Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Cam Kendell
Hi, Mia. Want to play four square with us?
I don’t really feel like playing right now.
OK.
That night …
Sound label: Sniffle (coming from top bunk)
I don’t know why I feel so sad. Maybe a Primary song will help me feel better.
Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?
What’s wrong, Mia?
I was sad, but now I feel the Holy Ghost.
What does the Holy Ghost do?
He comforts us. That’s why He’s called the Comforter.
Mom, Dad, guess what? I felt the Holy Ghost! I was sad, and He comforted me.
I’m so glad! Come tell us about it.
The next day …
Hi, Mia. Are you feeling better?
Yes! Can I play with you today?
Yeah! Let’s go.
Thanks!
Thanks to Mia P. for sharing her story!

I served a mission for the Lord in the Wisconsin Milwaukee Mission, and my first area was in the heart of Milwaukee. Living in a city like Milwaukee was a new experience for me. I spent a handful of years leading up to my mission living in the smaller town of Pleasant Grove, Utah. One of my first experiences with public transportation occurred within the first few weeks of my mission. I was with my trainer traveling on a city bus. We had done a lot of walking one day and decided to finish off the late afternoon riding the city bus. I remember I was tired and still a little overwhelmed with the whole mission experience. We did not have a lot of success contacting people that day, and I remember sitting down exhausted and spent on that cramped city bus.

Soon after we settled in, the person in front of us turned around and started talking to my companion and me. At first we were very hopeful and excited that someone actually wanted to talk to us. We let him know we were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we taught people about Jesus Christ.

It soon became apparent that this individual was not looking for sincere conversation; instead, he was looking to pick an argument. Also, instead of engaging my trainer, he started to engage me with conversation. After a few rounds of questioning, he asked me directly "How many books are in the Bible?" I felt this question was not that relevant to anything-plus I didn't know the number-so I tried brushing him off, but without success. He became fixed on this question and started asking it in a louder voice. He could tell that I did not have the answer and was going in for the attack.

Other people on the bus started paying attention to the conversation and it started turning into a public display. He asked again, "How many books are in the Bible?" and added "How can you teach about Christ if you don't even know the Bible?" I started singing the seminary song in my head-Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers-and counting at the same time. I learned I can't sing a song in my head and count at the same time because I kept losing count early in the Old Testament. I started to feel nervous because I was representing the Lord, and the attention on the bus was drawn towards me. I was concerned that I wasn't being a good elder or a good servant and that people would walk away believing that Latter-day Saint missionaries didn't know the Bible. I looked to my trainer for help but this man would not let my companion answer the question. He could sense the "greenie" target on me and was honing in on it. I vividly remember him pointing his finger at me saying, "I am talking to you, not him." Also, my trainer gave me a look suggesting I could handle this.

I remember praying that this conversation would end and that the man would turn around. As I did so, I remember being prompted to bear my testimony of who the Bible testifies of: Jesus Christ. I explained that I did not know how many books are in the Bible; however, I know what is in the Bible. I testified of Jehovah in the Old Testament and of Jesus Christ in the New Testament and that they are one, our Savior. I remember feeling the Spirit and the power of the Lord as I bore my testimony. And something powerful happened: the man stopped. He let go of the issue and turned around without challenging my testimony. It was apparent he wasn't interested in further sincere dialogue. I said a silent prayer the entire way home and expressed thanks to the powers above for help. And when I got back to my apartment, guess what I immediately did? I pulled out my scriptures and counted how many books were in the Bible. There are 66 just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. I remember thinking that if the only thing you know about the Bible is the number of books it has, you don't deeply understand and are missing out on so many of its teachings.

When I went on an overnight field trip with my school, I decided I would still have scripture study. I even invited three friends to join me. One was a member of the Church, but my other two friends were Baptist and had never read the Book of Mormon.
Although we had our scripture study in the back of a moving bus, I could feel the Spirit. Each of us picked out a few verses to share with the group. I chose many from the Bible but also some from the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.
After we finished, my friends asked to look at the Book of Mormon. I showed them the Articles of Faith as well and told them about Joseph Smith. I also took the time to look at their Bibles, which were a different version from the one we use.
I feel so blessed to know that we have both the Book of Mormon and the Bible. And I can’t wait for the day when I will be able to share them both as a full-time missionary.

