddenly flooded with the realization that when I accepted our Savior’s sacrifice for my sins, he had taken them on his shoulders in a more real sense than I had ever understood. Once I had repented of those sins and made what restitution I could, the matter of who had been at fault was no longer important; the concern shifted form the past to the future. “Now,” I seemed to hear, “what shall we do to help our children, you and I together?” That deeply impressed me: my children are Heavenly Father’s children, too, and the work of teaching them to love the Lord and live the gospel is as important to him as it is to me.
As soon as I understood that fact, I felt my feelings of failure and inadequacy go away. I realized that I didn’t need to be perfect before I could be a good mother. By humbly admitting my weaknesses and by exerting faith in Christ, I had taken into partnership, or had been taken into partnership by, a perfect Being. I was not rearing my children alone after all—I had the right to do so together with a loving Father who desired their welfare (and my own) even more than I could comprehend! That was a comfort beyond description.

Because my mother and father each belonged to different churches, they decided when they married that their children would not be forced into one faith or another. Instead, they would be sent to the nearest church and allowed to make up their own minds about religion once they knew the choices available. I had attended four different churches by my early teen years, and had occasionally attended my relatives’ church when they were visiting.
However, one of my friend’s mother died when I was fourteen, and I began to wonder about our existence here on earth. My mind wandered back to the days I had spent at church, and I decided to use all the knowledge I had to search for the true church on the earth—should there really be one.
I went back to the church into which I had been christened. I enjoyed the worship, but each time I asked questions, I was told just to attend—we didn’t need those answers. To me, if there was a God, a loving Father, I would view him much like my own earthly father—someone who wanted me to grow and search out the truth. I could not believe that a God who wished to keep me in ignorance would be my Heavenly Father.
I went back to other churches I had attended, then studied Judaism and Islam, as well as Christian denominations I had never before explored. Although these religions included many fine teachings, I felt the complete truth was still missing.
My parents had always encouraged me to search for myself. Once I had begun my examination of a particular faith, they would not take me to church. They made me find my own way, feeling that only if I struggled for something would I then hold it dear.
One afternoon as our family drove out of town, we passed a chapel of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jokingly, my father said, “You’ve not tried there yet.” I asked what kind of church it was, and he said it was the Mormon church. I remarked that the name on the front of the Church didn’t say that, and he responded, “Mormon is only their nickname; but don’t try them. They’re an odd lot.”
Since the church building was some four miles from my home, I decided to write and ask about their beliefs. The following week, a letter arrived for me from the branch president, inviting me to attend their meetings. I felt excited, yet nervous, as I read it—something I had never felt before while investigating a church. I decided it was time for me to ask my Heavenly Father about this.
I wasn’t quite sure what to say, since the Lord’s Prayer was the only one I had said before. However, as I finished a simple prayer asking the Lord to show me the way, I heard my mother call me. I went downstairs to find two men sitting in the front room. They had come to our door to see if our family would like to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My mother had asked them if they had come in answer to my letter, but they said they had never heard of me.
I sat silently while the three spoke together, and for the first time in my life all that my mother said seemed confusing, yet these two men made everything so clear. That night I thanked the Lord for sending the truth to me.
The next Sunday I set off on my bicycle to find the LDS meetinghouse. I arrived, but, too nervous to go in alone, I waited for someone else and asked if I could walk in with them. Once I was inside the church, a warm feeling came over me. The missionaries soon spotted me.
As weeks went by, the missionaries taught me the gospel and challenged me to be baptized. I quickly accepted, but my parents had other ideas. I was only sixteen and they didn’t think I was really serious. But they told me that if I still wanted to join the Church when I was eighteen, they would give their permission.
The morning of my eighteenth birthday was beautiful. I opened my birthday gifts and left for college classes knowing that the best part of the day would be at 7:30 that evening, when I would be baptized.
My family met me for lunch. Shortly after eating, I became ill and began to have great pain. My mother suggested I go home, where she put me to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was so great that I got out of bed and knelt in prayer. As I pleaded for the Lord to take away the pain so I could go through with my long-awaited baptism, a great darkness filled the room. Frightened, I cried for help to see me through this terror. When I opened my eyes, it was three hours later and my older sister stood beside me. She asked how I was and suggested I get ready for the baptism. I looked out of the window and saw the sun was shining brightly. I thanked my Father in Heaven for my answered prayer, and my family and I went to the church.
My baptism was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I renewed the promise I had made to my Father in Heaven two years earlier to serve him as a missionary. After my baptism, I started taking my younger sister to church. She was later baptized after I returned from my mission. Although my parents are still not members of the Church, I am grateful for the way they taught me and the desire they gave me to search for the truth.

