Gospel Story Finder

The day two activity for young men was river trekking. They were asked to wear white shirts and neckerchiefs. Since there was a very recent downpour, the river was filled with ankle to knee-high deep water. Young Men leaders were situated in front, in the middle, and at the back of the pack. We were having a great time appreciating the Lord’s creation in the company of fellow priesthood holders.
We began feeling the heat of the sun as proceeded with the trek. Most young men took their neckerchiefs off. Many of them dropped their neckerchiefs just about anywhere. I was prompted to pick up every neckerchief I saw along the riverbank.
After about two hours of trekking, our stake president instructed the leaders in front to start our way out of the riverbanks. Thirty minutes have passed, and we still could not find a safe exit.
Finally, the leaders found an opening, but the climb was quite steep. We tried the suggested route but found out that it was too slippery and that it was almost impossible for us to climb up and out of the riverbank. We figured we needed to hold on to something to pull ourselves up the hill and out. Going back or finding another route was too tedious and was going to take longer. We each said a prayer in our hearts for a miracle to happen.
I was reminded of the neckerchiefs I collected. We tied each end together until we were able to create a strong enough rope where the young men could hold on to and pull themselves out. With everyone helping each other, we were all able to get out safely. That was the miracle of the neckerchief!

The standard of “Entertainment and the Media” teaches us to “choose only entertainment and media that uplift you. Good entertainment will help you to have good thoughts and make righteous choices.” I know of a young woman and her sister who were listening to a CD when they realized that the words were not uplifting and did not help them have good thoughts. They both looked at each other and knew through the Spirit that they shouldn’t be listening to this kind of music. The older sister got a hammer, and together they took the CD, and they smashed it into bits. Earlier they had driven down stakes regarding music. They knew what they would and would not listen to and were able to live their plan by following the promptings of the Spirit. This small act strengthened them and gave them confidence to obey in more challenging situations.

One cold Saturday morning when I was 12, Dad told me to start the tractor so we could take hay to some hungry horses. It was so cold that the tractor turned over only a couple of times before the battery died. When I informed my father, he told me to saddle up Blue and tie our sleigh to the saddle so we could pull a couple bales of hay to the horses to tide them over until we could get the tractor started.
Blue, our thoroughbred studhorse, was in the prime of his life. He was a beautiful, powerful animal. I remember how he pranced around that morning looking for a good ride.
We put two 90-pound (41-kg) bales of hay on the sleigh, Dad mounted Blue, and we were off. I walked behind the sleigh to balance it. We soon arrived at the lane that led us to the winter pasture.
Things went well until we had gone about a third of the way down the lane. The snow had drifted deep, and I could see that it was piling up in front of the sleigh. As the cinch tightened around Blue’s chest, it cut off his ability to breathe. Suddenly he reacted.
Blue whirled around two or three times, trying to relieve the pressure on his chest. Dad quickly tried to dismount but was lashed to the side of the horse in the process. To make matters worse, Blue lost his footing on the ice under the snow, causing him to pitch over on his side, pinning my father beneath him.
As Dad was losing consciousness, he yelled at me to run and get help at Uncle Carl’s place. That meant I would have to crawl through two fences and run across a big pasture before reaching help.
As I turned to go, I heard a voice tell me, “Don’t go. Cut the rope!”
I quickly obeyed, pulling my Boy Scout knife out of my pocket. I cut at the lariat rope for a few moments when, suddenly, Blue lurched to his feet and took off. The rope snapped, and my father rolled out of its coils rather than possibly being dragged to his death. I ran to his side.
Dad came to, got up, and assured me he was all right. We then went to find Blue, cleared the snow from in front of the sleigh, retied the rope, and again headed for the horse pasture. We fed the horses and returned home.
I normally obeyed my father without question, and I was ready to run 10 minutes to my uncle’s place for help. But his help would have come too late. That day, however, the voice of the Spirit came just in time.

