Chapter 16
Just This Day
After spending a year at Brigham Young University, Maeta Holiday decided to leave school and look for a job. She had loved taking ballroom dance classes and singing and dancing in Lamanite Generation, a popular Native American performance group. But she had found some of her classes, like physics, too challenging. In early 1974, she was living in Salt Lake City and working as a receptionist at KSL, the Church-owned radio and television station.
She was also dating a returned missionary named Dennis Beck. He had introduced himself at a dance in Provo the previous September, and they had danced together all evening. Then he had invited her to go to church with him.
Maeta was taken aback. Since leaving BYU, she had not been as active in the Church as she’d been in California. Still, she had accepted Dennis’s invitation and enjoyed being there with him. She agreed to go again the following week, and before long, they were dating regularly.
As Maeta got to know Dennis better, she admired his goodness and sincerity. He was an active member of the Church who kept the commandments and went to the temple regularly. Born in Utah, he had served in the North Indian Mission in the northern United States, where he grew to love the Native Americans he taught and to value his own Mexican American heritage. Maeta felt comfortable and uplifted whenever she was around him.
One day, about six months after they met, Dennis came by in his old red pickup truck, which he had fixed up and restored. They went for a drive, and then Dennis parked in front of the new Provo Temple and proposed to Maeta.
From the time she was a young teenager, Maeta had vowed that she would never get married. But when Dennis proposed, she did not focus on her parents’ divorce or her mother’s multiple marriages. Instead, she thought of Venna and Spencer Black and their example of what a happy marriage could be. “I can be happy too,” she thought. So she said yes.
Later that summer, on June 27, Maeta knelt across from Dennis in the Salt Lake Temple. She wore a dress she had made herself, with an empire waist and lace overlay. The couple’s reflections in the parallel mirrors on the walls seemed to stretch into infinity. In the sealing room with them were her foster parents, Venna and Spencer, and their daughter Lucy.
“I’m proud of you,” Venna had said after hearing of Maeta’s engagement. “We spent a lot of time on our knees, praying for you that you would make the right choices.”
As Maeta knelt at the altar with Dennis, she was grateful that Venna had prayed so diligently. Joy enveloped her. She knew that marrying Dennis was the right decision.
Maeta later drove to Arizona to introduce Dennis to her mother. Evelyn came away from the meeting impressed with Dennis. She liked his sense of humor, honesty, and commitment to the Word of Wisdom.
“He is a good man,” she told Maeta. She approved of her daughter’s choice.
“My body is tired, very tired, tonight,” thought Belle Spafford as she lay in bed on October 5, 1974. Earlier that week, at the Relief Society’s annual conference, President Spencer W. Kimball had released her as Relief Society general president. A collective gasp had resounded through the Salt Lake Tabernacle, so shocked and disappointed were the women by the news. But Belle had known the release was coming, and she welcomed it as the Lord’s will.
Yet her mind was racing. “Remember this! Remember that!” it seemed to say. She wanted to put her thoughts down on paper, so she got out of bed and started to write. “Why would you sleep,” she asked herself, “when there has been so much that has been so glorious for you to review in memory?”
She recalled the feeling of inadequacy that swept through her when the First Presidency called her to replace Amy Brown Lyman as the leader of the Relief Society in April 1945. Now, twenty-nine years later, she had served longer than any other Relief Society general president.
During that time, she had suffered many personal trials, including breast cancer and the deaths of her husband and daughter. Under her guidance, though, the organization had ministered to the victims of World War II, constructed the Relief Society Building, started evening Relief Society meetings for working women, encouraged programs in abuse prevention and child adoption, and provided additional community aid through other social services.
More recently, Belle and her general board had overseen changes to Relief Society enrollment to encourage more women to participate. In years past, women signed up to join the organization and paid yearly membership dues. Now these fees were discontinued, and every woman in the Church was automatically enrolled in Relief Society as soon as she turned eighteen.
“These have been busy, demanding, challenging years, yet rewarding beyond my power to measure,” Belle wrote. The Lord had been good to her. “Many, many times He has put ideas into my mind and even words into my mouth that have enabled me to meet difficult situations or remove resistant obstacles.”