The first thing is to set a good example. Lots of people become interested in the Church because of the good example members set. Let me share one story with you. Sometime ago, a little friend named Jessica invited one of her nonmember friends over to her house to play. As they were playing, the friend took Heavenly Father’s name in vain. It took courage, but Jessica stopped her and said, “I’m sorry, but in my house we don’t swear or ever use Heavenly Father’s name that way.” Her friend was not angry but, instead, asked Jessica why. This gave Jessica a chance to tell her friend about the Church.
At one time Jesus taught, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 5:16). He is instructing us to be good examples everywhere so that people will see how content we are and become interested in what we believe.

As a teenager, I dreaded church.
I believed the gospel was true, and I knew that attending church was necessary for me to continue to grow spiritually. But I often felt inadequate.
In my mind, I thought I couldn’t live up to everyone’s expectations of what a good member of the Church should be like (or what I thought everyone’s expectations were). Everyone else seemed to be bubbly, outgoing, eloquent, and always willing to bear testimony or say a prayer. But me? I was quiet and I felt anxious in social situations. So I didn’t feel like I had a light to shine as a member of the Church.
During college I moved into a new apartment, and my roommate introduced me to her friends in the ward. I immediately felt like I belonged with them because of their love and acceptance they showed me. I felt like they genuinely wanted to get to know me. To my surprise, I felt a great deal of my social anxiety subside.
I realized this sense of belonging didn’t come from a change in scenery, but from a changed perspective. I learned that I don’t have to be outgoing to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. There is strength in quiet. There is strength in listening and pondering. By recognizing my strengths as a more introverted person and tackling my weaknesses related to social anxiety, I found a middle ground that helped me survive—and even thrive in the gospel.
One question I asked myself was why I even went to church in the first place. I went to take the sacrament, to learn more about Jesus Christ, and to be worthy of the temple. But the scriptures also tell us that “the body [of the Church] hath need of every member, that all may be edified together” (Doctrine and Covenants 84:110; see also Ephesians 4:12).
While church meetings nourish our own testimonies, I realized that church is not only about me. We individually remember the Savior as we take the sacrament, but we are edified together as we share this ordinance as a congregation.
I was too concerned about what others thought about me and not concerned enough with the principle that should guide us in all our thoughts and actions: love. The prophet Mormon wrote, “I fear not what man can do; for perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16).
I realized that I don’t have to be best friends with everyone or be the most popular person in the ward. What is most important is not the quantity of my social interaction but the quality of my relationships. Instead of worrying about everyone at once, I just focus on connecting with one person each week at church.
Church is still a challenge sometimes, but as I have gently pushed myself to step outside my comfort zone and overcome my social anxiety, I have felt the Savior’s love for me and for all of His children. I am beginning to find my place. I know I’ve received grace through the Atonement of Jesus Christ to work toward overcoming my weaknesses and to use my strengths to build up the kingdom of God.

“We would go down,” Elder Hockett said, “usually on a very cold Saturday morning, and work all day picking pecans in an elderly couple’s 12-acre orchard near Atlanta, Georgia. We’d pick all the pecans we could, sell them, then donate the money to the welfare program. And I remember as a priest, working in the regional welfare cannery, cooking chili for eight or nine hours. And I always remember the father-and-son campouts. My brother and I didn’t have a father, and some of the brethren would always say, ‘Can I be your father?’ or ‘I’ll be your father again this year if you want me to.’ We never felt left out in our ward.”

