Gospel Story Finder

When I was older, I backpacked into Glacier National Park. I rose one morning at five o’clock and walked to Lake Elizabeth. There wasn’t a ripple to break the surface of the water. The peaks behind were lit by the rising sun, whose light reflected off a hundred tiny waterfalls. There was just a hint of pink against the morning blue of the sky. I could smell the pines, feel the breeze, and hear a pair of birds. My words were inadequate to describe the majesty of the moment, but words that had been revealed to Joseph Smith came to mind:
“All things which come of the earth … are made for the benefit and the use of man, both to please the eye and to gladden the heart; … to strengthen the body and to enliven the soul. And it pleaseth God that he hath given all these things unto man” (D&C 59:18–20; emphasis added).
That morning, I could feel God’s pleasure, his love of beauty and solitude.

For Kelvin Gwala, the opportunity to serve on the Durban South Africa Temple committee was a blessing that initially came with concern.
As a resident of Umlazi, South Africa, Brother Gwala had a roundtrip drive of about sixty kilometers each time he traveled to Berea for committee meetings, which were held for almost a year with increasing frequency. If it wasn’t a temple committee meeting, he needed to attend on a Sunday, he traveled to practice with one of the temple dedication choirs. He made additional midweek trips to attend stake training meetings since he also serves as the Durban Stake clerk.
About the same time, he was asked to serve on the committee, the price of petrol began to rise dramatically, and food prices increased. Each time he needed to drive to Berea for a meeting, he would sit and wonder where he was going to get money for fuel. But, he says, somehow, someway, he would end up in Berea, the small amount of fuel he had in his car lasting longer than he thought it would.
“At first,” he says, “I felt like it was putting a strain on my budget. But at the end of the month, we would be fine. To my amazement, the Lord saw us through.”
Those first worries about his tight budget, Brother Gwala now believes, were just negative thoughts that could have stopped him from serving. Instead, he made a faithful effort and experienced what he calls “my own miracle.”
As he reflected on his experiences, he came to an important conclusion: “The Lord just wants us to start,” he says. “No matter how difficult a situation might look, if you start, then the Lord does meet you halfway. For me, those were the blessings. You were living on a tight budget, then you pay your fast offering and your tithing, but the Lord saw us through, and the family managed well. The Lord did bless us and continues to bless us.”

