Gospel Story Finder

Each time I would visit an older widow whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been, my heart grieved at her utter loneliness. A favorite son of hers lived many miles away, and for years he had not visited Mother. Mattie spent long hours in a lonely vigil at her front window. Behind a frayed and frequently opened curtain, the disappointed mother would say to herself, “Dick will come; Dick will come.”

But Dick didn’t come. The years passed by one after another. Then, like a ray of sunshine, Church activity came into the life of Dick. He journeyed to Salt Lake to visit with me. He telephoned upon his arrival and, with excitement, reported the change in his life. He asked if I had time to see him if he were to come directly to my office. My response was one of gladness. However, I said, “Dick, visit your mother first, and then come to see me.” He gladly complied with my request.

Before he could get to my office, there came a phone call from Mattie, his mother. From a joyful heart came words punctuated by tears: “Tom, I knew Dick would come. I told you he would. I saw him through the window.”

Years later at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

An example of a master teacher was President David O. McKay, who called me to be a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He taught with love and with sensitivity. He was the epitome of what he taught. His heart was kind, and his manner was gracious. He was a teacher of truth after the pattern of the Savior.

I observed this trait when, long before I was a General Authority, I entered his office to review some printing proofs of a book that we were printing. On that particular occasion, I noticed a picture on the wall, and I said to him, “President McKay, that’s a lovely painting. Is it a rendition of your childhood home in Huntsville, Utah?”

He sat back in his chair and gave a familiar David O. McKay chuckle and said, “Let me tell you about that picture. A sweet woman came in to see me one autumn day and presented to me that beautiful painting, framed and ready to be placed on the wall. She said, ‘President McKay, I spent much of the summer painting this picture of your ancestral home.’” He said he accepted the gift and thanked her profusely.

And then he said to me, “Do you know, Brother Monson, that dear woman painted the wrong house. She painted the house next door! I didn’t have the heart to tell her she painted the wrong house.”

But then he made this comment—and here is a vital lesson for all of us. He said, “In reality, Brother Monson, she painted the right house for me, because when, as a young boy, I would lie on the bed which was on the front porch of my ancestral home, the view I had through that screened porch was of the very house she painted. She did paint the right house for me!”

I served as president of the Fiji Suva Mission. One day on the island of Kiribati I was walking with two elders when a man came up to us. He was drunk. I wanted to chase him off, but he saw my name tag and called me by name. “President Tefan, I would like you and your missionaries to come to dinner at my home.”
I thought, “Uh-oh, maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” I turned to the elders and asked, “How do you feel? Would you like to accept the invitation?” They said that they would like to go. I felt impressed to accept his offer.
The following night we all had a nice Chinese dinner—chicken, fish, other meats, and noodles. The missionaries were happy because it was a change from their daily menu of fish and rice. At the end of the dinner, I thanked the man and said, “Now I have a gift I would like to offer you. Would you like these missionaries to teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?”
He said he wasn’t interested but the missionaries could teach his wife and 18-year-old son. Three months later the son was baptized. One year later the wife was baptized, and her husband started attending church. He asked me for a blessing to help him stop smoking and drinking, and he was able to quit. The last time I visited that family, the son had been admitted to Brigham Young University–Hawaii on a full-tuition scholarship and had also received a mission call to Hong Kong.
When I think back on my experience with that family, I’m glad that I didn’t chase the “drunk man” away but instead followed the prompting of the Spirit to accept the dinner invitation, open my mouth, and ask him to hear the gospel.

I came out of the bishop’s office wondering how I could ever be the Primary president I had just told the bishop I would be. I had been taught that with the Lord’s help we can do anything that is asked of us, but this time I truly felt the weight of my new responsibility.
The first thing I was supposed to do was to let the bishop know who I wanted for counselors. Being new in the ward, I didn’t know many people, even though we lived in the area where my husband had been raised. But the bishop told me to make it a matter of prayer and fasting, and it was amazing to me to see this principle work. During the week I seemed to be drawn to two ladies’ names. These special women did become my counselors, and as time went on I could see the influence of the Lord in the matter.

