Gospel Story Finder

Michelle scooped potatoes onto her plate. She looked around the table at her family. She was the youngest of 10 siblings, and some of them were in college now. She liked to hear them talk about what they were learning.
“What do you want to study when you go to college?” her brother asked. He was studying to become an engineer.
“I don’t really know yet,” Michelle said.
“You can be an engineer too,” he told her. “You’re really smart.”
Michelle liked that idea. She loved math and science. She was good at them too. She knew God wanted her to learn. And she knew that He would help her.
When Michelle got older, she did go to college to become an engineer. She worked hard to learn. Some classes were difficult. But Michelle never gave up.
While she was in college, she shared the gospel with her classmate John. Later they got married in the temple. Michelle graduated and got her master’s degree. She became a mother. She even got her dream job helping launch rockets to explore space! She was a leader and organized projects for her team.

In about March 1991 in La Ceiba, on the north central coast of Honduras, missionaries were teaching a family, but the family lost interest after two lessons. Then in July, two lady missionaries found a record of the family and went back to visit. When they arrived, the mother in the family was weeping, and they asked her what the problem was. She told them about a dream in which she saw her twenty-year-old son, who had heard the first two lessons with the family but had died a month before the sisters’ visit. In the dream, her son had told her, “You and Dad must get baptized so I can get baptized.” And she asked them, “How can a dead person be baptized?” There was joy in that household when the family heard the rest of the missionary lessons. Four of them were baptized in August 1991.

My family took a special boat ride on the river in December 1993. With other members of the Church, we made the long journey south to the temple in São Paulo. Mom and Dad were going for their own temple work and to be sealed together in marriage for time and eternity. Then we were to be sealed together as an eternal family—Mom, Dad, my younger sister Joyce, and me.
My family made plans for the trip many months ahead. It costs a lot of money to get to the temple. We saved by not buying many of the things we liked, even our favorite soda pop.
As the time came closer to leave, we became very excited.
And then I had to make a big decision.
At the time, I was in grade school and would soon graduate. But first, I had to take the final exams of the school year—and the exams were scheduled for the same time we were planning to go to the temple.
Mom went to the school and told my teacher I would be absent for 10 days because our family was going to São Paulo. The teacher said I couldn’t leave school then. If I did, she warned, I wouldn’t be able to take the exams and graduate.
I didn’t like the thoughts of that.
I began praying in my mind for Heavenly Father to help me do what was right so that everything would work out well for all of us.
That night before dinner we had a family council. Mom explained what had happened and then said, “Chris, you need to make a decision. Either you take the exams and graduate, or we all go to the temple.”
I felt tears running down my cheeks as I said, “Let’s go to the temple.”
At that moment I felt the warmth of the Spirit, and I knew things would work out.
And they did!
For some reason, the final exams were held earlier than expected, and I was able to take them and graduate before we left for the temple.
We were on the boat for three days, then had to travel by bus for another three days. We had meals on the boat and at special bus stops along the way. In São Paulo, we stayed at the Missionary Training Center, where we cooked our own meals. We spent a few days in São Paulo, in the temple and visiting the city, and then made the long journey back home.
This wonderful experience helped me understand that Heavenly Father answers prayers when we try to do what is right. I’m grateful I was able to graduate. But I’m even more grateful that we can be a family together forever.

When Brother Newry returned to the Bahamas, he found a very small branch that had been formed while he was gone. The little branch met in homes and rented buildings until they built their own chapel. He remained faithful through the years and eventually received his endowment in the temple. Along the way his friend, Antoinette Russell, asked to attend church with him. She was impressed by the members’ warmth, and without telling Clarence, she began meeting with the missionaries. She says: “I knew we were each someone special. When the missionaries told me where we had come from, I knew it was true. I felt peace.”
Antoinette and Clarence Newry were married in March 1997 in the Orlando Florida Temple. Several other Bahamian couples have had their marriages sealed in the temple, but the Newrys were the first to be married in the temple.

