Gospel Story Finder

“On another occasion,” Jenny continues, “during the Duke of Edinburgh practice walks with a backpack, I felt so weighed down that I very nearly quit. Usually, before such a big trial, I ask Dad for a blessing. This time I realized I’d forgotten. I was just about to look for a phone to call Mum to come and get me when a line from my patriarchal blessing came into my head: ‘You can achieve anything you set your heart to do.’ And with help from my Heavenly Father, I did it.”

Let’s compare the emotional healing process with that of caring for and treating a physical injury. Suppose that when you were young, you broke your leg. Rather than going to the doctor to get it set, you hobbled along until the deep pain was gone, but there is always a slight pain with each step you take. Years later you want the pain to go away, so you go to a doctor. The doctor must reset the bone, clean away any buildup that has grown, cast it, and send you to physical therapy to strengthen your leg.

The process of healing from abuse is similar in that the victim must first recognize that the pain is real and that something can be done about it. The process includes acknowledging what happened and allowing the feelings of being hurt, scared, and sad to be felt, acknowledged, and validated. Often it is helpful to work with a professional experienced in this healing process. (Check with your priesthood leader to learn if LDS Family Services is available in your area.)

Whether or not the victim has access to professional help, it is best to pray, study the life of the Savior and His Atonement, and visit regularly with a priesthood leader. He can help ease the burdens and receive inspiration to help the victim understand their divine worth and relationship with Father in Heaven and the Savior. As Sister Carole M. Stephens, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, recently taught: “Healing may be a long process. It will require that you prayerfully seek guidance and appropriate help, including counseling with properly ordained priesthood holders. As you learn to communicate openly, set appropriate boundaries and perhaps seek professional counseling. Maintaining spiritual health throughout the process is vital!”3

For Hannah, her life had become so uncomfortable that she sought help. She knew from her testimony that she could feel peace and contentment in life but did not feel them on a consistent basis. Through prayer and talking with her bishop, she was guided to counseling, where she was able to gain the tools she needed to bring the truth out of darkness and share the awful burden she had been carrying alone. In doing so, she was able to release the pain and find the peace promised by the Savior (see John 14:27). Along with this peace and comfort came the desire and ability to forgive.

The idea of forgiving is often difficult for victims of abuse to hear and is often misunderstood. If they think of forgiveness as letting the abuser off the hook or saying that what they did doesn’t matter anymore, the victim won’t feel validated. While we are commanded to forgive (see D&C 64:10), in situations where the harm is deep, healing typically must begin before the victim can fully forgive the abuser.

Those who are suffering the pains caused by abuse may find comfort in this counsel from the Book of Mormon: “I, Jacob, would speak unto you that are pure in heart. Look unto God with firmness of mind, and pray unto him with exceeding faith, and he will console you in your afflictions, and he will plead your cause, and send down justice upon those who seek your destruction” (Jacob 3:1). The need for justice and the right to restitution can be turned over to the Lord so He can replace our hurt with peace.

Hannah eventually found that she could turn the need for justice over to the Savior and in return find a feeling of peace in her life as she had never before experienced. Previously, she had feared attending family gatherings where the abuser would be present. Now, due to her willingness to face difficult emotional wounds on her way to healing, she no longer fears being in his presence and can even have compassion for him in his old age.

Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles stated that “complete healing will come through your faith in Jesus Christ and His power and capacity, through His Atonement, to heal the scars of that which is unjust and undeserved. …

“He loves you. He gave His life that you may be free of needless burdens. He will help you do it. I know that He has the power to heal you.”4

The adversary wants to keep people bound by pain and suffering because he is miserable (see 2 Nephi 2:27). With the help of our Savior, Jesus Christ, pain can truly be replaced with peace, only as the Savior is able to give, and we can live with joy. “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). Living with joy will allow times of trial to be more bearable and enable us to learn and grow and become more like our Father in Heaven.

I am humbled by the blessing I have had in my life to sit with those who have been harmed by abuse and see the miracle of healing that truly comes only through the Savior. If you are suffering, please prayerfully turn for help. You do not have to carry the heavy burden alone. I know He heals, for I have witnessed it countless times.

