Gospel Story Finder

Foi had helped her friends prepare for the special ceremony honoring the twelve-year-old students at the school. She knew that during the ceremony all of the girls would become members of the church that had established the school.

The girls had washed and ironed their white dresses and had gathered flowers to decorate the chapel. Now in the hot humid kitchen they laughed and talked together as they finished preparing refreshments.

Only Foi was quiet. Several of the girls tried to make her a part of their excitement, but Foi could manage only a small smile. Her thoughts were with her parents, who had promised to send for her. But the lonely years had gone by, and she had not heard from either of them. Unless she took part in the ceremony that night, she could not remain at the school—but something within her made it seem impossible for her to join the church of the school.

Foi had often tried to put together fragments of her memories and assure herself that someday she would be reunited with her family now living in a Samoan village far from the school. But few people ever left that village and strangers seldom visited it.

Once, however, two young men came to her fala. They said they were missionaries, and they taught the people in her village. Even though she had been only a little girl, Foi remembered the good feeling that had come to her as she listened to these young men and heard about their Church. She longed to have that feeling again. But severe storms had come soon after their visit, and the elders had not returned before Foi had been sent to the school.

Maybe it is the memory of those missionaries that makes me feel as I do, Foi thought.

For months she had prayed that she would know what to do before the night came for the membership meeting. Now the night of the meeting was nearly here, and she was still undecided. She had tried to tell her teachers that she was not ready to become a member of their church, but they had only laughed at her. “You are already past twelve,” they said. “You will never see your people again. It is time you became one of us.”

The girls finished their work in the kitchen and left. Only Foi lingered. She bowed her head and murmured a prayer that she might know what to do. When she looked up, two young men were at the door.

“We are looking for Foi Frost,” they said. “We are Mormon missionaries. Her family has joined our church and sent us to take her back to her people.”

Foi cried out with joy. The missionaries had come at last. She would see her family again.

A little over a year earlier, this kind of work would have been impossible for Peyton. At that time he was battling a dangerous infection that threatened to paralyze him. On top of that, his family had just moved to Idaho from Oregon, USA, and during the months he was stuck in bed and making daily hospital trips, he relied on his new friends and his trust in God to get him through.
Just before Peyton’s junior year of high school, his dad got a new job in Idaho. The family packed up everything and started the drive. “It didn’t really hit me until we started driving that we were actually moving,” Peyton says. “Then I really got scared.” Peyton’s mom remembers him quietly crying through a lot of the drive. “In fact, it was one of the only times I’ve seen him cry,” she says.
After the move Peyton joined the school soccer team. Although Peyton met a lot of new people, he had a hard time connecting with them. “It was all scary because everything was new,” he says. “The first couple of months were super hard.”
But his new friends kept reaching out to him. And it made a difference.
“There wasn’t a specific day where everything magically changed,” Peyton says. “It just happened slowly and over time as they kept inviting me to hang out with them. I slowly grew closer and closer to all of them.”
From the time Peyton was little, he loved all sports—but he had dreamed of playing on a high school varsity basketball team. Even though he didn’t make the team at his new school, he decided to play on the junior varsity team to prove himself.
Halfway through the season, Peyton noticed that his lower back began hurting, and gradually the pain got worse. For a while, taking a simple hot bath would relieve it. Then one morning Peyton woke up in intense pain, and over the next few days, he could barely walk. Finally, Peyton’s mom drove him to the emergency room.
The doctors gave him painkillers. “After that,” Peyton says, “I thought things would return to normal soon.”
They didn’t.
After a scan, the doctor told Peyton that he had a rare condition called a spinal epidural abscess—possibly from a freak hit to Peyton’s back during a basketball game. It was serious. If not treated in time, the swelling from the abscess could cause paralysis and even death.
Because the doctors wanted to avoid surgery, they put Peyton on the strongest antibiotics available. A permanent IV was put into his arm to give him internal medication. Peyton had to return to the hospital every day for treatments and tests, and he couldn’t go back to school. “I was scared,” Peyton explains. “But mostly I was frustrated that I couldn’t do anything I’d normally do.”
Peyton’s new friends visited him in the hospital after school. They texted, they heart-attacked his room, they helped throw a small birthday party for him, they even brought junior prom to the hospital for him, and they prayed.
“One of my friends, Ellie, would visit me pretty much every single day,” Peyton says, “and it was such a big help, strength, and source of joy to me. My friends were so helpful and supportive.”
But the weeks of treatments and waiting were still really hard. Peyton turned to the scriptures for comfort. One night, while reading in the Book of Mormon, he came across a passage that reached him: “And now, O my son Helaman, behold, thou art in thy youth … [and] I do know that whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day. … I do put my trust in him, and he will still deliver me” (Alma 36:3, 27; emphasis added).
“I trusted in those verses,” Peyton says. “They taught me to look to God, and I knew He would help me get through.”
Six weeks later Peyton had a follow-up scan. “I thought and hoped that I’d be declared infection-free,” he explains.
The results: the infection had diminished but not been eliminated, and there was potential it would come back. That meant another six weeks of treatment and increasing his trips to the hospital to three times a day. “I was super sad and frustrated. That was really hard.”
Finally, after the second round of treatments, Peyton was declared infection-free. “When they told me that I would be able to walk again and I wasn’t going to be paralyzed as long as I was careful, I was so relieved. I still pray and give thanks almost every day for the ability that I have to be able to walk and to exercise.”
With life somewhat back to normal, Peyton was eager to play sports again, especially basketball. “I really wanted to play, but I didn’t know if my back could handle it. I knew I had to take my question to God. I prayed a lot. Then I started having dreams about playing basketball and getting hit and becoming paralyzed during a high school game. At first I just brushed it off, but I kept having them. Then I started having dreams about me being a dad in a wheelchair.
“I decided I shouldn’t play basketball because one day I wanted to be able to play and do stuff with my kids. I felt like I was following a prompting.”
The following March, Peyton began his mission in North Carolina. One month later, Hurricane Matthew ravaged the eastern coast of the United States, and North Carolina was in emergency status. Although he had to be careful, Peyton and the other missionaries helped fill and place thousands of sandbags to protect businesses and homes from the floods.
Peyton reflects: “All of my experiences in Idaho prepared me in different ways for my mission. All of my experiences made me physically, mentally, or spiritually stronger, and I’ve needed all those in helping the people here in North Carolina.
“I’ve realized that God gave me that trial to humble me and to give me more compassion for other people. This experience also made me a lot more grateful for all the things that I take for granted. There was a reason the Lord preserved me and that I wasn’t paralyzed or dead. That’s when it really hit me that I was here to help and bless others.”

