Gospel Story Finder

I had always planned on serving a mission when I turned 20, the age of missionaries at the time. After playing two seasons of football at Utah State University, I had a difficult decision to make. I knew that, at that time, very few returned missionaries played football after their missions. I had put a lot of effort into football, and I loved the game. I decided to delay my mission a few months so I could play one more season and then serve a mission. By the end of that season, I had won the starting quarterback position for the next year.
My coach was surprised and disappointed that after all my hard work in football, I was going to leave. He encouraged me to stay and play my final season. He couldn’t understand why I would walk away from this opportunity. I listened to his comments and his logic, but I told him that I could not wait another year to go on my mission. If I did, I feared I would miss my opportunity to serve a mission. After all my hard work in football, I said good-bye to the team and left for Great Britain to serve the Lord.
I never regretted that decision. I learned so many things on my mission. To witness people embracing the gospel was an incredible experience, which shaped the rest of my life in many important ways. My mission helped make me into the person I am today and had far greater impact on me than football ever could have.

Some people might think that a 50-mile hike is a challenge meant only for Boy Scouts—but not the girls and leaders from the Priest River Ward in the Sandpoint Idaho Stake. They recently challenged themselves to hike through snow and hail in Montana’s Lee Medcalf Wilderness.
The trip included a few surprises—like a bear eating some of their food out of a tree—but all the girls report that they wouldn’t trade their hike for anything. Eight days in the high country might be enough to last some people a lifetime, but these girls are already planning their next trip.

May I share with you tonight, brethren, a letter which I received some time ago, written by a husband who strayed far from the priesthood path of service and duty. It typifies the plea of too many of our brethren. He wrote:

“Dear President Monson:

“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.

“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”

While reading this letter, I returned in my thoughts to a visit to one of the great art galleries of the world—even the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, was a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore there stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me, it became To the Rescue.
Amidst the storms of life, danger lurks; and men, like boats, find themselves stranded and facing destruction. Who will man the lifeboats, leaving behind the comforts of home and family, and go to the rescue?
President John Taylor cautioned us, “If you do not magnify your callings, God will hold you responsible for those whom you might have saved had you done your duty.”
Brethren, our task is not insurmountable. We are on the Lord’s errand, and therefore we are entitled to the Lord’s help. But we must try. From the stage play Shenandoah comes the spoken line which inspires: “If we don’t try, then we don’t do; and if we don’t do, then why are we here?”
When the Master ministered among men, He called fishermen at Galilee to leave their nets and follow Him, declaring, “I will make you fishers of men.” And so He did. Tonight He issues a call to each of us to “come join the ranks.” He provides our battle plan with His admonition, “Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.”
I love and cherish the noble word duty. Let us hearken to the stirring reminder found in the epistle of James: “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”
There is an old song of my vintage. It’s entitled “Wishing Will Make It So.” It’s not true. Wishing will not make it so. The Lord expects our thinking. He expects our action. He expects our labors. He expects our testimonies. He expects our devotion. Unfortunately, there are those who have departed from the track of priesthood activity. Let us help them back to that path that leads to life eternal. Let us build that strong Melchizedek Priesthood base which will be the foundation of Church activity and growth. It will be the underpinning to strengthen every family, every home, every quorum in every land.
Brethren, we can reach out to those for whom we are responsible and bring them to the table of the Lord, there to feast on His word and to enjoy the companionship of His Spirit and be “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
The passage of time has not altered the capacity of the Redeemer to change men’s lives—our lives and the lives of those with whom we labor. As He said to the dead Lazarus, so He says today: “Come forth.” Come forth from the despair of doubt. Come forth from the sorrow of sin. Come forth from the death of disbelief. Come forth to a newness of life. Come forth.
We will discover that those whom we serve, who have felt through our labors the touch of the Master’s hand, somehow cannot explain the change which comes into their lives. There is a desire to serve faithfully, to walk humbly, and to live more like the Savior. Having received their spiritual eyesight and glimpsed the promises of eternity, they echo the words of the blind man to whom Jesus restored sight, who said, “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”
How can we account for these miracles? Why the upsurge of activity in men long dormant? The poet, speaking of death, wrote, “God … touched him, and he slept.” I say, speaking of this new birth, “God touched them, and they awakened.”
Two fundamental reasons largely account for these changes of attitudes, of habits, of actions. First, men have been shown their eternal possibilities and have made the decision to achieve them. Men cannot really long rest content with mediocrity once they see excellence is within their reach.
Second, other men have followed the admonition of the Savior and have loved their neighbors as themselves and helped to bring their neighbors’ dreams to fulfillment and their ambitions to realization.
The catalyst in this process has been—and will continue to be—the principle of love.
Another principle of truth which will guide us in our determination is that boys and men can change. I’m reminded of the words of a prison warden who taught this fact. A critic who knew of Warden Duffy’s efforts to rehabilitate men said, “Don’t you know that leopards can’t change their spots?”
Warden Duffy responded, “You should know I don’t work with leopards. I work with men, and men change every day.”
Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.
After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”
The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.
Abraham Lincoln offered this wise counsel, which surely applies to home teachers: “If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend.”
A friend makes more than a dutiful visit each month. A friend is more concerned about helping people than getting credit. A friend cares. A friend loves. A friend listens. And a friend reaches out.
There are brethren in every ward who seem to have a special skill and aptitude to penetrate the outer shell and reach the heart. Such was Raymond L. Egan, who served as my counselor in the bishopric. He loved to befriend and activate in the Church the father of a family and thereby bring into the fold a dear wife and precious children as well. This wonderful phenomenon occurred many times right up until Brother Egan departed mortality.
There are other ways as well by which one might lift and serve. On one occasion, I was speaking with a retired executive I had known for a long time. I asked him, “Ed, what are you doing in the Church?” He replied, “I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.” Short in stature, “Little Ed,” as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.
I truly believe that those who have the ability to reach out and to lift up have found the formula descriptive of Brother Walter Stover—a man who spent his entire life in service to others. At Brother Stover’s funeral, his son-in-law paid tribute to him in these words: “Walter Stover had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he treated each person accordingly.” Legendary are his acts of compassionate help and his talent to lift heavenward every person whom he met. His guiding light was the Master’s voice speaking, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
Brethren, acquire the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this “language” permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to a troubled soul and a grieving heart. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope; sorrow yields to joy; and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
In closing, I return to the painting by Turner. In a very real sense, those persons stranded on the vessel which had run aground in the storm-tossed sea are like many young men—and older men as well—who await rescue by those of us who have the priesthood responsibility to man the lifeboats. Their hearts yearn for help. Mothers and fathers pray for their sons. Wives and children plead to heaven that Daddy and others may be reached.
Tonight I pray that all of us who hold the priesthood may sense our responsibilities and, as one, follow our Leader—even the Lord Jesus Christ, and His prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley—to the rescue.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

