Gospel Story Finder

by Karen Booth
They came to experience a part of their past—to share in the pioneer spirit and courage their Mormon forefathers felt over 135 years earlier. One hundred and fifty Scouts from Mormon and non-Mormon troops from the Las Cruces and Silver City New Mexico stakes and surrounding area joined at the foot of Cooke’s Peak, New Mexico, for an annual commemorative outing in honor of the first Mormon Battalion to travel west in 1846.
In recreating this journey, Scouts encountered many of the same things their forefathers found along the way to California. Events were planned so the young men could apply Scouting skills to simulated battalion experiences. If the boy completed all the trials successfully, he was given a patch to be worn on his uniform.
One night was spent camping on the trail so the Scouts could become acquainted with pioneer travel. That night they ate a sparing meal consisting of jerky gravy on biscuits. This was similar to what the soldiers ate after leaving Tucson, Arizona, when their rations were very low. The first night was concluded around a campfire, with Scouts performing skits that depicted events experienced by the battalion.
The following morning, the main part of the adventure began as the boys set out to hike 15 miles carrying gear on their backs. This was the equivalent to an average day’s march for the battalion. Professors from New Mexico State University assisted the boys in plant identification. To understand the war-like atmosphere, the boys dragged a cannon borrowed from a local fraternity and loaded and fired it. They also held a black powder musket shoot. In the course of the hike, the boys came upon a simulated massacre and decided who was supposedly in need of immediate medical attention and practiced their first-aid skills.
Like their battalion forefathers, the Boy Scouts who completed this trip learned a great deal about the environment and what a powerful teacher it can be. They also learned more about themselves and that their individuality is the greatest asset they can give to a group. All left the trip with a sense of accomplishment and enrichment in celebrating the pioneer spirit.

Our family has six children, who sometimes tease one another that they are the favourite child. Each has different reasons for being preferred. Our love for each of our children is pure and fulfilling and complete. We could not love any one of them any more than another—with each child’s birth came the most beautiful expansion of our love. I most relate to my Heavenly Father’s love for me through the love that I feel for my children.
As they each rehearse their claims to be the most loved child, you might have thought that our family had never had an untidy bedroom. The sense of blemishes in the relationship between parent and child is diminished with a focus on love.
At some point, perhaps because I can see that we are heading toward an inevitable family riot, I’ll say something like, “OK, you have worn me down, but I am not going to announce it; you know which one of you is my favourite.” My goal is that each one of the six feels victorious and all-out war is avoided—at least until next time!

A modern parable portrays a farmer who had a wheat crop that surpassed any he had known before. According to the account, he could think of nothing but the treasures he could buy with the money from his crop. Every day he would visit his fields, gloat over the wonderful sea of golden grain, and then come home and proudly tell his family how rich he would be.
This farmer had a little boy who was ill and who begged his father to take him to the fields so that he could see this vast expanse of ripening wheat. The father consented, bundled his son up, and took him out. Absorbed in the treasure that lay before him the father did not immediately notice that his son was no longer by his side. Some time passed before he noticed the child missing and began searching about in the wheat, which was taller than his boy. Not finding him, the frantic father rushed to the village to summon the help of his neighbors. All rallied to his call, formed a huge circle by joining hands, and walked slowly forward, trampling the dense stalks until the body of the boy was found. Brokenhearted, the father mourned over the death of his son who was so dear to him. He realized the greater worth of one individual over the worth of monetary possessions. (Sidney H. Alexander, Jr., “Today’s Crises,” Vital Speeches, 1 Jan. 1963, pp. 185–86.)

In the past I’ve always had very negative feelings about myself. I would always complain to my friends about how ugly I looked that day, how fat I was, how messy my hair was, and so on. One day this began to change.
I had a wonderful friend named Holly. She was a great listener and just fun to be around. She gave me a note after school one day, and on the envelope it said, “Don’t open until you get home!” Of course, my curiosity grew, and I wanted to open it very badly. But I decided to wait until I got home so that I could really read it.
I wondered what this letter contained. I thought of the worst things she could have written. I got home and opened the letter. It said that I was a good person and that I should always remember I am someone special. She had written out a list of all the good things she saw in me. I read this letter and wondered how I had let these qualities go unnoticed. By giving me that list in her letter, Holly helped me develop a better opinion of myself. She helped me remember that I am a child of God and that he loves me.
I think Satan would like us to believe that we are not worthwhile. When we don’t value ourselves, we end up doing things we will later regret.
The Lord loves us and always will. I now know that he doesn’t just look at our weaknesses. He also sees our strengths. I know, thanks to a letter from Holly, that I am someone special and that Heavenly Father loves me.

As I moved to higher grades, my dad always found ways to plant these love notes. I often found them in my locker or in my sports bags. Last year when I left for college, I had forgotten about the special business cards just as I had every year before. When I got to my dorm room and began to unpack one of my boxes, a little white card slipped out from between my things and fluttered to the ground. My dad’s business cards continued to surface throughout my first few weeks of college, offering inspiration and advice.