“Circle up!”
The wagon master signaled the wagon train of Danish immigrants to form their evening circle. It was a bit early to make camp, and it was sunny there in the valley, but black clouds had been pouring their rain on the Rocky Mountains rising grandly before them for a good while. The storm seemed to be moving toward them. It would be miserable to make camp in the rain, so everyone quickly began their assigned duties.
Maren dropped her last armful of limbs onto the pile of firewood. As she brushed at the bits of bark clinging to her dress, she heard happy laughter, then an impatient exclamation from her mother. Turning, Maren felt like laughing, too, as her mother tried to brush away the dust that made a squirming little boy look more like a coal miner after work than her four-year-old brother.
“Maren,” Mother pleaded, “please take Rasmus down to the stream and clean him off as best you can.”
Wearily Mother turned back to her cooking, only to see six-year-old Jens poking a handful of dry grass into the fire. Too late, the curious boy dropped the flaming grass and shook a burned finger in the air.
“Mother,” Maren quickly said, “I’ll take Jens down to the stream, too, while you finish supper. I’ll watch them there, and you can call us when it’s ready.”
Mother’s face softened. “Thank you, dear. It shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”
On her way across the circle of covered wagons, Maren saw Annie sitting on an overturned bucket, idly scratching lines in the dirt with a stick. Maren had been thrilled to find another 11-year-old girl in the company of covered wagons. Together they shared their dreams of what they thought Zion would be like. They had become close friends despite being very different. Maybe Annie would like to go down to the stream too.
“Yes, Annie may go with you,” Sister Christensen said, eyeing Maren’s two brothers. “It looks as if you could use some help, anyway. Be sure to stay together, and don’t be late for dinner.”
The climb down the high bank of the ravine was steep. Years of spring flooding from the great mountains beyond had slowly cut deeper and deeper into the rolling plain, carrying the dirt far away to some distant river valley. But it was midsummer now, and only a thin trail of water wandered down the streambed. The ravine would probably be completely dry by fall.
“Surely there’s deeper water than this!” Annie made a face at the shallow stream. “Maybe there’s a pool around that bend.” She headed downstream. Whooping, Jens slapped his make-believe horse and galloped out of sight behind her.
“Wait for us!” Maren shouted. She hoisted little Rasmus up onto her hip and struggled along as fast as she could. But her brother and her friend weren’t just around the bend when she got there. They weren’t around the next one, either.
When Maren finally found them, Annie was joyfully wading through a lovely pool. Jens was staring at frog eggs he’d found clinging to the grass at the edge of the water. Annie splashed water at Maren and laughed. “Come on, slowpokes. There’s even a sandy bottom.”
In no time, there was no dirt at all left on the boys. Rasmus’s cheeks were pink from the scrubbing, and his hair was shiny in the sun.
Contented, the two girls sat in the soothing quiet and watched the boys toss pebbles into the pool, making ripples that rocked leaf boats across the crystal surface. If it hadn’t been so quiet, they never would have heard the whistle. It drifted ever so faintly down to them—two shorts and a long.
Annie looked up curiously. “What kind of bird was that?”
At once alert, Maren stood up. “It sounds like Father. In Denmark that was his signal for me to herd the cows back to the farm. We’d better go back now.”
“But it hasn’t been near an hour since we left camp,” Annie protested. “Just think how long it’s been since we’ve been able to enjoy water like this!” Annie’s pretty mouth was beginning to pout.
The whistle came again—two shorts and one long. Maren searched the top of the ravine. She put her fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle in reply. “I’m sure that’s Father. We need to go and find out what he wants. Come on, Rasmus,” she coaxed. “You, too, Jens. Father must have some reason for us to come now.”
Annie’s face was as dark and cloudy as the western sky. “No!” she protested again. “You go if you want. I’ll stay here a while longer. Your father has work for you to do, not me.”
“But your mother said we must stay together. I can’t leave you here alone. We must go. Please come, Annie. Please?” Maren’s kind eyes begged Annie.
They heard the whistle once more. It was closer now.
Annie could not resist Maren’s worried expression. “Very well,” she finally said with a sigh. “You’re probably right. You usually are. Let’s go.”
With a relieved smile, Maren led the way to the wall of the ravine. With some difficulty the four children scrambled up the steep bank. At the top, they could see three men running toward them along the edge of the ravine.
As the children paused to catch their breath, even above their own puffing, they could hear a grating roar. Frightened, they looked everywhere but could not tell where the terrifying sound was coming from. Seeing that two of the three men hurrying toward them were their fathers, they ran to meet them.
Then they saw what was making the strange noise. Rushing and crashing down the ravine was a 10-foot-high wall of water! The heavy rain of the mountain thunderstorm had funneled into the ravine and tumbled trees and boulders before it as if they were feathers. Ripping out sagebrush and whole chunks of earth from the steep banks of the stream, the raging torrent swept up everything in its path, roaring past them and around the bend to where the cool, quiet pool lay with leaf boats floating on its glassy surface.
Father knelt to gather his shivering children into his strong arms. “I thought we’d never find you,” he choked, blinking his eyes to clear the wetness.
Annie tearfully hugged her own father closely and whispered, “It was Maren who saved us. She heard and obeyed.”