Heavenly Father has given us all talents and gifts that can help us provide for ourselves and our families. Learning to recognize our talents and gifts—and interests—is an important first step in career preparation. President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, learned from his father, Henry Eyring, to choose a career that complemented his interests.

Because of his love for science, Professor Henry Eyring encouraged his sons to major in physics as preparation for a career in science. While President Eyring was studying physics at the University of Utah, he had an exchange with his father that changed his career direction. He asked his father for help with a complex mathematical problem. “My father was at a blackboard we kept in the basement,” President Eyring recalls. “Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hal,’ he said, ‘we were working this same kind of problem a week ago. You don’t seem to understand it any better now than you did then. Haven’t you been working on it?’”

A little chagrined, President Eyring admitted he had not. President Eyring recalls his father’s response: “When I told him no, my father paused. It was really a very tender and poignant moment, because I knew how much he loved me and how much he wanted me to be a scientist. Then he said, ‘Hal, I think you’d better get out of physics. You ought to find something that you love so much that when you don’t have to think about anything, that’s what you think about.’”2

When I was just two years old, my older brother and I were walking near a large irrigation ditch on our farm. My father was keeping an eye on us as he fed the cattle. The next thing he knew, my brother was running up to him, crying out, “Rolfe’s in!”
Dad raced to the irrigation ditch. From my footprints, he could see that I had gone as close to the edge as I possibly could, and then my feet had slipped and I had fallen in. He ran along the ditch until he glimpsed my red sweater in the water. He was able to pull me out, apply first aid, and save my life. I had gotten as close to danger as I possibly could, and the results were almost tragic.

Recently I was hospitalized to have open-heart surgery. I shared a room with a young lady who was blind due to diabetes and was to have surgery to renew her eyesight. I spoke briefly to her parents who told me that her last surgery had not been successful. They were praying very hard for her, and they promised to pray for me that night as well. I thought it was beautiful of them to even care. That evening the girl’s family came from many different states to visit her before her surgery the next morning. I couldn’t believe it—seven brothers and a great set of parents! It was such a beautiful picture. To this day I don’t know how they made it past the nurses’ station. We were only allowed two visitors at a time. After they left, Rhena asked me to pray with her, and I did. The next morning we both were frightened, but as we talked, she said to me, “Mrs. McDonald, we don’t need to be frightened because Heavenly Father is watching over us.” We prayed again, and as we prayed I felt the Spirit. Then the anesthesiologist came in and gave Rhena her medication for surgery.
I didn’t see her afterwards because she was in intensive care for about a week. During that week her folks visited me, introduced me to the missionaries, and left me a copy of the Book of Mormon. I began to read it and prayed to know of its truthfulness. I was to leave the hospital that Saturday, and Brother DeVito offered me his home, and he and his wife took care of me until I was able to return home to California. That following Saturday their daughter was released from the hospital, and thanks to everyone’s prayers, that beautiful young girl can see. I was really impressed with them as a family and just love them for showing me the gospel. Recently I found a March 1979 issue of the New Era and read an article called “A Blind Man Helped Me See.” I can relate very well to that because I have joined the Church and so have 23 members of my family.
Joyce McDonaldSan Diego, California

I thank my wife, Harriet, for her witness and testimony of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. May I share with you the conversion story of my wife’s family many years ago?

One Sunday when I was a teenager attending the Frankfurt Branch in Germany, the missionaries brought a young mother and her two beautiful daughters to our Church meetings. I still remember the impressions I had when I saw those two young girls walking into our chapel—especially about the older daughter. She was about 13 years old, and with her large brown eyes and beautiful black hair, she immediately caught my attention. I thought, “These missionaries are doing a really great job!” Little did I know that this young lady would much later bless my life forever.

But I’m getting ahead of the story. Let me go back and start with how this young family met the missionaries.

In the fall of 1954 two missionaries were inside of an apartment house ringing the doorbells in the city of Frankfurt. Gradually they began working their way up the floors without any success. Finally they rang the bell of the last door on the fourth floor. It was opened by young Harriet, who immediately asked her mother to invite them in. Sister Reich initially hesitated, but after some additional pleading by Harriet, Elder Gary Jenkins from California and his companion were invited in.