Winters in Europe can feel even colder than usual when you’re riding a bike. One day right after Christmas while I was serving in the Belgium Brussels Mission, my companion and I rode our bikes past a lady also on a bicycle.
I immediately noticed she wore no gloves. On impulse, I asked her if she would like my gloves because I had received a new pair for Christmas. She hesitated and then talked about other things.
Finally, I took off my gloves, put them in her hands, and said, “Merry Christmas.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she hugged me. At that moment I felt a portion of the love Heavenly Father has for her, and I told her God loved her very much. She said her husband was sick and she had left the house to run some errands. I asked if we could come and see her, but she declined because of her husband’s illness.
I will never forget what I felt as I watched her ride off. I felt the sting of cold on my hands, but my heart was warm with the love of God.

That help came to my father years ago when his work took him to Australia. He was alone on a Sunday, and he wanted to take the sacrament. He could find no information about Latter-day Saint meetings. So he started walking. He prayed at each intersection to know which way to turn. After walking and making turns for an hour, he stopped to pray again. He felt an impression to turn down a particular street. Soon he began to hear singing coming from the ground floor of an apartment building close by. He looked in at the window and saw a few people seated near a table covered with a white cloth and sacrament trays.

Now, that may not seem like much to you, but it was something wonderful to him. He knew the promise of the sacrament prayer had been fulfilled: “Always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).

From the time I received the first birthday dollar from my grandmother I was taught to save one dime to return to the Lord as tithing. Tithing settlements were something I always looked forward to. I loved to watch the bishop put a check mark by the words “full-tithe payer” and know that the Lord was pleased with me.
I’d never held much of a job growing up, and most of my income came from baby-sitting. I kept my tithing in a separate envelope until I remembered to take it to church. Often six months worth of tithing went with me to tithing settlement.
When I got my first job after high school, I decided to open a checking account so that I would have easier access to my money. Unfortunately, I didn’t open a savings account for my tithing, and I hadn’t formed the habit of paying it on a monthly basis. But I lived at home and spent very little money, so I didn’t worry much about it.
I loved working as a nurses’ aide at the local hospital, and by the first of December I decided to apply for admission to the nearby junior college. I counted what I had in the bank and was excited to confirm that I had enough money for housing and tuition for the next three semesters if I finished working the rest of the month.
So I went to the college, made a down payment for my housing, and paid my tuition. The rest of the housing money was due when I started school the first week of January.
It was then that I realized I had forgotten to take into account the tithing that was outstanding when I balanced my books. What was I going to do?
When my tithing settlement appointment came, I was still unsure how I would handle my situation. It was the first settlement I had attended without my family, and as I sat waiting for my turn, I was tempted for the first time in my life to not pay a full tithe. After all, I reasoned, I’d always paid a full tithe before. What would just this one year matter? Besides, I could always make it up during next year. And my family wouldn’t be there to hear me pronounce the words “part-tithe payer.”
All the stories I’d ever heard about people paying their tithing and still being able to meet bills came to my mind. But they don’t apply to me, I thought. I’m in this situation because I put myself here. I just simply have to choose. Do I want to pay a full tithe, or do I want to go to college?
I still wasn’t sure until the bishop looked me in the eye and asked, “Does this amount represent a full tithe?”
“It doesn’t now, but it will,” I answered as I took out my checkbook and wrote a check for the 80 dollars I owed. Peace flooded over me, and I knew I had made the right choice.
After praying about my situation, I decided to go ahead with my plans for college. I went to the housing office, and I was given a two-week extension. Then I went looking for a job. I found one in the cafeteria, but I wouldn’t be paid in time to meet my obligation.
On the last day of the extension I went to the mailbox and found a check made out to me from the hospital. It was for 90 dollars for the accrued sick and personal-leave days I had not taken. I had no idea it was coming. I now had enough for my tithing and the 80 dollars I owed at the housing office.
This time I paid my tithing first.

I had put my trust in those large hands many times. My thoughts returned to the day that I was stuck halfway down a turret at Caernarfon Castle. The turret, like the rest of the castle, was dark and made of huge granite blocks. The stairs spiraled upwards and were worn from centuries of footsteps. Tourists milled around the ancient landmark. Laughs, shreaks, and voices speaking several languages echoed off the damp, cold walls. Climbing up the turret had seemed relatively easy. I kept to the outside wall where the stairs were wide and headed toward the light at the top. The route down, however, meant teetering on the sliver of stone step in the center of the tower while hordes of huge adults streamed by me, flailing cameras and bags that hit me as they passed. Instead of heading toward the light above I was going down into a pit of darkness. I was terrified.
I could hear people above me beginning their descent. I knew that I would cause a huge traffic jam unless I moved, but I was frozen. “Dad,” I whispered. “Dad.” The sound bounced back hauntingly. I heard footsteps, then a strong voice that I recognized. “Sian, take one step down; just one.”
“No,” I gasped, “I’ll fall.”
“It’s okay,” came the reply. “I’m right in front of you.”
I looked down, my stomach churning. I saw his hand reach out around the central pillar. I took a deep breath and stepped down.
“Good girl. Now one more,” came the encouraging voice. I kept my eyes on my feet and my hand on the clammy stone pillar as Dad coaxed me onward.
Suddenly there was light and green grass and safety. I ran through the archway into the castle’s courtyard. I was down. I was free. I looked for my father. He was standing at the archway watching me, smiling at my excitement and conquest.