Not long ago we invited two sister missionaries over for lunch. After we finished eating, we asked them to leave a spiritual thought with us. They were well prepared and introduced a scripture reading and marking exercise to us. They had brought a fresh copy of the Book of Mormon and a set of colored pencils. We accepted the invitation of the missionaries. Since then, our daily Book of Mormon family scripture reading has changed. In every chapter we mark with different colors the passages related to Jesus Christ as we discover them. Every time, this little exercise reminds us of our missionaries.
When the missionaries presented this, we immediately recognized it as a scripture study exercise suggested in Preach My Gospel. As a family, we are so thankful for this great and powerful missionary tool.

I have seen that promise fulfilled in my own life and in the lives of others. A friend of mine served as a mission president. He told me that at the end of every day while he was serving, he could barely make it upstairs to bed at night wondering if he would have the strength to face another day. Then in the morning, he would find his strength and his courage restored. You have seen it in the lives of aged prophets who seemed to be renewed each time they stood to testify of the Lord Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. That is a promise for those who go forward in faith in their priesthood service.

Young missionaries always have an idea as to where they would love to serve. Usually it’s a faraway place with a strange-sounding name.
One day I was in the men’s suit department of a large store when I encountered two missionaries with their mothers. It isn’t difficult to spot missionaries or their mothers. The two elders were conversing, and one said to the other, “Where are you going to serve?”
Came the reply, “I’m going to Austria.”
The first missionary responded, “You lucky dog, going to Austria! Those beautiful Austrian alps, that wonderful music, those delightful people! I wish I were going there.”
“Where are you going?” said the missionary assigned to Austria.
“California,” came the answer. “You know, less than two hours away by plane. We go there every year for a vacation.”
I could see by the expression on the mothers’ faces and the near tears of the one missionary that it was time for me to intervene. “Did you say California?” I asked. “Why, I once supervised that area. You have an inspired call. Do you realize what you will have in California to help you? You’ll have chapels and stake centers that dot the land, and they’ll be filled with Latter-day Saints who can be inspired to be fellow missionaries with you in sharing the gospel. You are a very fortunate missionary to be going there.” I glanced at the other mother, who said, “Brother Monson, say something about Austria, quick!” I did so.

When I started my first semester of college in the United States, I was so excited. I was attending a school with a lot of Church members, and I had never been surrounded by so many people my age who believed the same things I did! I expected we would all share the same standards and help each other grow spiritually and intellectually.
However, I was surprised when my expectations fell a little short.
Back in my home city in Taiwan, Church members always seemed to take the gospel seriously. They never missed a chance to connect with Jesus Christ, and neither did I. There, I would go to the temple every month with my younger sister (who always motivated me to go), I never missed church meetings (because of my parents), and I always tried to make decisions that kept me connected to the Spirit, just like the people around me did.
But at school, while nobody was intentionally breaking commandments, for some people, the gospel seemed to be lower on their to-do lists. Some of them made choices that just teetered on the edge between the world and the gospel. Being on my own for the first time, I got busy and caught up in what everyone else around me was doing. I soon saw how easy it is to be influenced by the world around you when you’re not prioritizing the gospel.
When friends around me were making decisions that didn’t always align with gospel standards, I started to wonder if I was living in a way that was too spiritual. I wondered if I was the odd one out—if I was taking the gospel too seriously. I started to feel lonely, especially at church. I felt tempted to change my standards to fit in with the people around me.
However, around that time, President Russell M. Nelson shared a powerful message in general conference:
“We have never needed positive spiritual momentum more than we do now. … Spiritual momentum can help us withstand the relentless, wicked attacks of the adversary and thwart his efforts to erode our personal spiritual foundation.
“… I urge you to get on the covenant path and stay there. Experience the joy of repenting daily. Learn about God and how He works. Seek and expect miracles. …
“As you act on these pursuits, I promise you the ability to move forward on the covenant path with increased momentum, despite whatever obstacles you face.”
That’s when it hit me.
I had been more interested in what others were doing than my own personal relationship with the Savior. I even realized that my school was right next to a temple and I hadn’t been there yet! It also became clear how much I had relied on others to influence my spirituality back in Taiwan too.
I needed to do the work to reignite my spiritual momentum and focus on Christ—who should be my top motivator to live His gospel.
I started making some changes.
Even if I didn’t feel motivated to go to church or attend the temple or do anything spiritual some days, I chose to do so anyway and focus on my Savior. It didn’t matter what everyone else was doing.
The world makes it easy to take the blessings of the gospel for granted, but when I focus on Him, I remember what matters most.
Instead of wallowing in loneliness and focusing on the differences in how we are living our lives, I now reach out to others. I strive to make friends and note all the positive interactions I have with them, like a simple smile or a kind conversation.
I no longer compare my discipleship to others’. Instead, I focus on keeping my spiritual habits consistent and strengthening my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. When I prioritize my relationship with Them, I remember how much They love each of us perfectly, and it reminds me to offer grace to others just like They offer grace to me.
President Nelson also invited us “to take charge of your own testimony of Jesus Christ and His gospel. Work for it. Nurture it so that it will grow. Feed it truth. … As you make the continual strengthening of your testimony of Jesus Christ your highest priority, watch for miracles to happen in your life.”
The world makes being casual about your discipleship easy, especially when you’re on your own for the first time as a young adult. However, I encourage you to accept our prophet’s invitation to strengthen your foundation of faith in Jesus Christ.
Making Him a priority keeps me moving forward on the covenant path.