In a southern states mission, a young girl was walking home with a friend and began humming “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” Her friend said, “My, that’s a beautiful melody. What is it?” The girl told her about it, and made a date to take her to a Church service. After attending a few times, she arranged for the missionaries to teach her family. The family have all been baptized and are happy doing their part in building the kingdom.

Gravely ill with a fever, young Elizabeth Beardall receives a blessing from Latter-day Saint missionaries in which they make four promises. The first two—that she will be healed and join the Church—have been fulfilled. The accomplishment of the third—that she will travel to Utah—begins in 1863 when her family sails for America from England. But America is a large country, and the end of the voyage is only the beginning of the journey. When the family finally reaches the Missouri River, they still have far to go.
“Stay here with the baggage,” Father said. “I’ll get the family and return shortly.” Elizabeth nodded and tried to look brave as she watched him hurry off the boat. She turned to look across the muddy waters of the Missouri River. It was wide, but nothing compared to the Atlantic Ocean her family had crossed on the sailing ship Cynosure. She decided that if she could survive the eight-week crossing from England, she could certainly endure a one-day trip down a river.
“Are you going to the Salt Lake Valley?” a woman asked her.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “I can’t wait to get there to fulfill my third promise.”
“Third promise?”
“Yes. When I was very sick, the elders promised me I would get well, join the Church, go to Utah, and be a mother in Israel.”
The woman smiled. “That’s wonderful. Perhaps we’ll be in the same wagon train. I’m Sister Rowley.”
Elizabeth shook her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Beardall, and here comes my family.” Elizabeth pointed to where her parents and brother and sister were hurrying up the road toward the boat.
“Oh dear,” Sister Rowley said as the sailors bustled around the deck. “I hope they make it in time!”
Elizabeth’s family was still a block away when the boat pulled away from the dock. “No!” Elizabeth cried. “Wait!”
Sister Rowley put her arm around Elizabeth. “There is another boat tomorrow. Your family will come then. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the Church leaders that I will take care of you in the meantime.”
When they got off the boat in Florence, Nebraska, Elizabeth waited outside a business office while the Rowley family went inside. When Sister Rowley came out she was smiling. “It’s all settled, my dear,” she said. “You can come with us.”
Elizabeth frowned. “With you? But I need to wait for my family.”
Sister Rowley looked around at the noisy crowds and shook her head. “I can’t leave you here alone. Your parents will be told where to find you. And by leaving now,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “you’ll hasten the fulfillment of your third promise.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes. She knew that the trip would be hard, but she had never imagined she might be making it by herself. And what if she never saw her family again? Was any promise worth that?
Sister Rowley seemed to read her thoughts. “It will all be worth it in the end,” she said. “Our sacrifices may seem great, but God has promised us a much greater reward.”
As the wagon train rolled westward, Elizabeth kept busy washing clothes, gathering buffalo chips for fuel, and fetching water. But at night when the company gathered around the blazing campfire to sing and dance, Elizabeth missed her family terribly. She found comfort in the evening star that shone in the western sky. It seemed to whisper, “God is over all. He knows your secret sorrow and will not forsake you.” Elizabeth knew that she was not really alone.
After two weeks of travel, the company stopped for repairs. Elizabeth asked Sister Rowley what she could do to help. “Go out and play, dear,” Sister Rowley told her. “You have been too solemn. You need more laughter and fewer tears.”
Elizabeth nodded and went to join some children who were playing marbles and rolling hoops. The other children were kind, but the games did not cheer Elizabeth. Suddenly a boy called out, “Who is that stranger coming into camp?”
Elizabeth saw a man in the distance, hurrying toward them. She looked more closely, hardly daring to believe her eyes. It was her father! She ran to him, and he clasped her in his arms. Both were crying for joy. “We were only a day behind,” Father said, “but I despaired of ever catching up.”
“I knew we’d be together again someday,” Elizabeth sobbed. Now, with the Lord’s help, they could continue their journey to Utah and to the fulfillment of the third promise.
Author’s Note: There were many more challenges for Elizabeth on the trek west. Elizabeth’s mother gave birth to a baby boy on the trail, and Elizabeth had to nurse her mother, tend the younger children, and do her mother’s chores as well as her own. Once Elizabeth was out washing when a sandstorm hit. She became lost and wandered for three days before she was found. Finally in October 1863, her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley with little food or clothing. Later, Elizabeth married and became a mother in Israel as foretold. All the Lord’s promises to her were fulfilled.

