Gospel Story Finder

Maybe you have felt similar as your efforts at sharing the gospel have seemed to come to naught. Ross Pooley of the Bridlington Ward felt so as he came to the end of his two-year mission to Scotland. Speaking to his Mission President he said, “I was very emotional and expressed my love for my mission, but also some feeling of regret in failing to baptise during my two years of service.”

Fast forward forty years and the picture looks very different. Thinking about a family he taught while on his mission, but who never committed to baptism, he decided to look them up. Deeply religious and long-time investigators of the Church, they started to attend Latter-day Saint meetings in 1999 while living in Independence, Missouri and twenty years later were baptised.
While serving in Dundee, Ross and his companion reactivated a young man and his mother. “I didn’t realise the impact until ten years after my mission when I met him at a reunion of all British missionaries. He had served a mission in America and baptised twenty-four people, was married with children and working at the Church offices in Frankfurt.”
Another great man that Ross worked with sadly stopped attending church many years later and was excommunicated. “On trying to keep up with people from those days, I found out from members that he had returned and through communication with him, I was able to be with him in the Preston Temple on the day his endowment was restored for him.”
Shortly after returning from his mission Ross went to work for a packaging and printing company in West London. During break times the men would meet in a smoke-filled room to play darts. Ross chose to stay at his workstation and read the Book of Mormon. One of the female packers asked him why he didn’t join the others and Ross took the opportunity to tell her about the word of wisdom and shared gospel principles with her. Not long after that conversation he changed jobs.
A couple of years later, while serving as a bishop, he received information about a new family moving into his ward. He felt he knew the name and to his delight found it to be that of the lady with whom he’d had the gospel discussion. Along with her husband and son she had joined the Church not long after her breaktime discussion with Ross.
Years later in York, whilst serving as a home teacher with his son, they were assigned to a less active family who would not let them into their home. On birthdays and at Christmas they would leave gifts and cards hoping for an opportunity to teach in their home. One day, as they went out to visit others, they felt prompted to try once more. As they knocked on the door, their son informed them that the family were all at the hospital where their daughter was giving birth. Quickly buying flowers and a card they headed to the hospital to offer any support or help they could give the family. Because of this they were able to minister to the family who gradually returned to activity.
Ross said, “As I reflect on the many experiences I have had in sharing the gospel, I wonder what effect it has had on those people. There may be in our lives hearts that have been changed without us even knowing. Each of us is placed with opportunities to further His plan. There is no accident as to where we live and who we meet. We are all involved in Heavenly Father’s plan and should take every opportunity to share the gospel at all times and in all places. He will make the changes in the lives of His children at the best time for their progress, whether it be in this life or in the spirit world.”
Samuel Smith felt he had been a failure, but the one Book of Mormon he managed to give away made its way into the hands of Brigham Young, who passed it to Heber C Kimball. We too can see amazing results if we but try.

In the spring of 1835, Rosetta and Leonora went to Kirtland, Ohio, where other Latter-day Saints lived. They returned with stories about the Church, the priesthood, and great spiritual manifestations. Five years had passed since the time Eliza first heard about Joseph Smith. The accounts of her mother and sister brought Eliza an undeniable witness of the truth. She had waited until she knew it was true. “My heart was now fixed,” she wrote. She decided to be baptized.5

Driving to the Los Angeles Airport with a busy radio executive, I learned that he and his wife, though born in the Church, had never participated. Their social life of parties and weekends for fun and escape dominated their lives.
After eight years of marriage and three children, they were becoming concerned about their lives but did nothing about it.
Different sets of home teachers came and went. A new home teacher—a true shepherd—came into their lives, and after a time this new home teacher committed this man to go to Church once. Brother Adamson said he would not give up smoking and drinking. He had made a firm resolve not to live the Word of Wisdom, and if he was not welcome in Church because of it, that was fine. The home teacher said, “You are welcome, and I will pick you up.”
The first Sunday Brother Adamson attended Church he waited for someone to move away from him because of the strong tobacco odor, but that didn’t happen. “They will ask me to pray or work in the Church,” he thought. That didn’t happen either.
The home teacher did not phone on Sunday mornings to give him a chance to make an excuse and back out but drove to his home and would say, “Are you ready?” This home teacher picked him up every Sunday for over a year.
The Adamsons began reading A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and found that the Church consisted of much more than just the Word of Wisdom, which he had heard so much about all his life (and because he didn’t live the Word of Wisdom, felt the Church had nothing to offer him).
This couple soon learned it is a Church of love, not a Church of fear. They learned of the mission of the Savior and of our Heavenly Father and of repentance. They became so proud of the Church they had been born into that the Word of Wisdom no longer was an important issue. He didn’t go through the pangs of quitting. It just happened. There were so many other principles of the gospel that now were so important in their lives.
He said, “I found myself working on our new chapel and then one day quietly telling the bishop, ‘I’m ready, now. You can call on me to pray.’”

