Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago my daughter and I, along with two other friends, were backpacking in the Teton Range. Looking for an adventure, we asked the ranger if there was a path that not very many people knew about. He told us about a trail-less hike that would take us through meadows, streams, boulder fields, then to a pristine lake, and eventually to our destination—The Wall. We were in! He gave us instructions on the basic directions and said, “Stay high on the mountain. Don’t go down in the willows because that is where the bears are; watch for the cairns that will show you the way.” Cairns are rocks stacked on top of each other to form an eco-friendly trail marker.
We began early the next morning. For a time we were down in the willows, which made me very nervous. Then we saw our first cairn up on the side of the hill, and we went to it. We hiked from cairn to cairn. At times it seemed we were lost because we would go so long without seeing another cairn, but then to our relief we would see one again and all was well. We reached a huge field of boulders and had to hoist each other and our packs to the top of each boulder. This was challenging, but by evening we reached the beautiful pristine lake. This is where we pitched our tents. We had exquisite views in every direction. The strenuous hike was worth it!
Early the next morning, however, I awoke to the sound of howling wind. A fog had descended on the lake, making it almost impossible to see in any direction. We packed our tents and sleeping bags and started out navigating around the lake, beginning our ascent to our destination, The Wall. I was never so happy as to arrive at The Wall—in fact, we all were! We went up to the huge granite wall and kissed it! We had arrived.

“Six years ago my wife, Sachiko, died from cancer. Others worried that our family of seven children might fall apart without a mother, but that is the way the world thinks. We knew there is great strength in the gospel, so we continued to have family home evening and family prayer and scripture study. These have been very helpful in strengthening our family bonds.
“Because we had the gospel in our home, our children knew where their mother was. The gospel blessed their lives, and they felt that they needed to share those blessings with others. The children have gone on missions, one after another.”—Masahiro Yonamine, Japan

Once we reached Poland after an early start, our first stop was a retreat house, Dobre Miejsce, attached to the University of Cardinal Wyszynski in Warsaw. We stopped to buy sweets, colouring books, and pens for the 50 children we were about to meet. Dobre Miejsce looks after 95 women and children. The absence of men at the university refuge was noticeable and reinforced the awful concern of the women and children, not knowing if the men in their lives are alive or not.
We managed to spend a little time with the children for whom we had brought the packs. I will treasure the drawing that one little child gave us of the Union flag and the Ukrainian flag with a heart drawn around it; their little faces shining at such a simple gift is something I will remember for years to come.

Let me share with you one of my favorite and true love stories. I learned about the story very late in its development. One night I went with my husband to a company dinner party. I sat next to an older man who was there with his wife. She had suffered a stroke, so he would lean over to cut her meat and help her with her food. His manner was very tender and caring. As he finished the meal, I said to him, “You are so good to your wife.”

His reply: “Why shouldn’t I be? I love her.” Then he told me about their courtship and their life together. “The first time I saw her,” he said, “was at a party in Canada. She was giving a reading. She had long golden curls and wore a beautiful white eyelet dress with a pretty blue satin sash. I was so impressed by her that I told my mother that that was the woman I was going to marry. Mother laughingly indulged me. I went on my mission, and when I came home she was engaged to another. I was asked to take a special assignment by the bishop, and when I protested he told me that if I would always put the work of the Lord first I would find that the Lord would always take care of me. I made the long trek to Salt Lake City. When I came home, she had broken her engagement. We started to date, and then we married.”

His wife rarely accompanied him in public after that dinner. It wasn’t long until her condition worsened, and she was completely bedridden and virtually unable to speak. He was a General Authority and went out on his regular conference assignments to visit and counsel the Saints. He would always come home and tell her all about the conference. One day as he finished, he teased, “If you are not going to speak back to me, then I am not going to tell about my experiences. You must not love me anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and with great effort she found enough strength to form the words, “I do love you.” It was difficult and extremely slow, but with great effort she got the words out. He decided he would never again treat their love lightly, for their love went beyond even her crippling physical impairment.