May I share with you a letter from a young man which reflects the spirit of love and which helped to make firm a testimony of the gospel:
“Dear President Monson:
“Thank you for speaking to us at the National Scouting Jamboree held at Fort A. P. Hill, Virginia. On the tour that we took we saw a lot of famous places like Niagara Falls, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and many other places. The one I enjoyed the most was the Sacred Grove. Our parents had written us all letters to read by ourselves while in the grove. After I had finished the letter my parents had written to me, I knelt in prayer. I asked if the Church was really true and if Joseph Smith really did see a vision and is a true prophet of God, and also if President Hinckley is a true prophet of God. Right after I was done praying I felt this feeling of the Spirit that these things were indeed true. I had prayed before about the same things but never received such a powerful answer. There was no way that I could deny that this Church is true or that President Hinckley is a prophet of God.
“I feel so blessed to be a member of this Church. Thanks again for attending the Jamboree.
“Sincerely,
“Chad D. Olson
“P. S. We gave our tour guide and our bus driver a copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies in it. They are the greatest! I want to be a missionary.”
Like Joseph Smith, this young man had retired to a sacred grove and prayed for answers to questions phrased by his inquiring mind. Once more a prayer was answered and a confirmation of the truth was gained.

When my children were young, I served as a bishop, played ball, and owned my own business. But we always found time for family home evening each Monday night. One of our activities was learning the Articles of Faith. Whoever memorized them got to go on a special outing with Dad. One of my sons who met this goal chose to go bowling. Since a nearby bowling alley was open all night, we decided to go there at 5:00 A.M. We had so much fun that the whole family went bowling several times during early morning hours.

Lydia sighed as she kicked a pebble, sending it bouncing along the concrete.
Her birthday was just a few days away. Usually she couldn’t wait for her birthday, but not this year. This year she was turning 12, and that meant graduating from Primary and going to Young Women.
But Lydia didn’t want to! She loved Primary. She loved sitting with her class, and she loved her teacher’s activities. Most of all, the Primary chorister made learning songs so much fun. In Young Women, she wouldn’t get to sing that much. All her friends were counting down to their 12th birthdays, but Lydia wasn’t ready.
Lydia found another little rock to kick. It skidded down the road ahead of her.
Why can’t I just be excited like everyone else? she thought. She had prayed to be happy and to know that going to Young Women would be a good change. But she didn’t really feel like she’d gotten an answer yet.
The pebble bounced into the grass. Lydia pushed it back onto the sidewalk with her toe.
“You just need to focus on the good things,” her friend Maya had told her at school today.
What good things? Lydia was trying to come up with some on her walk home. She liked being outdoors, and girls’ camp sounded fun. She also loved the temple. Her family had been visiting the temple grounds since Lydia was little. So … getting a temple recommend and doing temple baptisms … those were things to look forward to.
Lydia counted on her fingers: girls’ camp, the temple, baptisms. That made three good things. But still. She wasn’t ready to give up Primary!
She walked through the front door, sliding her jacket off her drooping shoulders.
“Is that you, Lydia?” Mom called as Lydia closed the door.
“Yeah, it’s me.” She tried to sound happy, but she was still feeling pretty discouraged.
Mom hurried into the room. “I have great news!” She’d worked on family history that afternoon. After hitting a couple of dead ends, she found a distant cousin who needed temple ordinances done.
“It was like magic!” Mom said. She and Lydia had been looking on FamilySearch for a long time without finding anyone who needed temple ordinances done. Mom moved over to the computer and pointed at the screen. “I kept looking in her family line, and you have to see the next person I found!”
Lydia rushed to the computer and read the name. “Lydia Elizabeth Graham. Mom, she has my name!”
Mom grinned. “I know! Plus her husband and siblings all need temple ordinances done. Isn’t it exciting that you’re turning 12 just in time to help another Lydia get baptized?”
Lydia felt so much more peaceful inside. Maybe this was an answer to her prayer. She could hardly wait to be baptized for Lydia!
She hugged Mom and smiled. “Maybe turning 12 isn’t so bad.”