Her successor, Barbara B. Smith, would need the same divine help as she guided the Relief Society into an ever-changing future. During Belle’s final years as general president, the movement for women’s rights had gained momentum in the United States as many women, young and old, questioned traditional gender roles and worked against the unfair and unequal treatment of women.
Following similar legislative efforts in other countries, the United States Congress had passed the Equal Rights Amendment in 1972. The amendment sought to revise the U.S. Constitution to specifically include equal legal rights for women. Now the American public was debating the future of the amendment. If three-fourths of the states approved it, it would become the law of the land.
For some people, the amendment seemed like a good remedy to longstanding gender inequalities in the legal system. Other people, including many Church members, were not so sure.
Belle had recently given her views on the amendment and the rising women’s movement in a speech to a group of business professionals in New York City. “There are some things for which women are agitating that merit support,” she had said, citing equal pay for equal work and fair hiring practices. But she worried that the women’s movement would lead to a weakening of the roles of wife, mother, and homemaker. She believed that change to a woman’s legal rights should come through local, state, and federal governments, not by amending the Constitution.
As Belle sat up late reflecting on her long tenure as Relief Society general president, she felt gratitude mixed with a sweet sense of relief and joy that her responsibilities had fallen on new shoulders. “There is within my soul,” she wrote, “a feeling of peace and good promise for the future—my personal future and that of my beloved Relief Society.”
With this sense of peace, she was at last ready to sleep. “Tonight I will rest,” she wrote, “for in my heart is the assurance that all is well.”
Around this time, in Cape Coast, Ghana, Billy Johnson saw the pictures and names of past Church presidents on the front page of a local religious newspaper. Beside the pictures were articles disparaging the Church and its leaders. The newspaper was clearly trying to sow doubt among the members of Billy’s growing congregation.
Billy and his fellow believers had been criticized for their faith in the restored gospel many times before. Some people heckled Billy for abandoning the religion of his youth. They said the Saints worshipped Joseph Smith and did not believe in God. Others pointed out that no Black men held the priesthood in the Church and mocked Billy and his followers for wasting their time.
It was hard to stay faithful amid such attacks. A year earlier, members of the congregation had grown frustrated that after so many years, no one had come to baptize them. Billy had immediately asked his followers to join him in fasting and prayer. As they did so, some people felt a powerful impression that missionaries would soon come to Ghana.
Although this impression had reassured the congregation, the persecution had not stopped. Some members worried when they saw the newspaper criticizing the prophets, not knowing what to do. Billy prayed with them and urged them not to pay the newspapers any mind. “Just throw them away,” he said.
But Billy too was feeling weak. One night, he went to the meetinghouse to pray. “Father, even though I believe the Church, that this is the true Church on earth today,” he said, “I need more strength and more confirmation to testify about the Church.”
He pleaded with the Lord to reveal Himself. Then he fell asleep and dreamed that he saw the Salt Lake Temple, full of light, descending from heaven. The building soon surrounded him. “Johnson, don’t lose faith in my church,” the voice of the Lord said. “Whether you believe it or not, this is my true church on earth today.”
When Billy awoke, he was no longer troubled by the persecution. “Father has spoken,” he said. “I will not be afraid anymore.”
In the days that followed, Billy’s faith felt stronger whenever he heard someone criticize the Church, and he worked to fortify his fellow believers. “There will be a time the Church will come up,” he testified. “We will see the beauty of the Church.”
In 1974, five years after resigning as superintendent of the Songjuk Orphanage, Hwang Keun Ok had opened a new home for girls in Seoul, South Korea. She now cared for seventeen girls, several of whom were Latter-day Saints, and helped others find adoptive families through the Tender Apples Foundation. The foundation supported other groups of children as well, including a boys’ orphanage. Keun Ok also opened a preschool to educate the youngest of Korea’s children who were in need.
Though smaller than the singing group had been at the orphanage, the Tender Apples still performed on television and gave concerts. The girls led busy lives, and Keun Ok made sure they felt at home with her. Every Monday night she gathered them for a home evening.
