Gospel Story Finder

Spending time with my family is always a cherished experience for me. Because I work as a railroad engineer, my schedule is unpredictable. Occasionally I am transferred to distant locations and become temporarily separated from my wife and children. During these times, I see them only a few days each week—and only after a lengthy drive home.
Once, my wife, Scarlett, and our sons traveled to visit me during one of my breaks. Our sons enjoyed sleeping in a motel room and eating at restaurants. This trip became a vacation for them. This refreshing reunion passed quickly, and before too long we were hugging and saying good-bye. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw Scarlett’s car disappear from view as we got on opposite on-ramps to the freeway. I was traveling back to the railroad, and Scarlett was taking our children home.
I smiled as I thought about my family and decided to call Scarlett to thank her again for coming to visit me. I reached for my cell phone in my coat pocket, but it was not there. After an unsuccessful search, I realized that the phone must have been put in Scarlett’s car by accident.
I used my cell phone to keep in touch with my family, but it was also necessary for my work. My wife and I had been driving in separate directions for 10 minutes, but I knew I had to retrieve my phone. I decided I would dash up to the next overpass, turn back in the opposite direction, and try to catch her. As I prepared to turn around, I seemed to hear a voice say, “Stop!”
I began slowing down, even though each passing moment was making it more difficult to recover my phone.
A second thought came: “Stay here!”
This strong feeling swept over me. Defying logic and reason, I pulled over and turned off the car. I did not know why, but I sensed that I should stay put. As I yielded to what I felt was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, I felt panic being replaced by peace. I offered a humble prayer, grateful for Heavenly Father’s direction and guidance.
Shortly thereafter I caught sight of Scarlett driving toward me. When she saw me, she quickly brought the vehicle to a halt and came over to me with the cell phone in hand.
“How did you know to stop and wait?” she asked.
Joyful tears filled our eyes as I related my experience receiving promptings from the Holy Ghost.
That incident has stayed with me, and I can never deny the divine help I received that day. It strengthened our testimonies that Heavenly Father is aware of the seemingly minute details of our lives. I strive to remain worthy of that same guidance I received many years ago.

By late afternoon the next day, 30 backpacks formed a long, brightly colored line that moved slowly up toward the clouds. We were with Varsity Scouts from the South Cottonwood Third Ward, Salt Lake Cottonwood Stake, and Explorers from the Granger 22nd Ward, Salt Lake Granger Central Stake. We were hiking in the Wind River Mountains, which are close to the Tetons and to the camp.
The weight of the packs and the slipping rocks underfoot kept heads bent toward the trail. Sweat streamed down everyone’s face. All of us walked one step at a time on a path that had started steep and was getting even steeper.
“We’re getting high enough to meet the angel Gabriel,” Robert Beeler joked. The rest of the group didn’t do much talking. Behind lay the valley floor, where we had started that morning. It seemed incredibly distant. But even though everyone was exhausted, the guides kept us all moving.
“There wasn’t just one big push,” Ron Wood remembered later. “The whole day was the push. A lot of us wondered if we were ever going to make it.”
“My pack was way too heavy,” Steven Aslami admitted. “So the other guys divided up some of my things and carried them for me. Next time,” he laughed, “I’ll leave my stereo home.”
Rest stops were kept short, just long enough for everyone to catch their breath and for our guides, Richard Jones and Greg Longson, to check maps. Both Richard and Greg are returned missionaries. Like Bob Burk, they had come to the base as young Scouts. Like Bob, they had now returned for the summer to share what they’d learned.
“How much farther do we have to go?” Kelly Crowther asked.
“Not too far.” The guides had been saying the same thing since the first hour.
The trail continued into the alpine zone, the highest region of the wilderness. A red-tailed hawk drifted in the warm evening air. The mountain was beautiful, but later, when asked about the scenery on the first part of the hike, Doug Tolman summed up what most of us had experienced: “Scenery? I don’t know. All I saw were my feet.”
The incline became less steep, dropped down, and finally ended at Coyote Lake. It was evening, and the sun was going down. Fish were turning in the water. We took off our packs, drank from an icy stream, and built our campfires. As a precaution against marauding bears, we hung our food in trees. Soon the rich aroma of stew mixed with the fragrance of mountain air. There was a relaxed feeling of accomplishment. All of us felt it, the kind of feeling that comes only when you’ve worked hard for something. Sleep came easily that night.

