Gospel Story Finder

Sister Fisher scared me. Whenever I saw her coming, I turned the other direction and hoped she wouldn’t see me.
The trouble had started three weeks ago. On my way to Primary, I stopped to play with the drinking fountain. The fountain wasn’t working right, and I knew it, but nobody else did. When ward members came by for a drink, I politely offered to press the button for them. Boy, were they surprised when the water overshot by about a foot and they got a face full of water!
Everyone fell for it but Sister Fisher. When I offered to hold the button for her, she whispered, “Hayley, don’t you think you’d better run on to Primary? You’re going to be late. Besides, I don’t want to be shot in the face by the drinking fountain.”
Red-faced, I ran to class. How had Sister Fisher known? I’d tricked everyone else.
But the fountain experience wasn’t the only thing different about her. Not only did she act scary, she looked scary. She had wild, frizzy hair that stuck out on the sides and was the color of a pumpkin. Honest—the color of a pumpkin! She wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and lots of smeared, red lipstick. And even though she was big and tall, her clothes made her look even taller. She always wore long skirts and high heels. She looked like she would fall off the heels, but she never did.
I knew I needed to get used to Sister Fisher’s odd looks, because she was my new Primary teacher! I couldn’t believe it—I’d gotten the scariest teacher in the whole Primary.
When Sunday came, I clung to my best friend, Marci. “What do you think of Sister Fisher?” I asked her.
Marci looked a little worried and said, “She’s strange. I’ve heard she wears a necklace with a real shark’s tooth on it. What do you think that means?”
“It means she’s weird,” I replied.
Just as I was going to tell Marci my ideas on why anybody would wear a shark’s tooth, class started. I sat up tall, determined to listen to every word. I was afraid Sister Fisher wouldn’t like me after the drinking fountain incident, so I thought it might help if I looked like I was interested.
“Good morning, boys and girls,” Sister Fisher said. “I’m happy to have you all in my class. We’re going to have a good time together.”
Easy for her to say, I thought to myself. We aren’t strange-looking.
Sister Fisher continued, “To start it off, let’s learn a little bit about each other. We’ll start with Hayley.”
Oh, no. Why does she have to start with me? I wondered. I just knew she was going to tell everyone that I was a mean girl who played tricks on all the grown-ups in the ward.
While I wondered what awful things she was going to say, Sister Fisher picked up a brown paper bag and pulled out a baby picture of me. “Here is Hayley when she was just six months old. Her mother told me that she was the happiest baby in the world. Wasn’t she cute?”
To my surprise, everyone agreed with Sister Fisher. I looked at the picture, and I had to admit that I had been a cute baby.
Next Sister Fisher brought out a picture of Jesus with the little children. It hung in my room because it was a picture of my favorite Bible story. “This is a beautiful picture, isn’t it, class? Hayley thinks so, and her parents told me that this picture helps her remember to pray. Hayley even reminds her parents to say family prayer. I could use someone like that at my house.”
I couldn’t believe it. Sister Fisher was saying nice things about me!
Sister Fisher reached in and grabbed the next thing—my pink piggy bank. “Hayley likes this bank because it’s her favorite color. She saves tithing in it, and her dad said that sometimes she even pays a little extra.”
Brian nudged me and wise-cracked, “Hey, Hayley-Whaley, next time why don’t you give your extra money to me?”
Everyone laughed, like they always do at Brian’s awful nickname for me. Sister Fisher calmly said, “Well, Brian, maybe she will. Hayley is a generous, kind girl.”
Sister Fisher knew just what to say to Brian. Amazing! Our last three teachers hadn’t known what to say to him.
She did Brian’s sack next and showed a raggedy, blue teddy bear, a soccer ball, and some pictures and said good things about him. After Brian’s sack, she showed stuff from bags and said nice things about each of the other members of the class. Marci’s bag even included a picture of the two of us, taken last year at summer camp.
Then Sister Fisher showed us her own bag! “This is a picture of my family,” she began. “I have two grown-up sons who live far away.”
Sister Fisher was a mother! I couldn’t believe it.
She showed other treasures from her bag. One was a dog-eared Book of Mormon she’d been given when she joined the Church four years ago. Another was an award she’d gotten for being the “Professor of the Year” at a college. And a shark’s tooth necklace!
The off-white tooth dangled on the end of a gold chain. It was huge! I’d have hated to see the shark it came from. It was pretty, if you didn’t know it was a tooth.
After she explained what it was, she said, “This necklace is special because my husband gave it to me before he died. He was fascinated by sharks. So whenever I look at this necklace, I think of him,”
Marci and I exchanged glances. I guess it wasn’t so weird, after all. Actually, Sister Fisher wasn’t so weird, after all, even if she had frizzy orange hair. And I guess she really needed the thick glasses. And maybe there were reasons for the other things I’d thought were weird. She didn’t seem to think what I wear and do are weird—she didn’t even tell on me about the water fountain. She was just a person, like everybody else. In fact, she was a nice person. She made me feel good.
When class was over, she hugged me and said, “Hayley, I’m happy I get to teach you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you’re my new teacher.” And I meant it!