When she wasn’t caring for her girls, Keun Ok ministered to the women of her district as Relief Society president. Her calling put her in contact with Eugene Till, the newly called president of the Korea Mission. President Till was concerned that many Koreans still knew nothing about the Church, despite there being a thriving stake and institute of religion in Seoul. In fact, he had learned that fewer than 10 percent of Koreans recognized the full name of the Church. And those who knew of the Church did not often have a good opinion of it. The government, moreover, was limiting the number of American missionaries allowed in the country.
But if President Till could show Korean officials that the Church was centered on families, the government might be willing to loosen its restriction on missionary work.
One day, he reached out to Keun Ok for help. A few elders in the mission were incorporating music into their teaching. Like the Osmonds, they believed popular music could inspire people with messages about the restored gospel. A year earlier, the Osmonds had released The Plan, the ambitious rock album they’d been working on for several years. Musically, the album sounded like other recordings by popular bands of the time. But the brothers had made a special effort to write songs about every stage in the plan of salvation, from premortality to exaltation. Although critics dismissed the album because of its Latter-day Saint themes, its gospel-centered message reached many young people in North America, Europe, and Australia.
The musical efforts of the missionaries in South Korea were modest by comparison, but their goals were the same. The group’s leader, Elder Randy Davenport, wrote most of the group’s original songs, and Elder Mack Wilberg arranged the music. They called themselves New Horizon.
Recognizing the group’s potential, President Till asked Keun Ok if the Tender Apples would perform alongside New Horizon at a Christmas concert. Keun Ok saw the value in having the Tender Apples share the restored gospel and, after consulting with Stan Bronson, the group’s cofounder, she agreed.
The Christmas concert was a huge success, and everyone agreed that New Horizon and the Tender Apples were a good match. They began touring the country together and found a wide audience on television and radio programs. The Tender Apples were particularly popular at military bases, where many members of the audience were reminded of their own children back in the United States. The elders in New Horizon, on the other hand, were popular among Korean audiences, who loved seeing American performers speaking and singing in Korean. The groups went on to record albums together.
Keun Ok had once had to conceal her faith. Now the Tender Apples and New Horizon included the name of the Church in every performance and interview. At concerts, full-time missionaries were there to tell people more about the Church. Missionaries knocking on doors were more frequently welcomed in, with investigators saying they recognized the Church’s name from a concert or album. In some places, missionaries would arrange for a concert to be given in a public venue to increase the number of people who might be willing to listen to them.
As the Tender Apples and New Horizon became more popular, President Till conducted a survey and learned that the number of residents in and around Seoul who had heard of the Church was now eight out of ten. More important, the impression most of them had of the Church was very positive.
Although they had come from very different backgrounds and cultures, New Horizon and the Tender Apples had helped spread the gospel together, one song at a time.
In April 1975, Henry and Inge Burkhardt were thousands of miles away from home. At the First Presidency’s invitation, they had journeyed to Utah from the German Democratic Republic to attend general conference. The trip was a rare opportunity for a Latter-day Saint couple living in a country that maintained strict control over its borders and its citizens.
It was not Henry’s first time in Salt Lake City. President Joseph Fielding Smith and his counselors had invited him and Inge to attend general conference four years earlier. Knowing that East German officials would read the invitation, the First Presidency had written respectfully of their hopes for world peace, universal brotherhood, and other ideals the GDR professed. The government had approved Henry’s travel request, and he had attended general conference in 1972.
At the time, the GDR had not permitted Inge to go with him, fearful that the couple would not return if they were allowed to leave the country together. In the two years that followed, however, both of Henry’s counselors in the Dresden Mission presidency had received permission to travel to general conference with their spouses, giving the Burkhardts reason to hope that government officials would approve Inge’s next visa application. But when they petitioned to attend the 1975 conference, Inge’s request was again denied.
Upon learning of Inge’s dilemma, Church leaders in Salt Lake City offered a special prayer for her in the temple. And when Henry and Inge appealed the decision, the government approved the visa without any apparent problem.
Attending conference was an extraordinary experience. Spencer W. Kimball opened the conference for the third time as Church president. His message was for Latter-day Saints across the globe. There were nearly 700 stakes and 150 missions worldwide, and over the past year, he had been able to meet with Saints at area general conferences in South America and Europe. He had also dedicated a temple in Washington, DC, announced a new temple in São Paulo, Brazil, and initiated plans for a temple in Mexico City. Often, while meeting with the Saints, he encouraged them to “lengthen their stride,” or increase their efforts, in sharing the gospel.