President Thomas S. Monson, today First Counselor in the First Presidency, visited the communist-controlled German Democratic Republic (GDR) for the first time in 1968. Meeting with a group of Latter-day Saints in the city of Görlitz, President Monson grieved as he realized these members could not fully enjoy many of the blessings of the gospel: they had no patriarch, no wards or stakes—only branches, and they could not attend the temple. “I stood at the pulpit,” he said, “and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: ‘If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours’” (“Thanks Be to God,” Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Seven years later, President Monson returned to the GDR, and on 27 April 1975, he offered a prayer rededicating the land for the advancement of the gospel. This plea was among his appeals for divine help in establishing peace and opening missionary work: “Heavenly Father, wilt Thou open up the way that the faithful may be accorded the privilege of going to Thy holy temple” (Thomas S. Monson, Faith Rewarded [1996], 36).
The fulfillment of these blessings could not be imagined at the time they were given. Manfred Heller, first counselor in the Dresden Ward bishopric, explains that before 1985 very few had the possibility of receiving temple blessings. Permission had to be obtained from government authorities to travel out of the country. In exceptional cases, people who were retired sometimes received permission and traveled to Switzerland for their endowment.
After years of exploring every possibility, the answer came. President Monson said: “Through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God” (Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Four years before the Berlin Wall fell, the Freiberg Germany Temple was dedicated on 29 June 1985. During the two-week public open house that preceded the dedication, approximately 90,000 people toured the temple; thousands stood as long as five hours in the rain to see the new temple. And now thousands of faithful Latter-day Saints have received their temple blessings in this holy house.
“I remember when President Monson came and dedicated the land,” says Winfried Batzke, president of the Berlin Germany Stake. “And I have seen how, piece by piece, his promises have been fulfilled.”

I once had an experience that taught me the importance of going to the Lord for help. It was in January 1952, during the Korean conflict. My battalion had been firing our guns for many hours. Eventually, there was a break, and we laid down in our bunker to get some rest. Soon I was fast asleep.

The next thing I knew, a mail clerk stood over me, thrusting a letter from my bishop into my hand. I learned that my father had had surgery, and that his abdomen was filled with cancer. No one expected him to live more than two weeks. The bishop told me that arrangements had been made to fly me home and instructed me to contact the Red Cross.

I took the letter to a Red Cross representative, who verified the seriousness of my father’s condition. But by the time they had made contact, my father had passed away. I was informed that because he had already died, no useful purpose would be served by sending me home.

When I returned to my unit, they were in the middle of another firing mission. I felt angry and bitter and deeply hurt. Feeling desperate, I slipped off to a small grove of trees and dropped to my knees. I pleaded with the Lord to release me from those terrible feelings. Soon my whole bosom filled with the most peaceful feeling I had ever felt. It spread into my whole body, and I felt assured that all was well.

