“It’s a Small Church,” Ensign, Apr. 1986, 47
It’s a Small Church
In the spring of 1975, four days before South Vietnam was taken over by North Vietnam, my family fled Saigon. We had only a few minutes to pack and could not bring much with us.
After a couple of days waiting at the military airport, we boarded a cargo plane to an uncertain destination. With all our worldly possessions in our small bags, we left behind our beloved country forever.
Like autumn leaves blown in the wind, we landed at Clark Air Base in the Philippines. We stayed there for a few days, and then flew to Wake Island in the Pacific, where we were processed to enter the United States.
After what seemed a long, long week on the island, we boarded another plane to continue our exodus. We were given a choice of camps in the United States in which to stay temporarily. My family chose Florida, but later, during the flight, we found that we were heading for Fort Chaffee, Arkansas—a place we had never heard of.
We were driven to the camp at night and assigned to stay in the barracks with other Vietnamese refugees. There was nothing to do at the camp except line up for food three times daily.
Four years before, with the help of two American soldiers from Utah, I had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So the first thing I did when we got to the camp was to find the Church. I did not spend much time looking. The district presidency from a neighboring city knocked at our door in the barracks a few days after our arrival.
I had never met these men, but it seemed that I had known them before. Even here in Arkansas—far from our homeland—there was a branch of the Church, and its members were eager to help and care for us. The members brought us some extra food since we found it difficult to adjust to the food at the mess hall. They also bought me a new pair of shoes to replace the tropical slippers I had not had time to change in the haste of our departure.
The district president announced that an LDS Social Services agent was coming to help us with the paperwork to get out of the refugee camp. He came the next Sunday, and we gathered at a chapel to have our first sacrament meeting at the camp. The Vietnamese members were few, and most were new to the Church, but that meeting was the most touching one that I have ever attended.
We refugees had to have an American sponsor to help us settle into American society. Before we had arrived in America, one of my sisters, who had come to the United States years ago, had told me there was a Latter-day Saint who had served in Vietnam who could be my sponsor. But all I knew about him was his name—I had no telephone number or address.
In the interview, the agent from LDS Social Services asked me who my sponsor was. I gave him the name—Pulsipher. But I felt sad and disappointed. I thought it would take days—even weeks—to find out the man’s whereabouts.
But the interviewer said, “Don’t worry, Nhat. I know an LDS social agent in Texas who is also named Pulsipher. Maybe he can help us to find your sponsor.”
He called the man in Texas and talked to him. Surprisingly, he found that this Pulsipher happened to be my would-be sponsor’s brother!
A few weeks later I left the refugee camp to fly to Utah and start a new life in America. I have discovered that wherever we may go in the world, there are helpful and caring people in the Church. This is a small church indeed!
Illustrated by Dilleen Marsh