Gospel Story Finder

That happened to Jerry, a Protestant gentleman in his mid-60s who lives in Mesa, Arizona. Jerry’s father was a Baptist minister; his mother, a Methodist minister. One day Jerry’s close friend Pricilla shared with him the pain she felt from the death of her child during childbirth and a bitter divorce that occurred shortly thereafter. Struggling as a single mother, Pricilla has four children—three daughters and a son. As she opened her heart to Jerry, she confessed that she was thinking of taking her own life. With all the strength and love Jerry could muster, he tried to help her understand that her life had value. He invited her to attend his church, but Pricilla explained that she had given up on God.

Jerry did not know what to do. Later, while watering trees in his yard, this man of faith prayed to God for guidance. As he prayed, he heard a voice in his mind saying, “Stop the boys on the bikes.” Jerry, a little bewildered, wondered what this meant. As he reflected on this impression, he gazed up the street and saw two young men in white shirts and ties riding bicycles toward his home. Stunned by this “coincidence,” he watched them ride by. Then, realizing that the situation required him to act, he shouted out, “Hey, you, please stop! I need to talk to you!”

With a puzzled but excited look, the young men stopped. As they approached, Jerry noticed that they wore name tags identifying them as missionaries in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jerry looked at them and said, “This may sound a little weird, but I was praying and was told to ‘stop the boys on the bikes.’ I looked up the street, and here you are. Can you help me?”

The missionaries smiled, and one said, “Yes, I am sure we can.”

Jerry explained the worrisome plight of Pricilla. Soon the missionaries were meeting with Pricilla, her children, and Jerry. They discussed the purpose of life and God’s eternal plan for them. Jerry, Pricilla, and her children grew in faith through sincere prayer, their study of the Book of Mormon, and the loving fellowship with members of the Church. Jerry’s already strong faith in Jesus Christ grew even stronger. Pricilla’s doubts and thoughts of suicide turned to hope and happiness. They were baptized and became members of Christ’s restored Church.8

In 1837, when the Church was struggling in Kirtland, Ohio, the Prophet Joseph Smith called Heber C. Kimball to go to England to open the work there. Brother Kimball exclaimed in self-humiliation: “O, Lord, I am a man of stammering tongue, and altogether unfit for such a work; how can I go to preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for learning, knowledge and piety; … and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial!”
But then on reflection he added: “However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty; the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed; and although my family was dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the Gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration” (quoted in Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967, page 104).
He traveled over the sea and commenced the work in Preston, Lancashire, with the very devils of hell opposing him and his companions. And thus began a work in that part of the world that has blessed for good countless lives.

Mother put a small red suitcase on Christopher’s bed and said, “You can help me pack your things if you like, son.”
“Thanks, Mother, but I can do it myself,” said Christopher.
“Do you think you can?” Mother asked, her eyes twinkling.
Christopher nodded. He knew what he needed to visit his grandmother.
“Well, I’ll be back later to see how you’re doing,” Mother said.
Christopher looked around his room. He was excited about staying overnight with his grandmother. But he couldn’t go without some of his games, because he loved to play games. Which ones should I take? Christopher wondered.
After he had packed the games that would fit into his suitcase, there was still enough room for several of his stuffed animal friends. They are important too, he decided. So Henry, the dog, and Fritz, the mouse, went on top of the games. Christopher was packed.
“I’m ready,” Christopher called.
“Let me see,” Mother said, unzipping the case. “Where are your clothes?” she asked.
“I’m wearing them,” Christopher explained.
“What are you going to wear to bed?” Mother asked.
“Oh, I forgot.” Christopher went to a drawer, pulled out a pair of pajamas, and squeezed them into the side of the case.
“How about some clean clothes, a toothbrush, a comb, and your sneakers?” Mother suggested.
“But all that stuff won’t fit,” Christopher protested.
“That’s right. So some things that are in here will have to come out.”
Mother helped Christopher repack his suitcase. One game went on the bottom. On top of that went his clothing and then his two animals.
“There!” Mother said. “Now you have everything you need.”
Christopher shook his head.
“What else do you need?” Mother asked.
“A bigger suitcase!” declared Christopher, looking at the three games he was leaving behind.