At the funeral of this special woman, Zina Card Brown, every speaker commented on her love both for her sweetheart, President Hugh B. Brown. President Marion G. Romney said, “Wherever she was she was a loving lady.” President N. Eldon Tanner declared that President Brown was so successful because of her love. President Kimball said that the love of President and Sister Brown was such that they would soon be together again everlastingly. Her love pulled them toward immortality—a beginning of eternity.

One day, my family was driving home from the lake. I went with my Grandma Ninya. Grammy was visiting. My little cousin Tori and I were in the backseat. Tori was tired. I whispered, “You can go to sleep, baby,” and she said, “Sing me Jesus.” I asked her, “Sing Church songs?” She said yes. So I sang “I Love to See the Temple.” Then I sang “Do As I’m Doing” and “I Am a Child of God.” She fell asleep. As I sang, I felt something inside of me. I felt the Holy Ghost. I am glad my cousin knows about Jesus and honors Him.Hillary Odom, age 10Ogden, Utah

Prodi sat up in bed with a jolt. His heart was beating fast.
Rain pattered on the roof as he sat in the darkness. He could hear water dripping from the African fig tree outside his window, and the air felt sticky and warm. Prodi took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was just a dream.
He crawled out of bed and peeked at his parents. Mama and Papa were sleeping peacefully. His little sister, Célia, was curled up in her bed too. Everything was OK. His family was safe.
Prodi climbed back into bed and tried to go back to sleep. He tossed and turned, then tossed and turned some more. He knew his dream wasn’t real, but it had been so scary! Even though he was tired, he was afraid to fall asleep again. What if he had another nightmare?
Prodi lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. He tried to think of happy thoughts. Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer? A wave of warmth came over Prodi as he thought of the words of his favorite Primary song. Sister Kioska had taught them that Heavenly Father was always watching over them. They could pray to Him anytime, anywhere.
Prodi knew what to do. He got out of bed and knelt down to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “I’m really scared. Please keep my family safe. And please help me to go to sleep and not have any more bad dreams.”
Prodi finished his prayer and climbed back in bed. His body relaxed, and his mind felt peaceful. Soon he was asleep.
When morning came, Prodi woke up to the warm sun shining through the window. He could hear pots clanging in the kitchen. Célia was at the table eating leftover cassava. Mama was warming some up for him to eat too.
“Bonjour,” Mama said. “How did you sleep?”
“I had a really scary nightmare,” Prodi said. “But then I said a prayer. Heavenly Father helped me feel safe.”
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” Mama said. She hugged Prodi close and didn’t let go for a long time. “But I’m so glad you said a prayer. It sounds like praying really helped you.”
“It did,” said Prodi. “I was able to fall asleep again, and I didn’t have any more bad dreams.” Prodi hugged Mama tight. He was glad to know that no matter how scared he felt, Heavenly Father was just a prayer away.
Go to page 15 to meet the boy from this story!

I have a student employee, Adriano Carneiro, who arrived in the US from Brazil last winter semester and was having a difficult time with the culture, weather, and language adaption. He is a busy father of three children, attends school full-time, and works part-time.

You may not believe this, but soon after he arrived here, he spoke to the same friend as he was looking for a job, was asked a similar question about attending the temple for 40 days, acted on the impression from the Spirit, and has far exceeded my effort.

This challenge has greatly increased his faith in Jesus Christ, and miracles have happened in his life. He has told me he has achieved an A in all of his classes for the last two semesters, even though he could not spend as much time studying because of spending more time in the temple. There are some days he only has time for one ordinance, but he tries to go every day. He is a great example to me of being all in.

Jackeline Martinez Roman of the Colon Ward, Quito Ecuador Colon Stake, was recently selected as second runner-up in the Miss Quito contest, part of the annual celebration of Ecuador’s capital. She was nominated by her employers. Jackeline, along with the girls selected as Miss Quito and first runner-up, will spend time during the year raising funds for the elderly and underprivileged and attending activities sponsored by the city.
Jackeline hopes her new position will offer some good opportunities for missionary work. In fact, Miss Quito and the first runner-up have already asked about the Church and its beliefs, and Jackeline was happy to explain.
Although born in Ecuador, Jackeline lived for nine years in Maryland in the United States, where she attended school. She has served as seminary president and as a teacher in the Primary and Sunday School, and she is presently serving as Primary secretary.