Last year I was a Webelos Scout. When you’re in Webelos you try to get your Webelos badge and Arrow of Light. To earn them you have to get a certain number of activity badges. When I looked through the book of activity badges I saw a lot that looked fun. But then I saw one badge that I was afraid of: the Aquanaut badge. I was scared of it because I didn’t know how to swim. I thought I would sink. I decided not to try it.
Then my dad became my leader. He encouraged me to try to earn all of the activity badges. I was still scared of the Aquanaut badge. But I decided I’d earn all of them.
Dad said having faith in Heavenly Father would help me. We read 3 Nephi 18:20, which says, “And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.”
I prayed every day that Heavenly Father would help me be brave so that I could learn to swim. I did my part by practicing. I would exercise at home to strengthen my muscles, and my dad would take me swimming. Then I finally felt ready to pass it off. I said a prayer for help. Before I knew it, I had done it! After I was done, I gave a prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father.
I know Heavenly Father listens to my prayers.

Isabelle’s father was a physician in the French armed forces, which gave him opportunities to serve in foreign lands. Consequently, several of Isabelle’s childhood years were spent in Djibouti, New Caledonia and Algeria. The Church was not established in some of those countries. Worship and gospel living were thus family centered with no supporting Church organization. Family prayer and family scripture study were regular practices in the home, as were weekly sacrament meetings.

In the late 1970s the Mauclairs moved back to metropolitan France, first to Auch (pronounced Osh) near Toulouse. In 1978, they moved to the Versailles ward, where the Mauclair and Giraud-Carrier families became good friends, and a young Christophe met an even younger Isabelle. That childhood friendship grew into dating, courtship, engagement, and marriage. After some time in the same ward and stake, the families moved apart, but Christophe’s and Isabelle’s developing romance continued to grow as they courted by regular letters, occasional phone calls and quarterly in-person connections.

In July 1986 Christophe commenced full-time missionary service in the Canada Montreal Mission. While he was in Canada, Isabelle’s father was her district president in Cholet, France. Her father called her as a district missionary, fulfilling a promise in her patriarchal blessing. She arranged her work schedule to work three days a week and all evenings with the full-time missionaries. During her service, she became a key part of bringing about 20 new converts into the Church.

Just weeks after Christophe returned from the Canada Montreal Mission, the two, who had met as children 10 years before, became husband and wife on July 16, 1988 in Cholet, France. Three days later, at the Bern Switzerland Temple, they became a forever union. Christophe was 22 and Isabelle was 21.

Shortly after their marriage, Christophe was drafted into the French military. He served in the air force for one year. After his military service, Christophe transferred two years of college credit to Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. There he earned a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree, and a PhD in computer science.