These two missionaries were truly guided by the Spirit, not only where to go but also what to say. After briefly explaining who they were and what the message was they wanted to share, the missionaries left a Book of Mormon with the mother, asked her to read the marked scriptures, and departed with a prayer and a blessing.

Two days later they returned. This time the missionaries received a friendly welcome and were invited in quickly. When they asked Sister Reich if she had read the marked scriptures in the Book of Mormon, Sister Reich answered without hesitation, “I read the whole book, and I feel that it is true.”

Sister Carmen Reich was only 36 at the time, a widow with two daughters. Only eight months before, she had lost her husband, a renowned musician, to cancer. After his unexpected death, the family struggled with a number of unanswered questions—Is there a purpose in life? Is there anything after death; and if so, what? Why are we born? Did we live before this life?

Let me make it clear that Sister Reich was a religious person. She loved to read, and the Bible was one of her favorite books. She believed firmly that Jesus is the Christ, and as a family they tried to follow His teachings. They were good, honest people, and even the loss of their husband and father could not take away their feeling of family.

However, when Sister Carmen Reich read the Book of Mormon, book-end to book-end, in two days, she felt something she had never before experienced. By her own account, it was “the spirit of revelation.”

She said she could “feel pure intelligence” flowing into her, giving her “sudden strokes of ideas” about the “things of the Spirit of God.” These ideas related to her special circumstances. As the missionaries taught her the plan of salvation and the other doctrines of the Restoration, she continued to “grow into the principle of [personal] revelation” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 132). All the good things she had learned in her Lutheran faith received a new and deeper meaning, and all of a sudden life itself had a totally different and divine eternal perspective.

It was not that she felt any enmity for what she had believed for so many years. But when she heard the message of the Restoration, a door was opened into a world flooded with light and filled with love and hope. Looking back, she described her experience this way: It was as if something of great importance had been lifeless and inert but was now resurrected to life, beauty, and activity.

Let me finish the story of Sister Reich, my dear mother-in-law. She represents in many ways the multitude of converts who are coming into the Church every day from other religions, both Christian and non-Christian, and even from no religion at all. What characterizes them all is that they are willing and pure enough to believe when God speaks.

Sister Reich was baptized on November 7, 1954. In December, only a few weeks after her baptism, the missionary who baptized her asked that she write her testimony down. Elder Jenkins wanted to use her testimony to help others feel the true spirit of conversion. Fortunately, he kept her handwritten original for more than 40 years and then returned it to my mother-in-law as a very special and loving gift. Carmen Reich, my dear mother-in-law, passed away in 2000 at age 83.

Let me read to you parts of her written testimony. It shows what she, with her background, with her needs and desires at the time she met the missionaries, saw as the key points of the Restoration. This is the English translation of her handwritten testimony:

“Special characteristics of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that are not present in other religious communities include, above all:

“Modern revelation given through the Prophet Joseph Smith.

“Sacred priesthood authority as in the time of Christ, with a living prophet today.

“Next, the Book of Mormon in its clear and pure language, with all its instructions and promises for the Church of Jesus Christ—truly a second witness with the Bible that Jesus Christ lives.

“Faith in a personal God—that is, God the Father; and God the Son Jesus Christ; and the Holy Ghost, who facilitates prayer and guides us personally.

“Belief in a premortal life, the pre-existence. Knowledge of the purpose of our earthly life, and of our life after death, is extremely valuable for us to have and is especially interesting and informative. The plan of salvation is so clearly laid out in the restored gospel that our lives receive new meaning and direction.

“The Word of Wisdom. The Church has given us the Word of Wisdom as a guide to help us realize our desire to keep our body and spirit healthy and improve them. This is our goal because we know that we will take our body up again after death in the same form.

“Temple work, with its many sacred ordinances enabling families to be together forever. This doctrine, totally new to me, was given through revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith.”