Born in England, Sister Lawson emigrated to Australia in 1966 at the age of 30. She suffers from acute arthritic and bronchial conditions, so her doctor had recommended a warmer climate.
First settling in Perth, a major city on the Indian Ocean shoreline of western Australia, Sister Lawson encountered Latter-day Saints in a local theater group. When she took on the job of stage manager, both the manager of the group and the leading male actor were Latter-day Saints.
Every time the group started or finished rehearsals, the manager called them together for prayer, Sister Lawson recalls. “Even though the rest of us were not members, it gave me a very warm feeling—I always used to quietly pray before I went on stage, and this seemed right, somehow.”
An invitation to attend Church meetings followed, and Sister Lawson was soon baptized. Naturally cheerful and enthusiastic, she served as ward and stake drama director in Perth and became thoroughly involved in the Church.
But her health continued to deteriorate. When she finally needed a cane to walk, her doctor told her she should go to the north of Australia, where the climate is distinctly warmer and much more humid. Ever since then, her home has been in Kununurra, where she works as a medical laboratory technician.
In order to maintain her commitment to the gospel and build her spirituality, Sister Lawson set some standards for herself when she moved to Kununurra that she has maintained ever since. She reads two or three chapters from the standard works daily, systematically working her way through each of them. She also reads every piece of Church literature she can get. “I subscribe to all the Church magazines,” she says.
Twice each month, she receives a phone call from the Relief Society president in the city of Darwin, 700 kilometers away—the center of Church activity in Australia’s vast Northern Territory. The phone calls are a welcome morale booster, as are the photocopies of lessons from the Relief Society and Sunday School manuals which are also sent.
Normally, Sister Lawson has an opportunity to take the sacrament only once every six months. When she can get the time off work, she travels to Darwin for district conference—a weekend trip that costs her an average of [U.S.] $350 for air fares. Occasionally, the mission president or another priesthood holder travels through the town, and Sister Lawson often takes that opportunity to ask for a blessing.
Sometimes, because employees in the mining industry tend to be mobile, other members will take up temporary residence in Kununurra. Even one more member is enough for Sister Lawson to consider it a “branch.”
Her advice to people in isolated circumstances is to “make a friend of Heavenly Father.
“You have to study regularly, talk to him as if he is a real friend, and then try to make a friend of others around you. You don’t have to change your standards just because you associate with nonmembers who feel and behave differently.”
Sister Lawson says it’s especially important to become involved in the community. She is president of the local theater group, treasurer of the local Progress Association, and vice-president of the town’s Cultural Coordinating Committee.
Endowed in the London Temple while on leave, Sister Lawson is 3,200 kilometers from the Sydney Temple—too far to travel regularly. However, she recently established Kununurra’s only genealogical society. Her eventual aim: to serve a temple mission in one of the tropical-climate temples.

The most important lesson, however, came from her parents, Harold and Carol Rasmussen Hillam, who taught her that with the help of the Lord, she could do anything. “There are no limits,” her father would say.
Sister Cordon relied on that knowledge as a newly called missionary in Lisbon, Portugal, struggling to learn Portuguese. “I was on my knees a lot asking for a miracle. But because of my father, I had learned that I could do hard things.”
After much prayer, work, and patience, she slowly became fluent in Portuguese, which blessed her many years later when she and her husband were called to serve in Curitiba, Brazil.
“It’s interesting how the Lord prepares us and builds us, a little at a time,” she says. “It always makes more sense when we look in the rearview mirror. We just have to have faith.”

During a recent tour to Papeete in the Tahitian Islands, my wife and I attended a conference on a distant island called Makemo. It is several hundred miles from Papeete. There are a few Latter-day Saints that live on that island, and my desire was to visit every Latter-day Saint in the mission. About sixty people live on a small island about thirty miles away from Makemo. Fifty-six of those sixty are members of the Church. About thirty of those people crowded into a very small boat to come to Makemo to attend the conference with us. They had never seen a General Authority, and their contact with other people was very infrequent. About every three months a boat would come to their little island. In fact, no General Authority had ever visited the island of Makemo since Elder Rufus K. Hardy was there many years ago. (If Elder Rufus K. Hardy doesn’t strike your memory, he served as one of the First Council of the Seventy at the time of Heber J. Grant.) After the conference and the feast they gave us (their feasts were a little unusual, raw fish, uncooked lobster, seaweed—Delicious!) I was with the mission president in a room when the branch president from this distant island thirty miles away from Makemo came in. They sat down on a bed in the room, and I observed as that branch president pulled a soiled envelope out of his shirt. I watched as he counted some currency and gave it to our mission president, President Jay Larson. When he excused himself I turned to the mission president and asked, “What was in the envelope?”

With tears in his eyes, he replied, “It was the tithing from that branch. It totaled about $2100.”

I too was touched by the experience and felt the Lord’s presence. Surely the Lord would open the windows of heaven for such faithfulness. In fact, I believe such joyful obedience to a commandment of God is in itself a blessing.