I express gratitude for a living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. Last November he visited many South American countries, including Chile. That same week Chile hosted an important summit meeting for all nations of Latin America. There were presidents and dignitaries from 16 different countries. Streets in the areas where they stayed and met were barricaded. Day and night, sirens wailed and red lights flashed to make way for those men as they traveled back and forth from their meetings. In the midst of all the commotion, President Hinckley arrived. There was no fanfare and no special welcome, recognition, or privilege extended to him. Two vans left the airport and maneuvered through the streets of Santiago, one carrying the Lord’s living prophet. At the hotel there were police and guards to protect the summit visitors, while President Hinckley, with his family and others, entered unnoticed.

The next day, as President Hinckley spoke to over 50,000 Saints and testified of Christ and of His Church, one could feel his conviction. He told all present that he wanted them to remember that they had heard Gordon B. Hinckley say that God lives and Jesus is the Christ. He counseled the Saints to put their lives in order, to teach their children the ways of the Lord, and to form eternal families by being sealed in the temple. At the conclusion of the conference, with tears in their eyes and a testimony in their hearts that here, truly, was a prophet of God on earth, the vast congregation stood and waved white handkerchiefs in farewell. President Hinckley took his handkerchief from his pocket and with love returned their farewell. I know, as those many Saints in Chile and throughout the world know, that President Gordon B. Hinckley is the living prophet of God on earth. I am grateful for him and for his example.

Like most boys from Whitney, “T” had a desire to share the gospel himself. As a child, he had sat in Sunday School listening to returned missionaries tell about the “happiest two years” of their lives. Even when they reported persecutions it only fed the missionary flame within his young heart. Later, he went to the stake patriarch for a blessing. “Brother Dalley very slowly pronounced a blessing upon my head, which included an answer to a boy’s prayer. I was promised, if faithful of course, that I would go on a mission to the nations of the earth and would raise my voice in testimony and that many would rise up and bless my name because of my influence in helping to bring them into the Church.

“I went home walking on air, I was so happy.” When the time came, “T” accepted a call to the British Mission. He attended his farewell party, as so many boys from Whitney before him, on the old tennis court.

The beginning of Elder Benson’s fruitful mission is the beginning of the end of this story of a boy from Whitney. The boy would come back two and a half years later, a boy no longer but a tried and seasoned man. He spent several more years in the Whitney area, served as an outstanding Scoutmaster, married a beautiful and righteous wife, grew and learned, but that is another story.

This much can be said, however—that Brother Benson and Elder Benson and President Benson never stopped loving his hometown, never stopped visiting his old ward, never stopped dropping in on his old friends, because a boy from Whitney does not forget.

Later in the week my school held a dance. Even though they used the clean versions of popular dance songs, many people in my grade began screaming out the removed word in one particular song.
Once again I felt uncomfortable. The teachers were sitting nearby and didn’t seem to notice. I looked down at my wrist. I saw my bracelet from youth conference that said, “Stand ye in holy places, and be not moved.”
I knew that where I was standing wasn’t a holy place, so I left until a new song came on.
I know that music can have a profound influence in our lives. I know that listening to the inspirational music on my iPod a couple of days before had helped give me the courage I needed to leave the dance. These experiences helped me get much closer to my Heavenly Father.

When our youth group was planning to do baptisms for the dead, I wondered what it would be like in my Heavenly Father’s house. With great anticipation, I stepped inside the Los Angeles California Temple. I was overwhelmed at the feeling of peace there. Nothing could have been more opposite from my earthly home. I almost didn’t dare breathe for fear the feeling would go away. But it was constant and calm.
I loved being in the temple. In His house, I did not need to be afraid. It was safe, calm, peaceful, and comforting. I wanted to live there. Heavenly Father’s house was full of love. I was so happy. I promised myself I would be worthy to come back to His house again.