On the large Idaho farm where I grew up in the 1940s, the work horses had been displaced by the tractor, so my father left them to graze, except when we children wanted to ride them. I always chose Banner, despite his thick, aging, work-worn body.
On summer evenings, my father helped me saddle Banner, then sent us off to bring the cows home for milking. The cows pastured in a field fenced on three sides but open on the fourth to the Teton River. Beyond the river’s main channel, a large flood plain was crisscrossed by lesser channels. In springtime, the swollen river formed many islands and swamps crowded with brush.
Occasionally the cows would notice untouched grass across the river and swim across the swift current to eat it. They then wandered into the thick brush and could be hard to find. Father had given me strict orders that if the cows ventured across the river, I was never to go after them but must return home for help.
One Saturday evening in early spring just after my seventh birthday, I was in a great hurry to bring the cows home for milking because my parents had promised that we could go to a movie if we got our chores done in time. I trotted Banner as much as he could endure at his advanced age, but when I arrived at the pasture, I saw that the cows had swum across the river, even though it ran at high flood stage.
I didn’t know what to do. I knew that if I went for help, the movie would probably be half over before we could find the cows, milk them, and get the other chores done. I decided to go after the cows myself, even though I had been warned many times not to.
I knew that horses could swim well, as I had seen them cross the river before, but Banner hesitated as I urged him down into the cold, swift stream. As he swam with quick, jerking motions, his head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on him would also have had his head above water, but at my age, the water quickly covered me. I had to grip the saddle horn to keep from washing downstream in the treacherous current. That kept me underwater, though, except when Banner lunged forward several times, bringing my head above water enough to gasp for air.
When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me.
Banner and I wandered for some time across the flooded plain, crossing swamps and streams and searching in the thick brush for the cows. In the dusk I began to realize that I might not find them at all. Further, I didn’t know for sure where I was, and I began to fear that I couldn’t find my way back.
Finally I heard the cows in the distance and found them on a small island. We crossed to that island and began rounding up the cattle just as full darkness fell. Normally at milking time, the cows would be eager to return to the barn, but on this night, because of the darkness and the cold water they would have to swim across, they had no desire to leave. I tried every way I knew to get them to move, but just as we approached the water, they always turned and ran back to the center of the small island. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid, and, worst of all, well aware that my disobedience had landed me in this fix.
I began to cry as I climbed down from Banner and fell to the ground by his feet. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, simple but deeply sincere, as I repeated over and over to my Father in Heaven, “I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!”
I prayed for some time with my head bowed, and when I finally looked up, I saw a figure dressed in white come up out of the river and walk toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move as the figure approached, but felt overwhelmed by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
Then a familiar voice said, “I’ve been looking for you, Son.” I recognized my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me for several moments until I finally stopped the emotional sobs. He then said gently, “I was worried. I’m glad I found you.”
I tried to tell him how I felt, but only disjointed words—“Thank you … dark … afraid … river … alone”—came out of my trembling lips.
I will never understand how my father coordinated the next few minutes. We both climbed on Banner and started herding the cows. Father gave a piercing whistle, and the cows seemed to line up in single file and march through the numerous channels of the river toward home. I learned later that when my father noticed that I had not returned from the pasture, he drove the pickup truck out to investigate. When he couldn’t find me or the cows, he knew that I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark, he did not take time to go for additional help but removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam the treacherous river in search of me.
He was a hero to me. He had saved me from the most terrible experience of my young life and replaced fear and danger with love and security. I will always remember what it was like to ride on Banner encircled by my father’s warm arms and hearing him say, “Everything is fine now. You’re safe.”
I had been disobedient and had learned the fear and regret that come with it. My father had searched for me, his lost son, and brought me safely home. I had never felt greater gratitude to my Heavenly Father, recognizing that when I exercise poor judgment and disregard his commandments, he still is willing to rescue me as I repent and turn to him again.

Linda of California, USA, shared how a friend’s visits helped her: “I remember those special people in my life—especially those who really listened and conveyed the Spirit’s sweet counsel. After being widowed at 30 years old with five young children, I felt my Heavenly Father’s and Savior’s love more deeply because of my good friend Karen. She was always in tune and had her ‘listening ears’ on. I never felt alone as she consistently reminded me of the beautiful bond I have as a daughter of God.”