I had been trying hard, and yet I wanted to know: “Isn’t there something more I can do?” And Elder Tuttle told me there was and that I would need the Atonement of Jesus Christ working in my life to go where I wanted to go. Elder Tuttle said he had taken a trip to South America on assignment with Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Council of the Twelve. That was in the days when you went to South America by ship. Elder Smith could have used the time to rest. And he could have let Elder Tuttle rest. But he didn’t. He organized daily scripture study, sitting on the deck in those wooden slat chairs most of you have only seen in old movies. They read their scriptures together, and they discussed them, and they marked them. And so what I have written on this page, in the margins, was written by Elder Tuttle in his Doctrine and Covenants on the ship’s deck as Elder Smith taught it to him. I can only imagine who passed it to Elder Smith. And now I’m passing it on to you.

As the patriarch lifted his hands from my head, neither he nor I guessed that a major part of my patriarchal blessing would be fulfilled so soon and in such a surprising manner. The very doctrine that had thrilled me at my conversion two years before—the responsibility of seeking after my kindred dead—had been specifically mentioned three times in my blessing. But when I had joined the Church as the only member in my family, the task of compiling my genealogy had seemed overwhelming.
A few years after I received my patriarchal blessing, I left for my mission in France and Belgium. I hoped to do some genealogy there as well. My father had mistakenly told me that Jaccard was an English spelling of Jacquard, a familiar French name, and I hoped to be able to find some information about my ancestors while I was in France.
Near the end of my mission, my mission president assigned me to help the members in Brussels, Belgium with their genealogical research and temple work. Another missionary gave me a small book titled “What Do I Know about Genealogy?”
As I read through the book for the first time, I came to a list of contributing authors. Standing out among the other names was that of Dr. Joseph T. Jacquart. Here was yet a third spelling of a name that could be pronounced the same as mine! Dr. Jacquart’s address was listed as the Belgian Center of Genealogical and Demographical Studies in Brussels.
I immediately called the center and made an appointment to meet with Dr. Jacquart. When we arrived at the center on the day of the appointment, we were informed that Dr. Jacquart was ill. The president of the center graciously gave us a tour of the building. We asked him what he knew about the Church and if he would like to know more.
His answer surprised me. “Yes!” he said. “Would you come to the next monthly meeting of our society and give a lecture on Mormon genealogy? In the meantime, I will contact Dr. Jacquart and give him your pedigree information.”
My companion and I arrived on the appointed day to find the lecture hall filled with people. As we set up our equipment and visual aids, a white-haired gentleman who turned out to be Dr. Jacquart greeted us. He gave me a genealogical map of France, Belgium, and Switzerland, and explained that Jacquard was French, Jacquart was Belgian, and Jaccard was Swiss. He added that he had written an article on the Swiss Jaccards and had the addresses of several people in that country who were probably my relatives.
A few weeks later I was released from my mission. With addresses in hand, I called at the home of Dr. Robert Jaccard in Bern, Switzerland. He quickly established my connection to him and noted down the pedigree information I had. He recommended that I search the archives in Besancon, France—just across the border from the Swiss village of Sainte-Croix, where the Jaccard name had originated.
In Besancon, I found the link between America and Switzerland in my genealogy. About a month after I informed Dr. Robert Jaccard of my findings, he sent a letter containing all of the names of fathers and mothers in the Jaccard line back to A.D. 1350—all from Sainte-Croix. Since then, I have researched the complete family groups for these ancestors, and have had temple work performed for many of them.
Looking back on this experience, I think that many of my ancestors beyond the veil must have taken an active interest not only in my missionary work, but also in my other mission—to find my genealogy. That “family mission” has covered a length of time far greater than the two and one-half years I served in Europe.

Some time ago I sinned, then said a prayer and thought I had truly repented. One day I felt a great feeling in my heart that I should have a very honest conversation with the bishop. I talked to the bishop, and he guided me where I should improve. I fasted and offered fervent prayers. This time I felt I had truly repented. I know Heavenly Father cares for us and that the Atonement of Christ gives us true forgiveness when we repent and confess our sins.
Awrellyano Gomes da S.