For some reason, the last month or so, my mind has turned to a colleague of many years ago at the University of Utah. Dr. Reed Merrill was a distinguished educational psychologist. He had, for instance, done pioneering work in establishing the process of licensure associated with clinical psychology, as well as important work in educational psychology. However, he had been inactive in the Church and inattentive to spiritual things, though a good person. Then, in the early 1980s he was stirred spiritually by the Lord. I could see it when he came to visit me twice. He wrote two powerful letters regarding the comparative emptiness of his secular discipline with the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. These observations meant a lot because they came from a man of unquestioned intellect and integrity. Other catalytic things were happening, unbeknownst to me, including his daughter’s service on a mission, to say nothing of a wonderful wife.

Reed called me sometime before his daughter’s sealing, asking if I would perform her sealing. I said, “I would be delighted.” I think I had an intervening trip overseas, but asked, “Reed, will you be there?”

With his typical integrity, he said, “Neal, you know me well enough to know I won’t be there unless I am fully worthy to be there.” When the morning came for the sealing in the Salt Lake Temple, I waited with particular anticipation. Then Reed came down the corridor of the temple. We embraced, and he said, “Neal, I made it!” He had come home! Subsequently, he taught in his high priests group and in various classes. It was a spiritual renaissance in his life, a marvelous thing to see. How wonderful it is when anybody comes home!

Yesterday, when I reviewed my handwritten notes used ten years ago at Reed’s funeral, they included words of gratitude for what I called, even back then, “the intersections of our lives”—Reed’s and mine. The most important thing to be said about Reed Merrill when he departed from this life was that he exited “in spiritual crescendo.” Such things bring joy!