In the October 2010 general conference, Sister Rosemary M. Wixom, the Primary general president, told about a family with little kids that took three and a half years to read the Book of Mormon. My family and I decided to do the same thing. My parents helped me and my sister and brother say the words in the Book of Mormon. It took us three years to finish reading the Book of Mormon too, and when we finished, I could read all the words by myself.
When we started reading it, we lived in Recife, Brazil, where we read it for one year. Then we moved to Washington, D.C., and read it for another year. Finally we moved to Taipei, Taiwan, where we read it for one more year until we finally finished it.
I like to act out Book of Mormon stories because it’s a fun way to learn about what happened in the book. One of my favorite stories is when Abinadi taught the gospel to King Noah, and Alma had the courage to escape from King Noah to preach the gospel and baptize people into the Church. I like that story because I was baptized while we were reading the Book of Mormon as a family.

When I reflect on my life there has never been a moment when I doubted that the Church was true. In my youth, raised in a Mormon community, testimony was never a question among my peers because virtually all of our activities centered on the Church. Belief was automatic. Without seminary there was almost no dialogue about our knowledge or our understanding of the gospel. The Church was just there and we were a part of it. Then I was called to serve a full-time mission in the Spanish-American Mission, working with the Mexican people.
My companion and I entered the mission field at the same time and for some reason, unknown to us, we were assigned to begin our missionary labors together. Neither one of us knew the Spanish language, and both of us were virtually illiterate in the gospel. (This was before there were any Missionary Training Centers.) We were timid, untrained, and a little frightened, but eager to start to work.
In those days there were very few member referrals. We knocked on doors from morning to night and did our best to communicate with the Mexican people, using a few words of Spanish and a lot of English. For the first time in my life I was required to bear my testimony to nonmembers who had little knowledge or respect for the Church. It was a challenging and humbling experience.
One day, to our surprise, we met a couple who brought out a Book of Mormon, saying that in their church they also used this sacred book as scripture. We were overjoyed until they began to criticize us and mock the doctrines of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We discovered that they were missionaries from another religion who had been serving for 11 years. They were very knowledgeable and skilled in using the scriptures. My companion and I were no match for them. We were just boys fresh off the farm. They totally intimidated us, demeaned us, and tried to destroy our faith. In my heart I prayed for divine help.
Then, as I looked at that couple, a remarkable feeling came over me. For the first time in my life I felt the power of the Spirit rest upon me. Although I was somewhat ignorant, unlearned in the things of the gospel and the world, there was an absolute assurance that I held the holy priesthood of God and that they did not! That I was His minister of truth and they were not! With all the power of my soul I told them that I knew we were just boys and that we were not experts in the doctrine of our religion, but I knew that what we were doing was correct, that the Church was true, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. They were silenced. They could not refute my testimony.
The testimony I bore that day was different than any other I had ever given. It was not a passive thing, nor simply an accepted thing. It was real. I knew it. And my testimony which began at that moment has grown stronger and stronger every day of my life. There is no doubt, you see, for it is true!

“In the Celestial Room, I felt an assurance that I will be healed,” Domingo Servito who faced a fatal health condition testified.
He miraculously survived an eight-hour, high-risk major operation after the Open House, and a few weeks later he was able to attend the Dedication, and celebrated his 68th birthday the day after the Dedication. He bears witness that, “when you feel the assurance of the Spirit, it will truly happen.”

“I had a good time as a youngster,” Elder Glen L. Rudd said. “We had a fine, big shepherd dog. My brothers and I would harness him to our wagon in the summer, and we would let him pull us around the block. In winter we would harness him to a sled, and he would pull us all over the neighborhood. I liked all kinds of sports, especially tennis, and I played basketball as long as I could. Even as a bishop, I played on the ward basketball team.
“When I was growing up, I had a great bishop, Bishop William F. Perschon of the Fourth Ward, one of the oldest wards in Salt Lake City. My twelfth birthday fell on a Sunday, and Bishop Perschon called me to the stand during sacrament meeting and told the congregation that I had been interviewed and was worthy to be ordained a deacon. After I was sustained, he announced, ‘We’d like to ordain him right now.’ He got a chair, and the stake president, who was there, ordained me a deacon in front of the whole ward!
“When I was sixteen, Bishop Perschon called me into his office after Sunday School and talked to me for forty-five minutes. He told me things that I needed to know and convinced me that I should change a few things in my life, such as not playing tennis on Sunday. I needed that talk, and it changed my life.
“He had spent another forty-five minutes that day talking to my friend Arthur Sperry, and ten years later, when I was in that same office as bishop, Arthur was serving as my counselor. He became the bishop when I was released, and he became a mission president and a temple president about the same times that I did. I have counted twenty-nine bishops, eleven mission presidents, and three temple presidents who grew up in the Fourth Ward while Bishop Perschon served there as bishop. Elder Theodore M. Burton, whose life was also influenced positively by Bishop Perschon, grew up in that ward too.”