Staff meeting in the Louisiana Baton Rouge Mission offices had just ended when the phone rang. Elder Olson, who was working in New Orleans, sounded near panic. His junior companion, Elder Freeman, had been run over by an 18-wheel truck and was on his way to the hospital. Unable to contact his zone leaders, Elder Olson was calling his mission president to find out what to do.
I reassured him that within two hours my wife and I would join him. When we got to the hospital, we were greeted by Sister Margaret Simmons who works as a nurse in the facility. She described the damage Elder Freeman had sustained. His pelvis was broken in two places and cracked in a third. He had a ruptured spleen, cracked and broken ribs, a broken hip, and a massive blood clot lodged in the intestinal area, along with many lesser injuries.
More than an hour passed before Elder Freeman was wheeled out of surgery into the intensive care unit. “I’ve done all I can,” the doctors said. “If he can make it through the next 24 hours, he might have a chance to live, but there is little hope of that.”
A bone specialist arrived to put Elder Freeman in traction. When he was finished, I pulled him aside to ask for information I would need in making a full report to Salt Lake City. The specialist told me the breaks were clean, as if the bones had been snapped in half. Proper healing would take time—intensive care for a week, traction for eight weeks, six months to a year of waiting and analysis before a decision could be made about whether or not he would ever walk again.
I asked for permission to visit my young missionary and give him a priesthood blessing. Permission was granted, and I joined five concerned elders in a circle around him. His companion anointed him, and I pronounced the blessing, feeling inspired that he would heal and live. As we lifted our hands from his head, he roused and looked up at me. “I don’t have to go home do I, President Lemmon?” he said. What faith! I replied simply, “You haven’t finished your mission yet.”
As we left the room, I noticed the doctors standing nearby. They had a look of puzzlement on their faces; it was, perhaps, the first time they had seen the power of God’s priesthood at work. Sister Simmons pulled me aside and said they had all watched intently and listened silently as the blessing was performed.
On the third day in the hospital, Elder Freeman was released from intensive care, getting out five days earlier than predicted. The next few weeks he spent entangled in traction equipment designed to pull his bones back to their normal positions. Even though in extreme discomfort, he used his time to memorize the missionary discussions, to teach hospital employees about the gospel, and to share his testimony of the restoration with them. Everyone knew who he was, even the hospital president.
During the sixth week following the accident, Elder Freeman was released from the hospital and came to serve on the mission office staff in Baton Rouge. When he drove into the driveway, he got out of the car and, using crutches, walked into my office. Again he had beaten the doctor’s prediction—this time by close to nine months—even though he had lost so much weight he had to put his scriptures under his belt to help hold his pants up!
After one month’s service in the office, Elder Freeman asked to be reassigned. I sent him to Baker, Louisiana, as a district leader. Shortly after his arrival there, he used his crutches for the last time. Elder Freeman is now in Hammond, Louisiana, serving as a zone leader. When he walks or runs, it is with a slight limp, but he enjoys a normal range of activities.
Elder Matthew Freeman is a living example of the power of the priesthood, and a walking example of the power of faith. I thank the Lord for the priesthood, and I thank him for fine young men like Elder Freeman, who serve with all their might, mind, and strength.

A couple in England was invited to attend a special seminar for those who had never been to the temple. “Each week we heard testimonies of many people who had been blessed by keeping the commandments of the Lord, of people who had had to change their lives to go to the temple. That really helped us. And we were given a different project each week concerning the gospel that we were to include in our activities and to achieve during that week.” When the seminar ended they felt prepared to go to the temple and had the necessary interviews. “On November 9, 1973, we were able to receive our endowments and were sealed with our children, Jon and Jamey, for time and eternity. That was truly the most glorious day of our lives.”

I testify that conversion is a process. I am sure that the missionaries were praying and fasting for the change of my mind, because as soon as we started to attend the meetings, I began criticizing many temporal things at the meetinghouse, such as the crooked pictures on the walls. The branch president, a fine and wise man, appointed me as the “pictures supervisor,” this being my first calling in the Church. Incidentally, I have never seen that position in the handbooks, but it served me very well to start my involvement in the service of the Lord.

They recognized that their challenges were not at an end. Juan, a priest, was about to enter the army. “It will not be easy to maintain Church standards in the military,” he said, “but I believe that through many prayers I can do it. I do not intend to isolate myself from others who do not share my standards or to try to appear better than they are. But when one of them offers me a cigarette, I will ask for a stick of chewing gum instead. I want to teach the gospel to them.” He felt that the priesthood he bears will be a real help in difficult circumstances. “I don’t believe that anyone who holds the priesthood could possibly ask for anything more. We must be faithful and steadfast in this great calling in order to carry the work forward.”