Ernest Sibanda met two Mormon missionaries on bicycles—Elder Black and Elder Kaelin—in December 1978. They left a Book of Mormon with him. Before their visit, Ernest had already spent many years studying religion. In fact, he had been a teacher for his church for nine years and a pastor for three years.
The night Ernest received his copy of the Book of Mormon he stayed up until 2:00 in the morning reading enthusiastically. He couldn’t wait to meet the missionaries the following day. Ernest told them that he had learned more from Joseph Smith about Jesus Christ than all the ministers he had ever met. Ernest was baptized shortly thereafter, followed by his wife and children a few weeks later.
Of his baptism day, he wrote, “I felt very free. I felt released from every evil. I found there was love in me for my family. I found there was love within me for the Church.”2
Ernest Sibanda proved to be a great strength to the Church. He served as Sunday School president, branch clerk, and second counselor in a branch presidency. He also fulfilled an assignment from the South Africa mission president to translate hymns from English to Shona.

The old station wagon bumped and squeaked as Leonard and his mother crossed the cattle guard and started up the dirt road to the pasture. Outside the car, snow swirled wildly about, blurring the bleak white landscape and obscuring the road. Leonard’s mother leaned forward, peering intently into the storm. “If we lose this cow, Leonard, we’re giving up and going back to the city,” Mother stated. She turned the big car off the road, bumped through the field, and came to a stop.
Leonard’s stomach muscles tightened with anxiety. Mother had expressed the same feeling last spring when three newborn calves died one after another, and again last summer when Jiggs, their young white bull, dropped dead in the field. But she might mean it this time. He knew that mother really loved Lucy, a bony Holstein whose hooves had frozen as a calf; afterward she could only limp slowly to her feed and water. Last spring Lucy had given birth to a beautiful, healthy calf. Then a few days ago Uncle Jim had found Lucy floundering in an icy ditch and had pulled her out onto the bank, where she had lain ever since.
Leonard savored the warmth of the car for a moment, then pushed the heavy door open against the wind, which struck his face like a blow. He pulled his stocking cap down over his ears and pushed against the wind to the back of the station wagon. His mother released the latch, and Leonard pulled out an old wooden sleigh. He and his mother lifted a milk can full of water and a covered bucket of grain onto it.
“I’ll take some grain to the calves in the west field and come back for you,” Mother shouted as she turned back to the car.
Leonard nodded, picked up the rope tied to the sleigh, and started across the field. He kept his head down, following the trail to the gate. When he reached it, he could see Lucy’s black spots against the snow. Bales of hay formed a windbreak at her head. Lucy lay motionless, and Leonard wondered if she were dead already. A lump like a jammed-up sob arose in his throat. If only his dad were here, he would figure out some way to get her on her feet. The snow and cold had come too early. It was only November, and they weren’t ready. Since his dad’s death the year before, his mother had tried hard to run their little farm with only Leonard’s and his two sisters’ help.
As Leonard swung the gate open, Lucy slowly raised her head, and Leonard felt a warming relief. He hurriedly dragged the milk can from the sleigh, removed the cap, and poured some water into the pan near her head. The water was still slightly warm, and steam rose into the air. He poured the grain into another pan and hunched down beside Lucy. He brushed the snow from her back and stroked her furry flank. She looked at him with her gentle, unquestioning brown eyes and lowered her mouth to the water and drank. She moved her head toward the grain and snorted, sending a small dusty cloud into the air.
Leonard remembered how beautiful she had been as a calf, how starkly white and black against the green of the pasture behind the house. He remembered the pain in her eyes the morning her first calf was born and how the wobbly little creature had followed her and nuzzled her side for milk. That calf was big now and grazed with the other cows, and Leonard knew that Lucy was due to have another one in the spring. Her munching and swallowing now was a warm and homey sound against the wind that whined around them.
Feeling a peculiar kind of happiness in being near the cow, in hearing her eat, in knowing that she was still alive, Leonard didn’t think that he could stand living in the city. He remembered the long days spent at his grandmother’s house when he just sat on the front lawn and watched the traffic. He knew that kids did things in the city, but to him there seemed to be nothing fun to do. He didn’t want to leave the cows and the chickens and Ralph and George, the two huge labradors, or the wide fields and open sky, the pond, and his tree hut. There had to be a way to help Lucy somehow! After standing up and putting the can and bucket back on the sleigh, the worried boy patted Lucy’s head as she licked up the grain with her long pinkish tongue. Then he started back across the snow to meet his mother.
