Gospel Story Finder

Inspired by the theme “We all do better when we stick together,” the Young Men and Young Women of the Pleasant Hill First Ward (Walnut Creek California Stake) launched enthusiastically into a two-pronged spring service project. Day one was spent renovating the recently purchased meetinghouse of the Sea Ranch Branch in Guala, California. Early one Thursday morning during spring vacation, the 29 youths and seven leaders joined the branch members in work crews that cleared the backyard of weeds, prepared the flower beds and garden area, painted the interior of the building, mowed the lawn, dug postholes for a fence, and cleared a large picnic area under the giant redwoods. That evening the branch members served a barbecue dinner to all the laborers, after which the youth presented a musical variety show.
The next day, phase two began when the Pleasant Hill youth drove to the nearby Pomo Indian Reservation to clear a large field of brambles and brush. Afterwards the volunteers prepared a pit barbecue for the Lamanites and presented a portion of the previous evening’s program.
After the two days were completed, the youths agreed that the time spent serving their brothers and sisters had been well spent. The general feelings of all were expressed by one of the youths who said, “I didn’t know you could have so much fun while working so hard.”

One man recently wrote, "I was born in...Hawaii and remember going to different churches and learning about Jesus Christ as a child. When I was a teenager, my parents separated and I chose not to go to church anymore. Around this time, I got involved with drugs, gangs, criminal activities and eventually ended up in prison....My third time back in prison I realized my actions were affecting my family...I felt like I was letting my family down, especially my sister....I decided to change who I was. I quit all my old habits....But I still felt that I wasn't whole. It wasn't until March 2008 that I found what I was missing. My fiance asked me to attend a baptism for her mother at a church called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At first I didn't want to go...but we got ready and went. Nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen. During the actual baptism ceremony, I know the Spirit was present as my mother-in-law was [immersed] in the water. I can't explain what happened to me at that moment, but I know now that I felt the Holy Spirit tell me this is what I needed to do. I've never had a feeling like that before in my entire life. Ever since that day I have felt the Holy Spirit touch my heart and open my eyes. It has been only a couple of months now since [my fiance] and I were baptized, but our lives have already changed so much. I strive to do what Heavenly Father wants me to do. The blessings are pouring down on my family."

As I spread the threadbare but clean tablecloth over our table, I glanced out the window. My husband and I and our two children were living in the small, rural village of Hämeenkyrö, Finland, in the 1960s. I saw my four-year-old daughter, Marika, and three-year-old son, Petri, playing with our dog on our small patch of green grass. My husband was tending to some chores in the garden. I straightened the cloth, and when I looked up again I saw a stranger walking up the path to our front door. She was a gray-haired woman and seemed to limp a bit. She didn’t look poor by any means; she wore a beautiful flower-print dress and a long apron. In her hand was a bulging bag.
My children followed her as she came into our kitchen. “Excuse me for entering your home like this,” she said, “but I had to come.” She hefted her bag onto the table. It was full of food. As the butter, meat, sausage, and freshly baked bread made their way onto the table and then into my children’s hands, tears came to my eyes.
“Can you be our grandmother now?” Marika asked the woman.
“If I may!” our guest answered. “I’d be happy to, and you can call me Aunt Toini.”
In that moment I recalled my prayer to Heavenly Father: “Please send someone to help us!” Aunt Toini was an answer to my prayers, and not only did she bring us food, she also brought lessons of love.
Life was simple in Hämeenkyrö. We had bought a small house by a beautiful forest. I had recently joined the Church, but my husband was not interested in the gospel. We were trying to be self-reliant. We grew potatoes and other vegetables in our garden. I sewed the children’s outfits and patched our clothes. We needed and were thankful for surprise packages of clothing my mother sent from northern Finland.
But as time went on, things got worse. Our family had to strictly ration food. At times my husband and I would eat only potatoes so the children would have a bit more. This is when I started my pleading: “Dear Lord, please send someone to help us!”
I found a job, but it didn’t help enough. There wasn’t much of my salary left after meeting my expenses, including bus fare and the babysitter’s payment.
Though we struggled I always taught my children to be grateful for all we did have. Petri often blessed the food: “Thank You, Heavenly Father, for this porridge, but could You please give us a piece of sausage too, if You have some?”
At those times I pleaded even more, “Please send someone to help!”
As she carried water from the well, I offered a different prayer: “Thank You, Heavenly Father! Blessed be the full bag and 20 marks!”
Every Saturday Aunt Toini came at the same time, with the bag full of food and 20 marks. She never asked how she could help; she just went to work. Occasionally she would stay at our house for a day or two. At those times she would always be the first to get up in the morning to make the porridge. She bought us some new pots and pans when she noticed the need. Sometimes she would wash our laundry by hand.
The weeks went by quickly as we looked forward to Saturdays and Aunt Toini’s visits. I would sometimes tell her about the Church, and many times we prayed together. Marika and Petri were very happy every time she came, and Aunt Toini never forgot to bring some sausage for Petri. It seemed she enjoyed the time with our family, and I thought perhaps we were giving something back to her.
Aunt Toini visited us regularly for three years. Then one Saturday she didn’t come. Nor did she come the following day. Later we learned that Aunt Toini had just left a shop and was heading to our small cottage when she collapsed to the ground, never to recover.
My husband and I and our children attended Aunt Toini’s funeral. We didn’t know anyone when we arrived, and we didn’t know when it would be appropriate for us to lay our flowers on her grave. We decided to be the last to lay down our flowers, to express our gratitude, to say good-bye.
After the funeral a woman approached us and told us she was Aunt Toini’s daughter. “You could have laid your flowers down first. You were so dear to our mother,” she said. “What was the power that changed her? She used to be a stingy and selfish person. But during the last three years she changed into a new person. She was so tender and loving.”
I didn’t know what to say except, “It was love.”
Though it has been more than 40 years since I first met Aunt Toini, I am still learning from the lessons she brought along with her bag of food. She was my teacher. She taught me how to long for forgiveness and how to give service and help. And now I realize that though she came to feed us, she too had been fed.