Tara let the soft strains of the prelude music wrap themselves around her. Slowly she felt herself relax. People whispered, feet scuffled, but she heard only the muted notes of the organ.
The bishop stood and welcomed everyone to sacrament meeting. Tara looked around. All around her were families—mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. Everyone had someone. All except her. She was alone.
The Millers, who picked her up every week, had invited Tara to sit with their family, and Tara did, but it wasn’t the same as sitting with one’s very own family.
Tara listened to the talks and the prayers, but it was the music that touched her in a way she didn’t fully understand. She only knew that it made her feel warm and peaceful inside.
She’d been baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints six months ago. Since then, she’d attended church every Sunday. There was so much to learn that sometimes she felt overwhelmed.
But she kept coming back, wanting that sweet feeling she had whenever she entered the church. If only her parents would come with her, just once! If they did, they’d experience the same feelings she had. She just knew it.
She pushed away the thought. Her parents weren’t likely to ever come to church with her. They’d been against her joining the Church in the first place. They’d only agreed to let her be baptized because she’d asked them so many times. She was nearly ten now, they’d said, and old enough to make her own decisions.
This morning had been like every other Sunday morning since Tara had started going to church. Her mother had been tight-lipped with disapproval. Her father had barricaded himself behind the Sunday newspaper. Neither had spoken to her as she got ready. When she’d begged them to go with her, their answer was the same as it always had been: No.
In Primary, Tara felt the same spirit she’d had in sacrament meeting. Again, it was the music that sparked something inside her. Why wouldn’t Mom and Dad come and feel it too?
As the Primary children sang “I’m trying to be like Jesus,” tears started rolling down her cheeks. She brushed them away, hoping no one had noticed. She listened to the words. Had she been trying to be like Jesus in how she acted around her parents? Or had she been demanding that her parents believe as she did?
She grew uncomfortable, remembering how she’d tried to pressure them into coming to church with her. She wanted so much to share the gospel with her parents and have them by her side at church that she hadn’t been very loving or patient. Sometimes she even got mad at them for not coming.
During the ride home with the Miller family, she decided, I’m going to practice what the song says. I’m going to try to be like Jesus. She smiled as she let herself into the house.
Humming softly, she changed out of her Sunday clothes. She was still humming as she went downstairs.
She found her father in the living room, lying on the sofa with the newspaper tented over his head. She gently pushed it aside to give him a kiss.
He looked up. “What’s that for?”
“Because I love you and I’m happy.” She smiled at him and then went into the kitchen.
Her mother was stirring something on the stove. She looked up as Tara came in.
“Can I help?” Tara asked.
“Would you set the table, please?”
Tara hummed as she put plates, glasses, and silverware on the table.
“What’s that you’re humming?” her mother asked.
“A song I learned at church.” Tara hesitated. “Would you like to know the words?”
Her mother smiled. “If it makes you this happy, I think I would.”
Tara sang the words, her voice breaking on the last one.
“It’s a beautiful song,” her mother said, a little hitch in her voice. “Are all the songs at your church that pretty?”
“They’re all different,” Tara said. “But most of them make me feel this way.”
“What way is that?” Her mother stopped what she was doing and turned to Tara. She looked like she really wanted to know.
Tara chose her words carefully. “Happy inside. Kind of peaceful.”
Her mother pushed back a strand of hair. “I’d like some of that feeling for our whole family.”
As the family sat down to dinner, Tara felt her mother’s gaze on her. Hesitantly she asked, “Tara, would you give a blessing on the food?”
Tara looked up, surprised. Her family never said a prayer before a meal. She looked at her father. He nodded and said, “Your mother and I have been wanting to start having prayers in our family. This will be a good way to begin to do it, if that’s all right with you.”
Tara smiled peacefully as she bent her head. “Heavenly Father, we thank Thee …”

“I’ll never understand why Dad had to accept a teaching position in this town,” muttered eight-year-old Ann angrily to herself. “They certainly must need teachers in places that have grass and trees and paved roads instead of dirt ones that turn into muddy rivers whenever it rains. If we hadn’t moved, I could have been baptized in a pretty place with carpeting on the floor and a white tile font.” Memories of her old stake center and meetinghouse crowded her mind. Angrily she pushed them back. Today of all days she didn’t want to cry.
“Honey, you’ll have to get your own breakfast this morning,” her mother called from behind the old sewing machine. Mother was busy transforming snowy linen into the dress Ann would wear for her baptism later that day.
Mom’s working hard to have something nice for me to wear, Ann thought, but who besides the sagebrush is going to see it? Her cousins had told her all about their baptisms, and Ann knew hers wasn’t going to be anything like theirs.
Ann walked dejectedly across the gravel-filled yard to water the four struggling fruit trees behind the house, then started to pull out some of the tumbleweeds so that the prettier golden orange poppies would have a better chance to grow. A welcome breeze carried the sound of the rustling cottonwoods by the irrigation ditch, reminding her of the rushing streams in the canyons.
“So that’s where you are, Pumpkin,” Ann’s father said when he found her. “We’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time to get ready. If you don’t hurry, we’ll leave without you,” he teased. He looked at her more closely. “You do want to go, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, only …” Ann’s voice faded. That was just it—inside she just wasn’t sure anymore. Ever since she could remember, she had looked forward to being baptized—but not in a pond in the middle of the desert! Her mother had tried to make her feel better by telling her about the people in the Book of Mormon who had been baptized in the wilderness. But it had only helped for a little while. Now the day was here, and she still didn’t have that warm, excited feeling she longed for.
Ann threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Oh, Dad! I wanted it to be so beautiful, and it isn’t going to be. And oh … you just don’t understand.”
Her father held her tight and brushed the hair back from her hot forehead. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t understand, sweetie.” He swept his arm in a half circle toward the desert. “All this doesn’t matter. Today is a very important day in your life. By getting baptized, you show that you truly want to become a member of the Lord’s church and that you want to keep His commandments. That’s an important step to take, and we are very proud of you. It will be all right, you’ll see. You’d better go inside now and put your baptismal dress on. Your mother must be wondering what’s keeping you.”
From the backseat of the moving car, Ann watched the sagebrush turn into silver gray clumps. It was not long before Dad pulled off the two-lane highway onto a dirt road leading to the pond. The slow-moving waters were fed by a natural spring. Old poplars clustered around the pond as if to protect it from the harsh sun.
Ann’s bare toes sought the cool shadows of the trees as she waited. Finally her name was called.
Dad smiled at her, this time without the usual mischievous twinkle in his eyes. A sob that wouldn’t go away caught in Ann’s throat. She looked around at her family and realized that she’d been so selfishly concerned about her surroundings that her family’s love for her had gone by almost completely unnoticed. She had almost forgotten the real significance of this day. How grateful she was now for a chance to change.
Slowly she stepped toward the edge of the pond. Her father was there, waiting. As he tenderly lowered her into the water, the rays of the sun seemed to turn the water into liquid gold.