Some years ago a young mother of my acquaintance shared this event in her life. She had been active in youth activities in the ward for several years and was at the time president of the young women. The stake president called one day and asked her to meet with the stake presidency the following Sunday afternoon. With anxiety in her voice and tears close to the surface, she went to her husband and said, I’m afraid they want me for a stake job. I don’t want a stake job. I love the ward. I love the youth in the ward. I love my counselors. I love my job. I don’t want to change.”

Her husband said, “Please go and see what they want. I’ll support you in any assignment.”

Her fears were realized. She was asked to be stake president of the Young Women. Later, the stake president told her that after she had reluctantly accepted the call, he had never seen a more forlorn-looking person walk out of his office.

For over six years she, with the same sisters as counselors, took care of the stake work for the young women. “Those were some of the best years of service for me,” she said. “My horizons expanded. I became acquainted with the wonderful leaders and great young people in our stake. I even had leadership experiences with other fine leaders in the whole valley. Later the opportunity came to serve on a general board. I shudder to think what I would have missed if I had declined the change in assignments.”

One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.

In 1884 a small group of courageous Latter-day Saints had ventured forth from the comparatively mild, hospitable, and civilized climate of the Territory of Utah to settle the bleak sagebrush plains of the Upper Snake River Valley in the territory of Idaho. It was a daunting and formidable task. Throughout the course of the nineteenth century, a variety of adventurous explorers, rough-hewn mountain men and thousands of intrepid pioneers traveling to the Oregon Country had traversed the Snake River plain, but very few had elected to stay. The reasons for their disdain for this country were abundantly clear to any observer: the land was treeless, characterized mostly by sagebrush and lava rock and suffered from unrelenting wind, persistent cold, and little rainfall. In sum, it was your basic barren, high mountain desert. Early explorers, like Captain Bonneville, described it as a “vast uninhabited solitude that must forever defy cultivation.”
These hardy Mormon pioneers had created homesteads in the Iona area, a small village located just north of Idaho Falls. However, the pioneers quickly became discouraged as their crops were wiped out by numerous killing frosts during the all too short growing season.

It was into the midst of these discouraged members that Wilford Woodruff and Heber J. Grant came to address the first formal Church meeting held in the Iona area on 17 June 1884. This meeting was only attended by some nine to ten adults and a few children. Significantly, one of the adults in attendance was Thomas Ricks, whose name would figure prominently not only in the history of the area, but also in the establishment of a small, Church academy at “Mosquito Bend,” now known as Rexburg. This institution, while bearing his name, would become the largest private junior college in the United States and is now a four year university—Brigham Young University-Idaho. As these Saints had no chapel, the meeting was held outside and the tailgate of a wagonbox served as the pulpit. Pulling himself onto the wagon and looking down on this small fellowship of Saints struggling to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment, Apostle Woodruff was blessed with a remarkable vision of the future of the valley and announced the following marvelous prophecy:

The Spirit of the Lord rests mightily upon me and I feel to bless you in the name of Jesus Christ. I promise you that the climate will be moderated for your good. I can see these great sagebrush prairies, as far as the eye can reach, turned into fertile fields. I bless the land that it shall yield forth in its strength. Flowers and trees and fine homes shall grace this great valley from one end to the other. Schools and colleges of higher learning shall be built to serve you that you may learn the mysteries of God’s great universe. I see churches and meetinghouses dotting the landscape, where the God of Israel may be worshiped in spirit and in truth. Yes, and as I look into the future of this great valley I can see temples—I can see beautiful temples erected to the name of the living God where holy labors may be carried on in his name through generations to come.