His military obligation fulfilled, Hal enrolled in the Harvard Graduate School of Business, where he earned a master’s degree in 1959 and a doctorate degree in 1963, both in business administration. Though he had the intellect to succeed in a career in science, Hal found that his passion lay in teaching, lifting, and strengthening others.
While attending Harvard during the summer of 1961, Hal met Kathleen Johnson, the daughter of J. Cyril and LaPrele Lindsay Johnson, of Palo Alto, California. She was attending summer school in Boston, and Hal was smitten the first time he saw her. He felt an immediate desire to do his best when he was in her presence—a feeling that has continued throughout their lives together.
They dated that summer and continued their courtship through phone calls and letters after Kathleen returned to California. They were married in July 1962 in the Logan Utah Temple by Elder Spencer W. Kimball. That same year Hal became an assistant professor at the Stanford Graduate School of Business.

“I’d like to bear my testimony and give thanks to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings.”
The voice came from the back corner of the chapel. To the regular ward members it was a familiar voice and one that was often heard at testimony meetings.
A visitor, turning to see who was speaking, saw a boy bent over a folding chair, supporting his gaunt body on his arms while his legs hung limp behind him. How could this obvious cripple be thankful for his many blessings? What blessings?
When he was four years old, a series of tests disclosed that Stephen Farrance had a type of muscle disease, which, if it progressed as it had been doing, would kill him by the time he was 12.
“The impact and finality of the doctor’s verdict didn’t really register with us,” recalled his mother. “Stephen could do so many things. We just encouraged him to be independent. He had his regular chores to do just like his brother and sister. Then later, when the tendons pulled his feet up and he had to walk on his toes, we withdrew some of his responsibilities but gave him others. He went to a regular school and made a niche for himself.
“I remember one teacher telling me that she called Stephen and a new boy up to her desk at the same time. When Stephen arrived, he braced his feet and placed a hand on her desk. The newcomer said, ‘Are you okay?’, and Stephen said, ‘My feet don’t like to stop walking, and it takes me a minute or two to convince them. But, thanks, I’m fine now.’”
Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.
“ I have many blessings for which I am thankful …”
Like being basketball scorer in high school, managing one of the girls’ teams, working on the school newspaper, and being elected to various student council offices. When he ran for treasurer, he said in his campaign speech, “You have only to take one look at me to be sure I won’t run off with the funds.” He was elected.
He didn’t limit his time to school activities. His family had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when Stephen was eight, so he took an active part in Church programs. He went to Primary, was active in Cub Scouts, and moved on into Scouting. He advanced in the priesthood offices and served the sacrament until one day he tripped. That night he wrote in his journal: “Passing sacrament and tripped, nothing spilled, but maybe I’d better not risk it again. I think it’s too hard on the watchers.” So he switched to reminding the other deacons when it was their turn. As a teacher he helped prepare the sacrament in the little side room and was also secretary of the quorum.
Stephen got up at 5:30 A.M. five days a week for four years to go to seminary. He achieved two years’ perfect attendance and one year with one day absent. The other year he went to a drama festival with the winning play and couldn’t find an early morning seminary, so he missed four days.
“I’d like to thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings …”
While Stephen was making friends and doing new things, the disease was also progressing. His head bent back because his neck muscles couldn’t give him the support he needed. As he would inch his way along the corridors of the school, holding on to the walls, he would have to stop every few feet and rest, then look ahead to see what was in his way.
People made comments. Even some adults would come up and say, “How come you look like that?” or “What’s the matter with you?” Sometimes in a restaurant people would think he was just a bad-mannered kid and tell him to sit up properly or not take up so much room.
Did it bother him?
“No, not really. If they knew it wasn’t intentional, they wouldn’t feel like that,” said Stephen.
His older brother, James, started carrying him over his shoulder. They would make a game of it, and people never knew how serious it really was. Stephen would start home from school, and after half a block James would come along, scoop him up, and run on. Stephen would holler, and often the pair would beat the other kids to the house.
There were times in shopping centers when James would carry Stephen and be told by the security men that that type of thing wasn’t allowed. After awhile Stephen became friends with most of the security men, and they would find carts that he could drape himself over.
“Stephen became friends with people because he took time to notice them. I remember one day at the shopping center he said to me, ‘Hey, Mom, let’s go over there, I want to speak to that guy.’ He went over, and he congratulated the man on his promotion and asked what his new duties entailed. The man explained, and they chatted away. Later, I asked Stephen how he knew the man had had a promotion. ‘If you look at the sleeves of their uniforms, you’ll see they have some gold braid on the cuffs. That guy only had one stripe on last week, and this week he has two, so I figured it must mean a promotion.’”
Stephen’s awareness of people as human beings with triumphs and problems was well known. A fellow student sums up this quality: “Even through junior high you could always go to Steve with your troubles. He was always more interested in other people’s problems than his own.”
Another friend says, “He was always happy and unimportant to himself. He thought it was more important to help other people, which he did every day. He was only important to himself as far as he needed to be to return to Heavenly Father. What a beautiful, fantastic person. He had the attitude, ‘I’m not going to let me get me down.’”