Later, back at the house, Leonard and his five-year-old sister, Susan, each carried a load of firewood into the house and dumped it behind the black stove. Jenny, his ten-year-old sister, and his mother were setting dinner on the table.
After the family had seated themselves at the table and the blessing on the food had been said, Susan asked, “How’s Lucy?”
“She’s still eating well,” Leonard said. “But if she doesn’t get up in another day or two, I don’t think she ever will.” He turned to his mother. “There just has to be some way we can get her on her feet! How about using the winch on the tractor?”
His mother sighed. “The tractor broke down before we finished the fall plowing. I really don’t know what we’d use. Maybe things are getting too hard for us to handle.”
“I love Lucy,” Susan said. “I’m going to pray for her. She’ll get up.”
Leonard smiled at his little sister, then at his mother. When she returned a faint smile, he felt a flicker of hope. “What about Uncle Jim’s tractor?” he asked.
“Maybe. But he’ll be out of town all week. By the time he gets back, it will probably be too late.”
Leonard ate in silence, still thinking about Lucy. Finally he said, “Why don’t we go down in the morning and try again to get her up? Maybe if we all encourage her, she’ll make the effort.”
The next morning Leonard and his two sisters climbed into the station wagon with their mother and drove down to the field. The gusting wind blew swirls of white snow off the fields here and there as they all helped to feed Lucy. The girls petted her thick winter coat and stroked her nose. After Lucy had eaten, more hay was spread around the cow to help her get her footing on the hard ground. Then everyone encouraged her to get up.
When plain coaxing didn’t work, Leonard found a smooth fence pole and wedged it under the cow’s side. Then he and Jenny found a rock to use as a fulcrum, and they began pushing down on the fence-pole lever while his mother pushed Lucy’s neck. Susan encouraged the cow by talking to her and wiggling her tail. The cow strained to raise her bulk. She kicked, but her legs only scraped against the ground beneath her. Lucy made a last struggle to rise, then flopped her head back down and refused to try again.
Leonard and Jenny lowered the pole. Susan let go of Lucy’s tail and sat down and laid her head on the cow as tears ran down her cheeks. Leonard’s mother sat on the grain bucket and put her chin in her hands.
Heartsick, Leonard looked off across the fields at the Uintah Mountains, their jagged peaks white against the blue sky. In the other direction the fields stretched far to the cedars and sagebrush beyond. He loved the expanse; it seemed to belong to him. He looked at his mother, sitting so forlornly on the bucket, and at his two sisters, gently stroking the animal’s side. “Maybe Susan had the solution,” he said softly.
His mother looked up at him, her eyes puzzled at first, then warm and comprehending. They all knelt on the spread hay, the wind gusting around them, and Mother spoke the words, explaining their need for the cow and how much they loved her. When Mother had finished, they all knelt silently a few moments longer.
“Let’s let her rest a few more minutes and try again,” Leonard said. “Then how about using two poles, one under her shoulders and one under her hips?” He looked at the cow again. “Her legs are more under her than they were when we started.”
He found another pole and a second rock. He and Jenny manned one pole, Mother and Susan the other.
“When I say ‘go,’” he directed, “start pushing, and shout to encourage her.”
“It would help if we had more people,” Jenny said.
“It would,” said Leonard, “but remember how Nephi had extra strength when he was holding onto Zoram. With the Lord’s help, we can do it.” He hesitated a moment, then shouted, “Go!”
The startled cow began to struggle. Mother and the three children pushed, wedging their poles a little farther under Lucy as she struggled. “Up, girl! Up!” they shouted, pushing and straining. The cow snorted and threw back her head and tried to dig her hooves into the ground. With a great heave the animal brought her legs under her, her back end and then her front end rising until she was standing. She swayed, and four pairs of hands steadied her. Lucy took a faltering step on her weakened legs, then another. Then she began to nibble the straw from one of the bales!
Leonard smiled across the cow’s back at his mother. She returned his smile, and he knew that she wouldn’t give up on the farm—not yet anyway. As the family knelt on the hay again in the thin winter sunlight, Lucy’s shuffling and munching provided a pleasant background to their prayer of gratitude.