In 1974 the Lai Hoi-nam family joined the Church. In the short time since they accepted the gospel, many changes have come into their lives. “Even though all four of our children are in school, their actions, as compared with before, are much better and we worry less about them,” said Brother Lai. “If we have any problems we bring them up at family home evening. If we can’t solve them, we pray and fast in all humility and ask our Heavenly Father to give us the strength to improve the situation.”

Very early in my childhood, I became aware of the importance of prayer and the awesome power of the holy priesthood. During the fall of 1942, the United States was involved in a war. My father was trying to finish building our house. He couldn’t get a furnace because all building materials were needed for the war. As the weather became colder, my little sister, Patricia, and I became very ill. She had bronchitis, and my condition was even worse. I had double pneumonia. The doctor came and examined me but told my parents that he could do nothing for me. He offered little hope that I would live through the night.
Speaking of that “awful night of nights,” my mother said that she became desperate as she felt for my pulse and could find none. She said that I looked like a little statue lying there on my bed. She fervently prayed to the Lord, promising that if I should live, she would give me back to the Lord for His service. During the night, my father gave me a priesthood blessing. As he laid his hands upon my head, I became conscious and opened my eyes, and from that time on, I began to feel better. I know that through the prayers of my parents and the power of the priesthood, my life was spared.

Bishop Monson recalled how he helped an elderly couple who needed to paint their home: “In a moment of inspiration I called, not upon the elders quorum or upon volunteers to wield paint brushes, but rather, following the welfare handbook, upon the family members who lived in other areas. Four sons-in-law and four daughters took brushes in hand and participated in the project.”2 This inspiration helped the family reconnect and better care for each other.

Moisés swung open the gate and walked into the car parts shop. School was over, and it was time to help Papá at work. Moisés grabbed a broom and started to sweep. He liked to help Papá. He even got to earn some money.
Soon it was time for Moisés to leave. He said goodbye to Papá and started to walk home. He felt sad as he walked. It always felt strange to go home without Papá. Moisés’s parents were separated. He and his seven siblings lived with Mamá. Papá lived somewhere else. Mamá worked three jobs because they didn’t have much money. It was a hard time for all of them.
One day there was a knock at the door. It was two missionaries. They shared a message about Jesus Christ. They also taught about a prophet named Joseph Smith. Moisés felt something special inside as he listened.
The missionaries kept coming back to teach Moisés, Mamá, and some of his siblings. Moisés and his family started going to church. They read the Book of Mormon. They stopped drinking coffee. They even chose to be baptized!
Moisés learned that Heavenly Father loved him. And even though things were still hard for his family, he felt more comfort and peace.

We have all seen recent images in the news: thousands of evacuees being flown from Afghanistan. Many arrived at air bases or other temporary locations in Qatar, the United States, Germany, and Spain before continuing to their final destinations. Their needs were immediate, and the Church responded with supplies and volunteers. At Ramstein Air Base in Germany, the Church provided large donations of diapers, baby formula, food, and shoes.
Some of the Relief Society sisters noticed that many Afghan women were using their husbands’ shirts to cover their heads because their traditional head coverings had been ripped off in the frenzy at the Kabul airport. In an act of friendship that crossed any religious or cultural boundaries, the sisters of the Ramstein First Ward gathered to sew traditional Muslim clothing for Afghan women. Sister Bethani Halls said, “We heard that women were in need of prayer garments, and we are sewing so that they can be [comfortable] for prayer.”

When I was a child, the very best part of Christmas was the arrival of my mother’s brother, who would drive once a year from his home in Tennessee to visit our home in Georgia, usually arriving the night before Christmas Eve.
As I counted down the months, weeks, and days before my uncle’s visit, the time seemed to pass so slowly that I could hardly bear the anticipation. Each year on the night he was scheduled to arrive at our house, I would press my face against the living room window, waiting to catch the first glimpse of his car. I never had to wait long before he arrived.
I never realized until I was older how much waiting for my uncle’s arrival increased the happiness I felt when his car finally pulled into our driveway laden with Christmas gifts. In a small way, I was reminded of how faithful, righteous people in the Book of Mormon and the Bible must have felt when the Savior finally arrived on earth. Not only had His birth been anticipated for centuries rather than months or weeks, but He brought to the world the most precious gifts imaginable—eternal life and the opportunity to be exalted with our families forever. I imagined the joy and excitement these people would have experienced when they recognized the signs of Christ’s birth and knew that the prophecies they had read about were finally being fulfilled.
Though I wasn’t on the earth when the Savior was born, I am so grateful for His gifts of the Atonement and Resurrection, which make it possible for me to be forgiven of my sins and live with my family forever. Just as I looked forward to the arrival of my uncle, and as people looked forward to the birth of Christ, today we can look forward to the Second Coming, when Christ will bring even greater blessings and opportunities to the righteous. I know that as we plan and prepare for Christ’s coming, our joy will be full.