I recently had a nonmember friend who wanted to come to camp with me. As camp got closer, I didn’t really want her to come for fear she might not like it. After I read the article “I Wasn’t Alone” (July 1992), I felt a warm feeling in my heart. So I quickly called my friend and gave her all the camp information. She did go to camp with me, and during the testimony meeting at camp, she whispered to me through her tears that she felt a comforting feeling. I told her it was the Holy Ghost. Thanks so much for this article.
Name WithheldReno, Nevada

As a young boy in Australia, I played a lot of sports. I ran track, and I also played rugby and cricket. I really liked team sports. In those sports, it wasn’t just me playing but a group of people working together. One of the harder sports I tried was rowing.
My friend and I took out a boat called a “tub pair” on the river. I rowed on one side, and he rowed on the other. As we rowed, we tried to prove we were stronger than each other. The boat turned in one direction and then another. We zigzagged up the river. It was slow going. We didn’t work together very well.
After that, we got a coach to help us. He told us what to do and how to help each other. We practiced the things he taught us. Eventually we became very good and won many races.

Frequently the profound influence one life has on the lives of others is never spoken and occasionally little known. Such was the experience of a teacher of girls, even 12-year-olds in the Beehive class of Mutual. She had no children of her own, though she and her husband dearly longed for children. Her love was expressed through the devotion to her special girls as she taught them eternal truths and lessons of life. Then came illness, followed by death. She was but 27.
Each year on Memorial Day, her girls made a pilgrimage of prayer to the graveside of their teacher. First there were seven, then four, then two, and eventually just one, who continued the annual visit, always placing on the grave a bouquet of irises—a symbol of heartfelt gratitude. That last girl later became a teacher of girls. Little wonder she is so successful. She mirrors the reflection of the teacher from whom came her inspiration. The life that teacher lived, the lessons that teacher taught, are not buried beneath the headstone which marks her grave but live on in the personalities she helped to shape and the lives she so selflessly enriched. One is reminded of another master teacher, even the Lord. Once, with His finger, He wrote in the sand a message. The winds of time erased forever the words He wrote but not the life He lived.