My missionary companion and I were having difficulty getting along well together. I still do not know all that lay at the root of our difficulties, but after we had been together only a few weeks, walking the streets of a small Brazilian town, resentment, pride, and petty differences began to darken our relationship. Our prayers together became more and more perfunctory, and resentment more and more frequently broke out in sharp words. Almost unnoticed, the Spirit began to slip away from us.
One afternoon, after one of many unfruitful days of tracting and visiting members, and with what promised to be a barren afternoon stretching before us, we decided that we could fill some of the empty spaces on our daily activity records by visiting Antonio. Antonio was a nonmember whose wife had joined the Church several years before but had been only marginally active. He respected the missionaries and several times had shown sufficient faith to ask them to administer to him when he was ill. My present companion and I had administered to him twice, and I knew that earlier elders had done so. All of that took place before we learned that Antonio was dying of an abdominal cancer and had only a few months, perhaps weeks, to live.
When his wife answered the door that day, she looked drawn and worried. She took us into her kitchen, from which an open door led to Antonio’s room. Through the door we saw Antonio threshing in agony on a narrow bed, unconscious that we were even there.
We were suddenly at a complete loss for what to do or say. Antonio’s wife looked at us silently. We looked at each other, at Antonio, at the floor. We had no idea what to do, and worse, without a word being spoken between us, we knew that we were both thinking that we were in no spiritual condition to do anything. Finally, one of us asked if there was a room where we could be alone for a while. Antonio’s wife showed us to a bedroom, and we closed the door behind us.
We knelt and took turns praying, at first asking the Lord to make known to us his will concerning Antonio. In the silence that answered our first prayers, the knowledge of our unworthiness to receive an answer fairly shouted at us. Then, at first awkwardly and cautiously, and finally pleadingly, we began to confess to the Lord and to each other our sin in allowing vanity and pride to rob us of the power to act in our priesthood. We pleaded that Antonio not be denied release from his suffering because of our unworthiness, that the Lord would forgive our sin and bless us with faith and power to bless Antonio, or that he would bless Antonio without us.
We must have prayed for half an hour, taking turns, before a peace came to us. We agreed that we should go out, lay our hands on Antonio, and let the Spirit guide us.
When we went out, his wife asked, “Did you pray?” We said yes, and she said, “He has gone to sleep.”
We left the house subdued and chastened. Permanently and profoundly recorded in our hearts was a hard-learned lesson in the foolishness of allowing personal differences to cut us off from the source of the power to bless.

Illustrated by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
Wilford Woodruff traveled across the United States several times as a leader in the Church. One time he stayed overnight in Indiana on his way to meet with the Saints in Boston, Massachusetts.
Wilford: I think we should sleep here tonight. I know of some brethren who will let us stay with them.
Wilford, his wife, and one of their children decided to sleep in the carriage.
Wife: It looks like all of the other children are settled down in the house for the night. Good night, Wilford.
Wilford: Good night.
Not long after getting in bed, Wilford heard a voice tell him to move his carriage.
Wilford: I have to move the carriage.
Wife: What for?
Wilford: I do not know. But I do recognize the voice of the Spirit, and it’s telling me to move.
Wilford moved the carriage forward. About 30 minutes later a sudden whirlwind blew a nearby oak tree over. The huge tree was snapped into pieces and crushed two fences.
When the Woodruffs’ hosts and children came out to look at the damage, they noticed that the tree had landed right where Wilford’s carriage was parked before he moved it.
In the morning the Woodruffs were able to safely continue their journey, and they went on their way rejoicing.
Wilford: By obeying the revelation of the Spirit of God to me, I saved my life as well as the lives of my wife and child.

When I visited southern Brazil some time ago, my husband accompanied me. This was the area where he served his mission. One evening when we arrived at a meeting, we were greeted at the door by a young mother who introduced herself as my interpreter for the meeting. She excitedly turned to my husband and said, “Elder Tanner, you are the one who brought the gospel to my family many years ago. I was just a toddler at the time, but I grew up hearing your name associated with the first baptisms in our family.” Then she told us about each family member’s faithfulness in the Church through the years. What a touching reunion this was!
During the meeting, as my husband looked out at the audience, he saw others dotting the congregation to whom he had taught the gospel and who had remained faithful. When he bore his testimony, my husband expressed his joy to know of their continued faithfulness. He said he was reminded of the Book of Mormon story in which Alma met his dear friends, the sons of Mosiah, as he was journeying:
“Now these sons of Mosiah were with Alma at the time the angel first appeared unto him; therefore Alma did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord” (Alma 17:2; emphasis added).
That night in Brazil, my husband likewise met dear friends from the past who “were still his brethren [and sisters] in the Lord.”

The other day I sat beside a friend who had lost his beloved companion. He wept in loneliness, now bereft of an association of more than half a century which had been the very bulwark of his life. But shining through his tears and towering above his doubts was the certain conviction that the marriage performed many, many years ago had been joined by an authority whose power reached beyond the veil of death and which would be as efficacious there as it had been here.