Great blessings come to us as individuals and to His Church as we support the Lord’s program for the care of the poor and needy. I have experienced these blessings firsthand in distributing food, clothing, and bedding to the suffering members of the Church in Europe following World War II. I witnessed the starving, the emaciated, and the barefoot. It was a piteous sight. My heart went out in compassion to all our Heavenly Father’s suffering children.

I remember so well the arrival of our first Church welfare supplies in Berlin. I took with me the acting president of the mission, President Richard Ranglack. We walked to the old battered warehouse which, under armed guard, housed the precious welfare goods. At the far end of the warehouse we saw the boxes piled almost to the ceiling.

“Are those boxes of food?” Richard said. “Do you mean to tell me those are boxes full of food?”

“Yes, my brother,” I replied, “food and clothing and bedding—and, I hope, a few medical supplies.”

Richard and I took down one of the boxes. We opened it. It was filled with the commonest of common foods—dried beans. As that good man saw it, he put his hands into it and ran it through his fingers, then broke down and cried like a child with gratitude.

We opened another box, filled with cracked wheat, nothing added or taken away, just as the Lord made it and intended it to be. He touched a pinch of it to his mouth. After a moment he looked at me through his tearful eyes—and mine were wet, too—and he said, while slowly shaking his head, “Brother Benson, it is hard to believe that people who have never seen us could do so much for us.”

That’s the Lord’s system! Voluntary donations motivated by brotherly love and willing sacrifice, and assisting others to help themselves. Such ensures dignity and self-respect.

I also knew that I felt at peace with myself when I did what was right. I learned when I was in the third or fourth grade how it felt to make a wrong choice. The rules at school were that we could not throw snowballs and that we could not go off the school grounds. One day I got in a snowball fight and crossed the street to get the advantage in the fight. Afterward I felt bad because I knew I had done something wrong.

Not long ago the boys faced another challenge. Their eighty-four-year-old grandfather was recovering from a severe stroke. After leaving the hospital, he still couldn’t walk or talk; he was sent to recuperate at the farm where he lived. Twelve days later someone killed him. “We don’t know who killed him,” Sister Lopez said.
“One of our priesthood leaders told our family to pray for whoever it was who killed my father-in-law,” Brother Lopez said. “And for ourselves, so that we would be able to forgive that person.”
“Two or three days later,” Sister Lopez added, “Benjamin came to me crying, ‘Mommy, I want to be able to pray to Heavenly Father for the person who killed my grandfather. But I can’t do it; I’m too mad at whoever did it.’ For me it was something special that he wanted to be obedient. So we talked about how Heavenly Father can help us to forgive others. Then my husband and I said, ‘Let’s pray as a family for the person who did this,’ because it was just too hard for Benjamin and the other children to do on their own. With Heavenly Father’s help, we have forgiven the killer and pray that one day he will have the gospel in his life. It has been a very special experience for our family.”

Speaking under the influence of the Holy Ghost and within the limits of his or her responsibility, a person may be inspired to predict what will come to pass in the future. The one who holds the office of the prophet, seer, and revelator prophesies for the Church, as when Joseph Smith prophesied concerning the Civil War (see D&C 87) and foretold that the Saints would become a mighty people in the Rocky Mountains. Prophecy is part of the calling of a patriarch. Each of us is also privileged occasionally to receive prophetic revelation illuminating future events in our lives, like a Church calling we are to receive. To cite another example, after our fifth child was born, my wife and I did not have any more children. After more than 10 years we concluded that our family would not be any larger, which grieved us. Then one day, while my wife was in the temple, the Spirit whispered to her that she would have another child. That prophetic revelation was fulfilled about a year and a half later with the birth of our sixth child, for whom we had waited 13 years.

The year A.D. 1306 was one of the darkest in Scotland’s long and often gloomy history. Edward I of England, aptly named “The Hammer of the Scots,” invaded Scotland at the head of a powerful army. Soon the streets of Scotland’s cities echoed to the clash and clatter of mailed English soldiery. Noble and prominent families were imprisoned and tortured. Many were killed. The king of the Scots, Robert the Bruce, Lord of Kerrick, fled to his seigniory in the rough hills north of the English border. There he sought refuge in a cave, alone save for a solitary watcher in the heather charged with raising a warning should English troops appear.