Olivia hung her head as she listened to the excited whispers of the girls sitting behind her on the bus.
“I’m so glad your mom said you could get off at my bus stop with me! Did you bring the games?”
“I’ve got them. My mom let me bring a bag of popcorn too!”
Olivia frowned into the book she was reading. Didn’t they know she could hear them? She definitely didn’t like listening to her two friends make plans for something she wasn’t invited to.
Stephanie, Rebecca, and Olivia had been friends for a long time. They used to do everything together. But when the new school year started, Stephanie and Rebecca found out they had the same teacher, while Olivia was in a different class! Olivia remembered the sad feeling she had in her stomach as the two girls eagerly talked about sitting next to each other in class and eating together at lunch. She had that same sad feeling now.
The bus rolled to a stop in front of Rebecca’s house. Olivia watched miserably from the window as the girls jumped off the bus and ran to the front yard.
By the time the bus finally reached Olivia’s stop, she could barely hold back her tears. She hurried into the house.
“How was school?” Mom asked.
Olivia started crying. “It was awful! Rebecca and Stephanie barely even talk to me anymore, and we were supposed to be best friends forever!” she sobbed.
“I’m so sorry, Olivia. It’s hard when friendships start to change,” Mom said. She paused for a moment. “Do you remember when we went to the temple to be sealed?” she asked, pointing at the picture hanging on the wall. Olivia looked and saw her family smiling in front of the temple. She had been a lot younger then, but she could still remember being with her parents and older sister, Jane, in the beautiful sealing room.
“Do you know why we worked so hard to get ready to go to the temple?” Mom asked.
“Because we wanted to be a family forever?” Olivia said.
“Exactly. Even if you’re not best friends with Rebecca and Stephanie forever, you’ll still have your family as your friends forever.”
“Yeah,” Olivia said. “But it’s not the same.”
“I know your feelings are hurt,” Mom said, “but I’m glad you’re home. I have a job for you and Jane.”
Olivia couldn’t believe her ears. Instead of helping her feel better, Mom was giving her chores!
“Go put on some old clothes and meet me on the back porch. Tell Jane to come too.”
Olivia went upstairs, stomping her feet a little, and put on her work clothes.
When the girls were dressed and outside, they saw Mom walking back from the shed. She was carrying a green can, some paintbrushes, and a wadded-up sheet of plastic. When she got to the porch, she laid down the plastic and handed each girl a brush.
“You’re going to let us paint something?” Olivia asked skeptically. Usually Dad did those kinds of projects.
“Yep,” Mom said. “I want the back door painted by dinner time.” And then she turned and went into the house.
The girls looked at each other for a long moment and then grinned. This could be fun. They dipped their brushes in the smooth, green paint and got to work. Olivia liked this job—it didn’t seem like doing chores at all. Jane showed her how to move her brush in long, even strokes. Soon the girls were laughing and talking. Olivia started to remember all the fun times she and Jane had spent together. She was glad she would always have her sister for a friend.
A couple of hours later, the girls were covered in splotches of green paint and wearing huge smiles. Olivia carefully opened the shiny green door and poked her head inside. “Mom, we’re done with the door,” she called. “Come see how great it looks!”
Mom came outside and looked at the door. “That’s beautiful,” she said. “I love how it turned out.” She gave the girls each a hug. “Did painting help?”
Olivia nodded. “I guess I was just feeling sorry for myself,” she said. “I’m glad Jane is my sister.”
“And your family will always be there for you,” Mom said.
Olivia smiled. “I know. It’s good to remember that.”

When I was eight, I learned to ride a bike. I’d gotten a beautiful blue bike for my birthday, and my dad and one of my older brothers taught me to ride. They would hang on to the back of the seat, run along with the bike, and then let go.
I remember looking down from my bike and thinking, Wow, I am so high off the ground! It was scary, but I soon learned that you have to keep moving if you want to keep your balance. You just have to keep pedaling.

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

“I know the Church is true because when I pray, He answers,” says Nicole, who is 10. “When I ask Him for help, He helps me.”
Nicole tells about a time when her friend got very sick and the doctors decided to fly her to Peru’s capital city, Lima, because they didn’t know how to treat her. “I didn’t want her to go because she was my best friend,” Nicole says. “I asked Heavenly Father to bless her. He heard my prayer, and she was healed.”