Here was a clear, prophetic and very audacious vision of the future. We do not know what the immediate reaction of this small congregation was to this unusual declaration. However, I doubt that they thought that this vision would happen automatically without their active involvement. Rather, I suspect that the people hearing this prophetic utterance realized that it would take both the ardent faith and the hard, sustained work of a righteous and devoted people over an extended period of time to bring the vision to reality. We do know, however, that the people of Iona were persuaded to stay in Idaho and within a relatively short time established a prosperous settlement with a school, a meetinghouse, and other facilities like those they had left behind in Utah.

Although many of our activities are the same as those of other boys around the world, we get to see and do different things because of the unique land we live in. For example, a few weeks ago the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts hiked through Wadi Kelt. A wadi is a riverbed at the bottom of a valley that is usually dry except during the rainy season. This wadi winds through part of the Judean wilderness, and is it hot! All you can see for miles around are bare, rocky hills and clear blue sky.
Many people believe that Wadi Kelt is the place where Elijah, an Old Testament prophet, was fed by ravens when he sealed the heavens so that no rain would fall.
After hiking through this wadi, I can see why Heavenly Father had to provide food for Elijah—there is nothing out there to keep a person alive! So before we started, we made sure that we packed a lunch and filled our canteens full of water. Our Cub Scout leaders kept reminding us to drink lots of water so that we wouldn’t get sick from the heat.
Our hike began fifteen miles away from Jericho and took us about four hours. We had lots of fun as we followed the wadi through the desert. Some of the boys spotted ibex on the steep cliffs. They look like wild goats, with huge horns that they butt with.
My friends and I also saw a bedouin shepherd with a herd of goats. Bedouins are desert people who live in tents and wander from place to place. Many of them still wear long robes and veils to protect them from the scorching sun.
About an hour after we had started, we came to a small waterfall that tumbled into a green pool below. Swimming in it was my favorite part of the hike, because that’s my best sport, besides basketball. The cool water felt good after our climb down the hillside, and before long we were all in the pool, splashing around and sliding down mossy rocks.
Ryan and Shaun Dennett, two friends in my den, found some dead crabs in the water. They scared some of the boys when they threw the crab legs at them. We also found some frogs, only they weren’t dead.
We sat on big rocks in the sun and dried off while we ate our lunches. Boy, did the cheese sandwich my mom packed taste good! I was starving! Just as I finished my last mouthful, Joel Galbraith, one of the older Scouts, called out, “Time to go. We still have a lot of hiking to do.”
As we climbed deeper into the dry valley, Shaun, Aaron, and I pretended that we were in the army. Aaron was a general, Shaun was a sergeant, and I was a colonel. We ran ahead and hid and dropped off cliffs, scaring the others as they came by.
Sometimes we would march along in the wadi, which was full of water from desert springs. The bottom and sides of it were slippery, and we pretended that we were ice-skating. At times the water was flowing so fast that it would push us along. The moss along the bottom was great to throw, and we had the best water and moss fight. We called it slime fighting.
Some parts of the hike were really steep, and a lot of us slipped on the loose rocks on the path. Joshua Rona, another Cub Scout, fell and hurt his foot. But Ian Boyd and Steve Rona, two older Scouts, made a foot brace for him out of a bandanna. It was pretty tricky.
The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
On my way I saw a man and two donkeys by the side of the wadi. The wadi is the only place where desert people can obtain water, and donkeys and camels are the only means by which water can be carried from the wadi to their tents.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.

“From infancy I had enjoyed the simplified and pictured Bible stories, but the original Bible seemed so interminable in length, so difficult of understanding that I had avoided it until a challenge came to me [as a teenager attending stake conference. The speaker] gave a discourse on the value of reading the Bible. In conclusion she asked for a showing of hands of all who had read it through. The hands that were raised out of the large congregation were so few and so timid! … I was shocked into an unalterable determination to read the great book.
“As soon as I reached home after the meeting I began with the first verse of Genesis and continued faithfully every day with the reading.
“What a satisfaction it was to me [a year later] to realize I had read the Bible through from beginning to end! And what exultation of spirit! …
“I commend it to you” (“What I Read as a Boy,” Children’s Friend, November 1943, 508).