When Henry and Mary entered Salt Lake City on September 15, 1866, it had been more than four years since they had seen their mother. Henry walked proudly at the head of the train, his clothes in tatters, his hair sticking out in all directions. In honor of the occasion, he was wearing a pair of boots, many sizes too large, that he had discovered in a burned-out pony express station.
His mother was nowhere to be seen. When the company halted for the last time, Henry sat on a crate in a wagon, heartsick, watching the happy reunions between loved ones. At last he saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl approaching. He went to her and said, “Hey, Mother.”
“Is that you, Henry?” she asked. “Where is Mary?” Mary was hiding inside a wagon, ashamed of her ragged clothing. The family was finally reunited. However, there was sad news. During her journey to Utah, Sister Roberts had watched her baby, Thomas, weaken and die. She had buried him in a donated breadbox coffin along the way.

Gary loved to visit Grandpa and Grandma McGregor on their farm near Cardston, Canada. It had been nearly four years since the family had made the long trip there from their home in Quebec. But at last they had reached the farm, and Dad stopped the car by the back gate.
Everything was quiet as they opened the doors. Suddenly Mother whispered, “Sh-h! Don’t move—listen!”
Gary and Dad listened carefully. “What’s the matter, Mom?” Gary asked. “I don’t hear anything.”
“It’s a swarm of bees” Mother answered, “and it’s close by.” She looked around and then pointed toward the lilac bush by the door. “There it is. Look, Gary!”
Gary could hardly believe what he saw. There were bees flying around the lilac bush—more bees than he had ever seen before.
“What are they doing?” Gary almost shouted. “There are thousands of them. Where did they come from?”
“They’re swarming, Gary. Every spring some of the bees leave a hive with a queen,” Mother explained. “We mustn’t get too close to them or they’ll chase and sting us, but I want to show you something special. Do you see that large brownish clump on the underside of the limb?”
Gary looked at the lilac bush. “You mean that big thing hanging down? The bees are flying around it.”
“That’s the swarm of bees. The queen is inside the swarm,” Mother answered.
“You mean that big clump is solid bees?” Gary asked.
“Yes,” Mother replied, “and I haven’t seen one for years.” Then she smiled as she reminisced. “One time a swarm landed on the bottom of Grandpa’s tractor seat, and he couldn’t go to work until he’d put them in a hive. They were hanging almost to the ground. Another time they were so high in the quaking aspen that Grandpa couldn’t get to them. A bad wind came up and the bees blew about so much that part of the swarm broke off and fell to the ground.”
“Can Grandpa get all of these bees out of the lilac tree?” Gary asked. “Where is he, anyway?”
Just then they saw Grandpa coming from the field. Gary ran to meet him. “Oh, Grandpa,” he said, “I just love being back on the farm, even with the bees.”
Grandpa McGregor laughed. “Well, we’ll take care of the bees later, when they’ve settled down a bit. I’ll show you how to handle them so no one will be stung.”
Gary watched the bees from the back porch. He was fascinated by the funnel shape clinging to the branch. Only a bee or two hadn’t settled down with the others. Gary wondered how they could hang on like that and why they didn’t break off and fall to the ground.
When Grandmother called Gary to eat, he was afraid the bees might disappear while he was in the house. Grandpa assured him they would still be in the lilac bush. “Sometimes they’ll stay like that for a day or two. Then if someone doesn’t put them in a hive of their own, they’ll leave.”
“Where would they go?” Gary asked.
“Sometimes they find an old hollow tree and make their home inside it,” Grandpa explained.
“Will you give the bees a hive of their own so they won’t fly away?” Gary wondered.
Grandpa smiled. “After dessert I’ll show you what we’ll do.”
When everyone had finished with supper, Grandpa pushed back his chair and said, “I’d better put on my bee clothes. That’s a large swarm, and I don’t want to lose any bees. They make a lot of honey for us.”
Gary saw Grandpa open the cupboard on the back porch and take out some strange-looking clothes. He watched Grandpa put on the clothes. Grandma tied his gloves at the wrists. “So the bees can’t crawl up his arms,” she explained. Grandma also tied his pants tightly at the ankles over some high boots. But when Grandpa put a big covering over his head, Gary could hardly believe what he saw! A net covered Grandpa’s hat and was tied tightly around his neck. It made him look like a man from outer space.
Grandpa made a little fire in an odd-shaped can. He put some oily rags in the can, touched a lighted match to the rags, and put the lid on. When Grandpa squeezed the handle, smoke came out of the spout on the can.
“What’s that for, Grandpa?” Gary cried.
“Bees don’t like smoke, Gary. If some get angry while I’m working, the smoke will keep them from stinging me.”
Then Grandpa went out to the shed and carried out an empty beehive. Gary watched from the back porch as Grandpa set the beehive directly under the big clump of bees. He removed the lid from the hive, and with a quick movement he shook the limb of the lilac bush. The large cluster of bees fell into the hive. Some of the bees were angry at being disturbed. They began buzzing around Grandpa’s head, but he aimed the smoking can at the bees and puffed some smoke at them. A few bees flew away, but some of them still buzzed around.
When the bees were in the hive, Grandpa put the lid on and carried the beehive out behind the bunkhouse with the others. “That’s one place I’ve never explored,” Gary said to himself.
“I’d like to go out there when the bees are asleep and take a look.”
The next morning after breakfast Gary headed straight for the bunkhouse. Gary looked at the first hive. He thought it was the one Grandpa had put out last night, but then all the beehives looked alike.
Quickly Gary lifted the lid to take a little peek. As if they were waiting for him, the bees swarmed up into the sunlight! Gary turned and ran for the house, but it was too late. The bees were after him. One flew down his shirt. Others flew around his head and hands.
When they heard Gary’s cries, Grandma and Mother came running. They helped chase the bees away, and Grandma put mud on the bee stings. Gary’s face was so swollen, he didn’t look like himself. And his arms and hands were swollen too.
“You know, Grandma,” Gary admitted, “I didn’t want to steal their honey, but I guess the bees didn’t know that. Next time I’ll go with Grandpa and wear bee clothes.”
Then Gary was quiet. He was thinking about the report he’d have for school next fall after learning all about bees. He thought he might leave the bee stings out of the report—but he’d have all summer to decide about that!