Now, as he addressed the Saints at general conference, he urged them to live moral lives. He condemned pornography and abortion, a practice recently legalized in the United States. He also encouraged the Saints to plant gardens, share the gospel, and establish the Church in their homelands. “The gathering of Israel,” he said, “is effected when the people of the faraway countries accept the gospel and remain in their native lands.”
It was a message that spoke deeply to Henry and Inge’s experience in the Church. Twenty years earlier, when they had decided to return to the GDR after being sealed in the Swiss Temple, they had sacrificed their chance to practice their religion freely and attend the temple regularly. But their example and leadership had helped to gather the Saints not only in the GDR but also in nearby Hungary, Poland, and Czechoslovakia, where Henry and other East German Church leaders made periodic visits.
Before returning home, Henry spoke with President Kimball about the Church’s struggle with the government in the GDR. President Kimball doubted the Church could improve its standing there through political negotiations. “If you want to see a change of things in East Germany, it must begin with you personally,” he told Henry. “You must force yourself to befriend the communists. You cannot hold any grudges against them. You must change your whole outlook and attitude.”
Henry was surprised by what the prophet was suggesting. “You don’t know the communists,” he wanted to say. “You cannot develop a good relationship with them. They are against religion.” He recalled the many times the authorities had harassed him and tried to throw him into prison.
The thought of making friends with them was repulsive.
On a bright Sunday in the war-torn country of Vietnam, Nguyen Van The, president of the Saigon Branch, passed through the outer gate of a French-style villa serving as the local meetinghouse. Right away, members of the branch surrounded him, their faces full of frustration and hope. “President The! President The!” they cried out. “What news do you have?”
He had news, but he was not sure how the branch would respond to it. He walked to the door of the chapel, and the Saints followed him, shouting more questions. Without answering, The shook hands and patted people on the back. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, the Relief Society president and lead translator of the Vietnamese Book of Mormon, took him by the arm.
“What counsel do you have, President The?” she asked. “What shall I tell the sisters?”
“Come inside, Sister Vy,” The said. “I will tell you everything I know after sacrament meeting.” He then urged everyone in the crowd to remain calm. “All of your questions will be answered.”
For decades, Vietnam had been a divided land. Conflict had erupted shortly after World War II when Vietnamese forces ousted the French colonial rulers who had governed Vietnam since the late nineteenth century. When rival parties in South Vietnam resisted communist rule, the region had descended into fierce guerrilla warfare. American forces had fought alongside the South Vietnamese for nearly a decade, but the high casualties had made the conflict unpopular in the United States, leading to the country’s gradual withdrawal from the war. Now the North Vietnamese forces were closing in on the southern capital of Saigon, and all remaining Americans were leaving.
The arrival of the North Vietnamese forces threatened to end the Saigon Branch. Up until a week earlier, when the last Latter-day Saint missionary evacuated the country, the branch had seen new members joining every month. More than two hundred Vietnamese Saints had worshipped regularly with Church members from the United States. Now the Vietnamese Saints feared the North Vietnamese would punish them for this association. Some Church members had already scattered, many of them joining the crowds at the airbase, hoping to escape the country.
As The entered the chapel and took a seat at the front of the room, he could hear the rumble of artillery fire—and some explosions sounded terrifyingly close. The irony of the moment was not lost on him. The war had brought the American soldiers who had introduced him and so many Vietnamese Saints to the restored gospel. Now that same war was tearing the branch apart. He felt as if he were attending a funeral for the small congregation.
There were about 125 branch members at the meeting when The stood up and approached the pulpit. They looked anxious, and many of them were weeping. He was feeling emotional too, but he stayed composed as he opened sacrament meeting. The Saints sang “Come, Come, Ye Saints” and partook of the sacrament. Then The bore his testimony and invited others to do the same. But as the Saints stood and shared their testimonies, he could not concentrate on their words. The Saints were looking to him at this time of crisis, and he felt inadequate.
After the meeting, The informed the Saints that the United States embassy was willing to evacuate Church members and anyone preparing for baptism. But Saints with family who were not Church members had to either leave their loved ones or stay behind. This news caused some Saints to cry out in anguish. “What about my family?” they asked. “I cannot leave without my family!”