They were known everywhere they went. They were members of the best football team around, which made them members of the most popular groups on campus—in town—in the state. At every turn there was an encouraging word, a friendly smile, a jovial pat on the back. Their names were in the papers; their faces were on T.V. Their lives were a dream. Yet they willingly traded those dreams in for a hard dose of reality.
More than just voluntarily, they eagerly exchanged all that fame and glory for obscurity, taking little heed of the effect it would have on their futures. They traded the warm handshakes for indifferent shrugs, the encouraging words for curious glances. Only a handful, if that many people, knew them, and they were hundreds of miles away from those who cared for and loved them.
Yet Bart Oates, starting center for the New York Giants, and Trevor Matich, 1985’s first-round draft pick of the New England Patriots, claim they would do it again in a second. They feel their choice to interrupt their promising college football careers to serve missions was one of the most important decisions they ever made. And they acknowledge the fact that they wouldn’t be where they are today if they hadn’t served.
“When I made the decision to go on a mission, a lot of people thought I was crazy,” relates Trevor. “I’d played two seasons of football at BYU. I’d made varsity as a freshman—the only freshman on the varsity offense that year. I’d received two championship rings. I’d been to two Holiday Bowls. And I was going to leave it all to go on a mission?
“But they didn’t understand my motivation. Going through my mind was the fact that football is good and football is important, but someday football is going to end. Where would I be on that day if I based my entire life on football? I thought of what doesn’t end, and that’s my relationship with God, with my family, and with our church.
“So I left football, knowing that I might not ever play again. But even if I didn’t there would be no regrets, because the most important thing would be taken care of.”
Deep sentiments from a deep man. Trevor belies the stereotypical offensive lineman image. At age 24 he is eloquent without being arrogant, which is an accomplishment, since he had barely finished helping BYU win the national football championship when New England snatched him up to play center.
Although the Patriots offered Trevor a salary that competes with the best of them, you won’t see him flaunting it. He’s still most comfortable in a plain shirt and his old Levi’s with the strings from his Super Bowl field pass attached. Trevor had to watch his team play in the Super Bowl from the sidelines because, in the first game of the season, a gang of Green Bay Packers fell on his ankle. That, much to his frustration, left him on injured reserve for the rest of the season. But Trevor has high hopes for this, his second season.
When he’s not working with the team, Trevor often finds time to travel home to Sacramento, California, where he likes nothing better than watching his younger brother play basketball. In Boston, where the Patriots are based, he spends a lot of time counseling youth at the Gabler House, a home for children who are wards of the state.
Bart Oates doesn’t exactly fit the bruising stereotype either, although he says he’s “too fat and too slow to be anything other than an offensive lineman.” In fact, “jolly” might be the first word you think of when you see him, with his perpetual smile, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes. It’s a good thing too, because at 6 foot, 3 inches and 265 pounds, the man could be rather intimidating without a smile.
At age 27, he has already had four years of experience with professional football. He was drafted out of BYU to play with the Philadelphia Stars of the newly formed United States Football League, where he stayed for three years. Just last year his contract with the USFL expired, and he decided to make the switch to the National Football League. His play at center helped the Giants to a division title, and they have higher hopes this year.
When he’s not playing football, he’s studying law at Seton Hall University in New Jersey, playing racquetball, spending time with his wife and two small sons, or serving as assistant nursery leader in the Emerson Ward, Caldwell New Jersey Stake.
Bart feels the same way Trevor does about his choice to serve. “The decision to go on a mission was easy. It was just the right thing to do. And you know, when I went, I made up my mind I was not going to return to football. That was the only way I could serve well. Instead of suffering the mental anguish of going through two years of thinking ‘I’ve got to stay in shape so I can play when I get back,’ I put it all out of my mind, and in so doing I was able to concentrate on my mission.”
So out they went. Bart served in the Nevada, Las Vegas Mission from 1977–79, and Trevor served in the Mexico Torreon Mission from 1981–82. They were to learn many things in the mission field that they readily admit they would have missed had they stayed on the football field.
“It gave me a new perspective on life,” Bart says. “Before that, football was my life—it was my god, really, in that, first and foremost, everything I did was toward making me a better football player, and everything else came second. But my mission helped me to realize that the spiritual aspects of living are more important than anything we can do as far as personal glory goes.”
Trevor adds a few more lessons learned in the mission field. “When I first got to Mexico, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. There were people living in one-room houses about the size of my bedroom, with eight kids and maybe one bed, a chair, and a table. The door would be a curtain hanging down. You see other people put up four stakes, wrap butcher paper around them, and that’s their house.
“But the thing that struck me was that amidst all that lack of physical comfort, the people were happy. I mean, they were really happy. As time went on, I came to know that they placed very little value on material things, and a lot of value on people—the family—relationships. Mexico is very family oriented, and I think that’s one of the reasons why the Church is growing so fast down there. People love each other, and that’s their life. That became my life too.”