Fortunately, there are still those who observe such principles of personal rectitude. I recall riding a train from Osaka to Nagoya, Japan. At the station were friends to greet us, and in the excitement my wife left her purse on the train. We called the Tokyo station to report it. When the train arrived at its destination some three hours later, the railroad telephoned to say the purse was there. We were not returning via Tokyo, and more than a month passed before it was delivered to us in Salt Lake City. Everything left in the purse was there when it was returned.

My mother says we came from Dublin, Ireland, with a bundle of clothes, a well-read Bible, and each other. And in our hearts we brought love and hope.
When I was barely ten, we moved to a small cottage with a plot of land near the junction of the Susquehanna and Juniata canals. Father, who was tall and muscular, pulled our plow. And Mother, small but determined, guided the prong as it turned the soil. They sang as they worked, and I was happy to follow behind and shove potato eyes into the rich black earth. Sometimes we gathered berries by the river in pails.
“I watched the canal boats today, Father,” I said, smiling. “They were full of all manner of goods.”
“Aye, it’s a wondrous land we’ve come to, Michael,” Father agreed.
Although we sold the potatoes and berries in town, we never seemed to have enough money. When I was nearly twelve Father left for a time to look for work. Before he went, he kissed Mother and, smiling at me, led me to my cot where he raised the mattress and pinned a dollar to the ticking. “There,” he said quietly. “I’m off to find work. I don’t want to go, but a man must feed his family. Take care of your mother while I’m gone, and if there’s ever a need, remember the dollar.” Father patted the mattress and asked, “Do you understand what I mean, Michael?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Father.”
Mother and I stood near the fence and waved until father disappeared along Old Post Road. Then she wiped her eyes and turned back to the house. “While your father’s gone, Michael, we’ll plant potatoes and pick berries just as before.”
I nodded and went to the head of the plow, determined to do my part. But no matter how hard I tugged and pulled, the furrows never looked deep enough.
Time passed—mules pulled the canal boats, potatoes sprouted, I picked berries and chopped wood. But Mother no longer sang.
Then one afternoon I saw a canal boat loaded to the brim being slowly pulled along. The mule driver cursed and beat the lead mule, but the mule balked and brayed.
“You lazy mule!” the driver shouted, and he whipped the poor animal till it struggled forward. When they neared a bend, I saw the mule drop to its knees and move its head wearily from side to side. I thought of myself behind the plow and ran to where the driver was unfastening the mule’s harness.
“Lazy, no-good mule! You’ll be sold for glue now! That’s a fact!” the driver roared.
“Oh, no!” I pleaded. “Please don’t sell him for glue. He tried the best he could.”
“Go home, boy!” the driver growled. “I can’t leave a dead mule to block the path!”
“He’s not dead yet!” I cried, “Only tired.”
“He’ll be dead soon!” the driver barked as he reached for his gun.
“Please!” I begged, raising my hands.
“Out of my way, boy!”
“I’ll buy him,” I stammered quickly.
The driver threw back his head and laughed.
“I—I have a dollar.”
The driver stopped laughing and rubbed his chin. “A dollar, huh? I suppose that’s all I’d get from the glue factory. All right,” he nodded. “Done!”
I ran home and lifted my mattress, wondering if Father would think it a foolish waste. I glanced toward the canal and thought of the mule. Surely any life is worth a dollar! I decided.
The driver laughed as he grabbed the dollar, then waved me away as he guided the mule train along the path. “Mind,” he shouted over his shoulder, “he’s your problem now! It’s up to you to get him off the path!”
I watched the canal boat disappear around the bend, then knelt and coaxed, “Come on, boy, you’ve got to come home.”
The mule rolled its big brown eyes up at me and my own eyes clouded as he stood and tried to walk, then fell into the high grass. After dinner I put a few carrots in a gunnysack and hurried back to the weak animal. Looking at me sadly, he ate but one carrot.
“It’s all right,” I sobbed. “Rest, old mule; I’ll not beat you.” I tried to cover his bony back with the sack and hurried home.
A week passed and I tended the mule in secret, praying he wouldn’t die. Then one day as I turned to go home, the mule stood on wobbly legs and brayed. I turned in surprise. “Come on, boy,” I urged. “Come on home.”
The old mule pointed its ears, took a step forward, then stopped. I hugged its neck and whispered, “It’s all right, boy. Rest.”
I hurried home to plow a plot of land, and as I slipped my arms into the traces, Mother stood between the handles. Suddenly I heard the mule braying and looked up to see it coming straight across the field toward me! Gently it shoved me aside with its nose and took my place in front of the plow.
“Well, I never!” Mother said, taken aback. “Whose mule is that, Michael?”
“He’s ours, Mother!” I laughed. “I bought him for a dollar!”
The mule plowed all morning—one straight, deep furrow after another—and never got tired. Mother smiled from the cottage window as she baked bread while the mule and I plowed.
Then one evening as we sat down to supper, we heard a knock at the door. Mother opened it, and the mule driver stood scowling. “You have my mule!” he shouted, wagging a finger at me. “I’ve come to fetch him back!”
“I bought him for a dollar!”
“That’s when he was dying!” the driver growled. “Someone saw him well and plowing! Here’s your dollar!”
“Mother,” I pleaded through my tears.
“My son does not want his dollar back,” Mother declared. “A bargain made is a bargain kept!”
The driver’s face turned purple and he threw the dollar on the porch. “I’m takin’ my mule!” he shouted.
I raced to the shed and latched the door, but the driver shoved me aside and flung it open. He grabbed the mule’s halter and raised his whip, but the mule braced its feet and balked. Then from out of nowhere, I saw a tall shadow come round the house and a powerful hand twisted the whip from the driver’s grasp.
“Who threatens my family and home?” my father’s voice boomed angrily.
The driver looked at my father, then released the harness. “Ah,” the driver mumbled, “that ol’ mule never would work anyhow!”
Father stood with his arm about Mother’s waist as the driver stumbled toward the canal. “Is it a useless mule, Michael?” Father asked.
“No. He’ll work for me,” I explained.
“Then you’ve used the dollar well,” Father assured me. “I worked and have only two weeks’ pay in my pocket, but I sorely missed my little family. I’m home to stay. We’ll make it somehow,” he said, smiling hopefully.
“We’ll make it just fine,” Mother agreed, beaming happily. “The mule does most of the hard work, and the garden’s bigger so there will be more potatoes to sell. I can bake pies with the berries, and you can build a cart for the mule to carry our goods to town.”
“Hold on,” Father laughed. “First I want a hug from my family.”
There was still barely enough money, but we were together again. I knew for sure that all riches aren’t to be laid upon a table for counting, or carted to town for selling and trading. Some riches, like the love and honest work of my parents and the loyal, faithful work of my mule, are not for hire. They are precious gifts, freely given when earned. And if the riches of the heart could be counted, then all the world would know how very prosperous we were as my mother and father sang and as I grew to be a man.

“Is anyone still awake?” The first time I asked, I had received two whispered responses in the affirmative. Now, hours later, the silence answered that I was the last one in the room who couldn’t get to sleep.
It was my first night in the Missionary Training Center (MTC). That day, I had said good-bye to my parents, met my companion and the other new missionaries going to Italy, and been to the first set of classes. I was exhausted, but my mind was spinning with anxiety. “What have I gotten myself into?” I asked myself over and over. I didn’t know if I could really learn to be a missionary. Would I have the courage to fly to a foreign country and talk to strangers about the gospel? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be here. Tears started to roll down my cheeks.
Then I remembered something my mom had told me about her brother Larry. Uncle Larry served his mission in Uruguay and Paraguay in the 1970s. At first he had spent sleepless nights worrying about his inadequacies. When he felt like he couldn’t bear it anymore, he would get out of his bed, go into the bathroom, and kneel down to plead with Heavenly Father for peace. Somehow, with the Lord’s help, Uncle Larry made it through and served a faithful mission.
I felt some hope at this thought and crept down the hall to the bathroom. In the dim light, I knelt on the cold tile floor and sobbed. I begged Heavenly Father to grant me a feeling of peace so that I could have the courage to move forward.
I waited. Nothing happened. I waited some more, hearing only the sound of my crying. Finally, there was nothing to do but go back to bed.
In the moment before I fell asleep, the answer came. The Spirit filled my mind with a bright, warm impression of a beautiful place. Suddenly I knew that although I might have a hard time with fear in the beginning, if I pressed forward, I would get to where the Lord meant me to be. The thought filled me with peace, and I fell asleep.
The Spirit had hinted of beautiful things ahead. In hard moments during my stay at the MTC, I closed my eyes and remembered what I had felt. With prayer and hard work, I outlasted my fears.
It wasn’t long before I found myself in Genoa, Italy, with my new companion. In the kitchen of our apartment was a glass door that led to a balcony. I stepped out on the balcony and gazed at the city. I already knew and loved this city. This was the place I had seen in my mind’s eye that night at the MTC. I knew the Lord had led me to this moment, and I was right where I belonged.