Jean would always remember the night when she really learned that her Heavenly Father hears and answers sincere prayers, even when uttered by a weary 17-year-old in the backwoods of southern Georgia.
At graduation time, Jean learned that her trials had only begun. Mother remarried and moved far away. Jean had no choice. She had to go live with our father in rural Georgia. He lived in a tiny, isolated town where he was the minister of the only church.
Our father had always been bitter toward the Mormons, and that bitterness had turned to hatred when all three of his daughters had been baptized. Jean was his baby, his special pet, and it cut him to the quick to see her not only in a religion different from his but as a Mormon and a devout Mormon at that. He looked upon her move to his house as an answer to prayers. Now things would be different. Now he would be able to show her the error of her ways.
Although I live more than 200 miles away, I came as often as possible during the summer and took Jean to my home in Columbia. However, the summer soon ended, and Jean had to start commuting to college. Jean had a car to make the drive back and forth to school but not for her personal use on weekends. The nearest branch was 30 miles away, and even if she could get there, Dad wouldn’t let her go. There wasn’t an institute at her small college, and it just seemed that there was no way for her to have any contact with Church members.
Days turned into weeks, and then months had gone by since she had attended a meeting. She read her scriptures, wrote daily in her journal, and spent hours on her knees. As she grew closer to her Heavenly Father through earnest prayer, Jean’s testimony of the gospel grew. She began to realize how often she had taken the opportunity to attend meetings and functions of the Church for granted, how she had even wished meetings would hurry and be over. During this time, Dad made every effort to break her testimony. He quoted scripture after scripture, but Jean’s seminary scriptures stood her in good stead. She was able to parry with scriptures of her own. Sometimes he threw things at her that she couldn’t or, to stop an argument, wouldn’t defend. While her testimony wasn’t harmed, it did make Jean weary as she faced each day on the defensive, knowing that everything she loved and considered holy would be denounced in her father’s booming voice at mealtimes, in discussions with her stepmother, or in his verbal prayers.
Some nights only hours on bended knees kept her from total despair. She fought back the desire to rage against her Heavenly Father for deserting her. Soon even the scriptures she loved were difficult to read because they produced such a terrible longing for her old friends, teachers, and bishop. Often she lay in bed at night with tears streaming down her face trying to remember that she wasn’t the only Latter-day Saint in the world. She tried to be strong, but she was young and alone and there had been no contact with members for so long.
One night in January, Jean reached rock bottom. Her father and stepmother had baited her and prayed aloud for her soul until she was ready to scream. No one understood the trials she was going through. Her sisters sympathized, but we were too far away to be any help. Finally Jean knelt by her bed and poured her heart out as she had so many times in the past. She told her Heavenly Father that she knew he loved her and that he had promised no burden heavier than she could bear. She begged for some sort of help because the burden had grown so heavy that she could not bear it any longer.
When Jean left Natchez, her records had been sent to the nearest branch. Once the records were received, she was assigned home teachers. However, as no one had ever met Jean and she lived so far away and had never attended a meeting, the home teachers didn’t visit her. In their minds, she was probably someone who had joined the Church at age eight but had never been active. Someone in the branch had heard that a Mr. Swilley in Egypt, Georgia, was the Baptist preacher there, and this Jean was probably his wife. No way were they going to drive all that way to get a door slammed in their faces!
In a small branch, the work load is heavy for each member. The home teacher lived 15 miles on the other side of the town where the branch was located, a total of 45 miles one way on country roads from Jean. Months went by, and each month his home teaching report was complete except for Sister Swilley. Being a good and conscientious man, this bothered him. He decided to go at least once just to see what sort of circumstances she was in.
The night came when he couldn’t rest until he had made the effort to see this sister. He called his companion, a young boy of 16, and they began the long drive. As they drove farther into the countryside, they began to be uneasy and wished they could turn around and go home. Yet something urged them on. Little did they know that at that moment, Jean Swilley was on her knees begging her Father in Heaven to throw her a lifeline. As her prayer ended and she dried her tears, Dad knocked on her bedroom door. “Jeanie, there are two men outside, and they are asking for you. They are Mormons, and I won’t ask them in, but you can go talk to them on the porch.”
Jean flew through the house and onto the porch. She stood on the steps, and tears fell again as the older of the two men stretched out his hand and said, “We are your home teachers …” He didn’t have to say anything else because Jean fell into his arms and cried out all the pain and loneliness that was there. Finally someone had come. God had indeed heard her prayers.
As Jean told her story to these wonderful men, I know that their hearts were touched. They expressed sorrow for not having come sooner and promised to make the branch president aware of her situation. They prayed with Jean and told her to call them when it got too hard and left with the most beautiful words Jean had ever heard, “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Jean is still not allowed to go to church, but her spirit is so much stronger now that she knows her Father in Heaven is aware of her needs and answers her prayers. Dad said the home teachers could keep coming as long as they had a talk with him first. When Jean explained the situation to the home teachers, they told her that they would talk with him and do it gladly.
Jean’s home teachers had every excuse in the world not to visit her. It was inconvenient—one and a half hours just in driving time. She had expressed no interest in seeing them. They did not think she would welcome them, and they were busy with other church responsibilities. Still, they obeyed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Those home teachers will never know just how happy they made my sister nor will they know how thankful they made me for a Heavenly Father that heard my sister’s prayers. How can they know what will come of their talk with my dad? Or that Mother, who had drifted so far away that she denied the Church on every opportunity, would cry when told that her baby girl wasn’t quite so wretched anymore and why. How could they have known that Mother would say through her tears, “I knew He would take care of her and hear her prayers.” I know that more good will come because those two men listened and obeyed. I hope that I will learn to listen and obey. I hope we all will.

