Gospel Story Finder

The family finally arrived at the refugee camp in Batdambang, but because it was located in Cambodia, Brother Thach requested that they be transferred to safer refuge at Panat Nikom, Thailand, where they arrived in May, two months after leaving Vietnam. From Thailand, they relocated to the United States where Minhdan Thach was baptized. She now serves as a Relief Society counselor in the Taylorsville 40th (Vietnamese) Branch, Taylorsville Utah Central Stake. Brother Thach, second counselor in the branch elders quorum presidency, is now an electronic test technician with a national engineering and research company with a manufacturing plant and offices in Utah.

John and Tess found they enjoyed the extra effort they put into visiting their neighbors so much, they decided to expand the assignment into a week.
“As soon as we received the assignment from the bishop we came home and began talking about it. We planned. We prayed. And then we planned and prayed some more,” John reflected.
“From Sunday until Thursday I just kept thinking the day was coming closer and closer. I knew that I had enough time to prepare, and on Thursday I’d better live the best I could. I couldn’t really offer any excuses,” says Tess.
They decided to fill their day visiting their neighbors, taking some fruit or a gift to those who were ill, expressing their thanks to people who had helped them. “So many people are lonely and just want to talk,” says John who serves on the fellowshipping committee in the ward. “We wanted to just go and let them know we cared. And it was wonderful to see how they opened up to us. One sister asked us if the high priests could come and administer the sacrament in her home once in a while since she couldn’t go to the meetings. So I talked with the bishop about it, and the next week a couple of us administered the sacrament to her.”
Was their day a success? “Oh, yes! Most days we think about what we should do, but we just don’t make the effort to do it. And when you finally do it, you have such a good feeling,” Tess said.

I lived in a ward where one woman was like a beacon of righteousness. Jessica (name has been changed) radiated love and goodness every week in our meetings. She went from person to person, greeting them and loving them—especially those who were “hanging on the edges” of the ward. She invited the lonely to her home, talked to the shy ones, and went out of her way to spread her commitment to Christ and His gospel. It impacted the entire ward for good.

It was the Friday night before at 9:25 P.M. I remember the exact time because I looked at the clock. It is still vivid in my mind. At 9:25 it was storming with a humdinger of an electrical storm like we get in North Carolina. It was lightning and thundering and raining. The trees were bent over, and it was dark. There came a knock on the door.
Mama, being a widow for so many years and very protective of her children, would never let strangers in the house. It was two young men in suits and trenchcoats, and she let them in. I remember it so distinctly, because I thought, “Who are these guys?” I thought Mama knew them.
She is very respectful of other people’s religions, so she made us come in and listen to them. I had never heard of Mormons before. I had never even heard the word. They started teaching us.
When I heard these two missionaries, I knew that what they were telling me was true. I had come to the conclusion that there was no true church and that’s why I was going to be baptized by the revival preacher. But after hearing the missionaries that Friday evening, I knew that they had something I was looking for, so I didn’t get baptized by the revival preacher the next day.
They taught us for a few weeks, and I really believed what they told me. But Mom was brought up in her religion and thought she was sinful thinking any other way. I don’t know if Mama asked them not to come back, or if the missionaries felt like they shouldn’t baptize an 11-year-old girl without her family, but they stopped coming.
I didn’t know where they had gone. I didn’t know where the church met or how to contact the missionaries. They had given me some books, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and The Doctrine and Covenants. I sat down and studied these books carefully.
By then I was in seventh grade. I remember my teacher wanted us to give a presentation on any subject we chose, and I picked Mormonism. I remember studying for it so hard. I then got up and gave my presentation in front of all the students and the faculty, and I wasn’t even a member of the Church. I think I answered every question correctly.
About a year and a half after the first missionaries visited us, another set of missionaries knocked on the door. My family wasn’t home, but they gave me a Book of Mormon. They said they would be back in a couple of days to see what I thought about it. I was baptized the next week and have hardly missed a Sunday since.
I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.
I don’t think it was coincidence that missionaries hocked on my door at 9:25 that night during a storm when missionaries are supposed to be in at 9:30. It was their last house, and with the storm they could have easily rationalized going home five minutes early. Those missionaries never knew that the 11-year-old girl listening in the background joined the Church and became a missionary herself.
That thought made me a better missionary. I would say to myself, “One more door. I was the last door, so one more door.”