A scripture that really helped me when I was young is Joshua 1:6–9. It says, in part: “Be strong and of a good courage. … Observe to do according to all the law. … Turn not from it to the right hand or to the left, that thou mayest prosper.”
As a young man, I thought, “Once I receive an assignment from the Lord, I will not turn to the right or to the left.” I had some good experiences as a result. For instance, one day while I was in business training, I had to go to a Church meeting, but I had a work responsibility related to the mail. Normally this responsibility would take me and the other trainees as much as an extra hour after our regular work hours. But I had to go to Hamburg on the 5:30 p.m. train to get to my Church meeting. I told the others of my dilemma, and they said to me, “Good luck. It is not going to happen.”
I said, “Sure it will, because this is an important meeting.” They shrugged their shoulders and said sarcastically, “Yeah sure—you and your faith. You think just because you are religious that everything is going to work out. That means that we would have to finish the mail by 10 minutes to 5:00. It has never happened.” I said, “Well, whatever happens will happen. But I need to be in Hamburg on time tonight.”
Now, believe it or not, for the first and only time in three years, everything was finished that day at 10 minutes to 5:00, and I made it to the train on time. This impressed my fellow trainees and opened the door for me to have some gospel conversations with them.

I love this story of two young men who had been schooled in a monastery. One morning as they sought adventure, they passed a cathedral. The more righteous of the two remembered that they had not prayed that morning and said, “How can [we] hope for [God’s] blessing upon the day?”
The less righteous one responded, “My friend, I have prayed so much during the last two months … that I feel that I have [somewhat] over-prayed myself.”
“How can a man have too much religion?” asked the first. “It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he lives from day to day, eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. It is only when he raises himself, and concerns himself with the immortal spirit within him, that he becomes in [very] truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thing it would be that the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to no purpose” (Works of A. Conan Doyle [New York: Cosmopolitan Book Corporation, 1988], pp. 58–59; italics added).

For something like seven months, I fell away from activity in the Church.
But then I began to carefully read the Liahona (Spanish) and discovered the counsel of the Brethren to be both powerful and convincing.
Based on my own experience, I invite everyone who is not fully active in the Church to read and study the messages in the magazine and in the scriptures. If they do this with humble hearts, their testimonies will become so strong they will have the desire to return to the Church.
Cristino RodríguezIsla PatrullaUruguay

In 1907 a wealthy Englishman named George Herbert, the fifth Earl of Carnarvon, moved to Egypt and took up an interest in archaeology. He approached a well-known Egyptologist, Howard Carter, and proposed a partnership. Carter would oversee their archaeological excavations, and Carnarvon would provide the funding.
Together they successfully explored a variety of locations. Then they received permission to excavate in the Valley of the Kings, located near modern-day Luxor, where the tombs of many pharaohs had been found. They decided to look for the tomb of King Tutankhamun. Tutankhamun had ascended to the throne of Egypt more than 3,000 years earlier and reigned for 10 years before his unexpected death. He was known to have been buried in the Valley of the Kings, but the location of his tomb was unknown.
Carter and Carnarvon spent five years unsuccessfully searching for Tutankhamun’s tomb. Eventually Carnarvon informed Carter that he was finished with the fruitless quest. Carter pleaded for just one more season of excavation, and Carnarvon relented and agreed to the funding.
Carter realized that the entire floor of the Valley of the Kings had been methodically excavated—except the area of their own base camp. Within a few days of digging there, they found the first steps leading down to the tomb.
When Carter eventually peered into the antechamber of Tutankhamun’s tomb, he saw gold everywhere. After three months of cataloging the contents of the antechamber, they opened the sealed burial chamber in February 1923—100 years ago. This was the most famous archaeological find of the 20th century.
During those years of ineffectual searching, Carter and Carnarvon had overlooked what was literally under their feet. Some five centuries before the Savior’s birth, the Book of Mormon prophet Jacob referred to taking for granted or undervaluing what is nearby as “looking beyond the mark.” Jacob foresaw that the people of Jerusalem would not recognize the promised Messiah when He came. Jacob prophesied that they would be a “people [who] despised the words of plainness … and [would seek] for things that they could not understand. Wherefore, because of their blindness, which blindness [would come] by looking beyond the mark, they must needs fall.” In other words, they would stumble.
After Carter and Carnarvon excavated elsewhere in the Valley of the Kings looking for Tutankhamun’s tomb, they realized their oversight. We do not need to labor unsuccessfully, as they did for a time, to find our treasure. Nor need we seek counsel from exotic sources, prizing the novelty of the source and thinking such counsel will be more enlightened than that which we can receive from a humble prophet of God.