Nara is also the home of another kind of spirit, a spirit typified by a young group of Latter-day Saints who met on the way home from school at Nara’s Kintetsu train station. Their bishop, Tatsuo Taura of the Nara Ward, Osaka Japan Stake, had invited them to meet him on their way home from school for a walk in the park.
“When I was small, I used to come to the park often with my parents,” said Akie Tanaka, 17. “But now I’m so busy with school I don’t get many chances. When the bishop asked us to come, I thought it sounded fun.”
It’s only a block or two from the train station to the park. As we walked up the hill, the bishop explained that he just wanted to spend a little bit of time with the youth, some time in a relaxed situation, time to become better friends.
“I talk to you all individually during interviews,” Bishop Taura said. “Today let’s just have some fun together.”
He stopped to buy some wafers to feed the deer, then passed the wafers out to the teenagers. As if on cue, the deer trotted over. So many swarmed around Akie that it seemed they were welcoming back an old friend. Overwhelmed, she started giggling and found it hard to stop.
“I wasn’t scared,” she said. “I like deer. But I was holding some food, and they mobbed me to get at it. It was funny to see them all sticking their tongues out at me!”
Akie wasn’t the only one pestered by a persistent deer. One doe kept staring at Seiji Nakanishi even when the food was gone. “Finally she licked my hand, then turned and walked away,” Seiji said. Quickly the herd moved on, although one or two of the animals turned and paused before bounding off into the woods. “It was almost as if they stopped to say good-bye,” said Masatoshi Hirata, 17.
Masatoshi and Seiji, 16, are making friends with Yuji Oki, 15, who was baptized a week ago.
“I’m a deacon,” Yuji said. “I’m proud to be a Latter-day Saint, excited to hold the priesthood. And I’m glad that the others in the ward are my friends. There is strength in associating with other priesthood bearers, a reassurance that God will help us meet our responsibilities.”
As we left the deer behind and headed for a shrine, all three young men were talking about missions—about preparing for them, earning and saving money for them, about seeking the Spirit even now so they would know how to follow it later.
Masatoshi, who is a priest, said, “Soon I will be in the mission field. But right now I have lots of missionary opportunities here. Just think, if everyone in Nara would become a Latter-day Saint, what blessings it would bring! They could strengthen their families, work toward everlasting life, prepare to live together as families forever. Can you see why going to church is my favorite thing?”
We walked far. We saw the reflection of the Kofukuji Pagoda in Sarusawa Pond. We looked at the tombstones, the bright red gates and columns, and the thousands of brass and carved stone lanterns of the Kasuga Shrine. We climbed steep wooden stairs to buildings where samurai warriors used to live. We marveled at the immensity of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, which Japanese ancestors built with sincerity and faith. The young Japanese Saints talked again about their own faith, their own hope for the future.
“There’s a girl with us today who is not a member,” Akie explained. “It’s the first time I have met her. I’d love to tell her about my experiences with the gospel—good things, testimonies that people bear. I wish I could tell her all about these things. I wish I could tell everyone.” And a few minutes later, Akie was talking with Satomi Fujioka, 18, the new girl in the group. They were laughing, telling stories, and fast becoming friends. And becoming friends, as Akie will tell you, is the first step toward sharing anything.
Yuji stopped for a minute and sat on a bench to rest. Our loop through the park was complete, and it was time to head back to the train station. But first we all decided to drink a carton of mandarin orange juice to cool off after our hike.
“You know,” said Yuji, looking back at the enormous wooden gate that is merely the entrance to the more enormous Todaiji Temple, “perhaps someday there will be as many Mormon temples as there are shrines in Japan. It’s exciting to know I can play some small part in spreading the gospel in this land.”
Seiji nodded his head in agreement. “There are many monuments here,” he said, “many treasures. But the gospel is a bigger treasure. After all, it is the most important thing in my life.”
Mariko Tange, 18, a Laurel who joined the Church just four months ago, also nodded her head. “I get so busy I forget sometimes how important the Church really is,” she said. “I’m really glad we came here today.”
There was less conversation on the way back to the station than there had been on the way to the park. Maybe we were just tired. Maybe we were all talked out. But it seemed more like we were thinking, thinking about the spirit that unites us as members of the Church. That spirit will grow in the hearts of the Saints in Nara, the same way it grows in the hearts of Saints everywhere. It is a spirit that makes all men noble, a spirit that makes all men free. And as it is shared with friends, families, and neighbors, the Nara said to be “home of Japanese spirit” may also become known as a place where the Spirit of God is at home.