“I’m thankful, Heavenly Father …”
He followed his sister and brother in drama. While they were actors, Stephen became a director, a sound man, and a dabbler in lighting. He did this at high school and with the roadshows.
No one thought of him as a cripple. At home it was understood there were certain things he couldn’t do. As his sister explained to one of her friends, “Stephen can’t run, I can’t draw, and James can’t sing.” Living with Stephen taught the other Farrances compassion, not just for him but for all people.
Stephen sailed through school getting straight A’s until the last couple of years of high school when the toll of just living and moving took a great portion of his energy. He ended with a B average. He was voted Citizen of the Year by the student body and received service awards every year of high school. His last year he won the Soroptimist Youth Citizenship Award and a school bursary. He also ran an hour-long morning radio broadcast at school.
He spoke at church on a regular basis and held various church positions. Ward members loved him and gave him strength, while drawing courage from watching him. He served as secretary in the Aaronic Priesthood MIA and was vice-president of his institute class.
He was a staunch supporter of the missionary program and invited the elders home as often as possible. Stephen was thrilled the day his brother, James, received his mission call. He enjoyed the preparations and being able to travel to Salt Lake City to take James to the Missionary Home there. Stephen firmly believed he would serve a mission too, and he studied diligently to prepare himself for it. His patriarchal blessing stated that he would go on a mission. He didn’t expect to do such a great thing as tracting, but he was sure there was a place for him.
Each day found him a little weaker. His body grew more and more distorted until he was bent almost double and spent his time, awake and asleep, draped over a chair. He didn’t complain; he accepted things the way they were.
Writing and directing the New Westminster Ward roadshow was his last big venture. The Vancouver British Columbia Stake produced the combined roadshows from all the wards. When the judges came back with their verdict, Stephen’s roadshow had won “Best All-Round Entertainment.”
As the applause died down, the stake MC approached the microphone. “Stephen Farrance, writer and assistant director of the winning roadshow, died this morning. We’ve kept this sad news until now we didn’t want to influence the judges. We’d like to congratulate the cast and crew for going on tonight, with special mention to Stephen’s family, who did such a fine job. We dedicate the roadshows to Stephen.”
“How could his family be here tonight?” someone asked, and the reply was, “After living with Stephen, what else could they do?”
“I’d like to bear my testimony and thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings … thank him for the sure knowledge that I will receive a perfect body in the resurrection, for my knowledge that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’m thankful for my membership in this church …”
Stephen had the blessing of a keen mind, a lively sense of humor, and the ability to see problems for what they were. He put all these things together and accomplished a full life, all 18 years of it. But he was not superhuman, neither a paragon of virtue nor a saint, but a warm, loving, normal human being with ups and downs, likes and dislikes.
About the time when many young LDS men are entering the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City at the start of their two-year missions, Stephen Farrance completed his mission here on earth. Did Heavenly Father send him out from the realm of pure love to give us an example to follow? Are we not all, to some extent, crippled in mind, if not in body, and in need of each other’s strength? Was this his mission?
In a letter to Stephen’s brother, James, their former stake president wrote: “Stephen had such a great desire to follow you into the mission field. Now he has received his call. He is eminently prepared to preach the gospel and will yet fulfill a great mission. But on his mission he will not have the heavy burden of his affliction. His spirit now stands straight and tall, and he can walk forth to preach the gospel with power and conviction, even as you are doing. Be of good cheer, Elder. Your brother is about his Father’s work, even as you are.”
A memorial service was held for Stephen at the Vancouver stake center in British Columbia. Instead of sending flowers, friends contributed to a fund in his name set up at his former high school. Each year a graduating student who has “shown outstanding contributions in the area of helping other young people—one who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the spirit of a true humanitarian”—will receive $100 bursary and the “Super Steve Humanitarian Award.”
The Vancouver British Columbia Stake has inaugurated a “Stephen Farrance Memorial Sportsmanship Award” to be presented to the seminary team that shows the most concern for each other, attention to rules, sincere effort, and good sportsmanship during the annual scripture chase.
At the memorial services, members and nonmembers gathered to remember Stephen. A School friend spoke on Stephen’s contributions to the school and to his fellow students. He spoke of his many talents, his desire to serve, and his example to the student body. His priests adviser talked about Stephen’s Church accomplishments, his enthusiasm for any outing, even if he knew he couldn’t participate, and his concern for the priesthood brethren. And the bishop spoke about Stephen’s spiritual achievements. He reminded those gathered of the great, strong testimony he had, and how he had made use of every opportunity to bear it. He talked of Stephen’s desire to serve the Lord in any capacity he could. For the first time members and nonmembers, brought together through love of Stephen, became aware of many sides of Stephen’s remarkable character.
Stephen lived 18 years. He achieved much, and he was a great example to many of us. Although he lived with a crippled body and suffered much pain, he died in the manner that the Savior has promised to the faithful: “Those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.”