Several months ago I left my country to go to one where I knew only my sister and her boyfriend. At church I felt like an outsider. Two or three months went by, and I felt the same feeling of loneliness until I decided to smile at others and ask, “How are you?” Each Sunday that went by, they were saying more to me than the simple “I’m fine.” It also helped to participate in seminary and Mutual and to work on Personal Progress with other young women. Now I feel comfortable at church, as if I were at home.
Vanessa B., age 17, La Vega, Dominican Republic

While still living at home, Beatrix began sending illustrated letters to Noel, the son of a former governess. He read the letters with such delight that Beatrix decided to make a book. She lengthened the Peter Rabbit story and submitted it to Frederick Warne & Co., a London publisher. Although it was rejected, Miss Potter had faith in her rabbit story. She felt so strongly that children would like it that she had it published privately. The book sold quickly for one shilling and twopence a copy. During the next eighty years, over twenty million copies were sold!
The Tale of Peter Rabbit has been translated into thirteen languages. Sightless children can also enjoy the book in Braille.

Another new member is Rocío Flores Rojas, 15. “Elder and Sister de la Cruz taught and baptized my mother,” she says. “At first I didn’t want to be baptized. But they kept coming and talking to me about the word of God. And they treated me so well—like they do all the people. I came to know that their message was true and was baptized last Sunday. More than anything, we would like them to stay with us forever. But when they have completed their mission, they have a right to return to their family.”

The tall yellow weeds in the big field behind Grandpa and Grandma’s place look pretty. When the wind blows they’re like a yellow sea that rolls and whispers. I like to lie in them, especially when it’s windy. Especially with my dad. He said that when the weeds are all rustling, it’s like they’re telling a story. He listened to those stories and passed them on to me. He called them his tall-as-a-yellow-weed tales.
Sometimes we played hide-and-seek in the field. I liked that, too. Dad closed his eyes while I hid. Then he had 10 minutes to find me and tag me. If I won, he took me to the soda fountain in Hadley and bought me a milk shake. I usually won. I think he let me sometimes. He knew how much I like chocolate shakes.
I miss those times. I still like Grandma and Grandpa’s place, but the yellow field isn’t the same. It looks the same, but without Dad, it’s just … different. It’s just a field.
Mom and I live with Grandma and Grandpa now. At least for a while. Until Mom can make enough money at her new job, or until Dad gets better. Dad has a drinking problem. It got pretty bad, and he wouldn’t get help. We prayed and prayed for him, but Mom said Heavenly Father can’t help us if we don’t try to help ourselves. I know she’s right, because once I asked Him to help me on a school test that I hadn’t studied for. I failed it anyway. Mom said that if we do all we can do for ourselves, then ask Heavenly Father for help, He will then assist us.
One day my friend Barry said that if his dad were like mine, he wouldn’t love him anymore. Because if my dad cared about us, he wouldn’t keep drinking.
I couldn’t sleep too well that night. My mom came into my room and asked what was wrong. When I told her, she explained some things that helped me to feel better.
The next day when Barry and I were looking for arrowheads in Baker’s Canyon up behind the yellow field, I told him I still loved my dad. When he asked me why, I said, “Remember when your brother didn’t tie up the chain that was hanging way down from the siren on his bike?”
“Yes,” Barry said, “and I told him it could cause an accident if it got caught in the spokes, but did he listen to me? No!”
Last month Barry borrowed that bike. He was flying down a hill when, sure enough, the chain got caught in the spokes of his front wheel. All of a sudden the bike stopped, but Barry kept going, right over the handlebars. He banged himself up pretty badly. In fact, his arm was still in a cast.
“Do you still love your brother?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“Well, because … because he’s my brother. He didn’t want me to get hurt. He was just being careless.”
“I’m sure your brother feels bad about it,” I said. “My dad feels awful, too, after he sobers up.”
Barry and I sat down on a rock to drink from our canteens. Grandma’s cold lemonade tastes so good that it makes getting thirsty fun. Dad always said, “On a hot day your grandma’s lemonade takes all the discomfort out of being alive!” And he was right.
I looked at Barry seriously, trying to get the deep down inside of him to listen. I had written down some of what Mom said the night before so I wouldn’t forget. Now I read it to Barry: “‘God loves all of us, even when He doesn’t love all of our actions. It’s called charity—the pure love of Christ, and we need to try to love like Jesus does.’”
Barry nodded his head and smiled. I could tell that he knew my mom was right. Her words made me feel good inside, too. About my dad. About a lot of things. It was as good a feeling as Grandma’s lemonade going down on a hot summer day.
Mom and I kept praying for Dad. He stopped drinking, and he’s in a special program that’s helping him. He’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He says he wants to play hide-and-seek with me in the tall yellow weeds. And he wants me to win, because he misses those chocolate milk shakes as much as I do!