My battle with suicidal thoughts began shortly after I moved to a cold city in Iceland, where the lack of sunlight during the winter triggered severe seasonal affective disorder (SAD). As my pain grew too intense for me to handle, I considered suicide.
During the first year I didn’t accept that I was depressed. I was scared to tell anyone, even my own husband, about my thoughts. No one in my family or at church knew I suffered from a life-threatening illness; they saw me as an active Church member with a fervent testimony who faced no major challenges. I prayed often, begging for relief, and Heavenly Father strengthened me. I became more careful with my diet, exercised often, immersed myself in the scriptures, served others, and kept all the commandments. But it wasn’t enough.
Depression surged toward me like a giant wave. So I ran faster and prayed harder, but I couldn’t always outrun the wave. I swam against the current, praying I would survive until my kids came home from school or until lunch. Some days I would live from minute to minute, using sheer willpower to defeat my thoughts and urges.
I remember feeling intense mental pain the first time I almost committed suicide. I did not plan or think ahead—I temporarily lost the ability to logically think. Afterwards I realized how close I had come to taking my own life. I wondered what was wrong with me. I told myself that I shouldn’t have suicidal thoughts, and I pretended that they had never existed. I convinced myself that I would never have these thoughts again.
But suicidal thoughts continued to enter my mind when I least expected them. The temptation to end my excruciating pain was very strong. But I wanted to be healed. Though I didn’t understand then that I was suffering from an acute illness (an illness that is severe and sudden), I knew I could be healed. So I asked for a priesthood blessing.
My husband, unaware of my struggles, said many things during the blessing that told me Heavenly Father was aware of me. He promised me that I would handle my challenges. Immediate healing was not the solution, but I accepted that Heavenly Father would help me overcome my struggle.
Summer arrived, full of sunshine and long days. It was never dark, not even at midnight. I was happy and felt like myself again. But as the days rapidly shortened in September, my depression returned and suicidal thoughts infiltrated my mind. I was frightened. At first I tried what I had tried the previous year: praying more, exercising more, and trying harder at everything. But the suicidal urges grew stronger and more severe. I struggled for two months and finally realized that I couldn’t survive another winter on my own. I realized that Heavenly Father has blessed us with modern medicine and doctors. To recover, I needed to be willing to open up about my depression and visit a doctor.
Asking for help was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I could hardly speak through my tears when I told my husband about my depression and that I needed help. I couldn’t say the word suicide out loud. My husband made an appointment with a psychiatrist for me.
My doctor prescribed medicine, which helped me get through the winter. Like many people, I struggled to find the right dosage and deal with the side effects. This brought additional stress to my marriage and my family, but my husband and my children supported me.
When spring came, my deep depression lifted, and I no longer needed medication. We moved to a sunny city. I thought all was well and that I would leave my mental illness behind. But I was not completely healed. Feelings of guilt arose for my previous thoughts, feelings, and urges. I disliked that my teenagers had figured out that I had been suicidal. I felt like I had wasted more than a year of my life.
Also, I was scared—especially when the shorter days in September arrived again. I experienced intense daily flashbacks and feared I would suffer acute depression again. But I could see the Lord’s hand in my life as I was led to a wonderful doctor and started therapy. I learned that I also suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). With my doctor’s guidance, I dealt with PTSD.
And then I experienced a miracle. After mighty prayer and seeking to apply the Savior’s Atonement in my life, the Lord removed my feelings of guilt rapidly, distinctly, and tangibly. His voice explained that I didn’t have to carry guilt because my depression wasn’t my fault. Jesus Christ carries that burden for me through the power of His Atonement. I was filled with light and felt hopeful again.
I don’t know all the reasons why I had to face the challenges of life-threatening illness. Although I still carry all the memories, the mental and physical pains are gone. Every day I am grateful for my family, my doctor, and my time here on earth. Because of my illness, I gained empathy and love for others. I grew emotionally and spiritually and gained knowledge that I would not have learned otherwise. I experienced precious spiritual moments with my Heavenly Father and my Savior. My experiences have encouraged me to embrace life.

Several years ago in Osaka, Japan, I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulate young men I had ever met.
He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. One of his classmates, who had been at the top of the graduating class in the same field, was employed by a young, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend to change jobs. One of the vice-presidents of the firm in Tokyo made contact with the Church member, saying he could set his own salary at three or four times what he was then making.
The response was, “If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my church about my leaving Osaka, which would require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I will have no interest in your proposal.” The vice-president replied, “I am not a Christian. I know nothing about your religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”
Should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his release from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him that he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka.
He moved to Tokyo. Later, while visiting that city, I received another call from the same man. We visited for quite some time. He had become extremely successful. He had broadened his experiences and was now a consultant teaching top management in major corporations how to operate their companies. His time was in great demand. He was making a handsome income. But he was neglecting his Church work and his family responsibilities.
I told him I wouldn’t tell him what he should do, but that there was a scripture that would tell him if he truly was converted: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) I sensed that this scripture might have caused a few little ripples; however, we parted as good friends.
A few weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from him. He said he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority now would be his family and the Church, and his second priority would be employment. Setting priorities and then reviewing them to see that we are not straying is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn.