Bruce was disconsolate, his spirit broken, his mood black and bitter. Many members of his family were imprisoned. Others had been hanged or drawn and quartered. The land and its people groaned under Edward’s iron heel.

As he lay on his bed of heather in the gloomy recesses of the cave, Bruce’s courage nearly failed him. What could he do, in the face of such terrible odds, to free his country from tyranny? Perhaps he should just give up, accept the inevitable, and fulfill his ambition to go as a humble pilgrim to the Holy Land.

Bruce’s eyes fastened on a spider clinging precariously to a stone high in the mouth of the cave. He watched, first with idle curiosity and then with increasing interest, as the tiny beast attempted to swing on its gossamer strand to another perch several feet away. Six times the spider tried and failed. Finally, on the seventh attempt, it succeeded. Bruce vowed that if a lowly spider could persevere, the king of the Scots could do no less. He fought on, with increasing power, finally ridding Scotland of her enemies at the Battle of Bannockburn in A.D. 1314 (see Ronald McNair Scott, Robert the Bruce, King of Scots [Edinburgh: Canongate Publishing Ltd., 1982], p. 95).

It was in this town of Zwickau that my grandmother was invited by an elderly single woman to attend church with her. The setting was still desperate—the war was just over. Food was scarce, and so were all other goods, like coal to heat our homes or cook our meals. Houses had been destroyed, and a family was fortunate if they were all still alive and had a roof over their heads.
My grandmother accepted the invitation of this dear single sister to attend sacrament meeting with her. This act of kindness might appear small and not too hard to do, but it changed our lives forever.
We attended church in a cold, cramped, backroom meeting place with electricity often failing, leaving us in the dark. But at the same time, this room was filled with the Spirit, and the divine light of the message of the restored gospel was in great abundance, and we were surrounded by the love, friendship, and helping hands of the dear members.
All of our family joined the Church. Because I was only six at the time, I was baptized two years later in a local indoor swimming pool by one of the Church leaders in our branch. I will always remember the feeling of warmth, safety, and importance as I came out of the water after this sacred ordinance had been performed.

Now, back to the word lists. Which list would you put the word "boredom" under? How many of you would put it under A? How about B? Well, you are right there with everyone else who has ever responded to that question. So it goes without saying--the lifestyle most of us have chosen is boring. I think that is unfortunate. So what is the opposite of boredom? The best answer I know of comes from the classic Disney film, "Never Cry Wolf."

In this film a young biologist by the last name of Tyler was sent to the far northern reaches of Canada to determine if wolves were responsible for killing off the great caribou herds. To get to his desired destination, the Valley of the Black Stone, Tyler had to travel by plane. The only plane available was an old prop plane known as a De Havilland Beaver. In the film the plane was literally held together with duct tape and wire. The pilot, Rosie Little, was a real entrepreneur, always looking for a way to make extra money. During the flight as the plane was inching its way past tall, rugged mountains Rosie asks Tyler what it was in the Valley of the Black Stone he is looking for. "Is it gold?" he asked. "Silver?" Tyler's response was, "It is hard to say." Rosie's response was, "Well, we are prospectors up here, all scratching for gold, so we won't have to scratch anymore. But I will tell you, Tyler, the gold isn't in the ground. The real gold is south, in the States, sitting in front of the TV, bored to death, bored to death Tyler."
Right then the plane's engine begins to cough and sputter. Pretty soon you see the propeller begin to slow down and eventually stop completely. Very excitedly, Tyler asks Rosie, "What's going on?" Rosie's answer: "Boredom, Tyler, that's what's going on." You can imagine Tyler was anything but bored. Rosie asked the next question. "How do you deal with boredom, Tyler?" He then reached into a toolbox and pulled out a big crescent wrench, waved it in Tyler's face, and simply said–this is the key word–"Adventure. Adventure, Tyler." He then opened the door of the plane, stepped out onto the wing strut and began to hit the frozen fuel line with the wrench. Since this scene took place in the first 10 minutes of the film, they obviously survived.
But, the big word here is "adventure."