It was a lazy day in August. The sun was hot, and Tommy and Elija were lying on the ground near the creek, enjoying the shade of a big cottonwood tree. They had been assigned to watch the thirty head of cattle, which were grazing a half mile upstream.
“Herding cattle might be important,” said Tommy, “but it isn’t very exciting.”
Just then the cattle started to low. The boys heard them moving around as if they were frightened. “Something is bothering them,” said Elija. “Let’s see what it is.”
In a moment the two boys were running toward the cattle, but they stopped short when they saw a small band of Indians coming toward them. They had no way of knowing whether or not they were friendly. But Tommy knew that the Omaha Indians had given the Mormon pioneers permission to camp on their land for the winter and to use their water and their timber.
When the boys came within talking distance, a young Indian stepped forward and spoke to them in halting English. “Last night our enemies, the Iowas, attacked our camp. All of our men except Chief Big Head and I were on a hunting trip. The Iowas took our horses and all of our food. They wounded many women and children. Chief Big Head they left for dead. He will die if he does not get help.”
Tommy looked down on the willow bed that the Indians had made for their chief. What he saw made him want to close his eyes.
“I’ll go for help,” he said.
“I’ll go with you,” said Elija.
The young Indian put his arm across Elija’s chest to keep him from going. “You stay here till boy gets back.”
Tommy knew that Elija’s safety depended on his speedy return, so he ran almost all of the two miles to Winter Quarters.
He went at once to the home of his bishop and told him what had happened. “The Indians really need help,” he concluded, “and they’re keeping Elija with them to make sure I bring some back.”
Bishop Morley listened quietly; then he put his arm around the boy to comfort him while he thought about what to do. “We must find Brigham Young,” he decided. “He might be down at the ferry. You take my horse and ride down there as fast as you can. In the meantime I will look around here.”
The ferry was twelve miles away, and it took Tommy an hour to get there. When he arrived, he found Brigham Young and told him his story.
“We will help the Indians, of course,” Brigham Young said, “but our first concern is for Elija. You must get back to him as soon as possible. Take your wagon and ask Bishop Morley to take his. These two wagons should be enough to bring the badly wounded to Winter Quarters. I’ll meet you at my house.”
Bishop Morley was waiting for Tommy. They took the two wagons and went to get Elija and the Indians.
When they came to the small sad camp, Elija ran up and began talking to Tommy. “At first they were afraid I would run away,” said Elija, “but when I took off my shirt and wet it in the creek so I could cool the forehead of Chief Big Head, they knew I could be trusted.”
“I’m so glad you are all right,” Tommy said.
Bishop Morley and the young Indian helped Chief Big Head into Tommy’s wagon, and the boys started back to Winter Quarters. The other Indians who were badly wounded were put into the Morley wagon. The rest of the Indians walked beside it.
The sun was almost setting when the wagons arrived at the home of Brigham Young. He soon determined that the Indian chief would need special care. He turned to Tommy and said, “Please go and ask your mother if she could take Chief Big Head into her home and nurse him back to health.”
Tommy was off in a flash. He returned in a few minutes with his mother, who said, “Of course, I’ll take care of him.”
Brigham Young smiled and said, “You won’t be sorry. An Indian never forgets a kindness.”
The weeks that followed were anxious ones for Tommy and his mother. Chief Big Head was very sick and needed constant care. Either Tommy or his mother stayed day and night by his side. Then one day, without any warning, the Indian got out of bed. “Chief Big Head well,” he declared. “I must go to my people.”
That night he left Winter Quarters and took with him all of the Indians who had been staying there.

One day we were told they were going to have a youth conference in the Junior Sunday School room. The leaders asked if it could be fixed up a little special, so we really went to work. We washed all the windows and woodwork, scrubbed and polished the floor, and even sent the curtains out to be cleaned. Everything just sparkled. After the meeting was over I asked Ace if they were pleased. He said, “Well, one of the counselors in the bishopric asked if we couldn’t be a little more careful about dusting the chairs.” They had needed extra chairs for the large crowd, so someone had brought them from the construction area! We had a good laugh, realizing for the first time that it was not the things we did that were noticed but the things we didn’t do.

I love to feel the Spirit. It’s a feeling I can confidently say I recognize now.

But that took work. Where I grew up in the north of England, it was often hard to place myself in an environment that allowed me to feel the Holy Ghost. There are so many great young adults there who grew up in the Church, yet it was sometimes difficult to align our behaviors with the doctrine and truths we knew in our hearts.

For a long time, I attended church on Sundays but felt frustrated and sad knowing that the things the Spirit was communicating to me were not getting through to others whom I love and care for.

However, I’m learning the importance of making room for the Spirit in all areas of my life and helping others do the same.

After graduating from secondary school, I faced a lot of difficulties. For example, there are lots of activities and conferences for young adult members of the Church where I live. But after these activities, some young adults would go to clubs or places that weren’t aligned with our values.

That shocked me!

Drinking alcohol and clubbing are common here, but I didn’t expect friends I sat by in church to do those things too.

I was confused.

Seeing friends make these decisions made it really hard to know who would help me stay spiritually strong. Eventually, because I saw others living the gospel casually, I was led away from the gospel too. I wasn’t going to church or praying, and I was doing things I shouldn’t have been doing.

But one day, when I was feeling particularly miserable, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him my feelings. I told Him I wanted the Church to be true and I wanted to understand His commandments, but it was so hard to even consider standing alone. But I told Him that if I could find reassurance of the truths of the gospel, I would listen and put my heart into living it again.