After earning his PhD, the family moved to Bristol, England, where Christophe worked as a computer science professor for six years. He left academia for a time to accept a manager position at ELCA Informatique in Lausanne, Switzerland. In Switzerland, they were just two hours from family for the first time in nearly 13 years. They loved living in Switzerland.

BYU had regularly asked Dr. Giraud-Carrier if he would consider accepting a professorship at the Provo campus. The answer was always no. When the Giraud-Carriers traveled to Utah in 2004, the Computer Science department chair asked them again, “What would make you stay in Utah?” Both Christophe and Isabelle had a strong impression that they should accept a professorship at BYU. They said yes and moved resolutely forward with the direction the Lord was revealing to them.

The Giraud-Carriers have eight children, four sons and four daughters. Four of the children were born after they left Provo. Today, six of their children are married. And they are grandparents to 18 beautiful grandchildren.

Throughout their lives, they have accepted and magnified each of their Church callings. Elder Giraud-Carrier has served as a bishop, ward and stake Young Men president, stake mission president, high councilor, stake president, and mission president. Sister Giraud-Carrier has been the president of her ward Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society, and served as Primary teacher, district missionary, mission leader, and an exceptional ministering sister. Of her, Elder Patrick Kearon has said: “If I had to cross the plains, I would want to be in her wagon.”

Expansion of the World View
BYU–Hawaii is in the small town of Laie. Despite its size it can still expand your view of the world.

From 1988 to 1991, I served as a BYU–Hawaii student body officer. As student body officers, we all shared one secretary. A few months after I had been in the office, the secretary came to my office looking upset. She asked why I was not utilizing her like my other colleagues were. She questioned why I was typing my own letters and picking up my own mail when she should be doing that. I said, “I came from South Africa where a black person cannot instruct a white person.” She looked puzzled at first and after gathering her thoughts she said, “you are not in South Africa.” She then left my office.

That conversation was one of many invitations directed at me to leave behind all prejudices I had known since childhood. Prejudices in their different forms can limit your destiny to greatness.

Our Prophet, President Russell M. Nelson was correct when he said, “I assure you that your standing before God is not determined by the color of your skin. Favor or disfavor with God is dependent upon your devotion to God and His commandments and not the color of your skin.” [8]
BYU–Hawaii taught me we are all God’s children.

Kate T., in California, USA, is like most other high school students. She spends a lot of time studying for her classes and playing sports. “High school, by design, is a lot of thinking about yourself,” she says. But she’s learned it’s important to take time to think outside yourself. So she decided to start a service club at her school.
Kate applied to the school administration for a Just Serve Club (linked with the website JustServe.org and the Just Serve app). But she got some pushback, and the club application was rejected. It took more effort, but Kate and some friends were able to get the club started.
At first the club had about 25 people and were able to do about 15 projects a year. They meet regularly at school during a lunch hour, and they do at least one service project a month. For example, they have cleaned up a beach, packed boxes at the local food bank, and decorated a youth shelter for Christmas.
Now Kate works together with her friend Anna Q. and a club council to plan projects. Council members are recruited from the high school and represent a diverse group of different faiths.
“Our projects usually come from the Just Serve app,” says Anna. Once the council chooses a project, the details are planned and shared with club members during a meeting and on the club’s social media page.
The club has grown, and now the group is able to work on many more projects to benefit the community.
Something Kate and Anna have discovered is the personal benefit of service. “The more you do to give back to your community, the closer you are going to feel to the Savior,” says Kate. “When you can look outside yourself and think about the Savior, you will feel His Spirit because that is what His whole life was about.”
Anna has found there is more happiness in serving others. “My love for those around me increases every time I serve alongside or for someone,” she says. And service has helped strengthen her relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior. “The more I serve like Christ did, the more I become like Him and feel His love.”