By Kyle S., Texas, USA
Photograph © iStock/Thinkstock
My parents and I listened to Elder Bednar in the October 2011 general conference when he said that working on family history would give us protection against the adversary. We started working on our family history then. I keep learning and growing from family history; it’s really fun.
I like finding out about where I’m from and about my ancestors. I learn from their experiences and use them in my life to help me be a better person. It’s amazing to discover who they were, what they did for a living, what life was like, and how hard it was for them.
For example, I enjoyed learning about one of my ancestors who moved with his family from Tennessee to Texas, USA, in the 1870s to be a cattle rancher. He faced many challenges in his life, and from him I learned that life can be hard, so it’s important to stand up for what you believe.
When I have challenges in my life, working on family history makes me feel like my ancestors are always with me and will help me through hard trials, just as Elder Bednar promised us.

“What were you assigned to bring?” Melissa asked Clara as they walked to Sister Wilson’s house for their achievement day activity.
“Flour,” Clara answered. “What are you bringing?”
“Some yeast,” said Melissa.
“I wonder what we’re doing today,” Clara continued. “Hannah is bringing flour too. Sister Wilson has kept it such a secret.”
“I know,” Melissa agreed. “All she would say was it’s going to affect many Church members this Sunday.”
The girls were still talking about the mystery when they reached Sister Wilson’s house. Tina, Jenny, and Susan were already there. Just as Clara and Melissa sat down, Hannah arrived. Now all the girls were present, and they hoped the mystery project would soon be revealed.
Sister Wilson offered the opening prayer, asking that they might understand the importance of the great sacrifice Jesus Christ made for them. She also prayed that the food they would prepare might be blessed for the sake of all who would eat it.
After the prayer, they went to the kitchen with their assigned ingredients.
“Let’s see,” Sister Wilson began, “who was assigned to bring the yeast?”
“I was,” Melissa said.
“Good,” said Sister Wilson. “We’re going to put the yeast into a small bowl with some warm water and let it dissolve. We will put the other dry ingredients into a larger bowl. Who has the flour, sugar, and salt?”
“I do,” Clara, Hannah, and Jenny answered together.
As the girls worked, they talked and laughed. Amid the chatter, Clara asked, “What are we making, and how will it affect the Church members?”
“Can anyone guess?” Sister Wilson asked.
“Are we making cookies?” Susan asked.
Sister Wilson smiled. “We are making the bread that will be used next Sunday for the sacrament.”
The giggling stopped suddenly, and the girls spoke reverently. They weren’t making bread just to learn how. They were making bread for use in a sacred ordinance!
When the yeast was dissolved, Susan poured in the milk she had brought and Tina added her oil. Then the girls mixed the liquid and dry ingredients together. They took turns kneading the dough, then covered it with a cloth and allowed it to rise. They shaped it into two loaves, and while they waited for it to rise the second time, they had a lesson on the sacrament.
“Can anyone tell me what the bread and water represent?” Sister Wilson asked.
“The flesh and blood of Jesus Christ,” Melissa answered.
“That is right,” said Sister Wilson. “Shortly before His Crucifixion, Jesus gathered His Apostles around Him in an upstairs room. He knew He was going to die, and He wanted the Apostles to always remember Him and to be faithful to His teachings. He blessed bread and broke it into pieces. He gave it to His disciples to eat in memory of His body. He blessed wine and gave it to them to drink in memory of His blood.
“When we partake of the sacrament, we renew the covenants we made when we were baptized,” Sister Wilson continued. “Can anyone tell me what we promised to do?”
“I know,” Clara said. “We promised to keep the commandments.”
“We promised to remember Jesus Christ,” Jenny added.
“Very good,” Sister Wilson said. “We also promised to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ. The way we act, the things we do, and the words we say should show others that we are followers of Christ. The Lord promised us that if we keep our covenants, we will always have His Spirit to be with us.
“Is there anything special we should do during the sacrament?” Sister Wilson asked.
Hannah raised her hand. “My mom always tells us we should be reverent.”
“She’s right,” said Sister Wilson. “And we should remember the Atonement and think about the promises we are renewing. We also need to think about ways to improve ourselves and become more like Christ.”
The girls talked about things they could do to be more Christlike. Then it was time to put the bread into the oven. While the bread baked, the girls planned upcoming activities.
Then they took the golden brown loaves from the oven, and Sister Wilson said, “After they cool, I’ll slice them. Then I’ll give them to Bishop Carmichael.”
On Sunday the girls sat with their families in sacrament meeting. They sang the sacrament hymn reverently as the priests broke the bread for the congregation. They listened carefully as a priest blessed the bread, and when they said, “Amen,” they really meant it. Then the deacons passed the bread. When Clara took a piece of bread from the tray, she was filled with gratitude for all the Savior had done for her. She thought about the Last Supper and what Jesus taught His disciples about the sacrament. She also thought about ways she could keep the commandments better.
Clara glanced at Melissa. From the look on her friend’s face, Clara knew the sacrament had touched Melissa’s heart too.
After the meeting, the girls stopped outside the meetinghouse to talk for a moment before going home.
“I’m glad Sister Wilson let us help make the sacrament bread,” Jenny said.
“I thought it made the sacrament extra special,” Tina added.
“It wasn’t just the bread,” Melissa replied thoughtfully. “It was really thinking about the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and what the sacrament means.”
Clara smiled. “I felt the same way. It wasn’t the bread that made the difference. It was the Savior.”