A few days later, I felt a distinct spiritual impression that I needed to serve a mission.

The thought really came out of nowhere. But I could feel the Spirit nudging me in that direction. I knew that preparing for a mission would enable me to remember my testimony, to rebuild my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and to rely on my own faith—not anyone else’s.

And that was my desire.

So, I started to change. It took a lot of spiritual work. I had to stop hanging out with certain friends, I broke up with the person I was dating, and I had to replace my bad habits with better ones. I worked with my bishop and relied on Jesus Christ’s enabling power to help me move forward.

Before my mission, I didn’t understand commandments and covenants. My friends were treating these blessings like burdens, and I had started seeing them that way too. But after serving a mission and rebuilding my faith, I now see covenants and commandments as blessed responsibilities that help me maintain divine, direct connection with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—every day.

Sometimes it makes me sad that others don’t see the exquisite blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. At times, I just want to shake them by the shoulders and remind them of the miracle their covenants are! I want them to realize what the Savior can enable them to do and become!

But while I can’t control others, I can keep my testimony strong. I can know when to step away from some people’s influence and also know how to be a good influence on them.

I think that is what brought me back after I struggled with my faith: remembering the love of my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I know I wouldn’t have gone on a mission if I hadn’t asked Heavenly Father for divine direction in a time of deep confusion. As much as I wish I hadn’t had to go through those painful experiences, I learned so much about repentance, about Heavenly Father’s perfect love, and about the importance of prioritizing good relationships (especially with Him and our Savior) that keep us connected to the Spirit.

Despite the hard parts, rebuilding my faith in Him was worth everything.

Spencer grew up in a tight-knit Arizona community. When he was seven years old, he went to a picnic at a nearby ranch.
Boy: Hey, why don’t we hop in the pond for a swim?
Wearing their regular clothes, they all went swimming. But Spencer had not yet learned to swim well.
Spencer: I wish I could swim like you, Pa!
Father: Don’t cling so tight, Son.
Spencer: Not the deep part! Pa, I’m scared! Take me back to the shallow water.
Father: All right, Spencer. There, now. Can you feel the ground?
Spencer climbed off his father’s back, and his father swam away.
But as Spencer stepped toward shore, he fell into a deep hole!
He struggled and thrashed but did not think anyone had seen him go under.
Spencer: Help! Oh, why can’t someone hear me scream for help?
Just when Spencer thought he would drown, his father snatched him and dragged him to shore.
Spencer later learned to swim but never felt comfortable in deep water. He was grateful the Lord had preserved his life so he could grow and fulfill his mission on earth.