I’m not good at basketball. But for some reason, my friends still invited me to play. During one game, I hoped the ball would never come to me. Well, it did, and I decided to take a shot. As the ball flew toward the basket, I was sure it would miss. The ball hit the backboard and then fell through the hoop.
I made the shot!
My friends cheered as I stood in disbelief. I didn’t contribute much else to that game, but it felt good to be part of a team and to participate in my own small way.

A friend of mine told me recently of his family vacation this past summer. A long distance was being driven, and the children, who ranged from preschoolers to high school age, grew restless. The parents had wisely taken along the scriptures, and when these restless times came, family members read chapters and then everyone talked about what had been read. The teenagers who did most of the reading quit teasing the little ones, and the little ones seemed very interested in what the older ones had to say. This family read a sizable part of the New Testament while traveling on their vacation.

Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.

Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.

A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”

The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.

A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.

The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.

While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.
Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.
Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.
“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.
Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”
He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”
Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

“I remember going to see my grandfather in Pima, Arizona. He and Grandma had a home on a hill. When my family went to see them, Grandma would fix us huge meals, and Grandpa would borrow some horses and take us kids riding. Afterward Grandpa would talk to each child alone, treating us as if we were terribly important. I decided that I was his favorite grandchild. Years later, my cousin Eddie Kimball said he’d decided the same thing. Grandpa had a way of making you feel not just special but truly noble.”

One night after the molasses making was finished, he kissed my sisters and me goodnight and said, “God bless you.” That night he went to sleep and never awoke again.
My heart broke. I didn’t want Ma to see me cry so I went out to the stable. Later she found me and, putting her arm around me, said, “George, you’re the man of the house now. You have six sisters and your Ma is depending on you.”
Well, pretty soon it was seven sisters. Just two weeks after Pa died, LaVern was born.
One evening when I saw Ma slip out alone and go toward the cemetery I followed, and found her kneeling by Pa’s grave, weeping.
Tugging at her arm, I said, “Ma, you mustn’t come here to cry. Come on home.”
Getting to her feet she drew me to her. “My little man,” was all she said.
“If Pa got permission to come for a visit, do you think he’d come to this cold old graveyard?” I asked.
Thoughtfully, she said, “No, he wouldn’t. He’d want to come home.”
Hand in hand we walked silently through the twilight.
Shortly after that, Ma put Pa’s picture on the easel in the living room. “Children,” she said, “in this home we will live exactly as Pa would want us to do. Because he loved the Lord we have been blessed.” Her voice broke, but only for a moment.
We knew she missed Pa, but she kept herself busy making our home happy. As we grew, it became the gathering place for all of the young folks in town, especially on Sunday afternoons when Ma would sing with us around the organ.

Thursday afternoons were also a special time for the great district of Jauja. At 3:50 on that day they attended their Ambassadorship class. In this class they learned how to be effective ambassadors of Christ. This involved learning how to teach with empathy and respect, avoid prejudice, and adapt the presentation of the message to the needs and beliefs of the recipient. Everyone looked forward to these classes because they not only taught exciting and vital principles but involved fun activities. One day, for example, the class was divided into two different cultures, the “alphas” and the “betas.” The missionaries learned firsthand the devastating effect of prejudice on gospel communication. On most days the district had a morning class taught by Elder Bishop, an afternoon class taught by Sister Smithson (this one was divided in the middle by their gym period), and a practice and review class in the evening. In the morning and afternoon classes, the teachers instructed them in language, the gospel, the missionary discussions, and teaching techniques, according to a prescribed outline (although neither of the teachers hesitated to follow their inspiration or observation if they saw that the program needed to be adjusted). The evening class was called Practice and Review, and it was a different story. Although a teacher was available to help, each missionary worked on what he felt he needed most. If he chose not to work at all, he had his free agency, but he soon learned that there were consequences for free agency abused. These consequences were lack of progress and loss of the Spirit. And the loss of the Spirit was what every missionary came to dread above all else, because without the Spirit he or she could do nothing.