It’s a week later. Joe and I have just wrapped up two hours on the industrial economy of Finland. And you know, I feel pretty good.
Why? It went great, that’s why. Joe greeted me like a lost friend at the doorway of his house. We got right down to business. He never mentioned the encounter at the Grundy household last week.
And our project is coming along well. Joe had a half-dozen books he’d picked up in the library. We found out Finland is heavy into wood products, mining, and chemicals, with saunas as a sideline. I hate to admit it but I’m getting sort of pumped about the production of copper in Finland.
“But we’ll need more,” Joe says. “Everyone else will do just what we’ve done—read the encyclopedia, check out some books from the library. We’ve got to do something extra. We need to hit a home run if we want an ‘A’ from Mr. Barnes.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. “A home run.”
“Got any ideas?”
“Well, I’ve been giving it some serious thought, and well, uh—” I take a deep breath as Joe looks hopeful. “And I haven’t come up with much.”
I see a flicker of disappointment. Maybe Joe is beginning to realize he’s teamed up with the strikeout king.
* * *
Inspiration finally hits.
Greg Bendfast is talking with a friend at church in the foyer. My brain locks onto something … Greg … school … Mr. Barnes … mission.
YES! My brain finally kicks in. Greg went to Finland on his mission! Whoa, Mr. Barnes, get out your black pen and be prepared to mark down the big “A” for Cool Joe McCabe and Ben Grundy! This is sweet beyond belief.
In less than five minutes, I work it out with Greg. He will loan us some of his slides of Finland. He will teach us how to make a Finnish treat, kisseli. He will teach us a few handy phrases commonly used in Finland.
I have been to home plate and hit a home run.
I can hardly wait to tell Joe.
* * *
Joe is elated about Greg, in sort of an understated way.
“Nice work, Ben. We’re going to knock the socks off Mr. Barnes.”
“Yo,” I say, thinking it sounds, well, cool.
That isn’t the only good news. Joe did some quality thinking and came up with the idea of writing a letter to the Finnish Embassy in Washington, D.C., asking for some literature. “But we only have a couple of weeks and I didn’t know if that would be enough time to get the stuff sent out here. So I got their phone number and called. It’s already in the mail.”
“Yo,” I say again.
Joe raises an eyebrow. “What does yo mean?”
* * *
Joe shows up and things are, I’m happy to say, fairly routine around our house. Maybe part of the reason is that the twins are in bed and both my parents are at the grocery store. At last, Joe can glimpse the Grundy household in a nearly normal mode.
We get right down to it, going over the last details of our presentation and Greg’s recipe for kisseli, which we’ll prepare tomorrow at Joe’s, with some help from his mom. After a half-hour, I get up to grab Greg’s slides. The hallway is dark, but April whisks by me, without her glasses. There’s a trace of perfume in the air.
Perfume? Something is not right. April never wears perfume.
It can’t be! I stop dead in my tracks and do a hasty retreat to the den. But I am too late. April is already asking Joe out for the girls’ choice dance.
“… so if you’d like to, it would be fun if we could go together.”
What will Joe say? After he gets up off the floor laughing, that is. April, my sister, who is not even in Joe’s social league, asking him to the dance? Some things are just not done.
I peek in. April is looking nervously at Joe, as if her life hinges on his answer. Joe looks uncomfortable.
But not for the reason I expect. “Gosh, April. I’d like to. I think you’re cool. But I’ve already been asked, and it wouldn’t be fair to back out on a date. Maybe we can get together sometime other than the dance.”
What? Joe sounds as though he’d really like to go out with April. No sign of annoyance, not the slightest hint of put-down in his voice. The only thing I can detect is concern that April’s feelings—and fragile self-image—remain intact. I back away from the door, struggling to comprehend what I’ve just seen. What is it?
Cool, that’s what it is.
* * *
Now it’s the day after our report on Finland. Yeah, I know about humility, and I know you shouldn’t take pride in worldly kinds of things, so I’ll just say this once: Joe and I were stupendous. By the end of our presentation, everyone was spooning our fruity kisseli, reading literature from the Finnish Embassy, and enjoying Greg’s slides. Even crusty old Mr. Barnes stood up at the end and said we did a good job. I can see the A on my report card now.
Things are quiet tonight in the Grundy household. I am still basking in the glow of our social studies triumph. Life is sweet right now.
The phone rings. Philip answers it. “It’s for you, Ben. It’s a girl.”
All activity in our household—except for breathing—comes to a stop as every Grundy focuses on me. A girl calling Ben Grundy. This is history.
I slowly rise and stiffly walk to the phone. Destiny beckons. I fumble for the receiver and croak, “Hello?”
“Ben … hi, this is Margaret Gromo. I know it’s late to be asking, but if you aren’t going to the dance, I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”
My mind goes blank. I mean, the blackboard of my brain is wiped clean. Several long, difficult seconds pass. Then one thought comes blasting through the gray matter.
What’s the cool thing to do?
I draw a deep breath. Time for the new version of Ben Grundy to take over. “I haven’t been asked. And I think we’ll have a good time …”
* * *
And Margaret and I do have a good time. I keep thinking about what is cool. Cool really doesn’t have a lot to do with how you talk or how you dress, whether you drive a sports car or a station wagon, or who you’re seen with and where. Cool is how you treat people. Whether you help make them feel good or bad about themselves, if you’re a friend or not. If you remember every one of them is a child of God and treat them the way they should be treated, that’s totally cool. Take it from someone who has been around a lot of cool lately. Cool Ben Grundy.
Has a nice ring to it. And I think it’s entirely within my reach.

Seminary helped Melissa envision the kind of young woman she wanted to become. She was not a member of our Church, but she enrolled in seminary with her friends. When she turned 18, she was taught by the missionaries. She knew the things they taught her were true! The spirit was so sweet at her baptism. It felt as if not only all her friends and family were present but also her future family. The bishop remarked that he could almost hear her future family saying, “Thanks, Mom!”

For Mackena, 15, her testimony did not come until after a very personal, painful trial of faith (see Ether 12:6).

“Until the time I was about 12,” she says, “I had never had a single doubt about the gospel. I knew that the temple was where I was going. I knew that my family could be together forever, that Heavenly Father loves me, and that the Church is true.

“But once I got into middle school, I began doubting a lot. And for three years I didn’t know that the Church is true. It was really hard. It was the loneliest, most terrible, saddest time in my life.”