The mission experience, however, was not all smiles and tears of joy. At times, both Bart and Trevor met with hostility, pain, and frustration. No grueling spring training, no brutal two-a-day practices, no bone-jarring games can match the hardships Trevor felt. “I had some very trying times,” he relates. “But the motivating factor to keep on going was that I knew that at the point where I said ‘Stop! I can’t take any more!’ my progression would stop. So I just kept right on going.”
And Bart knows that no stunning football victory, no league or world championship, could ever match the elation he felt in the mission field when, for example, one of his closest investigators finally saw the gospel light. “His wife and kids were already members,” Bart relates, “and he just didn’t want to make a commitment. We got to be really close, great friends. Then one night I asked him if he would be willing to pray to our Heavenly Father to find out if the Church was true. He agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and the whole family knelt down to pray with him. The Spirit came over us and everyone in the room felt it. I said, ‘Fred, do you know what you’re feeling?’ He couldn’t deny it. I said, ‘You know you want to be baptized,’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”
Neither Bart nor Trevor would pass up those types of experiences—not even if they had known what they would go through when they returned to football.
“My mission did not help my football,” Bart says. “Some guys go out and expect that since they’re making a sacrifice for the Lord, the Lord is going to bless them by improving their football skills. That’s not the case.” Toward the end of his mission Bart did rise at 4:30 A.M. for conditioning workouts. (“All my companions wanted to be transferred. I know that,” he laughs.) But he wasn’t a superman when he returned. He had to scramble to regain his skills and reflexes.
“I wasn’t better than I was before my mission,” he confides. “I wasn’t even as good. But it didn’t take me long to get back into shape.” Bart also notes that by the time he returned to BYU, the starting center ahead of him had graduated, and the position was open to Bart for the next three years, whereas he would have been second string two of those three years had he chosen to stay and play.
Trevor’s absence from football didn’t help his skills, and didn’t help his size either. “I left at about 235 pounds, and I came back at about 207,” he said. “Most guys have their mothers greeting them at the airport saying, ‘Great to have you back, son,’ but all my mother said was ‘Oh Trevor, you look so thin.’ To be honest with you, the coaches were worried. But when I got home, I lifted a lot of weights and ate everything that was slower than me—lots of pizza and chocolate chip cookies. It helps to have a mom who has a master’s degree in nutrition.”
Trevor’s mother not only played a major role in filling him out when he returned, but she also helped to form his character before he left. Trevor’s parents divorced when he was young, leaving his mother alone with four children. Besides Trevor, Carol Matich has managed to raise Maren, 25, who sings with the San Diego Opera, Krestin, 21, a runner-up in the Miss Sacramento Pageant, and Dever, 19, an All-Northern California basketball star.
Bart’s family had a great influence on him as well. His father, Bob, who was a tremendous athlete himself, started Bart playing football when he was only eight years old. Bart’s two brothers and three sisters were all very active, especially Brad, who preceded Bart into the ranks of professional football. When Bart was drafted by the USFL, they drafted Brad as well, and the two brothers played together for three seasons.
Bart is now influencing his own family. There’s four-year-old Derek, six-month-old Zack, and, of course the former Michelle Ivins, a convert Bart met at BYU and married in the Salt Lake Temple when he’d been home from his mission just under two years.
Michelle readily recognizes what an important influence Bart’s mission had on his life. In the somewhat glamorous world of professional sports, it’s easy to become conceited and self-absorbed, but she says Bart is the opposite. “His mission taught him selflessness,” she says. “I’ve noticed in our marriage and in his dealing with others that he is very conscious of the other person’s needs. Instead of trying to make himself look good, he tries to make the other person feel good. That’s an attribute that going on a mission helps to develop. You’re not out there to build yourself up, but to build others up and bring light into their lives.”
It’s been several years now since Bart and Trevor were released, but their missions are never far behind them. Both serve as stake missionaries and have the opportunity to draw on their mission experiences daily. Neither lives in an area with a large LDS population, and people are always curious about their beliefs.
The Boston media, in particular, was curious about Trevor’s religion. When he signed his contract with the Patriots, the local headlines read, “Ex-missionary to get new mission on Pats—BYU Mormon center must protect passer” and “Matich’s new mission: Patriots.” The papers carried detailed accounts of Trevor’s missionary experiences in Mexico and couldn’t resist mentioning that they inspired him to be a “dedicated disciple of the work ethic.”
The Oates find people in New Jersey curious about Latter-day Saints too. They belong to a group of Christian athletes and their wives who meet regularly for Bible study and fellowship. “I was a little reluctant to go at first,” confides Michelle, “because our beliefs are so different from most other denominations. But I decided to take the time and go because they talk about leading a Christlike life, and I wanted to be associated with people who are interested in that.” More than once the Oates have had the opportunity to explain LDS beliefs to the group.
So life in the world of professional athletics goes on for these two ex-missionaries, but they’ll tell you it has a deeper dimension, a brighter sheen because they served. Giving up a few years in college seems like a small sacrifice when they consider all they got in return. Neither feels he would be in the position he is today if he hadn’t answered the missionary call.
Trevor speaks for both of them when he says, “The things that I learned and the changes that came about in me, as well as the changes I was able to be a part of in the lives of others, were something I’d trade all the football and all the pro contracts in the world for. My mission was a great influencing factor in my life.”