Their classroom became the focal point of their lives. Here they worked and stretched and strained and put on mental and spiritual muscle. A large sign on the wall proclaimed Capte la Vision (Catch the Vision). This came as close as anything to being the unofficial motto of the MTC. This vision was, by definition, something that could not be fully expressed in words, but it involved the eternal implications of missionary work—the stunning reality of the cosmic struggle between good and evil and the central role played by humble elders and sisters. A small sign by the light switch proclaimed “May the 4s be with you.” This referred to a program called “Speak Your Language,” which encouraged foreign-language missionaries to speak their mission language exclusively. Each day they rated themselves between one and four based on their success. Each week in which a missionary accumulated enough fours, he put a sticker on his name tag.

There were, of course, hard times as well as happy times—times when the language wouldn’t come, times when the discussions wouldn’t stick, times when it all seemed impossible. At such times the inspiration of the district organization was plain. These young men and women loved and supported one another with a fierce loyalty. If one was suffering, they all rallied round. If help with Spanish was needed, the help was given. If anti-homesickness therapy was called for, that was offered. When discouragement or even despair threatened, it was staved off with faith and love and support. Not one of them would call himself successful while a brother or sister felt like a failure. These hard moments grew fewer and fewer as the weeks passed and the power of their missions grew within them. And if some days were hard, most were happy. There was much more laughter than tears. Most of the missionaries came to realize that they had never been happier in all their lives. Whenever the thought struck Elder Anthony that he might not even have come on a mission, it made him feel cold inside, as if he had just been narrowly missed by a runaway bus.

The teachers were also bulwarks of strength for the missionaries. Full of faith and love of the missionary work, Elder Bishop and Sister Smithson inspired the missionaries to work hard. Never in their lives had these young people studied as intensely as they did now. But along with the challenge they were given unconditional love and support. Every missionary was interviewed each week by one of the teachers, and they were able to frankly discuss needs and concerns and complaints as well as progress and goals. Each missionary was expected to set his or her own goals, and the teachers held them accountable for the goals they set. Whenever things got especially grim, the missionaries could be heard muttering to themselves, “Water to the beets.” This was a favorite saying of Elder Bishop, and reflected the uselessness of knowledge and truth and power that are not actually put into practice. Their hard work paid off, too. They all felt they had enjoyed the greatest learning experience of their lives.

As the weeks passed, the missionaries also found themselves growing in love and reverence for their Father in Heaven and their Savior. Prayer became as vital as food. And if it ever came to a choice between the two, they sometimes did without food and fasted and prayed for help. Never in their lives had they prayed so much. Each class began and ended with a hymn and prayer. Each night they gathered in their dormitories for a floor prayer. They prayed with their companions. They often escaped to the custodian’s closet for a private prayer. Countless times each day they offered silent prayers of supplication and thanksgiving. Indeed, it almost seemed that life had become one constant prayer. They had all learned by hard experience that they could not succeed without divine help.

As they prepared to go out and testify to the world, they each had to honestly ask themselves if they had a testimony of the gospel. Some were not satisfied with the answer, and they themselves became investigators, the sincerest of investigators, because their need was great. Most discovered that they had really had a testimony all along. The rest got a brand-new one and treasured it the more for having come by it with fasting, prayer, and a broken heart.

Finally, all the weeks had gone by. Some of the days had been long, but the weeks went swiftly, and the two months evaporated as if by magic. It seemed more like two days, but the time for preparation was past. Now they would soon find out if all their work and prayer had been enough.

There is a tree that grows only at the MTC. It is a banana and orange tree, and it looks just like the other young shade trees except that bananas and oranges often hang from its branches like ornaments on a tropical Christmas tree. The banana and orange tree can bloom any time of year, even when the snowdrifts are name-tag high on the tallest elder. It seems to happen especially when they serve bananas and you-know-whats in the MTC cafeteria. The stems of the fruit resemble, strangely enough, the twine that is sold at the MTC bookstore.