Then one day her seminary teacher taught, “If you want faith, then it will come.” The message struck a chord with Mackena.

“I decided that I really wanted faith, because I was miserable. So I prayed a lot and I started reading my scriptures by myself for the first time in my life. And I repented. Now I feel that Jesus Christ is my very, very best friend. I know that He knows me and loves me.

“I’m just really grateful,” Mackena says, “because now I know how precious my faith is to me, and I never want to let that go—ever.”

Two missionaries teaching an older couple in their home in Peru were interrupted by the arrival of the couple’s son, his wife, and three children. The elders explained who they were and what they were doing. The son was suspicious of the missionaries, resulting in an awkward moment. The junior companion prayed silently, “Heavenly Father, what do we do?” The impression came to sing. They sang “I Am a Child of God.”6 The Spirit touched the hearts of this family of five. Instead of two converts, all seven became members, influenced initially by a hymn.

When a student of mine, whom I will call Dillon, walked into my math class a few years ago, he lit up the room with his smile. He spread this joy and peace to all who worked with him that semester. He made my day. I don't know about other professors, but whenever I run into a former student, I rarely remember the grade they earned, but I always remember how I felt around them. Around Dillon, I felt like a daughter of God.

When Dillon introduced himself that first day, he spoke of his fiancée and their plans after BYU-Idaho. He was full of hope and promise. Now, I did notice that he had a peculiar physical characteristic for one so young. He was bald. I soon found out he had been battling cancer since his mission. That semester, the good news came that he was in remission. I was so happy for him and his future bride. He reminded me of the faith described in Hebrews 11: "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."[5] Dillon's faith in his Savior was strong.

In Hebrews it goes on to share many of the miracles of the Bible which came about by faith. By faith, Noah built an ark. By faith, Enoch did not see death. By faith, Isaac offered up his son. By faith, Sarah bore a child later in life. By faith, Dillon found hope and peace in his journey.

The next semester, I received one of those campus e-mails that none of us likes to read. The e-mail let us know that Dillon had passed away. He had lost his battle here on earth. I didn't understand. He was so good, so faithful. Why didn't the Lord grant him healing? How could one so young and so good be called home so early?

Sometime after Dillon's death, I returned to Hebrews 11. Further on it says that even the faithful are called home and sometimes tortured, mocked, scourged, and imprisoned. And yet in verse 40 of the Joseph Smith Translation for this verse, it states, "God having provided some better things for them through their sufferings, for without sufferings they could not be made perfect." Dillon had not lost his battle. He had won. He had come to know his Savior and lived a life which shared this testimony with all he knew.

In our own family, we have had such an experience with wonderful, watchful priesthood leaders. When I was first called to the Seventy some years ago, we were assigned to move to Solihull, England, to serve in the Area Presidency. Sister Rasband and I took our two youngest children with us on this assignment. Our daughter was a young single adult and our son a 17-year-old who liked American-style football and played it very well. We were very concerned about them. No friends, no extended family, and no American football! I wondered, would this exciting new experience prove to be a serious trial for our family?

The answer came in an early assignment I received. I had been asked to speak to the missionaries at the Missionary Training Center in Preston, England. I called President White of the center and was pleased to hear that he knew of my family situation. He suggested we include our children on our visit to Preston. Once we were there, he even invited our daughter and son to speak to the missionaries! What a thrill for them to be and feel included and share their testimonies of the Lord’s work!

When finished and after tender good-byes to those missionaries, we visited the beautiful Preston England Temple, which was close to the Missionary Training Center. As we walked near the front door, there stood President and Sister Swanney, the temple president and matron. They greeted us and welcomed us into the temple with, “Elder Rasband, how would you and your family like to perform baptisms for the dead?” What a wonderful idea! We looked at each other and gratefully accepted. After performing the ordinances and while my son and I were still in the font with tears of joy in our eyes, he put his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Dad, why haven’t we ever done this before?”

I thought of all the football games, all the movies we had attended together, all of the good times we had shared—certainly happy memories and traditions that are so important to build.

However, I realized we had an opportunity to add more meaningful spiritual experiences with our children like what we had experienced in Preston that day. Thanks to those caring and observant priesthood leaders, I knew then that our family was going to do fine in Europe. How grateful we are for the many priesthood and Young Women leaders who have always been watchful and loving to our children and yours.

During the week, I studied the scriptures for seminary before I did my school work. When I was too tired to do my homework or was having challenges at school, I opened my seminary manual, studied, and prayed. I found that when I did that, I could refresh my mind and focus better on my homework. I still apply this in my life. Today, whenever I have a hard time, I still read my scriptures or general conference talks to refresh my mind.