Not too many battles later my squad got the assignment to go out and find the enemy position and their ammunition and supply dump—an assignment that was frequently given to an infantry squadron. We used to rotate this and we took turns. This required an all-night skirmish. We were to go out and spend one complete day and night and come back the next morning. We went out and finally got behind their lines and secured their position and ammunition dump, plotted it on our map, and started back. But our battle line had changed, and the enemy now occupied the area where we had been the day before. They had pushed our forces back a quarter of a mile in a counterattack. So we came around a hill into a valley, thinking it was held by our side, but the enemy now held both hills, and we were in a valley right between them. By the time we discovered it, they had annihilated one or two of our squad, and the rest of us took cover in a deep shell hole right in the center.
It was late afternoon when we found ourselves in this particular position. We knew we had to be out of there by nightfall because they’d just squeeze us out, the fighting being what it was in that sector. So we sat there, 11 of us, plotting what we’d do and how we’d do it. We were still 350 to 400 yards from our lines. In fact, we could even hear our fellows yell when they saw our plight, but it was too late. So we kept calling back over to them that we were going to make a dash for it, but we’d let them know just as soon as we could decide, and as we sat there surveying our situation, we decided that right at dusk we would go as a team, realizing that some wouldn’t make it. But it was the only way to get some of us out of it. There’s a long inventory-taking episode, let me tell you, as you sit there waiting.
We decided that we’d go at 6:15 because it would be just dark enough that we would be less of a target but light enough that we could make our way. We called over to our fellows to give us as much cover as they could with fire power, that the 11 men they would see scampering would be us, and to protect us with all they had. They called back that that’s what they’d do. We stripped our rifles down because we couldn’t take them with us, and got rid of all the heavy weights: there was the ammunition, the pouches, the grenades. We disassembled them as much as we could so that the enemy wouldn’t get any value from them. Then we sat there meditating and talking, and the others asked if I would kneel and lead them in prayer. And then we promised certain things we’d do for each other in terms of family welfare and all the rest if one made it and the other didn’t. I always carried my blessing with me, and I remember looking at it at 6:05, and I opened it up and studied it again, and it said, in essence, “Paul, you will live to see certain things come to pass if you’re willing.” There wasn’t a human way out of the situation we were in. You’d have to have been there to appreciate what I’m trying to tell you.
Well, the zero minute came, and we shook hands, and you never saw 11 men scamper like that before. I wished I’d had the track coach there. I think I set a new world record as I made my way to the American line. Three or four of the others didn’t get above the surface of the ground; they were cut down with machine guns. One of my good friends was almost cut in two with a burst, and as I stopped to try to help, I could see it was hopeless, and so l started on. It had been raining hard, and it was slippery, dirty, muddy, and so cold, and you’d fall as many times as you’d take a step almost, trying to get some traction. I’d move this way and that way, and I could tell I had a sniper with a machine gun right on me because the dirt and the mud behind me would just kick right up, move right around me, and then I’d move this way and then he’d pick me up again and move back. I was going with all I had. By then it was everybody for himself, and as I scampered within 50 yards of our hole, the sniper got a direct beam on me, and the first burst caught me in the right heel. It took my combat boot right off, just made me barefooted that quick without touching me physically, and it spun me around, and I went down on my knee. As I went down another machine gun burst came across my back and ripped the belt and the canteen and the ammunition pouch right off my back without touching me. As I got up to run, another burst hit me right in the back of the helmet, and it hit in the steel part, ricocheted enough to where it came up over my head, and split the helmet in two, but it didn’t touch me. Then I lunged forward again, and another burst caught me in the loose part of the shoulders where I could take off both my shirt sleeves without removing my coat, and then one more lunge and I fell over the line, into the arms of one of the dirtiest sergeants you ever saw. He’d watched the whole encounter, and he said, “Paul, you sure are lucky.” He said, “Follow me,” and I crawled back up, and I was the only one of the 11 who had even made it the first 100 yards.
Lucky? Oh, you call it what you want. I’d had verification after verification. A thousand such incidents happened to me in two years of combat experience. I only relate these things because I feel that young people everywhere, in and out of the Church, need to commence a serious investigation of their own souls and status in this life, because they are at a time when they can prepare.

One summer I reached the conclusion I was too old and too cool for family vacations. “No way,” I said when my parents suggested we begin planning our annual outing. “I have to work.” Like the local burger place couldn’t function without my eight hours a week.

For 16 years my family had taken summer vacations together. Even when money was tight we hitched up the tent trailer and rambled somewhere. I think Mom and Dad knew that if they got me in the station wagon, and out onto the highway, I’d soften and remember the good times. They suggested I give the family vacation one last try, and after much complaining I finally consented and got the time off work. A few days later we pulled into the freeway traffic and in a moment all that was good about our trips came back to me. Somewhere down the road, through many years of trips, we had learned how to make a vacation fun.

Though I can’t even remember where we went during our 16th summer vacation, I can vividly recall the feeling of closeness we all shared. That trip actually helped me overcome the irrational fear of being seen with my family. Once the station wagon started rolling, the people I sat with and the things we did together made me forget about appearances. And after a while I realized my family were all pretty cool themselves.

I consider June 2, 1940, to be a very important day in the history of my family. On this day my father was baptized into this Church.
Writing to his father, Elder Jack McDonald, one of the missionaries who baptized my father, described the day with these words:
“Last Sunday was an especially beautiful day. We missionaries went out to a secluded spot on the river’s edge, out in the country, and there Elder Jones and I [Elder McDonald] made our first baptism. Antony Aidukaitis entered into the icy waters and became a member of the Church. … Everything was perfect. The sky so blue, the countryside so still, so green, so lovely that none of us could help feeling the presence of some great influence.
“[As we walked] with our new member, he said that he just couldn’t explain how wonderful this day had been for him, how he actually felt like a new man. … That was our first baptism—no credit to me or anybody. He converted himself.”
This event changed the history of my life. I am not sure my father was able to foresee the wisdom of his act, but I love him for what he did that day. He passed away more than 30 years ago, but I will honor and bless his name forever.
I admire the courage my father had to be baptized into the Church in spite of the circumstances he faced at the time. It was not easy for him. His wife did not get baptized with him. The vices of drinking alcohol and smoking were strong temptations for him. He was poor. His mother was against his joining the Church, and she told him that if he were baptized, she would no longer consider him her son. With fewer than 300 members in Brazil, the Church did not have a single chapel there. I am truly astonished by my father’s determination and courage.
How could he make such a decision in the face of so many unfavorable circumstances? The answer is simple: it was because my father read the Book of Mormon. When he read it, he came to know of the truthfulness of the message of the Restoration. The Book of Mormon is a proof that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. Preach My Gospel teaches that “the Book of Mormon, combined with the Spirit, is [the] most powerful resource in conversion” ([2004], 104).