The other day I was reading the story of a baseball player. His name was Charles Gerringer. I guess he was quite a star on the Detroit Tigers team. The story indicated that it was the last half of the ninth and two men were down. Charlie Gerringer came to bat. He stood there with confidence and the first pitch came. He didn’t swing. The umpire called, “Strike!” He frowned, looked at the umpire. The second ball came by. “Ball!” cried the umpire. Charlie smiled. The next ball came. “Strike!” Charlie looked at the umpire and glared at him with that kind of glare that implied he’d like to throw down his bat, take off his cap, and engage the umpire in fisticuffs. But he knew better. He was there to hit that ball. So he pulled down on his cap, took a determined look, and here came the next pitch and Charlie smote. I don’t suppose he ever hit a ball harder. Somehow it didn’t rise in the air more than twelve feet, but it went for the left field fence. And by the time it got there it was low enough that the outfielder could grab the ball with a running jump, a one-handed spear catch. The ball game was over. Charlie didn’t say a word, but walked toward the dugout. One of his friends came up, patted him on the back, and said, “Tough luck. I have never seen you hit a ball so hard.”

Charlie’s answer, gravely, was this: “I have hit ’em higher.”

There’s a lesson in that we should never fail to try to do the best we know how. We’re going to make mistakes, but there is a power within the individual to really achieve what he wants to achieve.

Upon coming to BYU four years ago to teach, I was given the challenge of returning to school to obtain a PhD. Since the only university in the state of Utah to offer a PhD in nursing is the University of Utah—and already a number of faculty in the College of Nursing were graduates from that program—I was highly encouraged to look outside the state. Although moving does not seem like a big deal to most people, moving out of state would have been a major sacrifice for my family. We had settled in a new home and had three teenagers, and my wife had just begun her teaching career. And that wasn’t even considering my actual schooling.
As my wife and I spoke about the opinions, we prayed that I would find a program that would make it possible for us to remain in Utah while I furthered my education. I identified my research interests and looked for programs that matched these interests. I spoke to a number of individuals who gave me direction and advice. Included in this advice was the aforementioned assurance by the Spirit described by the Apostle Paul.
The result was that I was able to find an excellent doctoral program at the University of Colorado, which is ranked as one of the top 10 nursing programs in the country. Although there were issues of whether or not I would be accepted to that program, where we would live in the Denver area each summer, whether we would be able to find a loving ward that would accept summer “nomadic” visitors, and a few other minor inconveniences, everything fell right into place. It was amazing.
For the last three summers my family has packed up their belongings and placed their summer plans with friends on hold. Two of my teenagers delayed obtaining their driver’s licenses until we arrived back home in the fall. Precious summer vacation time was used so that everyone could go with me to Denver as I attended school. Yes, we did find housing and a great ward—the Summit View Ward in Highlands Ranch, Colorado, which made us feel welcome each summer.
We now can laugh at some of the minor inconveniences we experienced. We know that it was only through the calmness and assurance of the Spirit that we were able to move forward even when we did not have all the answers. I have been able to complete my course work, and my family and I were able to meet many individuals and have experiences we will never forget.