Some years ago, it was my privilege to visit the country of Morocco as part of an official United States government delegation. As part of that visit, we were invited to travel some distance into the desert to visit some ruins. Five large black limousines moved across the beautiful Moroccan countryside at considerable speed. I was riding in the third limousine, which had lagged some distance behind the second. As we topped the brow of a hill, we noticed that the limousine in front of us had pulled off to the side of the road. As we drew nearer, I sensed that an accident had occurred and suggested to my driver that we stop. The scene before us has remained with me for these many years.
An old shepherd, in the long, flowing robes of the Savior’s day, was standing near the limousine in conversation with the driver. Nearby, I noted a small flock of sheep numbering not more than fifteen or twenty. An accident had occurred. The king’s vehicle had struck and injured one of the sheep belonging to the old shepherd. The driver of the vehicle was explaining to him the law of the land. Because the king’s vehicle had injured one of the sheep belonging to the old shepherd, he was now entitled to one hundred times its value at maturity. However, under the same law, the injured sheep must be slain and the meat divided among the people. My interpreter hastily added, “But the old shepherd will not accept the money. They never do.”
Startled, I asked him why. And he added, “Because of the love he has for each of his sheep.” It was then that I noticed the old shepherd reach down, lift the injured lamb in his arms, and place it in a large pouch on the front of his robe. He kept stroking its head, repeating the same word over and over again. When I asked the meaning of the word, I was informed, “Oh, he is calling it by name. All of his sheep have a name, for he is their shepherd, and the good shepherds know each one of their sheep by name.”
It was as my driver predicted. The money was refused, and the old shepherd with his small flock of sheep, with the injured one tucked safely in the pouch on his robe, disappeared into the beautiful deserts of Morocco.
As we continued our journey toward the ruins, my interpreter shared with me more of the traditions and practices of the shepherds of that land. Each evening at sundown, for example, the shepherds bring their small flocks of sheep to a common enclosure where they are secured against the wolves that roam the deserts of Morocco. A single shepherd then is employed to guard the gate until morning. Then the shepherds come to the enclosure one by one, enter therein, and call forth their sheep—by name. The sheep will not hearken unto the voice of a stranger but will leave the enclosure only in the care of their true shepherd, confident and secure because the shepherd knows their names and they know his voice.

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on her window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”
Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.

Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.
While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.
All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.
Such was the faith, sweet and simple and beautiful, which graced this woman’s life. She walked in the light of the Lord. She lived by that light. It guided her in all of her actions. It became the lodestar of her life. She exemplified the tremendous faith of the women of this Church—the women of the Relief Society, who today on a thousand fronts carry on the dedicated work of this remarkable organization.

A year later, Prince was ready to serve as a full-time missionary in the Kenya Nairobi mission.

“I can say missions change lives,” he says. During the time he served, there was a lot of persecution of the Church in Kenya, with anti-Church sentiments frequently being printed as newspaper headlines.

“As I walked the streets of Nairobi, I was many times accused of joining the Church for the sake of money”. A particularly difficult confrontation with a detractor became his turning point. That evening, he says, “I realized I had to pack my bag and go home or know for myself.”

Prince received his answer.

“For the first time, like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I could say I knew it, the Lord knew it and I could not deny that I was in the true Church.”

I attended a seminary graduation in Omaha, Nebraska. The speaker, again a young man, described this experience.
“Each morning I awoke to the sweet voice of my mother calling out, ‘John, John, time to get ready for seminary!’ The year rolled on and the mornings grew cold and wet and dark; still the happy voice of Mother would sing out, ‘John, John, time to get up for seminary!’” Then he added, “I learned to hate that sound!”
But then, choking back the tears, he thanked his mother for what she had given him. And I think only later did he realize that she had to be up first every morning.

Bronwyn Kerns of the Winchester Ward, Winchester Virginia Stake found an unusual way to incorporate the Young Women values into her daily life—she spent more than 200 hours making them into a quilt! Different squares of the quilt highlight different aspects of the values, and the center square contains the Young Women theme.