In a very memorable sacrament meeting, I felt the truly universal nature of the gospel. The sacrament was administered in French and German. Talks were given in Italian, English, and Portuguese. A verse of “I Am a Child of God,” was sung in ten languages—Japanese, Korean, German, Spanish, Italian, French, Tongan, Samoan, Dutch, and English. The whole congregation was touched through the spiritual language of the soul.
Unusual as it seemed to me at the time, this kind of sacrament meeting would become more familiar to me for I had recently been called to serve as branch president at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah. I realized that this would be a unique experience.
The missionaries in my branch came from many nations. On one occasion, we had missionaries from eighteen different countries brought together by the common cause of testimony and love for the Savior.
The excitement of seeing missionaries from many countries, interviewing them, and trying to help them, lasted throughout the time I served at the MTC. Most of all, I enjoyed getting to know the missionaries. Learning from their experiences and watching them grow in the gospel was a blessing that overwhelms my feelings and occasionally still brings me to tears when I think or speak about them.
As I interviewed missionaries and heard them speak, I learned something about their spiritual maturity, their degree of preparation, and their dedication to service. I found great variety among them. Some missionaries were well prepared, while others were not. Some were spiritually mature, and others were not spiritually minded at all. Some were very dedicated in their service, and others were not so dedicated. As I listened to them, I heard them use the words sacrifice and privilege.
I noticed that every missionary used at least one of these words and sometimes both to describe his or her feelings about serving a mission. Some said they were happy to sacrifice two years of their lives, possessions, and girlfriends in order to serve the Lord. Others said they felt it to be a privilege to serve him. I heard these two words so often that I began to watch how the missionaries matched their words to their actions.
An elder from Germany told me how he had “always known” that he did “not know the truth.” He described how he sometimes “prayed to God” to find it. After leaving the military service, he was employed in Switzerland. One day, living alone and feeling lonely, he prayed again, “Please God, send me the truth.” A few days later when he was walking down the street, a stranger approached him and said, “Young man, I am supposed to talk with you, but I don’t know why.” In this missionary’s words, “I looked into his face and knew he had the Spirit of God. His face was beautiful.” The stranger was a Church member who had been walking down the same busy street and felt inspired to speak to a young man he didn’t know. This new elder spoke of his mission as a privilege.
A sister from Spain had already completed one full-time mission and immediately went to work as a nurse in order to earn money for another. At first the local Church leaders would not let her go, but she persisted in her attempts until they finally consented. She was called to serve in Chile.
An elder from Mexico happily showed me a picture of his family. “Look,” he said, “my father saved for two months to buy me these shoes. My branch contributed money so I could have this suit.” They both described their missions as a privilege. One elder arrived from Samoa. When he introduced himself for the first time he walked to the front of the congregation holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon. He said, “I am here because this book is true.” He was one of fifteen children. He had been told by his father before leaving home that other men, Church leaders, would be his father for the next few years. He was to obey them. He thought his mission was a great privilege.
Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.
An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a refugee camp near Seattle, Washington. While trying to learn English so he could live in the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and an address on it. He kept it for some reason. Later, when he was asked where he wanted to live he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to live with a Latter-day Saint family in Salt Lake City where he learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he showed the card he had been given in the refugee camp. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.
The privilege of serving the Lord on a mission is felt and demonstrated in many ways. One missionary had struggled with family problems since he was a boy. While still young, he was expelled from his home and went to live with another family who introduced him to the Church. The gospel gave him direction in life where his natural parents had not. A few years later, after becoming one of the best players on a college football team, he decided to serve a mission. Before leaving on his mission, he gave copies of the Book of Mormon to his friends at school. This included his team coaches, fellow players, and teachers. He distributed more than 200 copies before entering the Missionary Training Center.
The missionaries who looked upon a mission only as a sacrifice were often honestly dedicated to the Lord’s service. However, I found they had not experienced personal revelation and inspiration. They were usually less informed about the Savior. But as they studied their scriptures and came to know Him better, their hearts seemed to soften and enlarge. They began to more deeply feel His love and know of the importance of missionary work as a continuation of this love extended to others. Many of those who began by telling of their sacrifices left the Missionary Training Center talking about privilege.
During my last sacrament meeting at the MTC, an elder stood who was older than most missionaries. He apologized for his poorly-spoken English, but hoped that he would be understood. His voice was deep and strong. He told of growing up in Cracow, Poland. He felt uncomfortable attending his family’s church and said that he “instinctively” knew some of its practices were not correct. He stopped going to his church and instead began to study the Bible. As he grew he became increasingly unhappy with the government, and at age eighteen he asked for political asylum in Austria. It was granted, and he left his home to start a new life. He spent nine very difficult months in the refugee camp near Vienna before seeking permission to migrate to the United States. Once he arrived he was contacted by missionaries from many churches. “They were nice,” he said, “but I could tell they did not have the answers I was looking for.” One day he saw a television program on the Mormons. He felt good about what he saw, and he decided to learn more of the Church. He met the missionaries, heard and accepted the gospel, and at age twenty-five was serving a mission. “It is a privilege to be here,” he said softly in his deep Polish accent. “I have been looking for a long time.”
It is a wonderful privilege for anyone to serve the Savior. It is a privilege to have any part in the great missionary work of the Church. I have thought about young men who have an easy life, or who do not know of the Lord, or who are afraid, or who are uncaring. I wish they would come to understand that it is a privilege to study the words of eternal life, to learn about their Redeemer, and seek opportunities to serve him by serving their fellowmen.

I had an experience with my four-year-old son recently that taught me a tremendous amount about faith.
It was later than I had planned bedtime to be. We were very close to getting into bed with our bedtime routine done, when my son turned to me and said, “My Lego piece is missing.”
I hurriedly answered that we would find it in the morning. He would not be deterred. “Mama, I need it, or I can’t go to sleep.”
I sighed deeply and barked, “Where did you last have it?”
“Right here,” he answered, pointing to his bedside. “It must have fallen on the floor.”
The floor was covered in books, toys, and other debris from an evening of playing that I hadn’t had time to tidy away. It was hopeless to try and find one little piece of Lego. Again, I said we would find it in the morning. My son turned to me and, with determination etched into his little face, said, “If we pray to Jesus, we will find it!” I was taken aback by his powerful declaration but impressed at the same time.
My four-year-old had more presence of mind than I had as he knew, not hoped but knew, that if he prayed, Jesus would help him find it. So, he prayed to Jesus to find his piece. Despite the prayer of an innocent and precious child of God, I still doubted. I searched for a moment then, humbled by his faith and ashamed of the lack of my own, said my own silent prayer that my Father in Heaven would help me. This moment would be a precious faith-builder in my son’s life that he could look back on, and I could not fail.
A few moments passed, and just as my search seemed hopeless, I lifted a book, and there was the piece underneath. A wave of relief and gratitude filled my heart. My little boy turned to me and said, his face beaming with pride, “See, I told you!” I was humbled by my precious son and his amazing faith.