One morning my wife said to me, “Hans, I dreamed something very strange last night. Two young men told us about a different church, and we joined it. What do you think about that?” she asked hesitantly. We agreed that the dream didn’t seem to have any meaning because we would never want to leave our own church.
The dream had long been forgotten when, nearly a year later, my wife greeted me after work with the news that “two young men were here today to tell me about their church.” I saw a trace of worry in her face. “But we are going to stay with our church,” I responded confidently. “Well,” she said, “they want to come back to talk with you.” I was not happy with the prospect.
A few days later, I opened the door to see two fine-looking young men. They introduced themselves as missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the conversation that followed, they asked, “Do you believe that the church of Jesus Christ is on the earth today?” My wife and I had already considered this question while studying the Bible. We concluded that if there were a true church, it would have to have all the doctrines Jesus taught. The churches we knew, including our own, were not complete. “If it exists,” I said, “it must have all the things Jesus taught. But it does not exist.”
The missionaries said that the church they represented was organized in the same way as the church at Christ’s time. They added that this church had continuing revelation from Jesus Christ.
I felt sorry for them; they had been so misled. I told them, “I’m sure that just as our church has errors in its doctrine, so does yours. Someone has added, changed, or taken something away.” Again they testified that their church was Christ’s own church, organized with his authority and directed by him.
Soon after, I told my mother about the missionaries. She smiled and went into her bedroom, then returned with a copy of the Book of Mormon. She told me I could have it.
I began reading the Book of Mormon with a curious, but negative attitude. As I read the first page, I thought angrily, this was written by a man with a vivid imagination who knew the Bible well. I read two more pages, slammed the book shut, threw it on the table, and exclaimed, “What a fake!” During the missionaries’ next visit, I told them that I thought the Book of Mormon was a hoax. It was like the Bible, I said, except it referred to the American continent. But, undeterred, the missionaries easily handled the questions my wife and I had then, and in subsequent visits. I could find nothing wrong with what they taught us, but I could not accept the Book of Mormon.
However, the missionaries testified that I could know that the Book of Mormon was true if I followed the admonition of Moroni and sincerely sought for divine guidance. (See Moro. 10:4.) Having prayed, and while reading the words of Moroni, I received a spiritual witness that I have never been able to describe. A realization that the Book of Mormon and the Church were true penetrated every fiber of my being. Happily I exclaimed to my wife, “Margrit, Margrit, I know that it is true!”
Margrit continued to seek her own witness, and within a few weeks she also knew the truth. We set our baptismal date.
On the day of our baptism, just as I was about to go into the water, I experienced the power of Satan stronger than I had ever imagined possible. I wanted to run away and escape. For a moment my breathing stopped, and I thought my heart would also. I was tempted to give in, but I realized that I could never look at myself in the mirror again if I denied the truth that I now knew. I fought against the evil influence with all my strength and it left me as quickly as it came. Knowing my decision was the right one, I entered the water with a calm assurance and a happy feeling in my heart.
A few days later, as I was sitting with my wife, she asked, “Hans, can you still remember my dream?”
“What dream?” I wondered.
“The one I had about the two young men who visited us. They told us about their church and we joined it. Remember?”
Memory of the forgotten dream came back. Joyfully we realized that the dream was a revelation of what was to come, and its memory a confirmation of our testimonies. It was a dream that had come true.