Rowena first wanted to be a gymnast, but there wasn’t a good gymnastics program close by. There was, however, a good swimming coach in town. As her mother says, “Rowena became very good very quickly. She thought she’d go to the 2000 Olympics in swimming. But the pool in town is only open half the year.” She was not able to train consistently.
That’s when her plans changed. She and her brothers and sisters had taken up cross-country skiing because alpine skiing was too expensive. When Rowena was 11, a girl on her school’s ski team broke her arm. Another person was needed to complete the team. The team knew Rowena cross-country skied and asked her to try alpine. As Rowena says, “That’s when I started, and I’ve never looked back.” The following year she was the Australian children’s champion.
The Bright family lives about an hour and a half from the only mountains that have much snow in Australia. Even then, with bad snow years and short ski seasons, Rowena has had to train in less-than-ideal conditions. Once she was asked to join the Australian training institute, and gained sponsors to help with the expense, then she was able to do some training and participate in competitions in Europe and North America where snow is more abundant.

I was one month shy of my 19th birthday when I arrived home filled with anticipation. There was an envelope with my name on it from Church headquarters waiting to be opened.
My heart jumped with excitement and anxiety when I read, “You are assigned to the Japan Fukuoka Mission.” I went back to work and announced the good news. I was going to Japan.
“Which mission?”
I could have pronounced Tokyo. I could have pronounced Osaka, but I couldn’t remember the name of the mission, and when I did, I didn’t know how to say it.
This plagued me over the next few weeks as I shared the good news with friends and family. A family friend who had just returned from his mission in Japan tried to help me memorize a short testimony in Japanese, but I just couldn’t do it.
My enthusiasm for missionary service was now accompanied with anxiety about learning the difficult Japanese language. Mentally, the hurdle was getting very high. My anxiety was turning into crippling fear, a constant companion.
It seemed this fear flew with me to the Brigham Young University—Hawaii campus, where the Missionary Training Center (MTC) for Asian languages was located. My fear was becoming a stumbling block. It loomed so large that it nearly consumed me.
I was getting up at 4:00 a.m. to try to get in hours of study before the regular 6:00 a.m. waking time. The adversary began to use one of his finely honed tools on me—comparison. Others were learning Japanese, and I was falling behind. I felt totally lost.
Let me go back to my time at the MTC in Hawaii. I recall that after completing nearly half my time at the MTC, something changed. I remember adjusting my study time each morning to include more time reading and studying the Book of Mormon rather than studying only Japanese.
I knew my mission assignment was from the Lord, and so I determined that I would do my best and put myself in the hands of the Lord.
I quit worrying about how well others were doing. I set goals for myself. And I started achieving them.
Fear and uncertainty subsided. Faith and hope filled their place. This resulted in the study of Japanese developing into a passion with great enjoyment. Ultimately, I have spent nine years of my life in Japan, for which I am so deeply grateful.

Harrison was excited. Today he and his mom were taking his little sister, Samantha, to the hospital to get her blood checked. They went every week, and Harrison’s favorite part of the trip was riding the elevator in the big, busy hospital. He was finally tall enough to push the button to take them to the right floor. Harrison heard the elevator whoosh as it started moving up.
When they stepped off the elevator, Mom asked Harrison, “Do you remember what your special job is?”
“I hold Samantha’s hand and let her squeeze it real tight while the doctor does the tests,” Harrison said.
Samantha was only two years old, but she could squeeze Harrison’s hand super hard and cry very loudly when she was scared. Harrison liked helping her, and he was glad Mom trusted him with such an important job.
While they waited to see the doctor, Harrison asked, “Mom, is Samantha going to cry when she has her blood test?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “But I said a prayer in the elevator on our way up asking Heavenly Father to comfort Samantha during her tests today.”
“Really? A prayer on the elevator?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “That’s a great thing about prayer. If we need extra help or if we’re sad or scared, we don’t have to wait for family prayer or bedtime prayer. We can say a silent one to Heavenly Father anytime or anywhere.”
Harrison smiled and thought about this until the nurse called them back. The appointment went just like all the other appointments, except this time Samantha didn’t cry at all. Harrison knew his mom’s prayer had been answered.
After they said good-bye to the doctor, they got on the elevator. Harrison couldn’t remember which button to push. He started to ask Mom for help just as she said, “Oh! I forgot the diaper bag. Let’s hurry and grab it.”
Harrison watched Mom step off the elevator, carrying Samantha. He was about to follow her when the doors suddenly closed, leaving him alone in the elevator.
Harrison was scared. He looked at all of the buttons and didn’t know what to do. Then he remembered what Mom had said about prayer. He could pray right now—even in an elevator. He closed his eyes and folded his arms. “Dear Heavenly Father, I am lost and scared and don’t know what to do. Can you please help me find my mom and sister again? In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Harrison opened his eyes and didn’t feel scared anymore. He knew his prayer would be answered. He looked at the buttons on the elevator and saw one with a big star on it. That was the one he needed! He pushed it and felt the elevator start to move.
The doors opened and Harrison recognized the lobby of the hospital. He looked around for Mom. Suddenly a door from the stairwell opened and Mom came running out with Samantha. “Harrison, I was so worried! Are you OK?”
Harrison smiled and gave Mom and Samantha a big hug. “I said a prayer and knew what to do. Heavenly Father really does answer prayers—even on elevators!”