On the bus to work one morning, I took a window seat. Before long I became aware of a little bee trying to get itself out of a fix. It was trapped between the two glass panels of the window, and no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t find its way out. Encased in a transparent prison, it could see freedom but couldn’t find an escape route. Perhaps frightened, it beat its wings furiously and desperately threw itself against the glass.
I’ve always been a person who didn’t like to see anyone or anything hurt. So after observing the bee for some time, I began to try to get it out of its difficulty. But lacking trust and understanding of my desire to help, it didn’t take advantage of the assistance I offered. In fact, all it did was continue to throw itself against the window. Finally I began to get a bit irritated.
Before I got to my stop and after the poor little bee had suffered much, it managed to get out of its predicament. From it I learned that we also can overcome trials—suffering less if we turn to and trust in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, to whom all adversity is transparent.

While I was teaching early-morning seminary in Eureka, California, USA, I asked my students to think of themselves 10 years in the future. Then I asked them to write a letter with their testimony of the gospel and whatever else they would like to share with the older versions of themselves. I told them I would mail the letters in 10 years.
Time passed and I never got around to mailing the letters. One day 25 years later, my daughter Heidi found the letters and asked about them. After I explained what I had planned, she looked for the addresses of my former students using social media tools.
After she mailed the letters, we received some great responses. One of my former seminary students wrote:
“I need your dad to know that he just now found those letters for a reason. My 18-year-old daughter has been struggling with her testimony and feeling that being a ‘perfect Latter-day Saint girl’ isn’t for her. She doesn’t share her feelings with us. It’s been hard.”
My former student, devastated by some things her daughter had recently written in a blog, added:
“I knew I had to talk to her about it. As usual, when we have these conversations, her face was stony and defiant, and she didn’t say anything. I handed her my letter and told her I wanted her to read it.
“I saw her reread the first paragraph several times. I had written that I didn’t know if I had a testimony, that being a perfect Latter-day Saint was a lot and maybe not for me.
“My daughter started to cry. I needed her to know that I truly understand her struggles. She would never have believed it without that letter! Some of her wall has come down, and I truly feel like the timing of this letter was a tender mercy. If I had received it 10 years ago, I might have thrown it away or lost it! Please thank your dad for having us write the letters and for misplacing them for all these years! Nothing is a coincidence.”
Our loving Heavenly Father watches over all His sheep, and in His marvelous timing, He can work tender mercies and miracles through each of us to bring those who have wandered back to the fold.

A true story from Indonesia.
Harvey sat squished in the back of the taxi with Ibu (Mom) and Bapak (Dad). They were on their way to the church for Harvey’s baptism.
“Bapak, how did you feel when you were baptized?” Harvey asked. Bapak got baptized a few months ago. Now that Harvey was eight, he was going to be baptized too!
Bapak thought for a minute. “The water was so cold!” he said with a laugh. “But I also felt a lot of love. Even though most of our family are not members of our church, I felt their love and God’s love.”
When they got to the church building, some other people from church helped them fill the font with water and get ready.
“Harvey, it’s time to change into your baptism clothes,” Ibu said. Harvey nodded and found the bag with his clothes. But only his white pants were in the bag. He couldn’t find his white shirt! He checked the other bags and looked around the church.
“Ibu, my shirt isn’t in here,” Harvey said.
Ibu frowned. She checked a few bags too. “We must have left it in the taxi.”
“We have some extra baptism clothes in the closet,” Sister Putri said. “I’ll go get them.”
But the only baptism clothes from the closet were too big for Harvey. Ibu looked worried. The baptism would start soon. A lot of people were already here, and Harvey didn’t have his shirt.
“Maybe we can say a prayer that the taxi driver will bring the shirt back,” Harvey said. “But if he doesn’t bring it, I can just wear a shirt that’s too big. I don’t care what I wear. I just want to be baptized.”
Ibu and Bapak nodded. Together they went to the kitchen, where it was quiet. Then they folded their arms and bowed their heads.
Harvey said the prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank Thee that I can be baptized today. Please help the taxi driver to bring back my shirt. But if not, that’s OK too.”
After their prayer, Harvey went to change into the shirt that was too large. It reached all the way to his knees.
“Harvey!” Sister Putri called from the hallway. “The taxi driver is here.”
Harvey and Ibu found the taxi driver by the front door. He was holding Harvey’s shirt!
“I looked back and saw it on the seat,” he said. “I thought it might belong to you.”
“Thank you so much,” Ibu said.
Harvey took the shirt from the man. “Thank you.”
The man smiled and waved goodbye.
Soon, it was time for the baptism to start. Harvey changed into his shirt. It fit perfectly! And it was white and clean.
When Harvey walked into the font, the water was freezing! Bapak said the prayer and baptized Harvey. When he came out of the water, he felt fresh and calm inside.
Bapak led Harvey out of the font and wrapped a soft towel around Harvey’s shoulders. Harvey thought about all the people who helped and supported him. Ibu, Bapak, the taxi driver, and his family. And Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ too.
Harvey gave Bapak a hug. “You’re right. The water was cold!” They both laughed. Then Harvey looked into Bapak’s eyes. “But you were right about something else too. I feel a lot of love.”