I can still remember my feelings the time I saw tears of repentance streaming down the face of my 10-year-old son, Arián.
He had been playing with his older brother, Joel, who was 12, in the bedroom, when all of a sudden an argument broke out, and I had to intervene and reestablish order. Perhaps because of their ages, fighting had become frequent between the boys.
In response, Arián, who was visibly shaken and crying after his altercation with his brother, responded to me in an unacceptable manner. I corrected him twice (now his argument was with me), but the situation just got worse. He was out of control, red in the face, and shaking. My nerves were getting to me, but I knew that there had to be a solution without my starting to shout.
The principle of prayer quickly came to mind. Yes, that was the answer, and so I took him into my room, closed the door, and said, “Arián, let’s kneel down, and I’m going to offer a prayer to Heavenly Father.”
We both knelt down as his cries of fury continued. I prayed with the objective of trying to help my son. In the middle of the prayer I noticed that his sobs were dying down. The tears rolling down his cheeks were now tears of repentance.
As we concluded our prayer, Arián raised his eyes and asked, “Dad, can you forgive me?” We embraced, and I was not able to contain my own tears. Feelings of peace and love filled my soul. Arián said nothing more, but I knew that he had experienced the restoring power of prayer and that the Holy Ghost had penetrated his heart.
Now he not only knew about the power of prayer, but he had gained a testimony of it.