Kate looked at the kitchen table covered with dirty supper dishes, trying to decide where to start. “It’s hard to believe that summer’s almost over,” she sighed as she started to stack the plates.
“I know what you mean,” Becky said. “It’s our last week of summer vacation, and we still haven’t gone to the new water park. Do you think Mom will take us there if we ask?”
“Maybe,” Kate said as she carried the plates to the sink. “But I know that Mom’s really busy this week. And we did a lot of fun things this summer. We just didn’t go to the water park.”
Becky followed Kate back into the dining room. She leaned against the table while her sister gathered up the glasses and utensils. “Yes—if you call driving all day to get to a family reunion fun,” she muttered.
“It was fun,” said Kate. “You’re just being ornery.” She picked up four glasses and headed back to the kitchen. Becky followed.
“It was all right,” Becky agreed, “but I’ll bet we’re the only two kids in our whole school who haven’t gone to the water park.”
Losing patience, Kate turned to Becky. “Will you please stop complaining and help me with the dishes?”
Rolling her eyes, Becky opened the dishwasher and was starting to load the dirty dishes, when their mom came in.
“Thank you for doing the dishes,” Mom said. “I appreciate all the work the two of you do.”
“No problem, Mom.” Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” Becky agreed. “We were just saying that it’s too bad that the summer’s almost over and we never made it to the new water park.”
“That is a shame,” Mom said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning. If you two will clean the garage while I’m gone, I’ll stop and buy tickets to the water park, and we can go when I get home.”
“That would be great!” Becky exclaimed.
“It’s a deal,” Kate said.
“Cleaning the garage is a big job. Do you think you can do it without me?”
“No problem,” Becky said.
The next morning Kate jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom had already left. “Good morning,” Kate greeted her grandmother.
“Good morning, dear. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
Kate nodded and followed her grandmother into the kitchen. “Becky and I are going to clean the garage. Then Mom is going to take us to the new water park.”
“That’s what your mother told me,” said Grandma. “Would you please go wake Becky.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the big hurry?” Becky grumped when Kate tried to talk her into getting up.
“We need to eat breakfast and start cleaning the garage.”
“No, we don’t. You heard what Mom said. She’s picking up the tickets while she’s out. She’s not going to tell us that we can’t go after she’s already bought the tickets.”
Kate frowned. “But we made a deal.”
“If you’re so worried, you go clean the garage. Tell Grandma that I’ll have breakfast later. Right now I need to figure out which swimming suit I want to wear.”
Kate trudged back down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked.
“Becky says she’s not going to help. She thinks Mom will let us go even if we don’t clean the garage.”
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“We said we would clean the garage,” said Kate, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “you’ve made your decision, and you’ll have to let Becky make hers. Sometimes we want to make other people’s decisions for them, but we can’t.”
After breakfast, Kate marched out to the garage and looked around, trying to figure out where to start. She decided to start by moving everything she needed to so that she could sweep out the leaves that had collected around the edges. At first she was angry at Becky for not helping, but soon her thoughts turned to the job that she was doing.
When Mom arrived home, Kate was organizing cans of food storage on a shelf.
“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked.
“In the house,” Kate answered.
“Isn’t she helping?”
Kate shook her head.
Just then Becky appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Mom,” she said cheerfully. “Did you get the tickets?”
“Yes I did,” said Mom. “Did you help clean the garage?”
“I was just coming to help.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Becky looked over at Kate and smiled an I-told-you-so smile. Her smile disappeared fast when Mom added, “You can finish cleaning it while Kate and I are at the water park.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so you may not come with us.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. “But didn’t you already buy me a ticket?”
“I bought tickets for the girls who kept their promises and cleaned the garage. Did you keep your promise?”
Becky hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought that you’d let me go anyway.”
“You made a choice. You’ll have to live with the consequences.”
Tears streamed down Becky’s face. “That’s not fair.”
Mom put her arms around Becky. “I know it isn’t what you want,” Mom said, “but it is fair.”
Becky watched out the living room window as the car pulled away from the house. “I blew it, Grandma,” she said.
Grandma nodded. “You made a bad choice. What you need to do now is learn from your mistake. If your mom had taken you to the water park, you would have thought that it’s all right to make promises that you don’t intend to keep. And it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, I have a deal for you, if you are interested.”
Becky looked up. “What is it?”
“If you’ll go finish up the garage, when you’re done, we’ll bake some cookies for the family.”
“Chocolate chip?”
Grandma smiled. “Chocolate chip.”
“It’s a deal,” Becky said, heading toward the garage. “And this time I mean it.”