Our last daughter left for college this past month, and the eighteen years of daily living with her were suddenly over. Where had they gone? What minute, what hour, what day or night had swallowed up all those joyous, giggling, growing-up years? The first night she was away, I slipped into her bedroom, looked at her record player, and thought of all those times I had mechanically said, “Would you turn down the music!” And I thought, too, how often in the days ahead we’d be longing to hear the music. Thank God she and her parents have many wonderful memories to savor in the years ahead.

“Hey, pal, you got mail,” Dad said, tossing an envelope to Ryan.
“Thanks!” Ryan said. He never got mail, except for birthday cards from Grandma. Who could it be from?
“Looks like it’s from Sister Ray,” Dad said. He added that she was writing from a place that sounded like “the empty seat.”
“What’s the ‘empty seat’?” Ryan asked Dad, tearing open the envelope.
Dad smiled. “Not ‘empty seat’—‘M.T.C.’ It stands for ‘Missionary Training Center.’ It’s where missionaries go to learn different languages and how to teach people the gospel.”
Sister Ray had been Ryan’s favorite Primary teacher before she left for her mission. Ryan knew serving a mission was a good thing to do, but he still missed her sometimes. He read the letter out loud. Sister Ray told about the lessons she was learning and about her companion. At the end of the letter, she told Ryan to be a good missionary.
How can I be a missionary when I’m still a kid? Ryan wondered.
Later that day Mom asked Ryan if he’d come with her to deliver some invitations. She was a Primary leader and wanted to visit the kids who didn’t come to church or activities very often.
Ryan felt nervous. Sometimes he didn’t like talking to new people. But he knew helping out would mean a lot to Mom.
Before long the two of them were bumping along a dirt road on the edge of town. Soon they pulled into a gated area full of trailer homes.
Ryan followed Mom to a blue trailer and watched as she rang the doorbell. A woman opened the door and invited them inside. As Ryan walked in, he could see a boy sitting on the floor, playing a video game.
“This is my son, Jacob,” the woman said. Jacob turned to look at the visitors, and Ryan smiled and sat down next to him. Soon they were laughing and talking.
“Hey, thanks!” Jacob said as Ryan showed him a secret passageway that led his character to the next level of the game. “Let’s save this for later and go look at my pet iguana.”
“Cool!” Ryan said.
Ryan liked touching the smooth scales of the iguana while Jacob showed him other fun things around his room. When Mom said it was time to leave, Ryan made sure to give Jacob one of the invitations.
As they drove away, Mom turned and smiled at Ryan.
“You’re a natural missionary, you know that?”
Ryan’s eyebrows scrunched together as he turned to look at Mom. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I didn’t do any missionary stuff over there. I just hung out with Jacob. He’s fun!”
Mom nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. You were a great missionary because you just wanted to get to know Jacob, and you weren’t afraid to be yourself.”
Ryan smiled as he leaned back in his seat. He felt good inside. He couldn’t wait to write to Sister Ray and tell her about his new friend—and what he had learned about being a natural missionary.