“Serving a mission in Brazil was a great turning point in my life,” declared Elder Sorensen. “When I was twenty and had just completed two years of college at the University of Chicago on an academic/athletic scholarship, I had doubts about my going on a mission. When I returned home that summer, Mom said to me, ‘Well, now you can prepare for your mission.’”
Elder Sorensen told his mother that he had changed his mind and didn’t think that he would serve a mission. “I’ll never forget the hurt look on Mom’s face,” he recalled, “after I told her my decision. She didn’t scold me, but afterward she privately cried and prayed.
“I didn’t go back to school in Chicago that fall. With the help of Mom and Dad and a wise and understanding bishop, I accepted a mission call to Brazil and left for South America in 1940.
“It wasn’t very long after I arrived in the mission field and began studying the scriptures regularly that my testimony really began to grow. Since then it has never wavered but has grown stronger. I’m grateful to the Lord and my parents for guiding me at that very important crossroad.
“Children, listen to your parents. They love you more than anyone else does, except your Father in Heaven, who has an even greater capacity to love. If you follow their good teachings and example, you will always be happy that you did. And remember to follow the counsel and guidance of Church leaders, particularly your bishop.”

One Sunday I felt uncomfortable about going to meet with the members in Sada. I told my wife that I felt I would be letting them down if I did not go. “Ernie,” she replied, “if the Spirit is prompting you not to go, then you must listen to that warning.” I did—and my next visit to Sada proved the wisdom of her counsel. Had I visited that Sunday, I would have been caught up in a riot. Police used tear gas to break up an angry mob, and the Saints were forced to scatter when the gas drifted into the meetinghouse.