I was a missionary sent to France in 1949. Missionary work then was much different from missionary work now. There was no Missionary Training Center, so when I arrived in Paris, I had had no language training at all. There wasn’t a set of lessons to teach investigators. Different missionaries used different methods to teach the gospel.
I had been in Paris for just a few weeks when my companion received word that his mother was dying of cancer. Since his scheduled release date was only weeks away, the mission president allowed him to return home early to see his mother. If that had happened today, another elder would have been transferred to my area to be my companion. But in those days I was left to work by myself until transfers for the entire mission were made.
Before he left, my companion and I had scheduled a few lessons. I knew that I would have to take care of those appointments. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the language, and there were no prepared discussions. I was nervous and frightened.
I began to read the Book of Mormon and to pray as hard as I could. I would pray, and then I would read, then I would pray again and read some more. This went on for several days.
Finally it was time to go to my first appointment—the Alvarez family. They were a lovely couple whom we had just begun teaching. When I went, I didn’t know what I was going to say. I had a testimony of the gospel and the restoration, but I did not know the language.
But when I went to see this family, the Lord took over. For two hours I taught them. I’m sure that it wasn’t in beautiful French, but I was able to communicate with them how I felt about the gospel. They understood the message and were touched by the Spirit.
That night when I returned to my apartment, I knew that there really was a Father in Heaven and that He had called me on a mission. I knew that Heavenly Father had watched over and helped me—had loosed my tongue—and that He watches over all His missionaries. It was the first spiritual testimony that I had received in my life of the truthfulness of this work. One of the greatest blessings that ever happened to me was serving a mission.

In school we earn a “100% ticket” when we get 100 percent on our morning schoolwork. The tickets go into a treasure chest. At the end of the month you get a treat if one of your tickets is drawn from the chest. One day I found a 100% ticket on the floor. I gave it to the teacher, and she asked me to try to find the owner. I asked around the class, but nobody claimed it. The teacher said I could have the ticket because I did the right thing by bringing it to her instead of putting it in the chest when I hadn’t earned it. I felt good inside for doing the right thing.