Maybe banana and orange trees remind missionaries of Guatemala and Florida and the Philippines and all the other fun places they’re going. Maybe they are cultivated by nostalgic missionaries from California. Or maybe the MTC is just an enchanted place where such things happen. However that may be, a perfectly splendid banana and orange tree put forth its fruit the night before the great district of Jauja left the MTC. It was a good omen. Also very tasty. It seemed a fitting good-bye to men and women whose lives had borne fruit beyond their own imagining.

In the warm glow of an early spring twilight, they climbed to the second floor of the Ben E. Rich building for their final testimony meeting. It was a meeting they had looked forward to for eight weeks, but now they had mixed feelings. Tomorrow they would fly away to a land where bananas and oranges really grew. They were eager and ready, but a little solemn as well.

They file into the room. Elder Anthony and Elder Eckhart, his companion. Elder Eckhart loved surfing. They have great surf in Peru. Elder Eckhart won’t be trying it out. Elder Kirby and Elder Sakavitch. For the first few weeks they didn’t like each other. Now they’re the best of friends. Another small miracle. Elder Gibson and Elder Hancock. Elder Gibson feels that he has been granted the gift of charity in the MTC. Elder Hancock didn’t plan on a mission, until an inspired returned missionary led him by example. Sister Dunn and Sister Carree. Sister Dunn has had experience teaching children. She says it helps her help the elders. Sister Carree is from Reims, France. She came speaking no Spanish or English. Now she speaks Spanish beautifully. Sister Steele and Sister Ellis. Sister Steele is a nurse. She says open-heart surgery doesn’t change hearts nearly so much as the MTC does. Sister Ellis likes to watch people grow. She’s had an eyeful here. Elder Bishop and Sister Smithson come too. They are as much a part of the district as the missionaries. There’s even an interpreter for Sister Carree so that she can speak in French.

The elders from the district are all going to the Peru Lima North Mission. Sisters Ellis and Steel are going to Honduras. Sister Carree is going to Ecuador. Sister Dunn is going to the Dominican Republic. The sisters all have an additional assignment in welfare services and are looking forward to strengthening the members as well as bringing new converts to the truth.

Sister Smithson speaks first. “I want each of you to know that I really do love you. I’m proud of you. … Dedicate yourselves to the Lord. Turn your lives over to him. … Remember what you’re teaching. It’s not the discussions. You’re teaching people. You’re teaching souls. You’re teaching your Father in Heaven’s children. … I hope if I’ve taught you anything it’s how to teach with the Spirit.”

They all nod their heads. This is the one thing they have all learned at the MTC. With the Spirit of the Lord they can do anything. Time after time they have achieved the impossible with his guidance. Other times, when they tried to do it alone, they have all fallen flat on their faces. They have learned to recognize the influence of the Holy Ghost, because they have needed it almost every moment of every day. They know now that they really didn’t come here to learn Spanish. That was important, but not all-important. They came here to learn the language of the Spirit. Words alone, however eloquent, could not contain everything that was in their hearts to share with those they would teach. They had to get beyond words to the one language that could express all truth.

They begin bearing their testimonies, and a strange thing happens. They are speaking in their native tongues for a change, but words somehow come hard. Still, the room echoes warmly with their new language, their real language, the real language of all mankind. They are speaking fluently in the language of the Spirit. One by one, they bear testimony of the Father and the Son, of the rich outpouring they have experienced of the gift of the Holy Ghost, of their love for one another and their sureness that they have been called of God. The MTC months have been a joyful time of unprecedented growth. They are not boys and girls now but men and women, and there is strength in them. Earlier, in sacrament meeting, they had given their farewell addresses. They spoke in Spanish, and they spoke with fluent authority on gospel principles. The Spanish may not have been flawless, but it was powerful. No one who heard them could doubt that he was listening to servants of God and messengers of truth. They are going to teach a people they love with all their hearts. It is a people they have never met, but for the last two months they have worked and prayed and struggled and sometimes even cried for the sake of that people. Love, the fruit of service, has been their harvest.