My family moved to that little desert town in the middle of September—one of the hottest times of the year. But among the Mormon kids, all I got was the cold shoulder.
I was 15, and my family had already moved 10 times, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to make friends. I tried everything I knew to break the ice, but after five months I still didn’t have a single friend who was a member of the Church.
Luckily, I had lots of good nonmember friends at school. But that didn’t make it any easier at early-morning seminary and church. I actually sat through five months of seminary without anyone saying hello to me, except my seminary teacher. And there was always one empty seat between me and the rest of my Sunday School class.
Tom Jeppson* was the ringleader of the Mormon kids. He’d never really said anything to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d noticed me until one morning when he met me at the seminary doors.
“Go home. We don’t want you here,” he said.
I started to laugh. He had to be joking, right? But when I looked at his face, I knew he wasn’t kidding. I looked at the others standing a few feet behind him. They didn’t say anything, which I figured meant that they agreed.
As I turned away, I heard the doors slam behind me and muffled laughing.
I’m never going to seminary again, I swore to myself as I walked the half-mile to the high school. It’ll be all their fault.
That day seemed like it would never end. After school, I rode the bus to my street, but I didn’t go home. I went to my seminary teacher’s house. He lived a few doors down from me, and I really liked him. In fact, I liked his whole family.
He usually gave me a ride to seminary each morning, so I wanted to tell him not to worry about picking me up anymore. Actually, what I really wanted was some sympathy.
Sister Murray answered the door. Brother Murray wasn’t home yet, but she invited me in for a drink of lemonade. It wasn’t long before I was telling her the whole story. She was sympathetic until I said I wasn’t going to seminary anymore and that I might not ever go to church again.
“If this was really the true church, people wouldn’t act like that,” I said.
I expected her to plead with me to come back. I wanted her to tell me she would talk to all the kids’ parents and get them in a lot of trouble. I thought she’d be ready to do almost anything to keep me active. But instead she said, “Well, fine. You’re not hurting any of those kids by not going. You’re only hurting yourself.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I quickly finished my lemonade and told her I had to go.
I stayed away from seminary and church for three weeks. My seminary teacher called a couple of times to check in on me. I missed seminary, but I was too proud to admit it. Instead, I kept telling myself that everyone was probably feeling pretty guilty that they’d made me become inactive. I told myself they would be in trouble on judgment day.
Still, I couldn’t forget what Sister Murray had said about me only hurting myself. And then, one day when I was reading the Book of Mormon, a scripture caught my eye.
“See that ye do all things in worthiness, and do it in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God; and if ye do this, and endure to the end, ye will in no wise be cast out” (Morm. 9:29).
As I read the words, the Spirit filled my heart and I realized Sister Murray was right. Sure, the kids had been real jerks. But they couldn’t keep me away from the Church if I was determined to be there. And best of all, they couldn’t cast me out in the end, when it really mattered. Not if I endured.
I got out of bed and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M. so I wouldn’t miss seminary the next day.
We lived in that hot, windy desert town for five more months and nothing really changed—except my heart. For the first time, I understood that no one was responsible for my salvation but me. I didn’t miss another day of seminary or church. And although the Mormon kids were still cold, it didn’t matter. I was filled with the warmth of the gospel.

I came to the United States from York, England, when I was 25 years old. After completing graduate work, I returned to England to look for a university teaching job and to be near my family. However, after initially rejecting a job offer in Utah because it wasn’t part of my plan, I felt strongly prompted to take the job and did so.

After being in the U.S. for some time, I remember feeling homesick one day and wondering where Heavenly Father was taking me. I went to the Jordan River Temple and was waiting outside the dressing room for a friend to join me. As I sat there, feelings of homesickness swept over me, and I remember thinking how much I missed my home and family. I turned to look at the photograph on the wall behind my chair. It was of the Jordan River Temple. Immediately a thought came clearly into my mind: “You are home.” A sweet, loving peace swept over me as I turned to look at the painting on the wall to my left. It showed Jesus appearing to a kneeling Mary outside the Garden Tomb, and as I gazed at it, another thought came clearly to my mind: “And I am here.” I suddenly felt totally at home, loved, and comforted.

Sometimes it’s difficult for new members to stay rooted in the gospel when they don’t have a complete assurance of what the future holds. Learning about this aspect of faith for Mei-ling, a homemaker in Taiwan, involved the gospel admonition to bring children into the world, a challenging step because “many in my culture have one child or have a pet instead,” she observes. Each pregnancy has required her to have faith to step into the unknown and ignore sometimes intense criticism from relatives and the culture at large.
Often, moving forward requires stepping into the unknown, which can be intimidating to those new in the faith. It requires developing trust that the Lord will help them along the path. Having unease and uncertainty, Elder Bednar assures, is a normal part of our learning and growing process, but sometimes our steps into the unknown—whether they involve forming a family or returning to participation in the Church—can be particularly daunting because the witness comes after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6). Mei-ling and her husband received such a witness after creating a family. “We are happy and so grateful for our children,” she says. “We’ve learned to live frugally, to help and love each other. I’m grateful we brought them into the world.”