Years ago our youngest child had a serious bone tumor in his lower back. When he was taken to the hospital for surgery, I overheard the doctors in the hallway talking about his condition. They said it was likely that nothing could be done to save our boy’s life.
When I went back in my son’s room, I tried to encourage him. I assured him that he was receiving the finest medical care. He said, “Daddy, I’m not counting on the doctors. I’m counting on my blessing. You laid your hands on my head, and you blessed me. And I have faith that the blessing will be fulfilled.”
My son was healed. His life is an example of the power of a priesthood blessing. One of the lessons I’ve learned through my Church service is that our Father in Heaven loves little children. He loves to bless them, and He often blesses them through His priesthood servants.

The night of the dinner, the aroma of fresh-roasted turkey, steaming hot dressing, homemade rolls, and spicy pumpkin pie filled the hall of the stake center. But this time it was the Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels, instead of the Relief Society, who were found in the hot kitchen energetically filling plate after plate. And it was the deacons, teachers, and priests who were serving the meal, filling water glasses and clearing empty dishes. It was all a way of saying a big thank you to the senior citizens in the Taylorsville Stake—an appreciation dinner planned, prepared, and presented almost entirely by the Mutual-age youth in the stake.
The idea had originated in a stake youth committee meeting several months before. “We wanted to do a service project, something that would be a challenge and at the same time rewarding,” explained Kelly Jorgensen, stake youth chairman and member of the priests quorum in the Taylorsville Fifth Ward. “Our teachers quorum had given a dinner for the senior citizens in our own ward once, and we wondered if we could do the same thing on a stake basis. Someone mentioned that a lot of older people don’t have any children who come home for the holidays, so we decided to make it a Thanksgiving dinner in appreciation for all they have done for us.”
Two young people from each of the five wards were appointed to the planning committee. They were assisted by Sister Emma Morris, the stake Young Women president. Together they planned the evening and then worked diligently, sacrificing Saturday mornings and weeknights to see that all the details were completed before the night of the dinner. Committees were assigned to arrange for decorations, invitations, centerpieces, transportation, and food. With the exception of roasting the turkeys, the young people prepared most of the meal. One Laurel class adviser held a special pie-making workshop to help her girls in preparing their share of the evening’s desserts.
To help with the invitations, ward clerks provided lists with the names of all the persons over the age of 65. After delivering the invitations, hours and hours were spent calling to determine just how many would be able to come to dinner. A take-out service was planned for those who were not able to leave their homes.
Stake President Melvin M. Hall expressed appreciation for the work of the Mutual by saying, “We think this is a really nice thing our young people have conjured up! Too often we get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of what we do that we forget to look over our shoulders to see who needs us. Too often we forget about our senior citizens.”
The night of the dinner was one of those late autumn, early winter evenings when the air is chilly and the setting sun reveals snow clouds over the mountains. As the guests arrived, usually accompanied by a young member of the priesthood and an adult leader, many buttoned up coats and sweaters and pulled cloaks a little snugger as they walked from the parking lot into the cultural hall.
Inside, the last details were being completed: the water poured, the microphone plugged in, the turkey sampled. The basketball nets in the hall had been decked with balloons and plastic streamers earlier that afternoon, and the turkey centerpieces made from pineapples were sitting on the tables. The entering guests were greeted with friendly smiles and warm handshakes. Those who had volunteered to help were kept busy throughout the dinner as they enthusiastically saw that everyone was served and made to feel welcome.
Midway through the dinner, however, after serving plates and plates of hot food, one hungry young deacon scrunched in the corner against the wall. When asked who he was hiding from, he sheepishly replied, “The food! We can’t eat until everyone is served!”
An added treat at the dinner (following the pumpkin pie) was a musical program. Before introducing the performers, Kelly told the older people, “We’d like to thank you and your generation for all the things you’ve done for us, for building this strong community we live in, and for raising good families.”
The first number on the program was performed by a trio of three young women who sang, “Who Are You?” an original composition by Michelle Nicoulaz and Marty Tyree. They were followed by six young men and women dressed in bluejeans and straw hats, who sang, “Grandma’s Feather Bed,” accompanying themselves on the piano and guitars. A modern dance number, which was choreographed by Michelle, was next, and the Harrison Family trio (piano, clarinet, and flute) completed the program with a medley of patriotic songs.
As the older people chatted with friends before leaving, it was easy to see the gratitude they felt at being remembered. Sister Sue Huggard, an 80-year-old member of the 21st Ward, exclaimed, “That was lovely to honor us old folks—I mean us young folks!” Sister LaVern Jones North of the First Ward added, “It couldn’t have been better. I wish we had a way to thank them.”
But the youth felt they had received all the thanks they needed. As Kelly expressed it, “It’s really great when you can see they are enjoying themselves, laughing with their friends, having a good time! That’s the best thanks of all.”