“Carmen! Justin!” my friend Sanford whispered hoarsely as he climbed over our back fence.
“I saw him again—down at the park!” He caught his breath. “Maybe he’s still there.”
I could feel my heart thumping. “Let’s go watch him,” I said, picking up a branch.
Sanford pulled his flipper from his back pocket. “I’ve got this.”
“Weapons?” Carmen questioned. “Why do we need weapons? We’re just going to watch him, not fight him.”
“What if he comes after us?” Sanford asked, standing up and siding with me.
“Then we’ll run,” Carmen answered.
We sneaked out of the yard, down the street, and over to the park. Then, crawling behind some bushes and up a little hill, we stopped near the top and peeked over it at the park. There was hardly anybody there because it was still pretty early in the morning, but in the far corner, just leaving the park, was the mysterious stranger carrying a burlap bag over his shoulder.
“That’s him!” Sanford gasped.
“I wonder what he has in that bag,” I muttered. “It looks pretty big.”
“Do you think that he could fit one of us inside that bag?” Carmen whispered.
All three of us shuddered at the idea.
“He always seems to be looking for something,” Sanford observed.
“Maybe he’s looking for treasure,” I suggested.
“Maybe he’s a robber who hid his money someplace and can’t remember where,” Carmen put in.
“Let’s follow him,” I said in a shaky whisper. “Maybe we’ll find out that the police are after him. If we turn him in to the police, we might get a reward.”
“You’re right, Justin,” Sanford whispered, “we’d better follow him.”
The three of us hurried across the park and down the street. We didn’t want to get too close, so we stayed way back and hid behind trees, bushes, or parked cars.
He snooped everywhere. And he’d stop and pick things up and drop them into his bag.
“I wonder what he’s doing,” Carmen said after we had been following him for a few minutes.
“He sure likes to peek into garbage cans,” Sanford pointed out.
“Maybe he’s looking for messages,” I said.
“Messages?” Carmen asked.
“Yeah,” I went on. “Maybe he works for a gang of robbers, and they leave him messages so that he’ll know what to steal.”
We were still following the mysterious stranger when he went behind Bishop Paulsen’s grocery store and slipped inside.
“He’s going to rob the bishop!” Sanford gasped.
“We have to warn him!” Carmen cried.
But we just stood there. A few minutes later the mysterious stranger stepped out of Bishop Paulsen’s store, carrying an empty bag!
“What should we do?” Sanford gulped as the stranger walked away. “Should we go for the police?”
While I was still thinking about it, Carmen started toward the store. Sanford and I looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her.
We tiptoed up to the back door and pushed it open. Bishop Paulsen was in his storeroom, washing his hands in a little sink.
“Are you all right?” we all blurted out.
Bishop Paulsen whipped around when we shouted. “Why, hello, kids.” He grinned. “You startled me.” He grabbed a paper towel and dried his hands. “What can I do for you?”
For a moment all three of us just stood and stared. Then Sanford rasped, “Didn’t you get robbed?”
“What?”
“Did the mysterious stranger do anything to you?” Carmen asked.
“What mysterious stranger?”
“Didn’t you see him?” I asked. “He was in here just a minute ago. Maybe he took something that you don’t even know about. You’d better check your candy and soda pop.”
“Sit down,” the bishop said, pointing to some empty crates stacked in a corner. We all sat down. “Now what’s this about a mysterious stranger?” he asked.
“We’ve been following a mysterious stranger,” I explained. “We’ve seen him other times too. He always carries a big burlap bag, and he’s always snooping around places. So we figured that maybe he was a robber or something. And just a few minutes ago he came into your store and … and …”
“Oh, you mean Brother Lund.” The bishop laughed.
“Brother … Lund?” the three of us gasped.
“Once or twice a week he brings me a bag or two of aluminum cans. I sell them to a recycling outfit.”
“He’s just gathering cans?” Carmen asked.
The bishop nodded and smiled. “He’s a good man. In fact, he was my Scoutmaster when I was a boy.”
“So why does he gather cans?” Carmen asked.
“Well, he’s been retired for quite a few years and lives on a small pension, so sometimes he fixes people’s washers and dryers and things—and gathers cans to sell. That way he earns a few extra dollars.”
Disappointed, the three of us dragged out into the parking lot. As we sat on the curb in front of the store, Sanford muttered, “I liked it lots better when Brother Lund was a mysterious stranger. It’s no fun now.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Now we can’t wonder why he’s sneaking around and who he’s going to rob.”
“I wonder what it’s like to have to pick up cans,” Carmen mused.
“Huh?” Sanford grunted.
“We’ve picked up cans before,” she said, “but just to get money for candy. How would it feel if we had to do it because we didn’t have enough money to live on?”
“Do you think he’s really poor?” I wanted to know.
“I wonder if he needs help,” Carmen said.
“If he does,” Sandford declared, “somebody else will have to help him. We’re just kids.”
“We can help him,” Carmen said, “even if we are kids.”
“How?” Sanford and I asked together.
“Brother Lund is pretty old. We could gather cans and sneak up to his place and leave them on his lawn and not tell who did it.”
“Hey—then we can be the mysterious strangers!” I grinned.
Sanford jumped up excitedly. “I know where there are lots of cans. Let’s go get our wagons and some trash bags from home.”
We were off and running. We went down to the ballpark, over to the picnic grounds, and just about everywhere else in town where people threw their cans. By afternoon Sanford had two trash bags full of cans in his wagon, and Carmen and I had two in ours.
“We must have about a million cans here,” Sanford boasted as we pulled our wagons down the street toward Brother Lund’s house.
“There aren’t a million cans here,” Carmen muttered. “A million cans would fill ten wagons.”
“Then we have half a million cans,” Sanford came back.
Carmen shrugged. “Well, maybe a half million. Are we going to leave a note?” she asked. “I brought paper and a pencil.”
“What would we write?” I asked.
“Let’s write, ‘To Brother Lund from the mysterious strangers.’”
Sanford and I grinned and nodded our heads. We sneaked the four bags onto Brother Lund’s lawn, with the note sticking up from the top of one of them, then scampered off.
Two days later we looked for cans again. This time we only found enough to fill two and a half bags. Then on Saturday, after a game at the ballpark, we searched under the bleachers and found lots of cans. That day we filled five bags!
Just as we lifted the bags over Brother Lund’s front fence, someone called out, “So you’re the mysterious strangers.”
We all jumped and were about to dash down the street, when Brother Lund stood up not ten feet from us. He’d been down pulling weeds in his flower bed, and we hadn’t seen him. “I’ve been wondering who you were,” he said, smiling.
We just stood by the wagons and stared as Brother Lund came closer. “I’m surely glad that you came,” he said. “I have two big cantaloupes in my garden that I haven’t picked yet because I don’t have anybody to eat them with. Do you like cantaloupes, mysterious strangers?”
Sanford was inside that gate with Brother Lund before Carmen and I could even blink.
Brother Lund was right. Those cantaloupes were huge. But we managed to eat both of them, and while we ate, Brother Lund told us stories. When we told him how we’d thought that he was a mysterious stranger, he had a good laugh.
“I used to think that it was exciting that you were the mysterious stranger,” Sanford told him, “but I like you better this way.”
“Can we still be your mysterious strangers, even though you know who we are?” I asked, hoping that we could visit Brother Lund again. “We can still gather cans for you.”
Brother Lund thought for a minute, then said, “If I let you gather cans for me, will you do a favor for me?” We all nodded our heads. “I have a big garden and a few fruit trees and grapevines. I grow some good things, but I hate to eat them alone. Would you be willing to come down and eat them with me?” Our eyes got big, and we all licked our lips. “My watermelons will be ripe in a week or so. And the apples are turning red. And the—”
“We’ll be here,” we all shouted. “We’ll be your mysterious strangers all the time.”
And we were.