The next morning they carried their luggage out the same doors they had first entered two months since. This time it wasn’t quite such a struggle. Like the pioneers before them, they had found it necessary to lighten their load. Many a precious, unnecessary possession had already been shipped home.

The hills were green with spring, but the Jauja district was flying away beyond the equator to where fall was just beginning. In 16 months when spring paints the slopes of the Andes, they will return to greet another autumn at home. If a record of such things is kept in heaven, it will show that the great district of Jauja has sacrificed one precious summer to go and answer the Lord’s call. But the thought has probably not even occurred to them. And if it did they would only laugh. They are not counting costs. They carry with them in their hearts a light brighter than the sunshine of many summers.

So if you’re driving by Provo on a Thursday morning and see a carful of moms and dads and sisters and brothers and one white-knuckled young man in a conservative suit, you might just want to pull in behind and follow him. He’s headed in the right direction.

Because I went to kindergarten early, I was always the youngest in my classes. And because I was the youngest, I always seemed to be the last one to start things. I was the last of my friends to go into Scouting, and my friends were already deacons when I was still in Primary. I felt like I was always behind. I was always the last to advance. But this became an advantage because I was able to learn from the good examples of friends who started before me.

The movie, Seabiscuit, tells the story of two horses that dominated race tracks across America in the 1930s. Eventually these two great horses, Seabiscuit and War Admiral, ran against each other in what was called the “race of the century.”
I had a horse named Champ who was Seabiscuit’s cousin and War Admiral’s nephew. Champ’s story unfolded when he disappeared from our farm in Washington State when I was fourteen. We searched for weeks and concluded that he had been stolen. I could not accept him being gone, and decided to make one more effort to find him. I borrowed a horse, started near dawn and rode for hours into high country and rough grazing lands miles away where I had earlier chased wild horses. On my way I kept thinking about how a few years before we had found and bought Champ as a wild undisciplined yearling in Idaho foothills, never before touched by human hands.
The frigid air was warmed as the sun moved high in the sky. That was when I saw specks in the far distance, then movement, and eventually Champ with a band of about a dozen wild horses. I could not believe that Champ had run away. I was chasing this marvelous coal black horse whose grandfather, Man ‘O War, had won the Kentucky Derby. Now, with me in hot pursuit, he was running loose with a bunch of reckless mustangs, risking his life racing on uneven rocky terrain as wild as the first time ever I saw him.
I finally caught Champ as the sun was setting and took him home. I resumed riding him to drive range cattle out of our crops. He carried rodeo queens, pleased crowds at parades, and won a blue ribbon at the fair. (I was saddened to learn that the other horses that Champ ran around with for awhile were rounded up and became dog meat.)
Please do not lose sight of your potential. I have thought how, like Champ, some resist the truth of who they are and what they should do with their lives. You will not want to run away from your royal inheritance, or become distracted by fickle or forbidden things.

Richy Judd, who recently returned from serving in the Ohio Cleveland Mission, says one of his most memorable experiences in the temple happened when he was the one baptizing and confirming.
“I went to the temple with the youth one more time before my mission, when I had already received my endowment,” he explains. “I actually got to do the baptizing and confirming, and it just really got me excited to go out there and baptize and confirm people. I wanted to find the families I was supposed to teach and bring into the Church.” And every time he baptized someone on his mission, “I’d remember being at the temple as a teenager,” he adds.
Richy says going to the temple reminded him how important it was to stay worthy. It motivated him to make right choices. When his bishop and stake president interviewed him before ordaining him an elder, Richy could confidently say that he was living all of the standards. “It made the transition a lot easier,” he says.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.
After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.
A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me out through the village and directly up against the face of a perpendicular solid rock cliff. ‘That’s strange,’ thought I. ‘I’ve never seen that here before,’ and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toe hold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“‘Why has this experience come to me?’ I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Fenton L. Williams, “On Doing the Impossible,” Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, p. 554).
It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