I once had an experience that taught me the importance of going to the Lord for help. It was in January 1952, during the Korean conflict. My battalion had been firing our guns for many hours. Eventually, there was a break, and we laid down in our bunker to get some rest. Soon I was fast asleep.

The next thing I knew, a mail clerk stood over me, thrusting a letter from my bishop into my hand. I learned that my father had had surgery, and that his abdomen was filled with cancer. No one expected him to live more than two weeks. The bishop told me that arrangements had been made to fly me home and instructed me to contact the Red Cross.

I took the letter to a Red Cross representative, who verified the seriousness of my father’s condition. But by the time they had made contact, my father had passed away. I was informed that because he had already died, no useful purpose would be served by sending me home.

When I returned to my unit, they were in the middle of another firing mission. I felt angry and bitter and deeply hurt. Feeling desperate, I slipped off to a small grove of trees and dropped to my knees. I pleaded with the Lord to release me from those terrible feelings. Soon my whole bosom filled with the most peaceful feeling I had ever felt. It spread into my whole body, and I felt assured that all was well.

Shortly after Ka Po was baptized, the sister missionaries encouraged her to take an institute class. It was held early Saturday mornings, and Ka Po remembers how hard it was to wake up and get to class on time.

A classmate called Ka Po every Saturday morning to wake her up and encourage her to attend class. One day the classmate gave the responsibility of calling to King. That was the beginning of their friendship.

Ka Po says, “Church activities helped us know more about each other.” Their first date was a dance practice for young single adults.

Ka Po and King dated for four years. King helped Ka Po share the gospel with her grandmother and brother. Then on the night he proposed, he met Ka Po in the playground of the school where she was attending night school. She had just finished a big exam and was exhausted, but she felt wonderful when he asked her to marry him and gave her an engagement ring.

They were married in the Hong Kong China Temple. Ka Po says, “I will never forget the day we were sealed in the temple. It was so beautiful and amazing that we could be together for eternity. I could not stop crying, and my heart was so full I couldn’t speak. I love the temple and the great blessing that we can go to the temple in our own country.

“Our temple marriage will influence not only us, but it can influence our children and their children. It is so important that we have the same purpose and goals on earth. I love the gospel, and I love my eternal spouse.”

Elder Fyans recalled another story, related to him by his daughter, Kathy, regarding her son, Robbie: “Recently Robbie came home later than usual from school. The principal had called his mother to tell her that her son had been detained at school that day. She asked the principal what the problem was and was told that Robbie would tell her about it when he got home. When Robbie came home, he went straight to his room, and his mother decided to just wait for a while to see if he would come and talk to her. After some time, when Robbie still hadn’t come out of his room, she decided to see if he were all right. He said that he was.

“Later that evening Robbie admitted to his mother that he and a friend had thrown some wet paper towels at the ceiling of the rest room at school and they had stuck there. The custodian took the boys to see the principal, and that was why Robbie had been late.

“‘What do the letters CTR stand for on the ring you’re wearing?’ his mother asked Robbie. ‘Choose the Right,’ he told her. She then asked him if he thought that throwing wet towels on the ceiling had been a right choice. He said, ‘No.’ A discussion followed about what kind of punishment he should receive for his misbehavior, besides the fact that he had been kept late at school. Robbie thought it over for a while and then told her that he felt he should be grounded for a week. After thinking it over a little longer, he decided that maybe he should also pay for the towels that had been wasted. The sum of one dollar was decided upon as a fair amount. Robbie wondered if he should take the money out of his missionary bank. However, his mother explained to him that payment had to come out of his spending money to make it right.