One day in the summer of 1969, a young missionary in Chuncheon, Republic of Korea, handed a pamphlet on the purpose of life to the man at the post office who distributed the foreign mail. The young elder probably had no idea what a chain of conversions he had begun.
Neither did the postal worker who accepted the pamphlet. Cho Joong Hyun did not know why his civil service job had taken him so far from his home in Suncheon, near the southern tip of the Korean peninsula. Only later would he come to understand that he had to be in that place at that time to receive the pamphlet.
This small incident would lead to the conversion of his entire family, as well as many others they would later influence. But those conversions would not come easily. “It took more than 20 years to get all of my family baptized,” he says. Through his efforts, his parents and his brothers and sisters and their spouses and children have come to enjoy the blessings of the gospel.
Cho Joong Hyun’s own conversion was difficult. The pamphlet given to him by the missionary was “really good,” he says, in that it provided answers about the purpose of life that he had never been able to find in the Christian church he formerly attended. Still, he did not think an unknown American church could be taken seriously, so he tossed the pamphlet into a drawer and forgot it for a time.
He forgot it until early one morning when, awakening after another evening of drinking and billiards with friends, he lay thinking that he ought to change his life. Then he remembered the pamphlet that gave him answers.
The first Sunday he attended a Latter-day Saint meeting, he was not impressed. The rented building was small, and the congregation at Sunday School, he recalls, consisted of the missionaries, their cook, a grandmother and two children, and a couple of college students.
But the answers supplied by that pamphlet, along with the humility and testimony of the young elders, kept him talking to the missionaries, even though he was wary of their Church. He remembers arguing with them about religion. When they quoted scriptures from the Book of Mormon, he thought to himself, “These guys are really good at making this up. It sounds like the Bible.” They gave him a Book of Mormon with Moroni 10:3–5 printed by hand in the front of it, carrying the promise that the reader would learn of the truth of the book through the Holy Ghost. Remembering the story of Joseph Smith, Cho Joong Hyun went to his favorite spot in the mountains to offer his personal prayer. But he received no immediate answer.
Then one day as he sat in a library reading the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, he clearly heard a voice speak to him saying, “These are true, and they are mine.” He looked around to see if anyone else had heard the voice. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the message had been for him alone.
After his baptism and confirmation in 1969, the world changed for Joong Hyun. People and things that had seemed disagreeable before no longer did. He saw beauty around him, even though nothing was different. He spent time going door-to-door with the missionaries sharing his testimony.
He had to put his missionary work aside for a time while he served in the military during the Vietnam War. But he began trying to share the gospel again when he returned home to Suncheon in the mid-1970s.
There were no other Church members in the city. One way he tried to change that was to give copies of the Book of Mormon to people he met. “I thought I needed to share this true and precious book,” he says. Little came of that, however. His greatest impact as a missionary would be with his own brothers and sisters.
His youngest sister, Cho Sungja (Korean women retain their birth family name after marriage), recalls that at first her brother simply held family home evenings with his brothers and sisters and taught gospel principles. But eventually he introduced them to missionaries.
His youngest sister accepted the gospel readily. She felt the Holy Ghost testify to her of the truth of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Members of another faith had shown her a scripture in the book of Revelation that they said warned against adding to the words of that book (see Revelation 22:18–19). But as she opened the Book of Mormon one day to read in 2 Nephi 29, some of the verses in that chapter told her of the need for additional revelation (see vv. 11–14), and again she felt the Spirit testify that it was true.
Her father was against her joining the Church, but finally, in answer to her prayers, he gave his consent. She was baptized and confirmed in 1976, at age 16.
Like her pioneering elder brother, Joong Hyun, Sungja wanted to share the gospel she had found. She shared it freely with friends at school, and eventually five of them were also baptized and confirmed.
Sungja’s next oldest brother, Cho Yong Hyun, had listened to the missionaries with his siblings. Their parents were busy running the family restaurant, and Joong Hyun, the second son, was frequently charged with caring for his younger brothers and sisters. His siblings all learned to love him and trust his judgment. “I really respected my older brother, so when he first introduced the gospel to me, I could accept it,” Yong Hyun says.
But Yong Hyun’s conversion was not based on his brother’s testimony alone; he received his own strong witness of the truth, and once a member, he dedicated himself to serving faithfully.
That dedication led him, while he was a college student, to want to serve a mission—a choice his father opposed. But Yong Hyun won his father’s consent by promising to be a better student when he returned, and he kept that promise.
Father and son would clash over the Church again some years later when Yong Hyun was offered a position with the Church Educational System. He was doing well in his job with an oil refining firm at the time, but he accepted the Church position and has served as CES coordinator in the Gwangju area of southern Korea since 1986. His father opposed the change, considering it unwise for his son to leave a good position with a prestigious firm to work for a relatively unknown church that had started in America. His father said later that he had cried bitterly over Yong Hyun’s decision and had come close to disowning him. Fortunately, the rift was healed.
All of the Cho brothers and sisters will say that their father was the hardest opponent to their studying and living the gospel. He could be demanding and, in his traditional role as head of the family, expected obedience.
But some of the siblings also had their own reservations about the Church. The second daughter, Cho Gil Ja, had doubts centered in part on why her older brother was asked to give so much service to his church without being paid, as ministers were in other churches. She dated, married, and was raising her own young children before she finally heeded her brother’s request to listen to the missionaries.
When they asked her to read the Book of Mormon, she became absorbed in the reading and finished the book in three days. She heeded Moroni’s admonition to pray about its teachings and received a strong confirmation that they are true. At that point, she says, “I felt there must be something I could do for God.” The impression she received in answer to this desire was that she too should attend church and serve.
Gil Ja had learned service by example. Her mother always lived by that principle, serving Church members even before she became one herself.
Her mother had come to love the members of the Church and the sister missionaries who wanted to teach her. But it was difficult to give up her traditional religion. In her closet she had a small statue of Buddha to which she prayed each day. The turning point in her conversion came after she dreamed that she was praying to her Buddha when it began to cry tears from its painted eyes and slowly turned its back on her. She understood that the dream meant it was time for her to follow a new religious path.
Three years after her baptism and confirmation, her husband—by then the lone member of the family who was still outside the Church—finally consented to listen to the gospel and was converted. After he joined the Church, he became a changed man, his children say—sweeter, kinder, more tolerant.
Some 26 years after Cho Joong Hyun’s baptism, all of his family were at last members of the Church. It was a high point for the family when their mother and father were sealed in the Seoul Korea Temple. A touching moment for the entire family came at a later gathering when the Cho children sang to their father the lullaby he had sung to them when they were small.
Their mother served faithfully in the Church until the end of her life. Even in the hospital, suffering from stomach cancer, she was a missionary to the young woman in the next bed, introducing her to the gospel.
Her sons and daughters carry on the tradition of service. There are two President Chos in the family. Yong Hyun, the CES coordinator, has served in a variety of priesthood leadership callings through the years and is currently president of the stake in Gwangju. Cho Joong Hyun, who led the way into the Church for his family, has also served in a variety of leadership roles in Suncheon, including district president. He is currently president of the Suncheon Branch. Cho Gil Ja has served for more than 16 years as president of the Relief Society in the ward and stake. Other brothers and sisters in the family are active in their own areas as well, and all are married to active members.
Seven of the Cho children and grandchildren have served as missionaries so far, and still others are preparing to serve. Several of the children and grandchildren have married returned missionaries. Now the fourth generation of Chos is beginning to be reared in the Church. Their days have not been free of life’s difficulties, but blessings have come through their obedience.
The missionary who handed that pamphlet to a young postal worker nearly four decades ago could not have known what would grow from the small seed he planted. But the harvest has been plentiful—and it may be only beginning.

It was stake conference in Southampton, and the mission president invited all the Primary children to attend a special meeting before the start.
During the Primary meeting, all the children were called one by one to come and receive their very own mission badge, with their name engraved on it. This was a special and inspiring gift. With the gift was an invitation to start your mission early and to share the gospel by living it and bearing testimony when you can.
The children were also challenged to exchange it for an official mission badge once they are old enough to serve.
As a result, my four Primary children that were old enough to receive this gift and challenge all decided to serve missions and wanted to find out how they can prepare physically and spiritually. They sat down and discussed that we can continue to follow the Come, Follow Me programme, and also study the scriptures on their own. They also decided to think of a way to make some money.
We had a few chickens and the children asked if we could get some more so they could sell the eggs. A few weeks later, we ended up with 24 chickens, and the lockdown began, so we were able to sell our eggs to our neighbors while there were shortages in stores. We were grateful for the children’s insight, as we were now a little more self-sufficient, and provided food for others where there was a shortage, and the children were able to learn how to manage buying chicken food, selling the eggs, paying tithing and putting all the rest of the money into their future mission fund in the bank. They now have a great determination to serve and are grateful for the principles they have learned through listening to their Church leaders and by following the inspiration they felt.