A significant moment in my personal journey to Jesus Christ can be traced to an invitation given by President Henry B. Eyring where he invited the audience to act.
He said, “I bless you that every day, if you will ask in prayer to be shown where the hand of God intervened in your life that day, I bless you that you will see that. It will be made manifest to you. That you will see that He is leading and guiding and lifting you, and that He knows you”. 1
This invitation, to consciously document the hand of the Lord in our lives every day, resonated with me.
I accepted the invitation and purchased a new pastel blue notebook that would become a precious personal record, capturing moments when I saw the hand of the Lord in my life. Little did I know how pivotal this little blue pastel notepad would prove, in my continuing journey to seek Jesus Christ.
In recollecting times where I have acknowledged the hand of the Lord in my life, I was reminded of a time when I was eleven years old. I had an accident that punctured my spleen. This required hospitalisation and, in advance of the operation, going without food and drink for what seemed like an eternity. I particularly remember being in a large room, feeling vulnerable and alone in the early hours of the morning. I silently prayed for help to ease my anxiety and discomfort. Within a very short period of time, a nurse came and offered me an ice cube wrapped within a cotton bandage to suck on. The relief and refreshment felt like a luxurious feast. More importantly, however, I recognised and acknowledged the hand of the Lord.
A scripture in Psalms was fulfilled in that hospital bed. That night “I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears”.2 Though this may seem trivial, my attempt to ask and exercise faith was answered. And I had not only felt physical relief, but I also felt that He knew me.
Without relaying every experience I have documented in my pastel blue notepad, a consistent pattern has emerged. As I ask and believe, I will receive3 and in acknowledging Him, my relationship to Him is strengthened. This pattern has guided and continues to guide me through illness, trials, despair, and pain.
The 2022 For the Strength of Youth theme4 perfectly describes this pattern. My wife, Ailsa, and I had the privilege of being part of the Manchester Scotland session of FSY in 2022. We witnessed this pattern playing out in the lives of many participants. One young woman brought many difficult questions to FSY, with no expectation that they would all be answered. She recounted in joyful tears that, during this Christ-focused event, every one of her questions had been answered. She knew that He knew her. This young woman has recently been called to serve Him in the Frankfurt Germany Mission.
The Apostle Peter invited us to “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”5
I invite you to document the hand of the Lord in your life, starting retrospectively as far as you can remember. Continue daily to recognise, acknowledge, and receive the reach of the Master of healing, the Bright and Morning Star, He that is in all things, above all things, through all things, and round about all things.6
I love Him, I adore Him, I depend on Him, because I can recollect numerous times where I had a personal confirmation that He knows me and loves me.