“The next morning Robbie and his mother took his dollar and went to school together. Robbie apologized, not only to the principal, but also to the custodian. Even though it was difficult for him to do, Robbie made the decision to repent as fully as he could for what he had done. He was able to ‘choose the right’ and make it right.”

Patricia M., 18, had a couple of challenges. For one, like Axel, she’s not sealed to her parents.

“My mom and stepfather are sealed in the temple. And my sister is sealed to them because she was born in the covenant. But I am not sealed to them. I have my dad and my stepfather, and I don’t know what to do, if I should be sealed to them because he’s not my birth dad. It’s very difficult for me.”

Patricia also has struggled with finding an answer to a very significant question: whether or not to serve a mission. She knew that serving a mission was not an obligation for women in the Church. But she also wasn’t sure what was the right thing for her.

“It’s difficult to explain, but it’s hard to decide to leave and serve when my dad is not a member of the Church.”

Patricia found comfort and answers by gathering with other youth in places where she’d feel the Spirit. “I came to a multistake youth conference this summer seeking answers. And I decided to attend a class on preaching the gospel. As I began to teach my companions, it was like I could see myself teaching other people and being able to share the gospel.

“And I really felt like I should go on a mission. That I should do it. I had been praying and praying about this. And in my heart I felt a feeling of happiness when I thought about serving a mission. I feel so happy in the gospel, and so grateful for Heavenly Father. How is it I can’t dedicate a year and a half of my life? And how can I not share the gospel and help others come to the gospel of Jesus Christ?

“I never thought I would serve a mission. I am very happy here. I find peace here. I have good friends, my family. Even though we aren’t sealed. But my question was answered. And I’m going to serve a mission.”

During the 1993 Christmas season I was serving as a missionary in India. The first week in December, three days after I arrived, I was asked to help organize and direct a choir in the Bangalore Branch because the members wanted to participate in an annual choir festival held in Bangalore. Neither my companion, Sister Annie Christensen from Utah, nor I was aware of what this festival entailed, but we agreed to help out.
I selected “Far, Far Away on Judea’s Plains” (Hymns, number 212) to sing in the program, and 16 people attended two enthusiastic rehearsals held on the roof of a member’s home. They were not familiar with singing in parts, so we sang in unison without musical accompaniment. If a piano was available at the festival, I would play instead of direct.
The date of the performance arrived. As we stepped down from our harrowing motorized ricksha ride to downtown Bangalore, we stood astonished before a huge city building. It was draped with a large banner that read “Festival of Christmas Music.” Stunned, we walked up the broad flight of stairs and into the foyer, which was filled with costumed participants. This festival was a big event!
We scrambled to get one of the printed programs. Listed were the names of several church, college, and university choirs. We looked for our group and gasped as we read, “LDS Choir (Mormon’s Tabernacle).” We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
We found a quiet place and pleaded for heavenly help. I turned to my companion and said, “You’ll need to direct the choir!”
She replied, “I’ve never done that before in my life!”
“Just smile,” I assured her. “Wave your arm in a figure eight and look confident.”
When the curtain opened for our number, my companion had our Indian “Mormon’s Tabernacle” choir arranged on risers ready to perform. All seven of the sisters on the front row wore beautiful saris, and the nine men behind them wore suits. Sister Christensen, as director, was magnificent. She even took a bow!
Then I took a deep breath, walked on stage, and sat down at the piano. My companion raised her hand and started her figure eight, and I played the first chord. The sound that came from the choir and piano shocked me, and I could hardly play. It sounded as if the real Tabernacle Choir were singing that night.
I knew then that our prayers had been answered and that there must have been a choir of angels singing along with our little group. As the last note sounded, there was silence. Then, in the auditorium, thunderous applause erupted. The curtains closed, and we wept with joy. Guess who won a prize that night? We did!
The fourth verse of the carol we sang that evening reads, “Hasten the time when, from ev’ry clime, Men shall unite in the strains sublime: Glory to God, … Peace on earth, goodwill to men!” The voices of many, both seen and unseen, must have united that night in Bangalore, India, in singing praises to the Lord.