“When I was only 15 years old,” said Colleen Webb Asay, “I committed myself to living the gospel.”
At the time, having proven herself capable and dependable, she was called to serve as the stake organist. In those days stake officers were set apart by visiting General Authorities. Elder John A. Widtsoe, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, laid his hands on this young girl’s head and, with the authority that he held, pronounced a blessing.
“I’ll never forget that,” she said. “It’s hard to explain it, but it was like an electrical feeling that went clear through me, and after it was over, I didn’t want anyone to talk to me or shatter that feeling. I remember thinking how great the gospel is. I guess the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that day how important it is. I remember the feeling I had. I wanted to serve the Lord however or whenever I could. That was a great day. I made a commitment.” And that early commitment has made a difference in all the rest of her life.
For Sister Asay many challenging days followed that commitment. On those days she always went to the Lord first, “to receive comfort and direction.” She had learned from experience that he would hear her. “I just know He’s there,” she stated in a reverent tone of unquestioning faith.
“Another thing that has made a difference for me,” she explained, “is my patriarchal blessing. One of the first things it says is that ‘this blessing will help you over the slippery path of youth.’” With a radiant smile of confidence, she remembers how, if she ever got discouraged, she would read her blessing. In her words, “It made my self-worth come back.”
But there were times when she really didn’t feel that self-worth. In fact, “I’ll tell you of a real heartbreak I had,” she said, reflecting on her youth. During her first year at college two of her good friends belonged to a social unit. Sister Asay felt like “just a little kid from a little country town,” but her friends assured her that she would be included in their group. She was invited to all the preliminary parties prior to the evening of the final selection for membership in the social unit. That night her friends confidently told her, “Wait for us, and we’ll come for you.”
“That experience is one I’ll never forget,” she said. She waited and waited and waited, and no one came. “I was heartbroken. It seemed as though I was the only one who didn’t make it. My sister, my sister-in-law, and everyone except me, it seemed, was in the social unit.”
How did she handle that situation? “All I can remember,” she said, “was that I went to the Lord and he took away the hurt, and then it didn’t matter so much anymore. I turned to my music and service in the Church. I needed to do the Lord’s work first. I decided that maybe being a big wheel on campus wasn’t that important after all. Looking back, it doesn’t seem so important to me now, but the tests in life come at the times when these things are important to us.”
Sister Asay shared other experiences that strengthened her early commitment. “You know,” she said, “when I was a Beehive girl, just 12 years old, a young man from our ward returned from a mission. That was really something in those days. There weren’t so many missionaries then. He spoke in our sacrament meeting and had the most wonderful spirit. I could actually feel it. I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to marry someone just like him some day.’” She quickly added, with a twinkle in her eye, “And of course I married someone even better.
“Carlos and I were childhood sweethearts. I can’t remember when I didn’t know him.” Her countenance and tone of voice revealed much more in this beautiful relationship than was being spoken. “When we decided to get married,” she said, “Carlos was very much involved in athletics at the University of Utah. He had been offered a contract to pitch for a professional baseball team, and a lot of other opportunities came his way. I believe they came as a test at that time, because those things have high priority in a young man’s life.” And then she said, “Like a flashback to years before, I could see that young returned missionary standing at the pulpit in our little church in Monroe. I remembered my feeling then. I had committed myself to marrying someone who had the spirit of a returned missionary, and Carlos wasn’t a returned missionary.” Then in a matter-of-fact tone, she explained: “I just went to the Lord. ‘Please call Carlos on a mission,’ was my simple request. Do you know,” her smile broadened, “Carlos called two days later and said that the bishop wanted to see him. Then I became anxious again. I went back to the Lord, and this time I fervently requested, ‘Please touch Carlos so he’ll want to go on a mission.’”
She was concerned because of Elder Asay’s desire to get started in school; he had just gotten out of the service, and most boys weren’t that committed to a mission in those days. But Elder Asay accepted his first mission call to Palestine-Syria, trusting in the admonition to “seek first the kingdom of God.” When he came back Sister Asay married her returned missionary.
Sister Asay recalled another incident when she poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven: “Carlos has always made me feel that I’m the greatest person in the world, and I just never want to let him down, or do anything that will slow his progress.” She told of the time she had the responsibility of handling their very meager finances. “We had our money budgeted in little envelopes,” she explained. At that time her young student-husband was teaching school and also going to night school. As he left for school one morning with full confidence in his sweetheart and wife, he said, “I’ll need the tuition money ready so I can register after school tonight.” Colleen had this horrible feeling come over her. She realized that through some misplanning, perhaps paying a bill before it was due or something like that, there was no money for the tuition.