Elder de la Cruz retired from his job early in order to serve. He and his wife had attended a meeting in Mexico City and heard Elder Lino Álvarez of the Seventy encourage couples to serve full-time missions. Facing the loss of some retirement benefits by retiring early, Elder and Sister de la Cruz nevertheless felt the Spirit telling them that now was the right time for them. “We did lose some benefits,” he says, “but our Heavenly Father has given us so much more. We decided to share with our brothers and sisters what we feel for Him.”
“For me it has been a great happiness and joy to come to know and teach these brothers and sisters in Palenque—and to even bring more members to the Church,” says Sister de la Cruz. “I feel greatly strengthened by being with them.”

In February 2010, my husband and I were serving as mission leaders of the Chile Santiago East Mission. Together with our missionaries and the Chilean people, we experienced the earthshaking horror of an 8.8-magnitude earthquake.
It was one of the most frightening experiences we’ve ever had. It shook our home, but it didn’t shake our faith in Jesus Christ and His prophets. In fact, it strengthened our conviction that living prophets can prepare us for all things.
Nine months earlier, the Lord had prepared us through one of His chosen prophets, Elder Richard G. Scott. When he set us apart to serve as mission leaders, he gave us inspired counsel. He said that many times in our mission, the Spirit would awaken us in the early morning hours. He invited us to write down and act upon the messages the Spirit taught us, and he promised us that if we did, we would experience miracles.
Those words were fulfilled as the Spirit awakened me just two weeks before the earthquake, revealing to me that we needed to prepare our missionaries for an earthquake. We followed that prompting, and when the earthquake came, we experienced the miracles of peace and safety that Elder Scott had promised us.
This experience reminded us that we can find peace in a troubled world as we choose to follow our prophets’ inspired counsel.

May I share with you a personal experience to illustrate the above. There is, in the ward I just recently moved from, a group of teenage boys. Only one, a younger member of the group, had committed himself to serving a mission. As an older member of the group reached 19, he stated that maybe a mission wasn’t the best thing for him. Many interested members of the ward did “reprove” this young man for his decision. My opportunity came on a ski lift on a cold December day. In jest I said, “What are you going to be, a ski nut or a missionary?” He laughed and then proceeded to give me his reasons for staying home. On each subsequent trip up the lift we discussed his position, the fallacy of his reasons, his hazy standards and goals for life, the effect of his decision on the other members of his group, the long-range consequences of his decision, and ultimately what his explanation would be to the Lord for the lost opportunity to serve.
After prayerful consideration, more “reproving with sharpness,” and a sincere effort on his part, he decided to complete the application for a mission call. A short time after his departure I received a letter from him stating how great it was to be on a mission.

I probably would have been a Mormon years before if Boyd had asked the question right.
To his credit, he’d done all the right things—he’d dragged me along to stake dances, to firesides, and even to church a few times. But after all those months of preparation, and after he’d finally built up the courage to pop the big question, he asked: “Do you want to hear the missionary discussions?”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Don’t you have to be a Mormon to do that?” I asked, guessing that missionary discussions were intended to get young folks ready to go on missions.
“No,” Boyd said.
I had no idea what I was turning down when I said, “Uh … I guess not.”
Boyd’s not to blame. He was a good friend and a good Mormon. The only trouble was, he was speaking Mormonese—a language most people do not understand. Eventually, I did join the Church thanks to his and others’ good influence. But from their actions, I’ve learned a few things about being friends to those not of our faith which might help you teach your friends a little about the gospel.

For a service project, the teens cleaned up two overgrown pioneer cemeteries. “It was more than just a service project,” says Nephi Stewart. “There was a great spirit there.”

The youth were humbled as they found headstones of children and teenagers buried there. They were touched when they found grave markers of families who had lost several children.

During their service project, it began to rain heavily. Despite that, the youth cooperated, enjoyed their work, and buoyed each other up.