At age seven, Joseph Smith contracted typhoid fever, and an infection settled in his leg. Dr. Nathan Smith was pioneering a procedure by which the infected leg could be saved. Without anesthesia, Dr. Smith would need to cut Joseph’s leg and actually remove portions of the infected bone. Joseph declined brandy to endure the pain and refused to be tied down but said, “I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary.”1

What trials will our children face? Like Joseph Smith, our children can find the courage to “do whatever is necessary.” When we are intentional about holding them and teaching them of Heavenly Father’s plan through prayer and scriptures, they will come to know where they came from, why they are here, and where they are going.

Illustration by David Habben
I go to a school run by one of the churches in my country. Some time back I was chosen by my classmates to be our class counselor. One day as I was planning what to teach, I came across a Church booklet about the law of chastity. I decided to teach my classmates about chastity and asked the full-time missionaries for booklets, which I gave out during the lesson.
After my lesson, many students wanted to know more about the Church, so I taught them and gave them more Church materials, including the Book of Mormon. I did not know that this was not approved by the head teacher.
One day she called me to her office and asked me which church I went to. When I told her, she asked why I was giving out the Church’s “Bible” to the students. I told her that I gave them only to those who asked for them.
After a long talk about the Church, in which she made it clear that she believed it was not the Church of God, she told me, “I know that you have no parents, but I am very sorry—you will have to leave my school because you will convert many of my good students to that church of yours.” She told me to choose between the Church and my education.
She called an assembly and told the school that I was not allowed in school anymore because I belonged to the Mormon Church and that any other students following me would have to leave.
After the assembly, she asked what I had decided: my church or my education. I felt the Spirit telling me to stand for what I know: that the Lord has restored His true Church. I shared my testimony with her as I was leaving. She told me to return the following week to pick up a letter showing that I no longer went to the school.
When I came the following week, she had changed her mind! She wasn’t making me leave the school anymore. I was very happy, mostly because I had stood for what I knew to be true.
This experience taught me to always stand for what we know to be true. The Lord will always be there for us. If I had denied the Church, the students would have said that what I was teaching them was not true, but now they know that I know the truth.

Te Awhina’s childhood was rough. She was raised by her grandmother until she was eight, and then she moved from home to home, where drugs and violence were easier to find than food or faith. “There was no talk of a God,” she says, “No talk of finding healing and forgiveness, I grew up with a poison of hatred and bitterness because I was not taught any better.”
As a teen, she was lost. “I had no guidance, no safety, and no role model. I was confused and had nowhere to find peace,” she remembers. She only knew one kind of life back then, and eventually, it led her to a rehabilitation facility for her own alcohol addiction.
Not long after she was released, she met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had seen them around, so they were familiar to her, but for some reason on this day, Te Awhina felt compelled to call them over.
“I had a question,” she recalls. “You might think this is a silly question, but when you grow up with no concept of God . . . I just didn’t know.” She said to the missionaries, “If you can answer me one question, I’ll listen to [your message].”
Then she asked: “Is God a man or a woman?”
One of the missionaries replied, “God is our loving Heavenly Father.”
This answer brought an unexpected sense of clarity and peace to Te Awhina. She wanted to learn more. “Okay,” she said to the missionaries. “I’ll listen to you.”
It has now been 10 years since Te Awhina was baptised a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She became a missionary herself, very soon after her baptism, when she served in the Australia Brisbane Mission. Then, in 2020, she married Josh, “the man of my dreams.” The couple looks forward to being sealed to each other—for time and all eternity—as soon as the New Zealand Hamilton Temple is reopened.
Reflecting on how her incredible journey began with a simple question, Te Awhina notes that the Prophet Joseph Smith also received his greatest revelation because he had the courage to ask of God, and like Joseph Smith, Te Awhina learned that sometimes the answer does not come easily.
When the missionaries first explained the Word of Wisdom to her, Te Awhina’s first reaction was, “No thanks.” But even as she struggled with the idea of giving up harmful substances, she surprised herself by how quickly she obeyed. Basically, “By end of that [missionary] lesson, I had given up coffee,” she laughs.
Not everything fell into place as effortlessly, but Te Awhina persevered and has been rewarded with healing and forgiveness through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Over the years, it has brought her strength and hope to know that young Joseph Smith also wrestled with a terrible darkness, just before he experienced the miraculous First Vision, which would usher in a new dispensation of the gospel on earth.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words have helped Te Awhina understand this pattern:
“It is the plain and very sobering truth that before great moments, certainly before great spiritual moments, there can come adversity, opposition, and darkness. Life has some of those moments for us, and occasionally they come just as we are approaching an important decision or a significant step in our lives.”1
“As I celebrate my 10-year anniversary of coming into the fold, I have found healing that can only come as we look to Christ and repent,” Te Awhina says. “I am grateful for the missionaries, for the truths that they taught me—and for what the gospel has done in my life.”