People in the poorer areas of the Barahona District of the Dominican Republic are smiling bigger and brighter since they got a visit from the local LDS Young Women. For a service project, the 35 girls gave them presentations on dental hygiene and other areas of good health.
The girls spent two weeks preparing posters and talks. They then divided into groups and went to four of the poorer neighborhoods in their area. They took turns explaining how to brush and floss correctly, the importance of washing hands, and how to make inexpensive cotton swabs and toothbrushes.
“I learned that we should serve our neighbors,” said Aracelis Rubel, 15, of the Dominican Republic. “When they need something, we can be there to help. I know God is happy with me because I taught many things and learned a lot.”

I grew up in the dryland wheat-farming country of northeastern Oregon, where my father managed an agricultural experiment station. I spent my boyhood in the little town of Moro, Oregon, which had about 300 people. There were no other members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Moro. We were the only members in the whole county.
We attended a small branch in The Dalles. But when I was about five years old, World War II started and we could not get tires or extra gasoline and could not drive the 80-mile round trip each Sunday. So a home branch was organized in our home.
Each Sunday we held sacrament meeting and Sunday School. My father taught my older brother, Richard, and my older sister, Joan. My mother taught my younger sister, Mary, and me. My mother was an excellent teacher and a wonderful storyteller. She made the scriptures come alive. We sang hymns and Primary songs.
My parents taught us exactly who we were and where we came from. I grew up with the sure knowledge of Father in Heaven, of Jesus Christ, and of the teachings of the gospel. My testimony developed steadily because of the teachings I received in my home.

At the end of my second year playing college football, we had a coach who was not a member of the Church. He didn’t understand why young men served missions, and he discouraged us from going. But a certain number of players committed to serve missions anyway. Thanks to the good examples around me, I was one of them.
Looking back, deciding to serve a mission turned out to be a wonderful blessing. It was one of the greatest decisions I’ve made in my life, and it contributed so much to the blessings and the testimony that I have now. I know that the Lord’s hand was in all of the decisions I made throughout my life that allowed me to be influenced for good.

Pat met Jeffrey Holland between her junior and senior year at high school. With a twinkle in her eye, she expressed much more of that sweet relationship than was spoken. “And that continues to be the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said enthusiastically. “He continually amazes me, and it’s a wonderful privilege and blessing to be his wife.” Feeling the joy and happiness that she was expressing made it difficult to realize that she had ever had youthful feelings of discouragement or fear.
Speaking of their early friendship, she recalled that when he left for his mission, they so wanted to have a “forever kind of love.” Together they decided that they would do three things that would unite them even in his absence: (1) Read the scriptures every day. (2) Fast once a week. (3) Pray really often. “These have become habits that we have continued to this day,” she said humbly and gratefully, thinking of the far-reaching rewards of that early decision that kept them close while they were far away.

The Bengaluru Stake presidency wanted to visit members as part of their ministering efforts. One Sunday they went to a hospital to visit a member who needed a surgery. They had a pleasant visit giving hope to the family to know that all will be well. The surgery could not happen as the sugar levels were not within the level needed. A priesthood blessing and a promise was given that his surgery would take place soon. After a day, the surgery was performed and it was successful.