“He trusted me. I just couldn’t let him down. He needed the money then so he could continue his schooling, and there was no money and no way of getting it unless it was to just drop out of the sky.” With a desperate feeling, and yet with the unwavering faith she had developed over the years, she talked to her Father in Heaven: “There is no money. What am I going to do? Carlos thinks there is, and he is coming home, and I just can’t disappoint him.” Sister Asay hesitated a minute, then leaned forward and reverently bore testimony: “That was one of the greatest spiritual experiences I’ve had,” she said, “and I’ve had a number of them.
“You know, when I got up from my knees, I looked out of the window. I saw the postman coming down the walk. The thought came to me immediately, ‘There will be some money in the mail.’ I confidently walked to the mailbox and—nothing. I could hardly believe it. My heart sank. There was no money. Disappointed and heartsick, I turned to go back in the door, full of concern, thinking of Carlos’s education and our future. At that moment the postman came back around the corner of the house. ‘Here is a letter,’ he said. ‘It was in the bottom of the bag and I didn’t notice it.’” She quickly opened the letter to discover a seminary check—two payments in advance—for the exact amount of the tuition. “I just started to cry,” she said. “The Lord did hear my prayers. I said to the children, ‘Look, here is some money from the Lord.’” Those dear little children sensed their mother’s excitement and ran all the way up and down the block, where there were nonmembers, and publicly announced to all their friends, “The Lord has sent us some money.”
“That’s how instantly I’ve had prayers answered,” Sister Asay explained. “Sometimes answers don’t come that quickly, but sometimes they do!”
On one occasion her fervent prayer was actually interrupted because the answer came so quickly. She told of the time when, with four little children under four years of age, she was called to be the ward Relief Society president. It was a frightening experience for her. She felt inadequate. She was concerned about her relationship with the other sisters who were all older and more experienced. She was new in the ward. She told of the great expectations the bishop had when he called her and outlined some of the special challenges in that ward. She felt the tremendous responsibility but knew that if the Lord called her there would be a way provided for her to fulfill this assignment. The first meeting was to be held in her tiny, modest apartment, with makeshift furniture and four small children. Her husband was at school, and he wouldn’t be there to tend the children. She spoke of her desire to establish a trusting relationship during that first meeting and to share a spirit of love and harmony that would set a foundation for the future. She felt this just couldn’t be accomplished if she had to keep running to the bedroom to hush crying children.
She planned the entire day very carefully and had everything ready for this special meeting. “I had everything done,” she said. “Then I bathed the children, hoping they would go right to sleep. Well,” she continued with increased intensity in her voice, “they didn’t. After their baths they seemed to get new life and energy. There wasn’t a thing I could do to settle those children down. All four of them were in one bedroom, so they just kept each other fired up.” With only 15 minutes before the meeting was to begin, this young mother, full of faith and anxious to serve the Lord effectively, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and knelt down to pray. She told her Heavenly Father that she wanted the sisters to feel his Spirit and to feel her spirit. She explained how she really did want to serve him and to make the Relief Society one the sisters would enjoy. She told the Lord about the problem with her four small children.
“When I knelt down to pray, it was just like bedlam all over, but right in the middle of my prayer, all of a sudden, it became quiet. It shocked me so much, I don’t think I even finished my prayers. That’s how surprised I was.” She immediately hurried into the bedroom to find, to her surprise, each child in a deep sleep. “All four of them,” she emphasized. “It was amazing, and I just knew that my prayer had been answered right on the spot.” Sister Asay recalls with humble gratitude the spirit of the meeting that evening. She described it as a time when “the Lord was there to bless us. I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to a group of women than I was on that occasion.”
With many years of precious and sometimes challenging experiences shared with her husband and family of eight children, she now reflects with deep gratitude on their many accomplishments, trials, challenges, and victories. “Yes, we have our challenges,” she said, in a gentle tone of warm acceptance. And then as if by way of testimony, she declared: “The Lord can do anything. The Holy Ghost can bear testimony to you at any time. I remember just looking at the sunset or watching my children go out the door and feeling as if I were going to explode with happiness. It’s the spirit of the Holy Ghost. I don’t know how to explain that feeling, but I remember once when I was a little girl, riding my bicycle down the street. All of a sudden, the world seemed so great! Everything was so good! The Lord had been so good to me that I just swelled up with happiness. At that age you don’t always know what those feelings are; you don’t recognize the Holy Ghost bearing witness to you and being a part of your life every day.”
Sister Asay, thoughtfully, as if making an inventory of all of her blessings over the past years, looked straight ahead as she said, “You know, if the Lord is with you, everything is right and you can feel that.” And now, with her unwavering faith born out of loyalty to her childhood commitment, she faces the future with confidence as a helpmeet to her husband, Elder Carlos E. Asay, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. She stands at his side well-prepared to be a source of constant and continuous strength, a daughter of God.