My little brother, Benjamin, is six years old. A sister in our stake who had cancer needed an operation but didn’t have enough money for it. Flyers reading, “Will you please help save a life?” were sent out asking for donations. When Ben read one, he got twenty dollars, which was all he had, and put it in an envelope to give to the sister. He only gets sixty cents a week for allowance, so twenty dollars was a lot of money for him.
Ben collects coins as a hobby, and I said, “Why don’t you give just part of your money, then you can buy some coins for yourself with the rest.”
“Which is more important, buying coins or saving a life?” he asked. That really impressed me, and I decided to donate some money, too.
My parents kept saying how good Benjamin was because he had given all the money he had. This made me a little jealous of my brother because although I hadn’t given all the money I had, I had donated more money than Ben!
Then I remembered a scripture story about a really poor woman who had only a little money. She gave it all to care for the poor. Some rich people came and gave lots of gold. They were proud of how much money they had given to the poor. But Jesus Christ said that the poor woman had given the most because she had given all that she had.
I was sorry for being jealous of my brother. I felt good knowing that we had been able to help raise the money for the operation. Most of all, I was glad that my little brother had helped me learn a very important lesson about giving.

As I filled out the papers for my mission, I felt very excited. I had great desires to serve. At the same time, however, I had another feeling—an undefinable one. It was a calm but unusual prompting. Not knowing what to make of it, I paid it little attention.
When I received the call to labor in my own country, in the Mexico Mérida Mission, I felt the approval of the Lord. That other prompting also returned, but this time I felt that I knew what it meant. I sensed somehow that when I returned from my mission, one of my loved ones might not be there. I felt that this prompting was from the Lord because I felt calm and had no fear.
My father, my mother, and my nephew Israel went with me to the Missionary Training Center. As we said goodbye, I gave my father a warm hug. As we embraced, I felt his love for me—and at that moment, I felt again the prompting I had felt before.
From the beginning of my mission, I felt the Lord’s love for me. And from time to time thereafter I continued to receive the prompting that my father might not be there to greet me when I returned home. I never felt afraid, only willing that the Lord’s will be done.
On Mother’s Day in 1993 I was given the opportunity to make a telephone call to my mother. As we talked, I heard a sadness in her voice that she couldn’t hide.
“Mom, what is going on?” I asked.
“Nothing, son. Just keep working hard.”
“I will. But I want to know what’s happening.”
Then she told me, “Your father is very sick. He can no longer walk, and the doctors have diagnosed a tumor in his head. You must be strong, no matter what happens.”
My father asked to speak with me and was brought to the telephone. In a failing voice, he said, “Son, your calling came from the Lord. Do not worry, and do not stop working. Keep preaching the gospel.” I told him I would, but his energy had failed and he was no longer listening.
Three weeks later, he died. When I received the news, all the experiences we had shared together passed through my mind. Because of his faithfulness and good example, I had come to treasure him with all my heart.
Heavenly Father continued to console me throughout my mission. When I returned home, my great friend and teacher was not there to greet me. But I was strengthened by my faith in the Savior’s atonement and resurrection. I am grateful that I was able to be sealed to my parents the day before I entered the Missionary Training Center. I know that the day will come when I will see my father again and embrace him with eternal love.