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I won’t say I’m sorry and that’s that, so leave me alone!Don’t take that attitude with me, young lady. You can just go to your room until you’re ready to apologize to Matt.
You’re mean! You always favor Matt, and you treat me like a baby. I will go to my room because I don’t want to be near you!
a little later. … May I come in, sweetheart?
Mandy, do you remember the time in the Bible when Jesus commanded a terrible storm to be still, and it was?Yes.
You and I have had a terrible storm inside us, Mandy, and so have Mommy and Matt. Shall we ask Heavenly Father in Jesus’ name to help the storm be still?OK. Maybe then I’ll feel like apologizing to Matt.

Most of my customers are great, but a couple of them give me nothing but headaches. The biggest skullbuster is—or rather was—Mr. Cory. He’s the kind of guy who would complain if you gave him a solid gold watch that wasn’t set to the right time.
Last Saturday, after putting it off as long as I could, I went to his house to collect. His tall wooden fence had signs all over it, saying “Keep Out” and “Beware of Dog.” I was a believer. The first time I went through that gate, Mr. Cory’s big doberman, Slash, had tried to use my leg for a chew bone. Anyway, on Saturday, I peeked through a knothole to make sure Slash wasn’t on duty.
Mr. Cory answered the door the third time I knocked. He kindly left the screen door latched so that Slash, who was pushing his nose against the mesh and snarling at me, couldn’t get to me.
Mr. Cory was a sour-faced, dried-up little man, stooped with age—but his faded blue eyes were sharp and suspicious beneath bushy eyebrows. “Is it that time again, Rosa? It seems like I just paid you.” He always said that.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s been a month.”
“Well, if you’re sure … ,” he grumbled, tottering off to write a check, leaving Slash and me to glare at each other.
Mr. Cory opened the screen door a crack, slipped the check through, and took his receipt before he started complaining. “I wish you’d try to hit the porch once in a while. I don’t know why you kids don’t do your job like you’re supposed to, but I do know that I’m getting tired of chasing out in the damp grass in my slippers!”
“If I could get into the yard I’d put it right on your doorstep,” I told him. “It’s hard to throw over a six-foot fence and hit the porch.”
“And don’t throw it on the roof,” he continued as though I hadn’t even tried to explain. “I don’t want my roof covered with papers.”
“I only did that once, four months ago, Mr. Cory, and I gave you another paper.” I had even offered to climb up there and get the dumb paper, but he’d said, “No, leave it there. Maybe it’ll remind you not to be so careless.” It was still there, right by the upstairs bedroom window. I knew what window it was because if I even sneezed in the morning, that’s the one he hollered at me from.
“One more thing,” he growled. “I don’t feel well, and I’ll probably want to sleep late in the morning. Try not to disturb me!” He ended the conversation by slamming the door in my face.
The next day started out like a typical Sunday. The papers were fat with sale circulars and weighed in at a ton per copy. I reached the Cory house about seven and peeked through my favorite knothole. Slash was waiting there, all teeth and snarl.
I was getting ready to take a blind shot at the porch, when I noticed smoke pouring out of the back of the house. It didn’t seem likely that Mr. Cory, sick as he was, would be barbecuing in the backyard at that hour.
I backed off far enough to see the upstairs window and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Mr. Cory! Fire, Mr. Cory!” The only thing that happened was that Slash growled louder. I tried screaming once more, with the same result.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to wake someone in one of the other houses and have them call the fire department, but the smoke was getting thicker and blacker, and I thought I should rouse Mr. Cory before the fumes got to him.
I did the only thing I could think of. I ran a few steps, then flung that Sunday edition like a pro quarterback heaves a football.
It went just where I aimed, smashing through the upstairs window. A couple of seconds later Mr. Cory stuck his head out and started bellowing at me.
Lucky for me, the house was on fire.
The next day, the paper said, “Due to the fast thinking of Chronicle carrier Rosa Martinez, damage was slight and no one was injured.” I bought ten copies of that edition.
Mr. Cory was waiting for me Monday morning. He opened the gate, and I almost panicked when I saw there wasn’t anything between me and Slash. Then I saw that Mr. Cory had him on a tight leash.
The old man smiled at me for the first time. “Come in here a minute, Rosa. I want you and Slash to make friends. We’ll do this every day until he recognizes you as a pal. Then you’ll be the only person besides me who can come into this yard whenever you want to.”
It worked too. After a few days I had enough confidence to carry the paper right to the doorstep. Slash would just dance around, whimpering excitedly and wiggling his entire back end until I petted him.
The best thing, though, happened just a couple of days ago. The paper printed a letter to the editor from Mr. Cory saying that I was the smartest, most reliable, most courteous newspaper carrier he had ever had the pleasure to do business with. And the old guilt paper was gone from the roof.

I should like to tell you of three eighteen-year-old boys. In 1856 more than a thousand of our people, some of them perhaps your forebears, found themselves in serious trouble while crossing the plains to this valley. Because of a series of unfortunate circumstances, they were late in getting started. They ran into snow and bitter cold in the highlands of Wyoming. Their situation was desperate, with deaths occurring every day.
President Young learned of their condition as the October general conference was about to begin. He immediately called for teams, wagons, drivers, and supplies to leave to rescue the bereft Saints. When the first rescue team reached the Martin Company, there were too few wagons to carry the suffering people. The rescuers had to insist that the carts keep moving.
When they reached the Sweetwater River on November 3, chunks of ice were floating in the freezing water. After all these people had been through, and in their weakened condition, that river seemed impossible to cross. It looked like stepping into death itself to move into the freezing stream. Men who once had been strong sat on the frozen ground and wept, as did the women and children. Many simply could not face that ordeal.
And now I quote from the record: “Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue, and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of the ill-fated handcart company across the snowbound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, ‘that act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end.’” (Solomon F. Kimball, Improvement Era, Feb. 1914, p. 288.)
Mark you, these boys were eighteen years of age at the time. And, because of the program then in effect, they likely were holders of the Aaronic Priesthood. Great was their heroism, sacred the sacrifice they made of health and eventually of life itself to save the lives of those they helped.
They are part of the heritage that lies behind you of the Aaronic Priesthood. Be true, my young brethren, be true to that great inheritance.