About 15 years ago, my family had the blessing of feeding the full-time missionaries in our home. At the conclusion of the meal, the missionaries shared a short message with my family. After the message, I thought I knew what was coming next. The missionaries would ask us if we knew anyone who they could share the gospel with. I always found this a bit difficult. I want to share the gospel and, as a former missionary myself, I knew that member referrals were the most productive way to introduce others to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But it seemed that all my friends, family, work colleagues, and neighbors were already members of the Church. But this time, instead of asking for referrals, the missionaries challenged us to pray for missionary opportunities. I remember thinking to myself, “I can definitely do that.”

Praying for missionary opportunities became part of our family and personal prayers, that continues to this day. A few weeks later I was working upstairs in the Lorenzo Snow Administration Building. It was the late afternoon and most people had gone home for the day. There was a student worker from an Eastern European country, who was a new student and had just started working for our department. He turned to me and asked me a question. He asked, “Who is Brigham Young, and why is the university named after him?”

I responded that Brigham Young was a prophet who led the Church after the martyrdom of Joseph Smith. His next question was, “Who is Joseph Smith?” I quickly realized that this student did not know anything concerning the Church or the restoration of the gospel. I received a prompting to share with him the account of Joseph Smith’s first vision and to share my testimony of it, which I did. I taught him about the restoration of the gospel and how we have a living prophet on the earth today who leads and guides us. I felt the spirit as I taught and testified. I could tell that this student felt the spirit as well. We had other conversations about God and the gospel of Jesus Christ. I was thankful to have this missionary opportunity. To receive a prompting and to have the courage to act upon the prompting. This student didn’t stay long at BYU–Hawaii and I do not know where he is today, but I do know that he knows who Joseph Smith is and has an understanding of the restoration of the gospel.

We see Brother Woodruff’s faith and the Lord’s blessings in the following experience. He and his companion decided to travel down the Arkansas River and then walk into Tennessee. Being unable to get passage on a boat, they cut down a three-foot-thick cottonwood tree and hollowed out a canoe. They floated 150 miles in their handmade canoe to Little Rock, Arkansas. They then tied up their canoe and started the 170-mile walk to Memphis, Tennessee, on a road that, as Brother Woodruff said, “lay through swamps, and was covered with mud and water most of the way” (quoted in Wilford Woodruff, 54). The first day they walked 40 miles through mud and water that was knee-deep.

On March 24, after traveling about 10 miles, Brother Woodruff became lame with a sharp pain in his knee and stopped to rest. At this point his companion left to return to Kirtland and Wilford was left alone sitting on a log in an alligator swamp. Wilford records, “I knelt down in the mud and prayed, and the Lord healed me and I went on my way rejoicing” (quoted in Wilford Woodruff, 55).

He continues:
On the 27th of March I arrived at Memphis, weary and hungry. I went to the best tavern in the place, kept by Mr. Josiah Jackson. I told him I was a stranger and had no money, and asked him if he would keep me over night. He inquired what my business was, and I told him I was a preacher of the gospel. He laughed and said that I did not look much like a preacher. . . .
The landlord wanted a little fun, so said he would keep me if I would preach. He wanted to see if I could preach. I must confess that by this time I became a little mischievous, and pleaded with him not to set me preaching. The more I pleaded to be excused the more determined Mr. Jackson was that I should preach. He took my valise, and the landlady got me a good supper. I sat down in a large hall to eat. Before I got through, the room began to be filled by some of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis, dressed in their broadcloth and silk, while my appearance was such as you can imagine, after traveling through the mud as I had done. When I had finished eating, the table was carried out of the room over the heads of the people. I was placed in the corner of the room, with a stand having a Bible, hymn book, and candle on it, hemmed in by a dozen men, with the landlord in the center.
There were present some five hundred persons, who had come together, not to hear a gospel sermon, but to have some fun. I read a hymn, and asked them to sing. Not a soul would sing a word. I told them I had not the gift of singing; but with the help of the Lord, I would both pray and preach. I knelt down to pray, and the men around me dropped on their knees. I prayed to the Lord to give me His spirit and to show me the hearts of the people. I promised the Lord, in my prayer, that I would deliver to that congregation whatever He would give to me. I arose and spoke one hour and a half, and it was one of the best sermons of my life. The lives of the congregation were open to the vision of my mind, and I told them of their wicked deeds and the reward they would obtain. The men who surrounded me dropped their heads. Three minutes after I closed, I was the only person in the room.
. . . In the morning, I had a good breakfast. The landlord said if I came that way again to stop at his house, and stay as long as I might choose. [Quoted in Wilford Woodruff, 55–56]