Photographs by Richard M. Romney
For a time, Leonard Singer lived in desperate circumstances. Today he serves as first counselor in a branch presidency. In this interview with David Olsen, a Church-service missionary who serves as his branch president, Leonard shares his story.
Leonard: I had become an alcoholic. I didn’t have a home. I wore the same clothes day in and day out. I slept in the bushes and ate out of trash cans. I didn’t have anything or anybody.
Elder Olsen: How did you change?
Leonard: I decided to pray. I asked the Lord for help, and somehow I found the strength to stop drinking. I kept thinking about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had felt at home there before. I thought I might find hope there again.
Elder Olsen: You’ve told me you started feeling urges.
Leonard: Yes, the Lord brought me along, and when I followed Him, He started blessing me.
Elder Olsen: How did local Church leaders help you?
Leonard: I had been excommunicated, but they helped me understand what I needed to do, and to do what I needed to do in order to come back to full fellowship. Little by little, I made my way there. The day I was rebaptized was the happiest day of my life.
Elder Olsen: Today you live just down the hill from our chapel [the Dennehotso Branch meetinghouse in Kayenta, Arizona, USA]. Your home is a small trailer, with no electricity and no running water, but you say you consider yourself fortunate?
Leonard: The Lord takes care of my needs. He has blessed me with this home and everything in it. I love having a quiet place where I can study the scriptures and pray. My sister lives nearby, and that’s where I get water. Sometimes when I need electricity, she lets me run an extension cord over from her house.
Elder Olsen: How else has the gospel blessed you?
Leonard: The Lord showed me there is meaning in this life. That’s something I had been missing for years. Now I want to help other people, just as He has helped me.
Elder Olsen: I see you helping people all the time. The other day, you helped a woman whose car got stuck in the sand.
Leonard: I just got a couple of other Church members and a couple of shovels. We started digging and pushing. Pretty soon she was on her way again.
Elder Olsen: What about that time you kept feeling an urge to visit your niece, who lives miles away in Farmington, New Mexico?
Leonard: I wasn’t sure why I was supposed to go, but I knew the Lord wanted me there.
Elder Olsen: So, you acted on the prompting, you found a way to get there, and you arrived just in time to give her some urgently needed assistance.
Leonard: The Lord knew she needed help, and He knew I could help her.
Elder Olsen: In your calling in the branch presidency, you help me with ministering assignments, meetings, branch activities, and the Church’s addiction recovery program. What would you say if someone asked you, “How do you love your neighbor?”
Leonard: With all my heart.
Elder Olsen: How do you show that love?
Leonard: I just give back to them what the Lord has given to me. People need to feel loved. They need to feel comforted. They need guidance. They need to understand what the Lord can give them. When you’re at the bottom of the pit, you need to feel that if you reach out, someone will be there.
Elder Olsen: You live in a little trailer, but your heart is as big as the great outdoors. You live humbly, without worldly possessions. But you are Christlike, always helping those in need.
Leonard: That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To help each other.

A few years ago, when Elder M. Russell Ballard and I were the General Authority advisers to the Church Public Affairs Department, we realized that media outlets often contacted people who weren’t members of the Church to find out about the Church. Desiring a change, Elder Ballard and I, under the direction of the First Presidency, began visiting the editorial boards of major newspapers, sharing the message that, as Latter-day Saints, we are politically neutral. We don’t take a position in terms of candidates or parties. We do, however, want to be the ones who define our own faith. “We want you,” we told them, “to come and talk to us if you’re going to discuss what we believe.”
Those visits were well received, and we found that our request resonated. And we’re now finding a much better understanding of Latter-day Saints among the media. Some old stereotypes have been broken down, and we see other people recognizing us as people of character who try to approach life from an educated and informed point of view. We’ve also noticed a realization outside the Church that Latter-day Saints aren’t all the same; our people are very different from one another in good and interesting ways.

Sue Preece, the Relief Society president of the Southport Ward, initiated a huge game of virtual tag, socially distanced, to brighten and lift the local area’s spirits, but it reached beyond local.
Sue explains the event, “We wanted to remind our members to take some time in their busy lives to stay in touch with each other and try to brighten someone’s day.”
On the designated day, the game began with Sue and her two councillors contacting two more people that they knew. They could use any means to make contact and let the person know they were being thought of, asking if there was any help they needed. Each person they contacted was then asked to contact two more friends, and so on.
Rebekah Brown (pictured), who took part in the project, said, “It all started as a bit of fun really, but it just grew and grew! It was amazing and touched so many lives. People just wanted to get involved, and contacts were made not just locally but worldwide. It was such a simple thing. It didn’t take too much time but was very effective.
“A lot of people went to bed that evening feeling cared for and loved. In this unprecedented period of social isolation, it’s essential to help lift each other’s spirits. We should be particularly concerned about those who need to continue shielding because of health issues. When the rest of us start to get back to a new sort of routine, it’s increasingly vital that we don’t forget the most vulnerable in our society.”