Franklin D. Richards reports a day that Joseph and Emma came down from Temple Hill on the muddy slope and their buggy capsized. Neither was badly hurt, but when Joseph came to a meeting that afternoon, he spoke of what Emma meant to him. "The Prophet Joseph remarked in the meeting. . .how he rejoiced in the love of his faithful wife Emma, who had given her hand, her heart and her soul to him in Harmony, Pennsylvania, when first he had been called to the work of the Lord, and had braved all these difficulties with him; and he made this remark, that whatever happened to Emma, he would go, if he had to go to hell, to find her and bring her home, that she might share with him the blessings of his exaltation as she had shared with him his sufferings. He rejoiced greatly in the anticipation of these eternal family relations in the future." (Collected Discourses, Vol.5, Franklin D. Richards, October 5, 1896)

Hai Lan and his father climbed out of the sampan (boat) carrying a basket of fish.
“Such a hot day to fish,” Hai Lan said, wiping his sweaty face. “And such hard work! All day since before the sun we worked, and only these few fish have we to sell.”
“It will be better tomorrow, my son.”
“That is what you always say, my father. But it is not always so.”
“The fish we catch buy us food and shelter,” Father reminded. “What more can one wish for?”
“I wish for an easier way,” Hai Lan answered.
Father laughed. “There is no easier way, my son. Nothing worthwhile is easy.”
Silently the two walked to the marketplace, but Hai Lan’s mind was full. I am tired of the scorching heat on my head and the blisters from fish nets on my hands, he thought. There must be an easier way!
They soon reached the market and traded their fish for vegetables and rice and bamboo shoots. Then they started for home.
“Wait!” Father said. “There is the old storyteller. Let us hear his tale. It will give our minds rest.”
But Hai Lan’s mind could not rest. He didn’t even hear the old man’s story.
A storyteller! he thought. That is much easier than being a fisherman. All the old man does is sit on his bamboo stool in the shade and talk while people drop pennies in his basket. That is what I want to be—a storyteller!
Hai Lan was so excited he could hardly keep from running home. When they finally arrived at their mud and straw hut, he could barely sit still through dinner.
“I will make my father proud,” he said to himself. “I will make us rich! I will buy us a nice new house so we will no longer live in a hut. And Grandfather’s eyes will regain the sparkle they lost when he became too old to go out with us on the sampan. Now he will be able to spend his old days in comfort.”
“What is wrong with the boy?” Grandfather asked Father after they had eaten.
“I do not know,” Father said. “He has acted strangely ever since we stopped to hear the old storyteller at the marketplace.”
“He must have told a very good story,” Grandfather said, smiling.
Father shook his head and said, “It was only about the fishing wars. I do not know what is wrong with the boy.”
Hai Lan wanted his plan to be a surprise. He waited until time for bed and then said, “Father, I think I need a day of rest. Tomorrow I do not wish to go on the sampan.”
“Then how will you earn money to go to school?” Father asked.
“I can earn it another day.” Hai Lan smiled as he thought of his surprise.
“Let him go,” Grandfather said. “He is restless and needs a change.”
“But I need his help,” Father protested.
“I will go with you tomorrow,” Grandfather promised. “These old hands have not forgotten the feel of the sampan sails or the fish nets.”
Father sat silently for a moment. Finally he said, “All right, my son, but only for one day. I do not want a lazy son.”
Hai Lan lay on his bamboo mat and listened to the sounds of night as he thought of the many things he would buy.
The next morning while it was still dark, Hai Lan heard the men leave, but he did not get up. He knew that storytellers could sleep until long after sunrise. Their work did not begin until the market opened and the streets were crowded.
Already, he thought, I like this new work.
Much later that morning Hai Lan got up and dressed in his finest suit of clothes. He ate a bowl of rice, took a basket and bamboo stool, and left for the marketplace.
He found just the right spot next to the bamboo shop where all the tourists came. There he put his stool in the shade, placed his basket by his feet, and waited for the people to gather. He waited and waited, but no one stopped. Suddenly he realized that the people did not know why he was sitting there.
“Stories, stories from this storyteller,” he called just like the old storytellers. “Stories for your ears to hear and for your lips to smile at.”
“Oh, look!” a lady cried. “A little boy storyteller.” She stopped to listen, and then one by one others stopped in the shade too, until finally a large crowd had gathered.
Hai Lan smiled as he imagined all the pennies the people would drop in his basket. He sat back on the stool, tilted his straw hat back as he had seen the old storytellers do, and began to speak.
“Once upon a time …” So far Hai Lan had done just as the old storytellers, but suddenly he realized he could not tell their stories. That would be stealing. He must tell his own stories. But he had none!
“Once upon a time …” he said again, but he could not think of a story.
“Once upon a time …” he tried once more, but still he could think of nothing.
“That is what you said,” a man shouted, and the crowd began to laugh.
Hai Lan felt his face grow hot, hotter than the sun shining down on the sampan. His palms began to perspire. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began again.
“Once upon a time … a … a … there was a man.” Hai Lan could not think of anything more.
“You should wait until you are a man,” someone shouted, and the crowd roared with laughter as they picked up their baskets and left.
Hai Lan’s eyes stung with tears of shame, but he held them in his eyes. It would even be worse if now he were to cry!
“I thought it would be so easy,” he said to himself as he pulled the straw hat down to cover his face. “But Father must be right. Nothing worthwhile is easy.”
Being very careful to walk behind the shops where few people could see him, Hai Lan went back to the hut. He put the stool and empty basket back and quickly changed his clothes. Then he went down to the river to wait for Father and Grandfather. Soon the sampan drew near.
I hope they will never know how I have shamed them, Hai Lan thought as the men stepped out of the sampan.
“Hello,” Grandfather greeted. “What a wonderful day it has been!”
Hai Lan looked in the basket, expecting to see it filled with fish. “But you do not even have as many fish as yesterday,” Hai Lan cried.
“Oh, but it was wonderful just to have the nets in my hands, to move with the rhythm of the sampan, and to feel the marvelous sun on my head,” Grandfather said.
Hai Lan could see the old sparkle had returned to Grandfather’s eyes.
It is his work he longs for, Hai Lan decided, not the comforts money can buy.
“I will tell you something, my son’s son,” Grandfather began. “There is nothing like good work to make a man’s soul happy.”
“I will remember that,” Hai Lan said, forgetting his shame as he thought about his grandfather’s words. “And I am ready to go out with my father tomorrow.”
“That is well,” Father said. “One day for my father is good, but he is too old for two.”
“Together we will work hard and catch many, many fish,” Hai Lan said. “You will see, my father.”
And Hai Lan bowed his head and vowed that he would always work hard and make his father proud to have such a son.