Bronwyn credits her mother for helping her with the project, which is now used as a decoration in Bronwyn’s home and as a special display at Young Women functions.

Flying is what Kathryn Young wants to do. To take the controls of a machine that can carry you above the clouds. To speed through the skies, dipping and looping above the jagged hills below. Yes, flying is what Kathryn wants to do.
And if Kathryn’s grandmother, Ethelyn Sowards, were still here, she would be cheering her granddaughter on. After all, flying is a tradition for the girls in her family. Kathryn’s grandmother was one of an elite corps of women pilots who served their country during World War II. They were not allowed in combat. But those women fliers were invaluable as pilots who moved planes from the factories to the air force bases or moved planes from base to base as needed.
Kathryn Young of the Manhattan Second Ward has been accepted as a cadet in the Air Force Academy in Fort Collins, Colorado. “My grandmother died when I was six, but I always heard about her flying.” There were stories about her grandmother’s flying ability, like the contests in the skies over the Texas cotton fields. Kathryn’s grandmother won most of the time.
Kathryn’s grandmother is an inspiration to her. She stayed home and raised her children and taught them the gospel. “I feel like she was ahead of her time. I’m the first person in my school to have applied to the Air Force Academy, let alone go. In that way, I may be like my grandmother.” Just knowing that her grandmother was a woman of faith, a wonderful mother and grandmother, and a great pilot lets Kathryn know that she can set her goals high and make them come true. Her grandmother did; so can she.

President Joseph F. Smith was six years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother. At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said, "I was very much oppressed. … I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face."

While pondering his plight, the young elder had a dream, "a literal thing; … a reality." He dreamed he was on a journey rushing as fast as he possibly could.

He carried a small bundle. Finally he came to a wonderful mansion, his destination. As he approached, he saw a notice, "Bath." He turned aside quickly, went in, and washed himself clean. He opened his little bundle and found clean, white clothing—"a thing," he said, "I had not seen for a long time." He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.

"I knocked," he said, "and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: 'Joseph, you are late.' … I took confidence and said:

"'Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!'" (Joseph F. Smith, Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 541–42). And so it can be with you.

To illustrate my feelings, I can’t resist sharing an experience I had in grade school.

In 1950 I attended Maeser Elementary School here in Provo. Under the banner of “progressive” education, an experiment was conducted where the fifth and sixth grades were combined. I was a fifth grader. In front of me sat a sixth grader. In addition to the fact that she was a year older than I, she had a superior intellect. I can remember how she always finished tests before I did and with more accuracy.

On one particular Friday morning it was “show and tell” time and the assignment fell on myself and my nemesis sitting in front of me. I worked feverishly on my project and came to school all excited, carrying my treasure in a brown paper sack. As I arrived, there was a pickup truck backed up to the entrance of the school, and there was the sixth grader and her mother carrying in item after item of collections from the Far East or some exotic place they had visited the previous summer. At the conclusion of her excellent presentation our teacher, Mr. Bowen, said, “We will now be honored to hear from Glenn.”

Apprehensively I reached under my desk, picked up my sack, walked to the head of the class, and pulled out a bottle of frog eggs. I was crazy about those frog eggs that day and feel positive about what I have prepared for you today—but then, everything is relative.

In November 1961, in a stake leadership meeting, I, along with many others, accepted a challenge to take part in the every-member-a-missionary program which had recently been announced by President David O. McKay. At the invitation of Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I committed myself to set the example for members in my area by inviting nonmember friends into my home for the missionary lessons.
About two months later, Elder Delbert L. Stapley of the Quorum of the Twelve, at the request of Elder Kimball, asked in another stake leadership meeting how many had actually done anything about Elder Kimball’s invitation. Only three of the fifty or so present had even approached nonmember friends and only one had succeeded in setting up the lessons. Deeply ashamed to be among those who had not even tried, I concluded that the Lord really wanted those in that meeting to be member missionaries. After all, he had sent two of his Twelve Apostles to teach us and to commit us.
That evening, after telling these events to my wife, we began a list of nonmembers whom we knew well enough to approach. To our surprise, the number grew to about forty.
We came to realize that what had kept us from asking nonmembers about taking the missionary lessons was fear. We had been afraid that our friendship would be ruined and, as the word got around, the position of respect we had achieved in the non-Mormon community would be lessened. Such an outcome, we thought, would hurt the Church as well as ourselves. We were soon pleasantly surprised in all these aspects.