When I was 13, my mother became very sick. She was diagnosed with a serious cancer in its last stage and was given six months to live. My father didn’t want us children to know, so I didn’t find out how sick she was until she had only a month left to live.
I wasn’t old enough to understand what was happening, and I hesitated to visit her in the hospital. My bishop encouraged me to bring her the sacrament, but I didn’t want to. I thought that she would come home soon. But my bishop persisted because he knew she didn’t have much time left.
When I finally went, my bishop blessed the sacrament, and I passed it to my mother. She was so sick that she didn’t talk much. But she told me, “Do not let go of the iron rod” (see 1 Nephi 8:19–20, 24, 30).
My mother soon passed away, but I remembered her parting words to me. Following her advice has blessed my life.

Brady’s brothers and sisters—Burke (14), Brittany (12), Brandon (10), Benjamin, “B. J.” (6), Brett (4), and Bobbie Jo (2)—are definitely some of Brady’s best friends. When he attended muscular dystrophy summer camp for a week, Burke went as his counselor to help take care of him. Since Brady couldn’t go swimming with the other kids, he kept a giant squirt gun hooked to his wheelchair so that he could still get everyone else wet! His mother, Earlene Blaser, says that he’s a real tease.

For example, when I was younger, I really wanted to play school basketball. I practiced and practiced. One day the coach pointed to our 6-foot-4-inch (1.93 m) all-state center and our 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) all-star forward and said to me, “I can put you on the team, but you’ll likely never play.” I remember how kindly he then encouraged, “Why not try out for soccer? You’d be good.” My family cheered when I scored my first goal.

The sky was so clear that Saturday morning, the 30th of July, 1977, that it was like a day when one can see forever, as the lyrics of a popular song beautifully describe.
A man seasoned by the salty air of the sea for a good portion of his life and by the smell of the soil in later years sat under the shade of a mango tree, watching with curiosity and with some measure of amusement the well-dressed people of all ages who came in droves, on foot and by car, to a two-hectare farm adjoining his property.
It was a funny sight for the quiet barrio folks whose existence has always been away from the trappings of civilization. The city folks came in companies of tens and twenties. As the man saw it, something was odd for these people—who obviously came from different places—to meet on common ground with warmth of friendship and unity in purpose, all with faces brimming with inspiring joy and eagerness to soil their hands by menial work.
The visitors were indeed an odd mixture: lawyers, engineers, accountants, educators, missionaries, housewives, and an assortment from all walks of life. Among them were stake presidents, bishops, a mission president, an elderly missionary couple on welfare assignment, and a visitor from Salt Lake City (Clare Bishop of the General Welfare Committee of the Church).
Barrio Gahak in Kawit, Cavite Province was never like this, the man must have mused, as the visiting city dwellers took off their shoes, rolled thier pants and proceeded to pull weeds and cut the tall grass that abounded in the farm. The man could have well asked the question "What are these peculiar people doing in a place like this?" and still be perplexed by the answer he would get.
Bishop Eligio T. Ollero of Makati 2nd Ward chose a spot near the vantage point of the man who was then enjoying the spectacle with mean delight. Sometime later, as sweat formed on his brow, Bishop Ollero glanced obliquely at the man. He was still looking on with undisguised amusement. The Bishop smiled at him. The man smiled back with an expression of mischief.
The Bishop paused from his work and walked over to the man for a brief respite with him under the shade. It was during this moment of pleasant encounter that an unseen divine hand must have rested on the two men as they conversed.
Whatever transpired under the shade, which was made exhilarating by the soft touch of the countryside breeze and by a divine presence, only the man, Bishop Ollero and the Lord will understand.
Bishop Ollero rose to resume his work. The man quickly followed the Bishop and started pulling weeds beside him. The Bishop smiled at him as they worked. The man, no longer with the look of derisive amusement on his face, smiled back!—Posidio Ocampo, Jr.
Note: The man, 78-year old Apolinario Topacio Santiaguel, a retired U.S. Navy serviceman and now a farmer, was baptized by Bro. Erasmo L. Caerlang and confirmed by Bro. Daniel H. Apilado in the Makati Chapel three and a half months later, on November 12, 1977.