I have been personally inspired by how such spiritual submissiveness to God has impacted the lives of faithful disciples of Christ as they chose to do those things that work for and are pleasing in the sight of the Lord. I know a young man who was unsettled about going on a mission but felt inspired to go and serve the Lord when he listened to a senior leader of the Church sharing his own personal testimony and sacred experience of serving as a missionary.

In his own words, this young man, now a returned missionary, said: “As I listened to the testimony of an Apostle of the Savior Jesus Christ, I was able to feel of God’s love for me, and I desired to share that love with others. At that moment I knew that I should serve a mission despite my fears, doubts, and concerns. I felt totally confident in the blessings and promises of God for His children. Today, I am a new person; I have a testimony that this gospel is true and that the Church of Jesus Christ has been restored on earth.” This young man chose the Lord’s way and became an example of a true disciple in every aspect.

All during the years of my childhood and youth, even until the time I was ordained an elder and came home from a mission, I had only one bishop. He was a remarkable man. He served for 25 years. We knew him, and he knew us. We always addressed him as “Bishop Duncan,” and he always called us by our first names. We had great respect for him—an almost awesome respect. But we had no fear of him. We knew that he was our friend. His was a very large ward, and how very well he served his people.
I spoke at his funeral. Next to my own father, he probably had the greatest influence on my young life. How grateful I am for him.

My friend Josh and I were preparing for our missions. We had a mutual friend named Sara, whom we went to school with. Sara attended another Christian church with her family. We had talked about religion here and there with Sara, but never in much depth.
One day Josh asked me if I would be interested in going with him to talk about the Church with Sara. I felt nervous at first but said yes. He talked to Sara and set up a time to meet to discuss our religious beliefs. I felt nervous at first and decided to study Preach My Gospel to prepare a little more. When we got together, we went through the principles of the first lesson in Preach My Gospel and expounded on what we believed. We asked questions about her religion and beliefs. We gave her a Book of Mormon. She graciously accepted it but told us that she wasn’t looking to change anything. She had her religion and held to beliefs that didn’t align with ours.
Even though she wasn’t interested in accepting more of the gospel, I still felt the Spirit that night as we bore testimony of the Savior and the Restoration of His Church. I also had my eyes opened to what others believe. I felt like this experience helped prepare me for my mission.
Brian D., Utah, USA

President Thomas S. Monson shared this example of President Smith’s love: “On a cold winter morning, the street cleaning crew [in Salt Lake City] was removing large chunks of ice from the street gutters. The regular crew was assisted by temporary laborers who desperately needed the work. One such wore only a lightweight sweater and was suffering from the cold. A slender man with a well-groomed beard stopped by the crew and asked the worker, ‘You need more than that sweater on a morning like this. Where is your coat?’ The man replied that he had no coat to wear. The visitor then removed his own overcoat, handed it to the man and said, ‘This coat is yours. It is heavy wool and will keep you warm. I just work across the street.’ The street was South Temple. The good Samaritan who walked into the Church Administration Building to his daily work and without his coat was President George Albert Smith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His selfless act of generosity revealed his tender heart. Surely he was his brother’s keeper.”21

A full-time mission is an event Brian’s in full training for. He often brings friends from high school to church and seminary with him, hoping to interest them in the gospel.
Victor Venegas, 18, who joined the Church three years ago, says Brian’s friendship helped him feel welcome in the branch. “Brian and I have been friends since I joined the Church,” says Victor, who is also on Hempstead’s baseball team.
“When I first went to church everybody was nice, so I kept coming back,” he says.

When I was 17 I was the ward organist, and many times I would take my date to the church so that I could practice the organ, and she would sit and listen. This may well have been because I didn’t have any money, much more than because of her deep love for music, but we started a relationship in doing that and we found that we both liked music. I played the hymns and they brought a lovely spirit to our times together in a chapel as hymns were played with intermittent talk, perhaps followed by a five-cent ice cream cone when I took her home. Now, any one of you reading this might think these were strange kinds of dates, but the important thing in any generation is to find uplifting things you can enjoy together and do them! There’s nothing more boring—and potentially dangerous—than a date that starts out, “Well, what do you want to do?” Be creative, be enthusiastic, and prepare by thinking about the kinds of things that will help you get to know each other better. Decide well in advance where you are going, what you will do, and what time you will be home.