Many years ago, when I was engaged in the private practice of the law, a lawyer in Texas engaged me to take care of a legal problem for him in Utah.
This legal matter was satisfactorily adjusted by the payment of a sum of money, in the form of a check to our office. I forwarded the check to my friend in Texas without first cashing it, with the understanding that a portion of it would be returned to settle part of the obligation through our office.
After I sent the check, I heard nothing more from my friend. Letters, telegrams, and telephone calls went unanswered for many months. I became concerned because it was not my money and if he did not keep his word I was honor bound to make good the loss. The obvious solution was to file a complaint against him. There lurked in my mind, however, the possibility of a far more subtle approach.
I recalled how, as a boy, I had been taught by my mother the words of the Savior, as recorded by Matthew, that tell us that true Christians are supposed to pray for those who despitefully use them (see Matt. 5:44). I certainly felt that I had been despitefully used. I happened to be serving as a bishop in the Church at that time, and I chastised myself because I was something less of a Christian than I ought to be. I had not first considered the direction of the Master. At an appropriate place and time, I went to my knees and uttered a simple but sincere prayer for the well-being of this man in Texas. I am ashamed to say that this was the first time in my life when the sole and only purpose of a prayer was in the interest of one who, in my opinion, had not done well by me. The prayer seemed to have been almost instantaneously heard and brought dramatic results. In the time that it takes for an airmail letter to come from Texas, there arrived a communication from this man containing the promised money. In the letter was an explanation that he had been seriously ill, had been in the hospital, and had had to close his office but now was doing better. He asked our pardon and apologized for the inconvenience that this caused.
I relate this experience without apology to anyone who might think that I was weak, inadequate, or foolish for having humbly sought to follow a commandment of the Savior for a solution to a practical problem. The price of discipleship is obedience. In many languages, the word disciple has the same root as the word discipline. Self-discipline and self-control are consistent and permanent characteristics of the followers of Jesus.