Mylea Moua’s cousins make fun of her for going to church. Some of her close family members discourage her church attendance. Her friends at school wonder why she would ever want to be a Latter-day Saint.
Mylea’s challenges are not unique in the Twin Cities Second (Hmong) Branch of the Anoka Minnesota Stake. Many of the youth have less-active parents and nonmember family members who mock their religion. It would be easy for Mylea, a Mia Maid, to just quit coming to church. “A lot of Hmong people ask ‘How can the Church help you?’ They reject it,” she says. “I don’t really care what people think, because how I feel makes me happy. But I feel bad for them because they don’t have the gospel.”
Unlike many of the older Hmong generation in Minnesota, Mylea and the other youth feel it’s possible to be both Hmong and LDS. “I do the best I can and try to be a good example,” she says.
Sandy Yang, the Beehive president, is also doing her best to be a good example, though she says it is more difficult to share the gospel with her family than with her friends. Her parents divorced when she was eight years old. “It was hard, but I felt the warmth of Jesus Christ, and I knew everything was going to be okay,” she says. “I started to come to church more, and I learned the divorce was not about me. It was about my parents.” Sandy’s father is no longer active in the Church, but her mother and some of her brothers and sisters are. She says it’s her testimony that takes her through the hard times and keeps her coming.
Sandy and the other Hmong youth agree that regular scripture study and attending Sunday School really help to strengthen their testimonies. “I guess I know a lot because of the gospel,” says Toua Yang, Sandy’s brother. “Without it I wouldn’t know why I’m here or what I would do after I died.” He credits going to seminary and trying to teach others about the gospel with helping his testimony grow. Toua, a priest, plans to tell more people about the gospel when he goes on a mission in two years.
“We’re kind of the first generation, you know,” Mylea says. Even though many of their parents or even grandparents are members of the Church, the non-Christian Hmong traditions are still a strong influence in their lives.
Most of the older generation of Hmong people in the Anoka Stake are from Laos and Cambodia. The Hmong tradition includes the practice of shamanism, which involves ancestor worship and belief in good and evil spirits that can be summoned by a priest, or shaman. The Hmong culture and shamanism are linked, but are not the same thing, so the Hmong youth try to preserve their heritage while living the gospel and leaving non-Christian traditions behind. But their task is difficult.
Pang Yang, Toua’s sister, says death is the end of existence in the Hmong tradition. She’s happy she knows a better way. “It’s easier because I know what’s wrong and what’s right. The gospel is safer than the Hmong way. I think it’s easy because I know where I’ll go when I die.”
The Hmong youth are looking to the future—trying to rise above the difficulties of the traditions in their homes. Mylea and the others try to bring their younger brothers and sisters to church regularly to establish a tradition of faith in their families. Establishing a gospel tradition is a real goal, says See Moua, Mylea’s sister. “It’s not far now. It makes you want to keep the commandments,” See says.
Pang is also excited about the future. “I really look forward to getting married in the temple. That’s the one thing I really want to do.”
Ultimately, it’s their individual testimonies that keep these Hmong youth active in the Church while they face so much opposition from friends and family. “Sometimes you doubt,” says Mylea. “And I had doubts.” But when she learned more about the life of Joseph Smith and about the gospel, her doubts left her. “Everything was taken away from Joseph Smith, even his own life. Now I know he wasn’t lying.”
The other Hmong youth know challenges to their faith will come, either through their families’ traditions or just from their own doubts. That’s why they keep coming to church—the more they learn and the more they rely on the Lord, the stronger they become in the gospel. They know who they are, why they’re here, and where they’re going. And their testimonies grow stronger with each Sunday School lesson, each seminary class, and each time they choose to keep the Lord’s commandments and standards.
Of all the traditions we should cultivate within ourselves and our families, a ‘tradition of righteousness’ should be preeminent. Hallmarks of this tradition are an unwavering love for God and His Only Begotten Son, respect for prophets and priesthood power, a constant seeking of the Holy Spirit, and the discipline of discipleship which transforms believing into doing. A tradition of righteousness sets a pattern for living which draws children closer to parents, and both closer to God, and elevates obedience from a burden to a blessing” (Ensign, Nov. 2000, 28).—Elder Donald L. Hallstrom of the Seventy