Knowing I was not alone when I got a tractor stuck was always comforting. There were a few other lessons I learned while getting stuck that I would like to share. As I think back to the first time I was driving a tractor and got stuck, I was overly confident in the tractor’s power, unaware of the warning signs that are apparent if you know what to look for, and I truly didn’t
understand the consequences of being stuck. Unfortunately, even though I had learned from the first experience, I still got stuck more than once in my life. Even though I had learned what to watch for, if I wasn’t steadfast in my duties, I would find myself at a point where I was stuck. Once you are stuck, I have learned a few different ways to aid in the process of getting out. The first thing that needs to be done is to unhook from what is holding you there. In the example of the tractor, I would need to unhook from the implement or machine I was dragging behind me. Once that weight had been removed and the tractor was no longer attached to that burden it would very often be able to get unstuck under its own power.

This would be even easier if I were paying attention to the warning signs and was able to turn away from or stop before going further into a situation where I would become stuck. In our mortal journey, if we are paying attention to the warnings or promptings we may receive along the way, we should be able to know when to turn away, unhook the implement, or just stop moving in that direction. If I did not stop or turn away from the problem area soon enough, there were times that the tractor was unable to get unstuck under its own power, even if the implement was no longer attached and holding it back. At these times, I would need someone or something else to help me get unstuck. In similar situations in our spiritual life, these are times we should turn to our friends, family, and especially our ecclesiastical leaders for the extra help to escape what is bogging us down and keeping us from progressing.

While I was in medical school preparing to become a physician, I had an advisor or mentor who helped me decide that I wanted to be a teacher as well as a practitioner of medicine. He was helpful with his counsel and opened some doors for me that required extra effort on his part. I recognized what he had done and tried to thank him. I was sincere but said I didn't know of a way to compensate him adequately for the service he had rendered me. He said, "The only way you can really thank me appropriately is to become a good teacher and an excellent doctor yourself." Most of you may not choose to become doctors, but the principle and counsel are the same, whatever career path you follow. The only way we can appropriately thank those who have gone before us is to be the best that we can be and help those who follow us do and be their best also.

Missionary work is well to the forefront of British seminary students’ minds, though most don’t have to suffer as dramatically as 18-year-old David Clinch in order to go on a mission.
David is a dedicated fourth-year student who works in a factory on a Government Youth Training Scheme. Unfortunately, due to an uneven floor, a trolley load of heavy metal bars fell on his leg last October. As he reached out to fend off the bars, he lost the tips off two fingers and received a severely broken ankle.
David had a priesthood blessing, and in far less time than the doctors predicted, David’s body healed. The bones in the ankle knitted perfectly, and he was mending so fast the doctor prescribed ointment to slow down the finger skin growth.
Despite pain and inconvenience, David kept up with his seminary booklets and accepted the challenge of using the time to learn scriptures. His favourite has become D&C 14:7 about enduring to the end. A surprise blessing was in store. His employers paid enough compensation to allow David to go on a mission next year.

But yesterday, as I thought about how busy I would be, I indulged in a dose of self-pity—until I opened the Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt and started reading where I had left off. Elder Pratt had been taken prisoner, along with Joseph and Hyrum Smith and others, during difficult days in Missouri. After being taken to Independence, the Brethren were confined to a hotel to sleep on the floor with a block of wood for a pillow.
One cold, snowy morning Elder Pratt arose and, unnoticed, slipped out of the hotel. He made his way eastward through town and into adjacent fields. After walking about a mile (1.6 km), Elder Pratt entered a forest, the falling snow covering his tracks and the trees hiding his presence.
He reflected on his predicament. To continue eastward meant escape into another state, where he could send for his family. To return to the hotel meant incarceration and accusations of high crimes. Tempted to escape, Elder Pratt thought of the “storm of trouble, or even of death” he would cause the other prisoners if he left.
In his quandary, a scriptural thought struck him: “He that will seek to save his life shall lose it; but he that will lose his life for my sake shall find it again, even life eternal” (see Mark 8:35; D&C 98:13).
Elder Pratt returned to the hotel. Months of arduous incarceration would follow—without family, fellowship of the Saints, or the ability to serve in his apostolic calling.1

When I was called to be bishop of our ward, our young four-year-old son inquired of me, “Are you the guy they give those envelopes of money to?” I answered, “Yes, I am the one,” realizing that we needed a little lesson on tithing. Brandon clapped his hands and exclaimed, “Oh goody, we’re going to be rich!” We later learned he was thinking that Dad no longer would have to work and would therefore have lots more time for him!