When I was about nine, I wanted to grow a mustache. I thought I could do this by shaving my face every day. For several days I used my father’s razor to shave. One day my father saw me shaving. He warned me not to do it because I could cut myself.
I am sorry to say I disobeyed my dad. The next day I shaved again. As I was shaving, the razor slipped from my soapy fingers. It made a deep gash above my lip. I was pretty scared as I bandaged my lip. But I was even more afraid of what my father would say.
When he came home that night and saw my cut, he was surprised and worried. He asked how it happened.
“Well,” I said, “I was running down the sidewalk, and I fell on my face.”
I had lied! First I had disobeyed, and now I had been dishonest! That night I couldn’t sleep. It was late, but I had to tell Dad the truth. I found him in the living room.
“Dad, I lied to you,” I said. “I didn’t fall down. I cut myself shaving with the razor. I’m sorry.”
My dad was quiet for a moment. Then he gently said, “You did disobey, Son. That is not a good thing. But I’m proud that you decided to tell the truth.”
That lesson—and the actual scar—has stayed with me every day since then.

As a boy, I remember driving in the car with my father and seeing individuals on the roadside who had found themselves in difficult circumstances or who needed help. My father would always make the comment “Pobrecito,” which means “poor little one.”
On occasion, I watched with interest as my father would help many of these people, especially when we would travel to Mexico to see my grandparents. He would typically find someone in need and then go privately and provide the help they needed. I later discovered that he was helping them enroll in school, buy some food, or provide in some way or another for their well-being. He was ministering to a “poor little one” who came across his path. In fact, in my growing-up years I cannot remember a time when we did not have someone living with us who needed a place to stay as they became self-reliant. Watching these experiences created in me a spirit of compassion toward my fellow men and women and for those in need.
Throughout the years, while serving in the Church, I have tried to seek after those who needed help in their lives, both temporally and spiritually. I would often hear the voice of my father saying, “Pobrecito,” poor little one.

One son bought a small home in a distant state. He showed me bricks on a corner of the foundation that were eroding away. He asked what he should do.
I did not know, but I asked, “Is there an older couple that lives close to you?”
“Yes,” he said, “across the street and down a few houses is a retired couple.”
“Why don’t you ask him to come over and look at that. He knows your climate.”
That was done, and he got the advice of an older man who had seen problems like that and many others. That is what adopted grandpas can do.

A few weeks later the phone rang again. This time it was a man whom I have greatly admired—Brother Arthur Haycock. I spoke to him briefly; and then, the prophet’s voice—distinctive, clear, the clarion call.
“Brother Hales, do you mind if we change your mission?”
I had thought I was going to the London England Mission. But I figured someone else would have that call, and I said, “I will be glad to go to whatever place you send me.”
He said, “Do you mind if we change it to Salt Lake City?”
And I said, “No, that will be fine, President.”
“Do you mind if it is little bit longer than three years?”
“However long you want it, President.”
“We would like a lifetime of service.”

The call was clear. I had to let go of everything that I had known and what I had been striving for in my life to become an Assistant to the Twelve.

With that, the prophet talked to my wife. We held each other in our arms and said nothing, and we knew that we had and that we would dedicate and consecrate our lives to that mission, whatever it might be, in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We asked our questions which Elder Ashton taught us: “Why me?” And that is past us.
I will say this: It is not in death or in one event that we give our lives, but in every day as we are asked to do it.