“Two sandwiches? I want three! Gimme three!”
“Man, I can really use this. Thanks.”
“Hey sweetie! You’re kinda cute.”
“Can I take one home to my kid? We haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Peanut butter? I can’t eat this stuff. Ain’tcha got no cheese?”
Mark looked around in the tray for something that he thought was a cheese sandwich and handed it to the hungry man standing at the open side door of the big white van. Mark and three other priests from the Arlington Ward, McLean Stake, were distributing food as fast as they could to the needy and homeless of Washington, D.C. This was a service project a little out of the ordinary for the priests, one they wouldn’t soon forget.
The plan had sounded simple enough. They’d go to a charity kitchen called “Martha’s Table,” where food had been donated and prepared. They’d load a van, which was driven by another volunteer, then head out to give away the food at three prearranged locations.
Mark Wolthuis, 16, was to hand out sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Taylor Holsinger, 16, would do the same thing. Gonzalo Vargas, 17, would be at the back of the truck, wearing yellow rubber gloves and ladling up hot vegetable soup. And Keith Haraguchi, 16, would pour drinks from big plastic coolers he’d set up outside the van.
A line about 50 people strong had already formed by the time the van pulled up to the first stop, a busy downtown street corner bordering a small square. The young men were surprised to see a business suit or two and several bicycle couriers in line. They were also surprised the first time they saw what they later understood to be standard operating procedure: People would stand in line, get their food, then go straight to the end of the line. By the time they got to the front of the line again, they had finished their first helpings and were ready for seconds.
The second stop was Lafayette Park, right across the street from the White House. There were even more eaters there, their numbers swollen by those who had run over from the last stop. While some tenderly fed their last sandwich crumbs to the pigeons, others were trying to cut in the line, and a fight erupted. The boys just kept on dispensing food.
The last stop was in a more residential neighborhood. Old brick apartment buildings surrounded a small park where the food was handed out. There some of the people stopped to chat, explaining that with rent and food costs so high, they couldn’t afford both. “Prices here are some of the highest in the country,” agreed Taylor.
Gonzalo turned the big soup kettle on its side, trying to ladle out the last drops of broth, and Keith poured his last drink. They loaded their equipment back in the truck for the final time and pulled away from the curb. One or two lone, shabby figures remained to pick through the discarded wrappers, hoping to find a crumb or two worth eating. On the way back to Arlington, after the van had been returned and the empty trays, pots, and coolers unloaded, the boys talked about what they’d learned from the experience. They had done their part to help the needy, but the needy had also helped them.
Taylor said it made him realize how important it is to work hard in school and to take advantage of the educational opportunities he has right now to prepare for future employment. “I don’t ever want to end up in the streets,” he said.
Keith learned about gratitude. Although the food they gave out was simple, he noted that many people were grateful for any little thing they could get. “A lot of people said thank you, and really meant it,” he said.
Some questions were raised in the boys’ minds, too. “Could this whole thing be kind of futile?” Taylor asked. “I mean, we feed them for not working. Why work when you can survive on handouts? Do you think, by giving them food, we’re making them lazy?”
“But what about the old people, and the ones who are sick?” asked Gonzalo. “There are some guys who really can’t take care of themselves.”
“Those are the ones we need to have shelters for, I guess,” said Taylor.
“It would be best to help some of the others find good jobs,” offered Mark.
The boys realized that they were dealing firsthand with a social situation that has no easy answers. They’d never know what the people they’d been helping had been through. All they could see was that there seemed to be an awful lot of people in need.”
“There was no way you could judge them, and no reason to,” said Gonzalo. “You just gave something to everybody.”
What Gonzalo said brought to mind the great speech King Benjamin gave in the Book of Mormon about helping the needy. He said: “Ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
“Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent. …
“For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have … ?
“And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, … O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another” (Mosiah 4:16–19, 21).
Somehow, the strange things the priests had seen didn’t matter as much as the good things they’d done. They’d been able to ease some of the pain, if only temporarily, for some people who were suffering. They knew they’d be back to do it again, and they knew they couldn’t judge the people they were helping.
Because, deep down inside, the seed of understanding had been planted that would teach them what was really meant when King Benjamin asked, “Are we not all beggars?”

Today is going to be a perfect day—an Abby Day! Abby thought as she skipped into the sunny kitchen.
“What would you like for breakfast, dear?” asked Mama.
Abby thought it would be nice to have strawberry ripple ice cream. But she was sure that Mama would shake her head and sigh, “Oh, Abigail.” So instead, she said, “I’d like oatmeal with raisins and a little brown sugar.”
“All right, Abby. It will only take a minute.” Mama smiled at her.
Then, when Papa offered Abby orange juice or apple juice, Abby said she would like orange juice, please, and was glad that she’d remembered to be polite.
Breakfast was delicious. When she finished, Abby took her bowl, spoon, and glass to the sink. “Here, Papa. I’m finished.”
He smiled at Abby as he took her things. “Thank you, Abby,” he said. “What a big help you are.”
Abby went into the family room. Mama was sitting on the floor, surrounded by scraps of material. Each little pile was a different color or pattern. They were so beautiful that Abby wanted to grab all the piles and throw them up into the air. She imagined the bright colors and pretty patterns fluttering down like butterflies. But the last time she had done that, Mama had cried, “Oh no, Abigail!” so she knelt down next to Mama and asked, “What can I do to help?”
Mama hugged her. “Can you help me choose some pretty pieces for a quilt for Aunt Lisa?” Abby was glad that she could help.
When Mama went to help Papa for a minute, Abby noticed how the fluffy quilt batting looked just like a bouncy cotton cloud waiting for someone to jump into it. Then she thought it looked more like new-fallen snow, and she imagined being the first one to walk through it.
They were wonderful thoughts, but Abby wouldn’t like the sad “Ab-i-gail” Mama would say if she did walk on the quilt batting. And it was Abby Day, so she sat still and waited for Mama to return.
Soon Mama came back and said, “Thank you for waiting so patiently, Abby. Papa is going out to the barn now. Would you like to go with him?”
“Yes!” Then, because it was Abby Day, she remembered to get her coat and hat without being asked. Usually Abby squirmed a lot when Mama put on her coat. But today Abby wiggled only a little while Mama buttoned the top button. “There,” Mama said, “all done.”
It was cold as Papa and Abby walked down the driveway to the barn. “Will it snow, Papa?” Abby asked.
“Soon. Maybe today.”
Most of the leaves were off the trees, and Abby ran to pick up an armful of them. She threw them up as high as she could. “Look, Papa—it’s snowing leaves!” She started to run across the yard, then stopped and asked, “Can we run, Papa?” She knew that if she ran too far ahead, Papa would call, “Wait for me, Abigail!” But today Papa said, “Sure, Abby,” and he raced her to the barn.
Papa and Abby finished their work in the barn just as it began to snow. They went into the kitchen, where it was warm. Mama fixed hot chocolate, and it tasted just right and made Abby feel warm. Abby had an even warmer feeling inside as she thought about how she had made the day an Abby Day.

I don’t ever want to forget him. You see, Hans got really sick last month—Mother said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died.
We all cried when Hans died. Mother and Father hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. My grandparents and all my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too. Mother and Father played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Hans and Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Father says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mother and Father were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.