As a teenager, I especially liked driving the furniture delivery truck. One evening when I was backing the truck out of the driveway to go back to the store, I came to a sudden stop accompanied by a loud crash. I pulled forward and then backed up only to crash again. When I got out to inspect, I discovered that I had left the tailgate down, and it had punctured the door of a car parked across the street from our driveway. When I had pulled forward and then backed up to see what had happened, I had crumpled the fender of another car. I waited until I got home later that night to tell my dad and was relieved that he only gave me a stern talking to rather than a licking. Actually, I think he was pleased that I had told the truth.

Five-year-old Jill Lam giggled nervously when her mother asked her to bless the food. She wasn’t used to praying in front of guests. Hesitantly, she stood up to offer a brief blessing.
She stumbled over the first few words, self-consciously aware of the strangers in her home. “We’re thankful for the food,” she mumbled quickly. “Please bless it.”
Then Jill paused. Despite her eagerness to end the prayer, there was another desire even stronger, one her family shared and had uttered in every prayer in their home for the last year. “And Heavenly Father, bless that the temple will be finished quickly and that we can live worthy of going there someday,” Jill concluded breathlessly.
Jill’s poignant prayer was one shared by thousands of Church members in Hong Kong since October 1992 when President Gordon B. Hinckley, then First Counselor in the First Presidency, announced the building of the Hong Kong Temple. Those prayers were abundantly answered when President Hinckley, as President of the Church, dedicated the Hong Kong Temple on 26 and 27 May 1996.

And another incident: A member of my student branch had stopped in to see me. “President,” she said, “my dad has a birthday and I want to send him something worthwhile. But he is having such a financial struggle to keep me in school, I don’t think I should spend much. Can you suggest anything?”
I remembered the wonderful gift my own son had given me and then suggested to her: “Jan, why don’t you fast and pray for a true appreciation of your father. Then write down all the things he has done for you over the years—list all the reasons you are proud of him. Next list the things he has done for which you failed to thank him. Finally, sit down and pour your heart out in a letter that will convince him how much you love him. It will be the finest present he has ever received from you, and it will cost only a stamp.”

When I was in the fourth grade, I had a variety show to sing in. Some of the girls were singing a bad song. I didn’t like it. When I got home, I told my mom about it. She talked to my dad, and my dad told my principal. The girls had to sing a better song. The program turned out good because I wasn’t afraid to speak out about a bad song. I know that Jesus Christ was happy.
Hydee Rushton, age 10Sun River Valley Ward

My mom is not a member of the Church, and she has many modern views that go against the principles I’d been taught in church, particularly about modesty and virtue. She didn’t understand why I didn’t dress or act like my peers. It was hard for me to defend myself because our relationship was already rocky, and I didn’t want to cause any more contention between us. One day the topic came up, and, despite my hesitation, I explained to her why I choose to dress modestly and live virtuously and why these things are important to me. This didn’t change her views on the subject at all, but I felt good defending my beliefs.
Over the next several months I made an extra effort to strengthen my relationship with her. The next year, when I was serving a mission, I asked my sister to send me skirts. My mom offered to do so instead, and she bought me ones that were both modest and stylish. I know that because I was willing to open my mouth and defend my beliefs and then continue to show my mom love, she became more accepting of my values, even though they are still different from hers.
Alisa B., Ukraine

While attending a sacrament meeting during the summer months, I was fortunate to hear messages from three students who were home from school for the summer. One of the talks especially interested me.
She had been working during the summer recess in a restaurant frequented by truck drivers. One driver who had a regular run stopped at the restaurant on the same day each week to eat. The regularity of the stop created an opportunity for short visits. He asked the young lady where she lived. She reported that she was home for the summer to earn money to return to school in the fall. His next question was, “Where do you attend school?” Her answer with pride: “BYU–Idaho.” He wanted to know more about the school, which led to a gospel discussion. Her first approach was to teach him about the Word of Wisdom. She was successful. She convinced him to give up smoking.
Then her shift was changed, and she no longer had the opportunity to serve him, so she wrote him a note and enclosed a Church missionary tract about the plan of salvation. After several days she received a note from the driver. It simply stated, “You’ve created a monster.” Thanks to this young woman he had found information which caused him to think about the changes he must make in his life. I do not know the full outcome of this little encounter between a waitress and a truck driver, but clearly his life was affected.

I was born and raised in a small city in Chile. When I was 12 years old, I saw the missionaries for the first time, and I was curious. Then one day a classmate at school told me that he and his family had become members of the Church. He invited me, and I attended all Sunday meetings and Tuesday activities for several months.

Our branch was new, and because I attended practically from the beginning, everyone thought I was a member. After six months I told one of the missionaries I was not, because I thought the missionaries were interested only in families.