I had 467 full-time missionaries given to me over a period of three years. What a glorious experience. I remember I hadn’t been in New England more than an hour when the telephone rang. On the line was an elder I hadn’t met yet, an elder who had been in the mission field just one week. He had some concerns, as sometimes missionaries do, and he wanted to go home. He didn’t just say, “I want to go home.” He announced he was going. He was a small young man in stature, quite good-looking, and a sharp athlete; but he was born with a handicap, and this was one of his barriers. He had only half a larynx. When he spoke he spoke with a harsh voice, and people often made fun of him. He announced on the phone, “President Dunn, I just called to tell you I’m going home tonight, so don’t try to stop me.”
I said, “Well, at least pay me the courtesy of coming over and getting acquainted and saying good-bye.”
“All right, I’ll come by on my way to the airport.”
He came over. In the meantime, I checked his file and found among other things one thing in my favor—he wanted to be an athlete. He was a good one. He wanted to make a career out of sports. I sat him down. He said, “Now, President, you’re not going to talk me into staying.”
I said, “Didn’t intend to. Tell me your problem.”
He said, “It’s very simple. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t believe in the Lord. Furthermore, and you’ll learn sometime, my home life hasn’t been what it ought to be. I hate my dad, I hate my mother, I hate this Church, I hate this mission, and I already hate you.”
I thought, “Well, this is a thrilling challenge; first day on your mission and you’ve got a young man thinking like this.” I said, “I don’t know what all the circumstances are, but let me tell you something. The Lord lives, and he loves you. Your parents, for reasons you can’t fully comprehend, love you. This Church loves you, this mission loves you, and I like you a little bit. Now,” I said, “you can walk out of this mission anytime you want; but I don’t think you’re going to and let me tell you why. You’re not a quitter. You may have a lot of hang-ups and problems, but you’re not a quitter. I noticed from your athletic record that you don’t quit. Let me tell you something you may not know. I played professional baseball for a number of years and found myself behind in early and middle innings of many a ball game. If you were my coach, and we were behind five to two in the seventh inning, and I came to you and said, ‘Coach, let’s get out of here while we can and save face,’ what would you say?”
He said, “We’ve got two more innings to catch up and win.”
I said, “Exactly, and a mission is no different!”
“Well,” he said, “that’s baseball.”
I said, “No, it isn’t. The game of life plays by the same rules and principles. I just don’t think you’re going to quit because you’re not that kind of player. There’s the door. You can go if you must, but I don’t think you will.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll try it one more week.”
“Fine. One more week. You call me next week, and we’ll talk about it.”
He called me the next week, and he gave me the same dialogue. He didn’t even miss a line. He had it out again, and would you believe for the next 103 weeks. Every week, through the mail, in person, on the phone, “I’m going, President!”
“So long, Elder; but I don’t think you are.”
And then it happened, the 104th week. Another phone call and he said, “I’ve got to tell you. It happened. I got the spirit!” And he told me of some very special experiences he had had that week, how the Lord had answered his prayers and how he received a testimony. Through real hardship and prayers he got an answer.
The following Sunday he came into the mission home for his last evening prior to his departure home. We used to have a simple ceremony when a group departed; and when it came time for him to speak he said, “Can I say something, President?”
I said, “You haven’t hesitated up to now. What do you want to tell us?”
He said, “You know what I found out this week? I’ve found what a testimony is. I believe in the Lord. He lives, and I love him. I love my mom and dad. I love this Church. I love this mission, and I kind of like you.”