Throughout my teenage years, I prepared for my mission. When a loving priests quorum adviser, David Poulsen, offered to teach any of the priests the missionary discussions, a few of us took him up on his offer. We faithfully attended 7:00 A.M. classes each Sunday.
We studied the missionary discussions, and I had most of them memorized before I ever entered the mission home. We even went out a few times and taught ward members who pretended to be investigators. Most of them were a lot tougher than any real investigators with whom I worked! In 1971 I was thrilled to accept a call to serve in the Argentina North Mission.
A mission brands the gospel on your heart. I like the way President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) described a mission as the “university of the Lord,” as an opportunity to serve others and to learn many valuable principles the Lord wants His disciples to learn. These are principles that will help us in everything we do from then on, whether in building His kingdom or in improving our personal lives.
After I returned from Argentina, missionary service remained very important to me. As I earned both a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree, I looked for chances to share the gospel. I married Jan Nielson, and we have taught our seven children the importance of missionary work.
My whole family had an opportunity to put those teachings into practice in 1994, when my wife and I received a call to preside over the Uruguay Montevideo Mission. During that time, our son Jason served in the Portland Oregon Mission and our son Andy in the Brazil Recife Mission. The rest of the family enjoyed our missionary work in Uruguay.
We are definitely a missionary family. We have learned that there is no greater work, no greater joy, than sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite things to do even now as a member of the Seventy is meet with missionaries and experience the joy that comes from serving the Lord and working with others who are also serving Him.
This interest in missionary work, this commitment to share the gospel, began when I was Primary age. That’s the age at which all boys should decide to serve a mission. That most important decision will then be a guiding influence on all that they do throughout their growing-up years.