The youth of the Salem Oregon East Stake really cleaned up at a local 4-H outdoor camp. Heavy winter storms had toppled some trees and torn hundreds of smaller branches from others. The stake youth council decided that cleaning the camp would be a good service project.
The date was set, and come rain or shine, the stake youth were invited to help. One hundred and fourteen showed up to clean the cabins and lodge—inside and out. Trails were cleared, downed trees were cut up for firewood, fences were repaired, and windows were cleaned.
After a hard day’s work, the young people relaxed over dinner and games. The 4-H people were grateful for the help, and the youth felt they had made some new friends.

We four missionaries had just left the home of a senior missionary couple when we waved down a bus to take us back to our areas.
We shouldered through a standing-room-only crowd and grabbed the metal bar above our heads. Standing, we soon had to lean our bodies over the seated passengers to make room for other passengers crowding in.
A middle-aged woman sat below me, her lap piled with shopping bags and boxes. Her dark eyes told me she was tired, and her long face spoke of her discomfort sitting in a crowded bus moving through the sticky, hot Panamanian air.
Closing my eyes, I imagined that I could smell the Chinese food my mom and sisters were preparing for Christmas Eve dinner. I also imagined that I could hear the Christmas music Mom always played. Those comforting thoughts soon washed away the heat and humidity, and I began to hum a Christmas carol. The eyes of the woman below me lightened a shade. I gained courage and started singing a Christmas hymn to myself in Spanish. Elder Glazier joined me, and then we fell silent.
“Please, don’t stop,” the woman said, her eyes tearing up.
Looking at my companions, I pulled out my hymnbook.
“Brothers and sisters,” I called out over the din of the bus. As my companions also grabbed their hymnbooks, I added, “We would like to sing some Christmas songs to share the spirit of Christmas with you—a small message from missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
We sang every Christmas hymn in the Spanish hymnbook. We weren’t a heavenly choir, but the power of the music and words about the Savior’s birth touched hearts. The excitement of serving in the mission field during Christmas filled the four of us elders with peace, joy, and light.
We sang until we reached our stop. The woman below me cheered and said, “Thank you, Christmas singers!”
After stepping off the bus, we waved goodbye to the crowded vehicle. Passengers applauded as the bus pulled away, and we climbed a hill into the tropical night. I always look back at that night with gratitude for the woman who gave us an opportunity to testify of the Savior through song.

I have a friend who chose not to serve a mission because of some personal struggles. Years later, he felt puzzled and disheartened every time he read a line in his patriarchal blessing that said he would have the opportunity to serve a mission. He felt like he had messed up what God had in store for him and was often filled with shame and uncertainty about the future.

But as he prayerfully pondered this situation, he realized that the key word in his patriarchal blessing was opportunity. Heavenly Father invites us to obey Him and to choose good opportunities throughout all seasons of life.

My friend may not have served a mission, but he has deepened his faith in Christ and his willingness to act on opportunities and callings given to Him. And he has found joy and fulfillment in making good decisions and allowing God to guide him.

I often saw young men passing by, dressed in a white shirt and ties, two by two. I thought they were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
And, since I was looking for the truth and didn’t know where to find it, why not try them? I said to myself.
When questioning them, they introduced themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After two lessons, they invited me to attend sacrament meeting, and, miraculously, I finally felt inner peace. I finally felt at home because I had found the truth I was seeking.

A Sunday School teacher once said to her class, “How many of you would like to go to the celestial kingdom?” And everyone held up their hands except one little boy. The teacher said to him, “Bill, wouldn’t you like to go to the celestial kingdom someday?” And he said, “Oh, sure, someday. But I thought you were getting up a group to go tonight.” Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom sometime; they just don’t want to get ready right now.