The missionaries tried to involve my family, but my parents and siblings were not interested. They invited me to be baptized, but since I was 12, I needed my parents’ permission. I thought my father would say I needed to wait until I was 18, but he said, “I have seen my son wake up every Sunday morning while his brothers and sisters keep sleeping, dress up in his best clothes, and walk to the chapel. If my son will be responsible with this decision, you have my permission.” I couldn’t believe it. I was in heaven in that moment. So I was baptized the following day.

“We were playing with a Ouija board in school one day,” said JoAnn, a Laurel in Southern California. “We kept asking questions and the board kept answering correctly. I became increasingly frightened and eventually so scared that I fled from the room. I couldn’t sleep for days. I kept waking up with nightmares. It was a horrible experience. We are told to seek for the positive in life,” she continued, “but the negative is just as powerful. By forcing all your attention and your thoughts on an object, using ritual to make the image emotional, you can easily surrender your consciousness to evil powers.”

“My team was privileged to work in San Lorenzo, a little village with just a handful of members. About five women and their children came to our lessons every Tuesday and Thursday, and even though their numbers were few, we felt their eagerness to learn. We met for classes in a humble room made of four brick walls covered by a large blanket, part of the home of Carmen and her husband Antonio. It wasn’t long before we realized that Carmen’s family needed our help. Of the 14 children born into the family only six had lived more than a year.
“Little Socorro, the youngest daughter, did not run and laugh like most three-year-olds but would sit quietly in our laps or stand solemnly and watch the other children play. Carmen told us that the child would not eat and she was sick much of the time. We tried to teach Carmen as simply as possible some very basic rules of sanitation and nutrition so that she could improve her family’s health. Our lessons covered the importance of boiling water to purify it, washing hands before eating or preparing food, and eating foods every day from each of the basic food groups. For a long time we couldn’t tell if Carmen was really using what we taught her. Then one day during our third week in the village, we asked her to help us with a demonstration on baby food. As she picked up the fork to begin, she hesitated and said, ‘Wait, I haven’t washed my hands yet.’ Such a tiny incident, but we were thrilled to know that one small principle we had taught had actually taken root.
“On our last day Carmen fed five of us a delicious stew of beef and vegetables; we knew she could rarely afford to buy this kind of meat for her own family. We were overwhelmed by such a sacrifice and so grateful for the blessing of those four weeks in the village, for as teachers we had truly learned more than we had taught.”
Laurie JohnsonSalt Lake City, Utah

“I will never forget you, Bishop. You saved my life.”
The man who makes that statement today didn’t feel that way in the beginning. As a teen he was scared. He knew he needed to repent. I was his bishop at the time, and he knew we needed to talk. But he was full of doubts.
“What is the bishop going to think of me?”
“Will he keep this confidential?”
“How will I ever look at him again?”
But some confessions require that you talk to your bishop or branch president. And that’s where this young man found himself. He needed help beyond his own capacity, and he needed to know the journey was possible.
Let me close by telling you a little more about my visit with that young man. “Bishop,” he said, “you’re going to hate me for what I have to tell you. You’ll never be able to look at me again, and if you share what I say with anybody, I’ll kill myself.”
I said, “I promise I will never betray your confidences. I will take them with me to the grave.”
He told me about some minor situations and watched my reaction. When I said, “I know what you’re going through. I can help you,” he proceeded slowly until he got to what he really wanted to discuss. I reminded him repeatedly that I admired him for confessing and wanting to change. Even though he seemed ready to run at any moment, together we got through what he needed to share.
Was it a big deal? It was to him. But as we talked, he came to better understand the mercy the Lord offers to those who sincerely repent. After that first visit, we worked together, and over time his repentance became complete. Today he still calls me to say hello, and our conversations are happy.
I was privileged to help him learn that we all depend on the Atonement. And I join my voice with his in praise of Jesus Christ, the one who really saved his life.

After several unsuccessful visits and discussions with the missionaries, I came to recognize the fact that the Church was true, but I had a problem: The Book of Mormon. I did not accept the idea that there was another scripture besides the Bible that would testify of Christ. I had a keen interest in reading and my supposed broad knowledge of the Bible and other philosophical books did not facilitate my discussions with missionaries.
Finally, I began to read the Book of Mormon. At first, I read it just out of curiosity, but once I started, I could not find the strength to stop. After a full reading in a month, I began to feel something deep inside me, a warm feeling in my heart, a light in my mind, a transformation, a voice.
At night, I could not close my eyes because my mind was revealed about the sacredness of the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in February 2010. As a result, I served a full-time mission and married Prisca Ebi, a lovely daughter of our Heavenly Father!