With the help of the branch members, The created an evacuation list that identified which Saints would leave first. Despite the embassy’s request, the list included dozens of nonmember family and friends of branch members. The’s wife, Lien, and their three small children were among the Saints on the list. The branch members insisted that The’s family evacuate immediately so he could give his full attention to evacuating everyone else. As branch president, The felt it was his duty to be the last to leave.
Lien and the children, along with her mother and sisters, flew out of Saigon a few hours later.
The following day, the North Vietnamese shelled the airport in Saigon, damaging the runway and preventing military transport aircraft from landing. Then, over the next forty-eight hours, helicopters evacuated the remaining Americans and whatever Vietnamese refugees they could carry. The rushed to the U.S. embassy, hoping to find a way out for him and the other Saints still in the city. When he arrived, the building was on fire and smoke was choking the sky. Firefighters and crowds had gathered outside, but the embassy itself was empty. The Americans had already left the city.
Desperate to help the remaining branch members escape, The and a fellow Saint, Tran Van Nghia, hopped onto a motorbike to seek help from the International Red Cross. But they soon met a mass of people running down a one-way street in a panic. A tank with a large gun was rolling rapidly toward them.
Nghia swerved off the road, and he and The clambered into a ditch to hide. The tank rumbled by them, shaking the ground as it passed.
Saigon was now in North Vietnamese hands.
One week later, in May 1975, Le My Lien stepped off a crowded bus at a military camp near San Diego, California, on the West Coast of the United States. In front of her was a sprawling city of tents set up to shelter eighteen thousand refugees from Vietnam. Grass and sand covered the grounds, with trees sparsely dotting the horizon. Children walked around in oversized military jackets, and adults went about their day with unsmiling faces.
Although Lien’s mother and sisters were with her, she felt lost. She was nauseated from her journey to the camp. She had no money and spoke little English. And she had her three children to care for while awaiting news of her husband in Vietnam.
On their first day at the camp, Lien and other Saigon Branch members—mostly women—were greeted by volunteers with badges identifying them as members of the local California stake. A neatly dressed woman introduced herself as Dorothy Hurley, the stake Relief Society president. She and the other stake volunteers were there to distribute food, clothing, and medicine to the refugee Saints, organize them into home teaching districts, and set up Primary and Relief Society. To Lien, the Relief Society sisters looked like angels.
The members of the Saigon Branch spent the afternoon on a tour of the camp. Gravel crunched underfoot as Lien and her family were shown the mess hall, Red Cross kiosk, and outhouses. The long walk took all afternoon, leaving Lien fatigued. She weighed less than ninety pounds, and her body was too weak to produce milk for her infant daughter, Linh.
That night, Lien did her best to make her children comfortable. The camp had provided her with no blankets and only one cot. Her sons, Vu and Huy, crammed onto the cot while the baby slept in a hammock Lien fashioned out of a sheet and rubber bands.
There was nowhere for Lien to lie down, so she slept sitting on the edge of the cot, leaning against a tentpole. The nights were cold, and the chilly air did nothing to help her worsening health. Soon she was diagnosed with tuberculosis.
Despite her sickness, Lien woke early each morning to pick up six small bottles of formula for her baby and get the boys fed. At mealtime, the mess hall was crowded with people waiting for their turn. With her daughter in her arms, she helped her sons load and carry their plates. Only when they finished eating would she go back to get her own food.
Lien’s heart ached when she saw other children waiting hungrily in line. Since rations in the mess hall ran out quickly, Lien would often pass food along to the children to ensure they ate. Some shared their carrots and broccoli with her in return.
She prayed continually that her husband would remain strong, believing that if she could survive her ordeal, then he could survive his. She had heard nothing from him since her flight out of Saigon. But a few weeks after her arrival, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the First Council of the Seventy came to the camp and gave Lien a personal message from President Spencer W. Kimball, who had visited the camp and met with refugees shortly before she got there.
“I testify that your husband will be preserved,” the prophet’s message declared, “and that you will be reunited as a family in the Lord’s own due time.”
Now, as Lien rocked her crying baby each morning, she cried too. “Please,” she begged the Lord, “let me get through just this day.”