When I was a child, as a family we went on vacation to a beach on the coast of my native country, Chile. I was excited to spend some days enjoying the summer with my family. I was also thrilled because I thought I could finally join in and do what my two older brothers usually did for fun on the water.
One day my brothers went to play where the waves were breaking, and I felt big and mature enough to follow them. As I moved toward that area, I realized the waves were larger than they appeared from the shore. Suddenly, a wave rapidly approached me, taking me by surprise. I felt like the power of nature had taken over me, and I was dragged into the depths of the sea. I couldn’t see or feel any reference point as I was tossed around. Just as I thought my adventure on the earth might be coming to an end, I felt a hand pulling me toward the surface. Finally, I could see the sun and catch my breath.
My brother Claudio had seen my attempts to act as a grown-up and had come to my rescue. I was not far from the shore. Even though the water was shallow, I was disoriented and had not realized I could have helped myself. Claudio told me that I needed to be careful and, if I wanted, he could teach me. Despite the gallons of water I had swallowed, my pride and desire to be a big boy were stronger, and I said, “Sure.”
Claudio told me I needed to attack the waves. I told myself I would surely lose that battle against what seemed like a huge wall of water.
As a new big wave approached, Claudio quickly said, “Look at me; this is how you do it.” Claudio ran toward the incoming wave and dove into it before it broke. I was so impressed with his dive that I lost sight of the next incoming wave. So again I was sent to the depths of the sea and tossed by the forces of nature. A few seconds later, a hand grasped mine, and I was again pulled toward the surface and air. The flame of my pride was extinguishing.
This time my brother invited me to dive with him. As per his invitation, I followed him, and we dove together. I felt as if I was conquering the most complicated challenge. Certainly, it was not very easy, but I did it, thanks to the help and example shown by my brother. His hand rescued me twice; his example showed me how to deal with my challenge and be victorious that day.
If we think celestial, we will recognize Jesus Christ as a flawless example of ministry. There is a pattern for us in the scriptures when He or His disciples reach out to someone in need of help, rescue, or a blessing as they reach out with their hands. As in my story, I knew my brother was there, but being there for me was not enough. Claudio knew I was in trouble, and he went to help lift me from the water.
My brother did not give up on me that day but persisted so I could learn how to do it for myself. He persisted, even if that required rescuing me twice. He persisted, even if I could not get it at first. He persisted so I could overcome that challenge and succeed. If we think celestial, we will realize that our Savior will be there as many times as necessary to provide help if we want to learn, change, overcome, cope, or succeed in whatever will bring true and everlasting happiness to our lives.

When Peggy told me her husband, John, after 31 years of marriage, was going to be baptized, I asked what had changed.
Peggy said, “John and I were studying the New Testament Come, Follow Me, and John asked about Church doctrine.”
Peggy said, “Let’s invite the missionaries.”
John said, “No missionaries—unless my friend can come.” Over 10 years, John’s ministering brother had become his trusted friend. (I thought, What if John’s ministering brother had stopped coming after one, two, or nine years?)
John listened. He read the Book of Mormon with real intent. When the missionaries invited John to be baptized, he said yes. Peggy said, “I fell off my chair and started to cry.”
John said, “I changed as I drew closer to the Lord.” Later, John and Peggy were sealed in the holy temple. Last December, John passed away at age 92. Peggy says, “John was always a good person, but he became different in a beautiful way after he was baptized.”