Recently during a special women’s conference, a speaker told about how he’d been quite successful in land development and how everything he’d touched had turned to gold. He’d also tried to live a faithful life and had been a very active servant in the gospel. Then he’d been called as a mission president. He had apparently been a very effective mission president and had subsequently returned to his home state. Throughout his life he’d experienced one success after another—he was a recognized leader in his community, had built a prosperous business. Being called as a mission president had sort of cemented in his mind that he’d “made it”—that he was an all-around success.
When he returned from his mission, a combination of changing interest rates and other business factors caused his once-prosperous business to plummet. In fact, he’d lost nearly everything. Telling the story, this man said, “I realized that I’d become quite boastful—that while I felt I had a testimony of Jesus Christ, in my mind I had brought about all of these wonderful things through my hard work, intelligence, and so forth. But when hard times hit, I began to realize how offensive I must have been to others and to my Heavenly Father to assume that I had brought all of these good things on my own. I felt like I’d lived a life of arrogance and boasting.”

My family and I moved to Saudi Arabia when I was 16 and my younger brother, Scott, was 14. Because there are no English schools there for high school students, Scott and I went to a boarding school in the neighboring country of Bahrain, where we were the only dorm students who were Mormons. Although we also were the only dorm students who regularly attended church, and we didn’t smoke, drink, or put pinups in our closets, most people didn’t suspect that we were Mormons. And that was fine with me. If they asked about my beliefs, I would tell them; if not, fine. Who wants to be laughed at? I didn’t hide my candle under a bushel exactly, but I didn’t put it up on a hillside either.
Then came the second year—and an entirely different situation. It began when Scott was assigned to give a report on Brigham Young in his U.S. History class. I helped him gather his information on the persecution of the Saints, the move west, the building up of the Salt Lake Valley, and President Young’s accomplishments and how they affect the world today. Although I wanted Scott to give a good report, I was concerned that people would laugh at our “weird beliefs.”
I didn’t see my brother after that class or any time during the school day to ask him how it had gone. But after school a group approached me at the snack bar—the same group that went out drinking on weekends and sneaked out of the dorm at night.
“Hello, Wes. Is it really true that you are a Mormon?”
“Oh no, here it comes,” I thought. I just knew that they were going to ask me to sing some Tabernacle Choir songs for them. I answered, “Yes, it’s true.”
They responded with, “Far out!” Then they told me that they wished they had something to believe in, and they wondered how I could be so straight and yet still get along with everyone. As I listened to their comments, my surprise grew; I had never expected such a reaction!
From then on, my brother and I talked and talked about the Church. Friends came to us. Teachers at the school began reading the Book of Mormon and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. A few of my friends began attending Church with me. My best friend went from being an atheist to bearing his testimony in church. Although none were baptized at that time, I know that some were converted.
I have since graduated, and of all the classes I took and the things I saw while living in Bahrain, that was the most outstanding lesson I learned. I came to know how true it is that the people of the world are looking for the joy that the gospel brings. It is not enough to not hide your candle under a bushel, but as every member is a missionary, it is our duty to put it up on the hill for all to see.