I was baptized when I was ten years old, but in my early teenage years, I became inactive in the Church. I had many problems and I didn’t think there were any solutions. But, because my mother was the Church magazine representative, we always had many copies of the Church magazine at home, and I never stopped reading the Liahona (Spanish).
Articles like President Spencer W. Kimball’s “Absolute Truth” and Elder Boyd K. Packer’s “Candle of the Lord” helped me decide to return to the Church and change my life to be more like Christ.
I am now serving a mission in my homeland of Mexico and my friend is preparing for a mission. None of this would have happened if I had not continued to read the Liahona while I was not active in the Church. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the Church’s publications.

When I was 15 years old, I spotted two missionaries in front of a supermarket. One of them invited me to come to church. I wasn’t very interested, so I told them, “Maybe someday,” and walked away.
The next day, my aunt called and asked my mother to come to her house to hear a special message. My mother and I ran over and saw the same missionaries I had seen the day before sitting in my aunt’s house! My mother was interested by their message, and I started listening as well. However, when the missionaries asked me if I believed in a living prophet, I responded with a resolute no. One of the elders held up a picture of Thomas S. Monson and testified that President Monson was a prophet. They invited me to come to general conference the next day to decide for myself. Curious, I agreed to come.
The next day, we reached the chapel just as the opening prayer was finishing. As I walked into the room, I saw President Monson come onto the screen. He smiled and said, “My dear brothers and sisters, I greet you …”
As soon as President Monson opened his mouth, a strong feeling swept over me, confirming that he was a prophet of God. At the end of conference, I told the missionaries, “I want to be baptized.” I have since served a mission myself and have taught many others the wonderful truths of the restored gospel.
I know that God has blessed us by calling prophets again. God loves us and speaks to us through modern-day prophets.
Maicon B., São Paulo, Brazil

My son, Nicholas, wanted to make a collection can and collect money so that he could buy teddy bears for children whose houses burned down. My husband and I decided to support his desires to “do good works like Jesus.”
We live in a rural community just outside of Idaho Falls, Idaho, so I called the fire chief there. He said that they love to be able to give teddy bears to children who have been in accidents or whose homes have burned down. But, he said, they could only accept new teddy bears, not used ones.
We typed up a letter explaining what Nicholas wanted to do, then began delivering it to neighbors and to businesses. We collected more than $150 and will be donating about fifty new teddy bears!

The morning of the attack on Pearl Harbor, Kichitaro Ikegami and his family waited for Sunday School to begin at a small chapel in Honolulu. Kichitaro, known as “Kay,” had begun attending Sunday School with other Japanese-Americans soon after he, his wife Matsuye and his family moved to Hawaii in 1933. In the beginning, the congregation was small. But by 1941, the Japanese Mission had been operating in Hawaii for over four years. There were now five Japanese Sunday Schools in Honolulu, and Kay was the Superintendent of one.

Just as the meeting was about to begin, Jay Jensen, president of the Japanese Mission, and his wife, Eva, rushed through the door. “The Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor!” President Jensen exclaimed.

Kay’s face went ashen. “Oh no,” he said. “It can’t be true.”

Kay had been confirmed a member of the Church by President Grant in 1935. Although he was relatively new to Hawaii, he had lived in the United States since he was eleven years old and his children had been born in America. He was dismayed at the thought of war between the country of his birth and the nation he called home.

President Jensen told Kay and the rest of the group what he had seen that morning. At eight o’clock, he had gathered with another Japanese Sunday School that met near Pearl Harbor. Outside, planes were flying back and forth in formation. Some of them were dropping artillery shells, but President Jensen decided it was the U.S. military conducting maneuvers. As soon as he returned home, his wife rushed outside and told him Pearl Harbor was under attack. He did not believe it could be true until he heard the urgent radio broadcast for himself.

“Keep off the streets!” the radio announcer had warned. But President and Sister Jensen felt they needed to make sure the Saints knew they were in danger. Now, President Jensen told Kay and the other Saints to “Hurry home and take cover.” Not long after they exited the chapel, a bomb landed just one hundred yards away, setting several buildings on fire.