For example, I know of a woman, a good woman, who found herself in a very challenging situation. She was at a luncheon with a number of members of the Church; some were active and some inactive; and also a few nonmembers were present. The subject turned to abortion and birth control, and one of the nonmembers voiced for about five minutes some very strong feelings concerning these issues. She indicated, erroneously, that she felt that there is nothing wrong with an abortion, and that there should never be any kind of restriction placed on a man or a woman concerning birth control itself. This good sister in the Church was faced with a difficult challenge of whether to talk about the weather or some other noncontroversial subject, or whether to really speak out and state the truth. This choice woman chose to do the latter. After explaining what the Lord had said concerning both of those issues, she bore her testimony as to her personal feelings. As you might expect, the luncheon concluded rather abruptly. However, afterwards one of the inactive women came over to this good sister and explained that she had never before understood the Lord’s view on those issues and had felt the truth being spoken on that day.

Mary Elizabeth Rollins was just a young teenager when she went to a missionary meeting at the Isaac Morley farm. Isaac Morley had the only copy of the Book of Mormon in that area at the time, and Mary Elizabeth pleaded with him to let her take it home to read. She pleaded so earnestly that he let her take it, but only if she would return it before breakfast the next morning.
As soon as she got home, she and her uncle took turns reading the Book of Mormon until late that night. At dawn she got up and memorized the first verse before taking the book back to Brother Morley.
When she gave it to him, he was surprised to see how much of it she and her uncle had read. And when she recited the first verse and the outline of Nephi’s history, to her delight he told her to take the book back with her and finish it. He would gladly wait for it, knowing that she cherished it as he did.

“I had the desire to one day become a missionary like them,” Bishop says. “Unfortunately, I was already too old to serve a full-time mission. So, I decided to use my gift as a communicator to spread the knowledge I acquired following my conversion.”
Bishop says he invited all his friends and acquaintances to meet with missionaries and come to church with him.
“Bishop is completely friendly and engaging,” Sister London Litchfield, former mission leader in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, shared. “He doesn’t see any boundaries between friendships, which I think is part of what makes him such a great missionary. Quite frankly, he is an inspiration to us.”
Bishop hasn’t kept count of how many friends and acquaintances he has introduced to the gospel. But several years ago, he set a goal: to help bring three people into the Church every year. And he has done just that—every year, without fail.
Last year, he helped teach five people in January alone, so he increased his yearly goal to 10. But it appears he could have aimed higher. By June, he had helped 13 people join the Church.
He has spoken to many of his family and friends about the gospel already, but Abidjan is a densely populated city, and his friendly, outgoing nature allows him to strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone: banana vendors, families walking along the streets, or other drivers stuck in traffic with him.
“I first build a friendship with people I meet in my neighborhood, then as our relationship grows, I introduce them to the gospel,” he explains.
“We often think that they’re very difficult conversations to have,” said Wade Litchfield, former president of the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission. “But they’re not at all scary to him. They’re natural to him.”
And Bishop’s advice to young missionaries or anyone for sharing the gospel? “Don’t be afraid. Show a good example. Be patient and let your love for God and your fellow men be above everything else.”
Bishop’s conversations about religion with friends and with strangers—the “friends he may someday meet”—stem from a place of caring. That genuine care for others is just part of his nature. And he may have perfected the most powerful, loving approach to missionary work in putting love, compassion, and a “mark of attention” above all else.

I was 14 and had just moved to a new school with very few members. I had lived in a town made up mostly of LDS residents, so living in a place where I was the minority was a whole new experience. I didn’t quite know how to take it in. I was really struggling to find where I belonged while still upholding my standards.
After one extremely trying day, I fell to my knees in prayer, pleading for comfort and support. Then a calm feeling came over me. I felt arms embrace me as if someone were holding me gently. It was like my dad was giving me a big hug, only the warmth went all the way through. I knew without a doubt that the Lord felt my pain and was there to reassure me that my struggles were known. That’s something I will always keep with me in times of pain.