There is one last scene I would call up for you from my journal. The sobering realities of our present Middle East involvement, where many of our people are in threatening conditions, make this memory particularly pertinent and particularly appreciated. I read it as I wrote it in Nha Trang, Vietnam, in May 1967:
“There was a memorable meeting this morning, which began with a senior military chaplain of another church addressing us warmly as ‘My brothers in Christ.’ This touched me deeply, and the meeting that went along was consistent with his gentle beginning.
“It was a very special, tender meeting; the Spirit was strong.
“It was uncomfortably warm in the room where we met. There were two ancient air conditioners, but they were ineffective. In fact, we discovered when we finally opened the door that it was cooler outside than in. Notwithstanding this, a great spirit was felt and a sweet experience enjoyed.
“Outside the room after the meeting, I walked quietly down the passageway alongside the large room where we had met. As I passed the back door, I looked in and saw a kind of human barrier that had been set up to separate the many young men who were lingering in the front part of the room from a few who were in the back. Three men had their hands on the head of another who sat on a chair. All four were dressed in battle gear; two had returned from air strikes to the north just in time for the meeting, and one was shortly to go. The three members of the district presidency were giving a blessing to an officer senior to them all, setting him apart as a district missionary.”
For some reason this sweet scene affected me more deeply than any priesthood sermon I have heard. Priesthood to them meant the right and the power to serve, to act in the name of the Lord as his agents and in his interests with their fellowmen. This scene I hope I will never forget.

When I was called to be a bishop, it was during the most difficult time of my life. I was a young father in my early 30s, but I was in trouble financially because of family challenges. I couldn’t find any solution, and I thought the challenges would never end. I was exhausted financially and emotionally. I started doubting my spiritual strength as well. It was at that difficult time that my stake president extended the calling to me. I accepted the call anyway, although it was hard.

My wife also had an interview with the stake president, but she could not say yes, and she did not say no either but kept shedding tears. She cried for the whole week, asking Heavenly Father, “Why now?” and “Do You really know each individual?” She didn’t get an answer, but I was sustained as bishop on the following Sunday. She did not ask Heavenly Father those questions anymore but supported me in my calling for six years.

On the Sunday when I was released, my wife heard a voice while she was receiving the sacrament. The voice whispered to her, “Because it was too hard for you to walk, I called him as a bishop in order to hold you and walk for you.” Looking back at the past six years, she realized that all of the many challenges that seemed to be endless had now been resolved along the way.

Hung Hseng Chr sat on the grass by the edge of the river and watched the water lapping on the rocks. The sun felt hot against his skin, and the air was thick and humid. A tear ran down his cheek, and he brushed it quickly away with the back of his hand.
Hseng Chr’s ancestors had lived in Taiwan for many years. He was proud of his people, for they had once been great warriors, and he wanted to be strong and brave, as they had been.
But it was hard to be brave when his sister, Hung Mei Lin, was so sick. She was in the hospital in Tai Tung, and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her except that she had a terrible fever. They had said that there was nothing more that they could do. The last time Hseng Chr had seen her, she had looked as still and frail as a bundle of old rice straw.
“Hello,” said a voice.
Hseng Chr looked up and saw the dark eyes and smiling face of Aunt Hung. She was his father’s sister, and she had recently joined a new church. Hseng Chr remembered that she had been taught by two young men who were called Mormon missionaries. Since that time, his aunt hadn’t visited them so often; every time she did, she and his father got into an argument about religion.
“Hello,” Hseng Chr answered her now in a listless voice.
His aunt sat on the grass beside him and gave him a big hug. He suddenly felt better, as he always did when she came to visit. “I was thinking about Mei Lin,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “So was I.”
“I don’t want her to die.”
His aunt gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to ask your father to let my friends give Mei Lin a blessing.”
Hseng Chr stared at his aunt in surprise. “A blessing?” he asked. “What is a blessing?”
“Well,” said his aunt slowly, as if she was trying to explain something very difficult. “A blessing is a special prayer given by men who hold the priesthood.”
Hseng Chr was even more confused. “What is the priesthood?”
“It is the power and authority to act in the name of God. These men—these friends of mine—will pray for Mei Lin, and if God wants her to live and if we believe that God can save her, she will live.”
A strange feeling came over the boy. It was as though something frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. He knew that he wanted Mei Lin to have a priesthood blessing so that she would get well.
He waited on the grass as Aunt Hung walked toward the house. He watched as she opened the door and called Father’s name. He saw the stern face and stooped shoulders of his father as the door swung open, but he was too far away to hear the words that his aunt spoke. Father shook his head and turned away.
Aunt Hung talked some more, her hand on Father’s arm, her face turned up to his. Father shrugged his shoulders and went back inside the house. Aunt Hung came partway back and waved for Hseng Chr to follow. “He gave his permission,” she called. “Let’s hurry!”
A little while later he stood at his sister’s bedside while two young missionaries laid their hands on her head. As they spoke, a warm feeling came into his chest. When the blessing was over, he and his aunt walked home silently, the hot sun beating down upon their backs.
At suppertime Hseng Chr’s whole family went to visit Mei Lin, as they had at every suppertime for the past week. The boy had grown used to his stomach growling at him all the way to the hospital and back. He didn’t mind the hunger anymore, for lately when he ate, the food seemed to get stuck partway down.
Hseng Chr couldn’t keep from hurrying. The closer his family got to the hospital, the faster his feet moved. Finally he just couldn’t hold them back. He left Father and Mother behind with the younger children and ran the last block by himself. He dashed up the steps and into the hospital. He ran down the hallway and burst into Mei Lin’s room. He stopped. The bed was empty.
He stood for a long moment and stared, not believing his eyes: Mei Lin was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking at pictures in a book. Her dark eyes were clear, her skin was back to its normal healthy color, and her arms no longer hung limply at her sides. Suddenly he realized that Aunt Hung had been right. There really was such a thing as power from God. He would see his aunt again soon and ask her to explain more about the priesthood.
Mei Lin looked up at him and smiled. Hseng Chr ran forward, his hands reaching for hers.