In the days that followed, Hawaii was placed under martial law. Schools were closed and the government censored newspapers and individual citizens’ letters. All Hawaiians were subject to a curfew, but those of Japanese descent were required to be home by 8:00, one hour earlier than other residents.

Kay’s son, 15-year-old David, felt unsettled by the sudden changes. “The days are all dead,” he wrote in his journal on December 11. “I wish there was school once again.” He went to his school hoping to get a library book out of his locker, but soldiers were blocking the road.

As Christmas approached, David worked alongside his mother and father to dig a trench for an air raid shelter in their backyard. The labor was hard and slow. David tried to enjoy some of the holiday season by singing a few carols with a choir of Saints for the Sunday School Christmas program, but the performance did not go as well as he had hoped. “You can’t get into the spirit because of the war,” he lamented in his journal.

Now, for our next scene:

Later that summer in Hawaii, David Ikegami, seen in this photograph, squeezed into his family car, trying to make room for himself alongside the six other young people his father was driving to the Japanese Mission conference at the new O’ahu Stake Tabernacle. Kay Ikegami was happy to give his children’s friends a ride to church—members and non-members both. The Japanese Mission in Hawaii was seeing a great deal of growth, especially among young people.

For David, this Sunday meeting was different from most. Not only would he be ordained to the office of a teacher, but he had been asked to speak. The expected crowd of over two hundred people was much larger than the gatherings he was accustomed to.

David had chosen to use the words of Elder John A. Widtsoe, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, from general conference that April as the basis for his talk. Elder Widtsoe had spoken about the scripture from D&C 38:30, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” Ideas about how to find peace and purpose during frightening times felt like an appropriate subject for the Saints of the Japanese Mission.

Although there had been no further attacks on Hawaii, tension and uncertainty was now part of everyday life. The military had taken over the hotels in Waikiki and beaches were fenced with barbed wire. Citizens were fingerprinted and had to carry a special identification card. School had started again, but David had to carry a gas mask and there were often drills for air raids and gas attacks.

Now, standing at the pulpit, David read the words of Elder Widtsoe: “Fear is the chief weapon of Satan in making mankind unhappy. He who fears loses strength for the combat of life, for the fight against evil.” But those who strive to live righteously and become a Zion people need not fear, the apostle continued. “There is safety wherever the people of the Lord live so worthily as to claim the sacred title of citizens of the Zion of our Lord.”

As President Grant had hoped, David and other Japanese-American Saints in Hawaii later served critical roles in reestablishing the Church in Japan. Three generations of the Ikegami family have now served missions in Japan; David served three himself, including two with his wife Elsie.

It happened years later, after our family had moved to the United States, when I was a student at the University of California. Randy, a friend who lived down the hall in the student dormitory, gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. It sat in my room, unopened, for a long time. Randy and I disagreed on many things, but every time he talked to me about the Church, I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me that what he was telling me was true.
For Christmas vacation, I planned to take a flight home and decided to pack a bag full of books to read on the plane.
As I was packing, the Book of Mormon caught my eye and I threw it in last, thinking that I would read it after I had finished the other books. On the plane, however, the last book in became the first book out, and suddenly I felt a great need to read it. It took me four days of reading day and night to finish the Book of Mormon. As I read and prayed, I knew it was true. I could hardly believe what I was discovering!
When I returned to college in California, I immediately told Randy I believed the Book of Mormon and wanted to be baptized. He was thrilled. We called the elders, and I was baptized shortly thereafter.

My Grandma Chasty was the oldest of her Olsen brothers and sisters, and she often took care of them. In the summertime, they played in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah, USA. One day Chasty heard a voice. Get the children out of the riverbed. But Chasty didn’t listen. They were having fun.
Then she heard the voice again. Still, she kept playing. Then the voice spoke a third time. Get out of the riverbed!
This time Chasty hurried the children out. Suddenly, they heard a roaring sound. A great wall of water came down from the mountains. Because Chasty listened to the Holy Ghost, she saved all of their lives.