When members of the Ucon Idaho Stake youth committee started brainstorming ideas for youth conference, they had big plans. Their ideas included water fights and paint ball wars—they really wanted something active and fun. They presented their ideas to their stake Young Men president, Brother Gary Cooper. He liked their ideas but encouraged them to dig a little deeper and come up with an idea that would be not only fun but testimony building at the same time.
So the youth committee went back to the drawing board. Someone suggested that the scriptures would be a good way to build testimonies. Someone else felt that keeping team competition as part of the plan would really attract a crowd. At first, combining the two into a single activity seemed impossible. Then someone said they knew of a professional film crew that might possibly donate their services. Suddenly a great idea was born.
The idea was to make a short movie, using selected chapters from the Book of Mormon as a script. To keep the original and fun idea of teams as part of the activity, youth would act out the parts of Lamanites and Nephites. In the months prior to the conference, ward Mutual night activities were spent writing scripts, learning lines, and making costumes. Brother Cooper spent countless hours revising scripts and helping the youth decide which parts of the scriptures would be best in the movie. When youth conference time finally came around, more than 200 young people and their leaders were ready.
One of the most exciting things about the conference, of course, was the finished product. Instead of getting a traditional T-shirt or hat as a keepsake, the youth will have their own copy of the Book of Mormon movie to view again and again.
“There’s no doubt that this youth conference was a lot of work, and many leaders and youth sacrificed much to get ready. But being part of the reenactment made it all worth it.
“It is so impressive to see the story happen visually,” says Stacey. “It really helps me understand the Book of Mormon.”

I think of Elder Neal A. Maxwell and some of the challenges he faced during his teenage years. His parents were very poor. It was embarrassing to him that early on they did not have indoor bathroom facilities like so many of his friends. He raised pigs, and that didn’t gain him a lot of popularity at high school either. He suffered from severe acne that challenged his confidence and sense of self-worth. He wondered if he would ever be socially acceptable to others.
He was intensely interested in athletics—particularly basketball—and was good enough to be able to play on the team as a freshman. But in later years, he was cut from the team and the sport he loved. Consequently, as he described it, “I turned to the world of words.” That became an immense blessing for him in his political, university, and educational assignments and to all of us he now serves as one of the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators.

Susa Young Gates, one of Brigham Young’s daughters, also understood that family history was important. She had been ill and very near death. But a priesthood blessing had miraculously cured her, and she was given this promise: "There has been a council in heaven, and it has been decided you shall live to perform temple work, and you shall do a greater work than you have ever done before."* Once she recovered, she devoted much of her time to helping people find their ancestors. She started genealogy classes, encouraged Saints throughout Utah and Canada to do research, and compiled a book on genealogy.