Early last year, Elder Allistair B. Odgers asked stake presidents to set a goal for the number of full-time teaching missionaries we would have serving in December 2022.
After much prayer and fasting, I set a goal that would stretch us as a stake; a goal that would require great faith and bring spiritual experiences and miracles to members’ lives. I knew the number of currently serving missionaries, and the prospective missionaries we were working with, would guarantee 10-12 missionaries serving in December. I felt inspired to offer 25 as our stake goal.
Immediately I began meeting with our bishops, branch presidents, high council and stake council members. We invited all to unite and find those additional 10-15 missionaries we were not currently working with. Shortly afterwards, during April general conference, President Russell M. Nelson again invited all young men, and young women who desired, to serve a full-time mission. President Nelson encouraged all to seek and expect miracles as we increase our spiritual momentum.1
Elder Odgers asked the stake presidents in our coordinating council, to invite bishops and branch presidents to invite two young men to serve a mission every week. Believing in miracles, I encouraged our leaders again to renew efforts to find missionaries, emphasizing we would have spiritual experiences and miracles as we sought inspiration and guidance about whom to invite.
At our next stake high council meeting, a brother told us he had two sons eligible to serve missions. One had a desire to serve the Lord, the other did not. This son, Sione, had been living in the States, had a girlfriend, and said he had not received an answer to his prayers as to whether he should serve a mission.
In the same spirit as Alma, and with tears in his eyes, this father asked if we would pray for Sione to receive an answer from the Lord.
Like everyone, I continued to pray, and to fast for this young man.
I awoke early one Saturday morning and lay pondering when I had a most amazing and humbling experience. A vision of Sione came to my mind. I was instructed to visit with him the next day, after my daily duties were completed. The vision unfolded and I was given specific questions to ask Sione. And I heard what his answers would be, and how I was to respond to him. The message was clear and specific.
That evening, I opened my fast and prayed everything in the vision would remain clear so I could complete the assignment I had been given.
I attended a ward conference the following day, conducted some interviews then headed to my car. As I drove from the chapel, the Spirit reminded me of my assignment. In a strange but spiritual way, I saw again the vision I had received the day before.
Arriving at the family’s home, I knocked on the door and was told their dad was overseas, but that Mum was home. When Mum came to the door, I asked if I could meet with her and Sione. He was busy cooking dinner. Mum invited me in and the three of us sat in the lounge and talked.
I asked Sione to offer a prayer and immediately the vision unfolded as clearly as it had the previous day.
I asked Sione what he thought about serving a mission? Word for word, he answered as I saw in the vision. He explained he wasn’t sure if he should serve a mission; that he had pondered and prayed but didn’t think he’d received an answer. I enquired if he had a patriarchal blessing. He said, “yes”. I asked, “What does your patriarchal blessing say?” He replied, “I will serve a mission”.
Exactly as I had been instructed, I inquired, “How does the Lord answer prayers?” Sione struggled, but then shared his thoughts. Strengthened by the Spirit and in an emotional and humble attitude, I said, “I have been instructed by the Lord, Jesus Christ, through revelation, to come and visit with you today. I testify to you that prayers are answered by feelings, impressions, reading the scriptures and many other ways. Today I am here on behalf of the Saviour, Jesus Christ, in answer to your prayer and to remove all confusion and doubt. Sione, the Saviour invites you to serve a mission. He has a work for you to do and it is a work that only Elder Hala can do as there is someone special waiting for you to invite into the waters of baptism”. This is where the vision ended.
I asked how he felt. He bowed his head and cried, “My prayer has been answered and I want to serve a mission”.
Brother Hala will soon complete his medical and dental checks then submit his mission application. Modern miracles really do happen when we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Patrick Wong has already submitted more than 30 generations from his family line. Currently serving as an Area Authority, Elder Wong has frequent opportunities to share his testimony of the importance of temple work.
“I was baptized when I was 16,” he begins, “the first one in my family. Unlike many first-generation converts, however, most of my family joined, including my parents and a younger brother and sister. But despite their conversion, my parents were never sealed—my mother’s health prevented it.
“In 1988, while my wife and I were living in Australia, my father died. A year later my mother was gone. When I returned to Hong Kong for her funeral, we agreed that the work for our parents should be done. My younger brother volunteered to do it in the Taiwan temple.
“Two months later, my wife had a dream. She saw my mother, who seemed very unhappy. ‘Grandma, why are you so unhappy?’ she asked. ‘Patrick’s brother promised to take care of me, but he hasn’t.’ ‘Don’t worry, Grandma. Patrick will take care of you,’ my wife promised.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t understand what the dream meant when my wife told me about it,” Elder Wong says. “However, two weeks later she had another dream, a dream of my father. ‘Kathy, tell Patrick I need to get married as soon as possible.’ When Kathy told me about that dream I finally understood.
“I immediately called my brother and asked him if he’d been to the temple to do our parents’ work. He hadn’t. His wife had been ill and was having a difficult time recovering. ‘Go and do it, Patrick,’ he told me. So within days, we went to the temple in Sydney and had my parents sealed.
“I know this work is essential for our ancestors,” Elder Wong concludes emotionally. “My parents wanted their work done so badly. Other ancestors feel the same way. The Hong Kong Temple is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. It is a comfort to us, a symbol of the Lord’s confidence in the Chinese people here and all around the world, a symbol of the future of the Church.”

The events of that Christmas Eve took on added meaning for me the next year in the winter beauty of Utah Valley. Daddy had died during the preceding year, and no one really felt like holding to the family caroling tradition; emotions were still too close to the surface. So mother gathered us children together, and again we made a trip to the cemetery. We took with us a German wreath. Our family was alone this time; no one was there to hear our songs of Christ’s birth as we placed the wreath on daddy’s grave. Around us was a thick blanket of fog, shrouding us in its quiet mystery, and we could not see much beyond the edges of the cemetery—as if the world ended there.
But oh, what joy filled our hearts as we remembered we were celebrating Christmas, that because of the Savior the world is more than it was, that life does not end with the burial of the body, and that our loved one is not alone! There, in the cemetery, remembering daddy, we celebrated the birth of our Savior, our Hope, our Redeemer; and the peace of his message was a great salve for our loneliness.