A young person who “just loves music” or is “simply wild about acting” can easily mistake a hunger for applause as the presence of talent. Recently a young man came to my office and said that he was going to organize a rock band, make a hit record, and acquire fame and fortune within the next year. I asked him what success he had already achieved in other people’s bands. “None.” How expert was he on an instrument? “I’m just learning the guitar.” I advised him not to risk the savings of friends or parents on a rock-band venture but to learn basic musical skills, join someone else’s band, and when he felt that he could surpass his mentor, then embark on a solo career. As he left, I suggested that he return in a year with his bank book, and we could compare notes, receivable and payable.

Over the years, I have found that the things I learned about the temple as a young missionary in Ohio have blessed my family and me. For example, in the temple a year after we were married, my wife, Amy, and I received an impression that it was time to have a child. We were students, and because of tight finances I was tempted to cast the prompting aside. But the Lord was preparing us.
We had three miscarriages over the next two years, and I wondered, “Why the prompting to have children if we’re not able to have them?” Then we moved to California, worked with a fertility specialist, and finally had our first child, Mackenzie.
By following the inspiration we received in the temple, we began a process that took three years. If we had not followed the prompting when we did, it would probably have been at least another three years before we had our first child. We count that experience as a blessing of preparation and revelation.
We had a second child, Emma, but then we had another miscarriage and the loss of our son, Stewart. In subsequent months and years, as we sought peace, we learned that most of the symbols in the temple point us to the Savior and the healing balm only His Atonement can give.
I am grateful for the blessings of the temple. I testify to you that it is a place of preparation, revelation, and peace.

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.

The president of the Cardston Alberta Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if you are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’ A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, “Mother, I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.” This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

In August 2020, amidst the throes of a pandemic, Len Hurley celebrated his 100th birthday and a lifetime of service—to his family, country, and fellow members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Victoria’s COVID-19 lockdown restrictions meant no visits from family or friends, however, staff at Len’s Bentleigh East nursing home made sure it was a special day for Len, decorating the hall with balloons and making a garden-themed birthday cake to share with fellow residents.
Len’s family joined in the celebrations via Zoom. Letters from the queen and prime minister were also presented to the centenarian.