Once, when Elder Andersen was visiting in a hospital, he noticed a 26-year-old patient named Lora McPherson, who was recovering from surgery related to cancer. Her mother, Nancy, relates:
“[Elder Andersen] gave her a priesthood blessing, sent her a copy of the talks from a recent general conference, and later asked Lora to share her thoughts on what she was grateful for, which he used in a talk at BYU–Hawaii.
“As Lora was recovering, Elder Andersen invited her to visit him in his office, showing her around the Church Administration Building.
“Several months later, when it became apparent that Lora’s time on earth was limited, Elder Andersen gave Lora a beautiful blessing, which brought her so much comfort in anticipating her passing from this life to the next. He later adjusted his travel schedule to speak at Lora’s funeral.
“We have been so impressed with the ability of Elder Andersen to carry out his global and family responsibilities and still take time for the one. He is truly an example of the Savior’s admonition to seek out and serve those in need.”

I didn’t think I would ever be able to have a chance to serve a mission, with my disabilities and challenges, but my patriarchal blessing tells me that I would serve as a missionary, so I prayed for guidance from my Heavenly Father to answer my prayers and fulfil my righteous desires to serve the Lord.
Because my ward Relief Society president heard about service missions, spoke with my mother, and helped me to complete my mission papers, I started my service mission on the 4th of January 2021. Now serving a mission, I find some days are hard, but Heavenly Father strengthens me in so many ways when I need it. I have grown so much, and I know I am in His hands.
Heavenly Father always makes a way to achieve His work. One of these ways is making available to all His sons and daughters the privilege to serve Him, by providing the opportunity to be a service missionary. One of my favourite scriptures is Ether 12:27. I have a supportive family who help me with some of my assignments. I volunteer at a foodbank two days a week. I also volunteer with the Church’s Records Operations Centre on a few projects. One of these is BillionGraves—I have spent a lot of time transcribing headstones on its website and going to my local graveyard and taking photos of headstones.
Some people I have met at the graveyard can be unhelpful, but then there are those who ask questions, and to whom it’s a joy to speak. It does not deter me from doing this work; I find it calms me and brings me happiness knowing I am serving those on both sides of the veil, as the prophet has asked us to do.
I have met some people who have been interested and puzzled why a young man would do what I do. I spend most of my time cleaning the headstones, so that I can read them and take photos, or hacking my way through overgrown grass and weeds. One time I found a small headstone beside a big tree near a footpath, that had been lost in the undergrowth, and completely hidden from view. I cleaned it up and removed the holly bush, other weeds and grass that were hiding it. It was a grave of a five-week-old baby boy, Tony Hamilton, lost from view and forgotten. Now, since I cleared it, someone has mowed around the tree and the grave, so hopefully he will not be lost again.
It is usually only the people who come to see family graves that keep them tidy—it would not get done otherwise. I have a lot of conversations about BillionGraves and the work I am doing, and online resources and websites for family history. There is one man who wants to know more about it, so I may have started something.
These are peoples’ last resting places, and we need to have respect for them. I have transcribed over 40,000 names from photos of headstones on the website, including over 3,000 names from over 2,000 headstones for which I have taken the photos and put on the website. A few ward members have family buried in this graveyard, as well of some of my ancestors from the 1700s and 1800s. As I find names related to members in the ward, I take and print photos of them. collect them in a file and give them to the members. I hadn’t come across any names I knew for the first few weeks I started doing it, then at the end of one day when at home as I was going through the photos on my laptop, some names came up on my screen (about six or seven) that I was sure I didn’t take that day, but they were there. All I can say is the people whose names were on the headstones wanted to be found, hopefully to have their temple work done and belong to eternal families.
I am so happy that I can be part of this great work building family chains. I liked the message on one headstone, “Precious memories always in our hearts”. Yes, we should always keep them in our hearts so that they are not lost, not forgotten.

In my day, the chapels were not equipped with baptismal fonts. My first baptism was in the Scioto River in the state of Ohio. It was on a cool fall day, and the water seemed even colder than the air. I remember the shock of wading into the cold river while encouraging my investigator to follow me. The coldness of the air and the water, however, soon vanished as I administered the ordinance of baptism. Seeing the radiant face of the individual who came up out of the waters of baptism is an image I will never forget.