One week after I went through the temple, I moved away from home and started college. Even though I was attending Brigham Young University, a school with lots of members of the Church, I was still pondering how I could make specific efforts to keep feeling the Spirit as much as I had while in the temple.
Adjusting to college was difficult for me. I was trying to balance school, work, a social life, sleep, and spiritual endeavors. At times it seemed like feeling the Spirit consistently was out of reach. I kept remembering those moments when I’d felt the Spirit so strongly, and I kept wondering how I could ever feel that again.
I realized that leaving the temple didn’t have to mean leaving behind the peace and joy I felt there. Instead, worshipping in the temple has helped me invite the Savior into all aspects of my life.

When people ask what Papa was like when I was younger, I tell them my favorite memory.
He was barbecuing hamburgers in the backyard one summer evening when I was 12. Pauly, my older brother who was trying to impress his girlfriend, said, “Catch this.” Then he said, “Hey, Papa, sing for us.”
Papa smiled beneath his bushy mustache and opened his mouth. Music from his baritone voice, like fine golden threads, wove through the smoke and drifted across the neighborhood. The yappy dog next door went silent, the neighbors opened their windows, and everyone mostly stopped what they were doing.
That’s how it always was when Papa sang. “Why aren’t you in the opera, Johnny D’Alesso?” people would ask. He’d wave his arms and answer, “But I’d have to leave my beautiful friends, my wonderful children, my gorgeous wife, and my horrible job.” Then he’d laugh.
He finished an aria from La Traviata. The hamburgers and music done, I said, “Did you always sing, Papa?”
“Of course, Maria. I always sing. I used to think that if there was a God in the heavens, he sent us music to show us love. And if I sing pretty he might think of me sometime. But now I know different. God sent music for joy, and he sent Mama to show us love. So now I sing once and kiss Mama twice. That way he remember me always.”
He pinched my cheek, and I knew if there was a God, he must surely love Papa.

Josefa Parada is a case in point. She was a former nun who had left the convent to marry. She had no desire to investigate other religions, but when she noticed a definite change in the lives of her neighbors, the Prieto family of the Barcelona suburb of Badalona, she asked them the reason. Their response wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear: “We’ve been baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

The Prietos visited Josefa’s family until her son, Enrique, was baptized. Josefa felt the influence of the Spirit, but she had difficulty contemplating breaking away from he religious traditions. Not until 1979, when her third son was about to be baptized—and by then she was attending Church meetings and reading the Book of Mormon—did she gain a strong enough conviction to be baptized herself. Two years later, her husband, Aurelio, also obtained a testimony through fervent prayer, quit smoking, and joined the Church. The family has been to the temple a number of times since then.

While I was serving as a bishop many years ago, my counselors and I decided that we would visit all of the members’ homes once a year. During one such visit we walked along an abandoned railroad track that was lined on both sides with small cardboard-box homes no larger than six feet by six feet (about 2 m by 2 m). This small space served as a family’s living room, dining room, bedroom, and kitchen.
The adults living in that area have set ways and established routines. Men are mostly unemployed or underemployed. They spend much of their time gathered together around makeshift tables smoking and sharing bottles of beer. The women also gather, focusing their conversations on the most controversial news of the day, sprinkled with backbiting and gossiping. Gambling is also a favorite pastime for the young and old.
What disturbed me most was that the people seemed content to live out their entire lives in that manner. I later concluded that perhaps for most of them, hopelessness allowed them to believe they were consigned to this fate. It was indeed a heart-wrenching sight.
Later I learned that my counselor, who was an engineer, used to live in that area. I never would have guessed it because his family was much different from the families I saw there. All his siblings were educated and raising good families.
My counselor’s father was a simple man. After I met him, questions came to me. How had he elevated himself? How did he pull his family out of those conditions? What made him catch a vision of what could be? Where did he find hope when everything about him seemed hopeless?
Many years later, in the Manila Philippines Temple, I attended a gathering of all the mission presidents and their wives then serving in the Philippines. A wonderful surprise greeted me as I entered one of the rooms in the temple. Standing before me was the father of my counselor—that quiet, unassuming man—dressed in white.
At that moment there opened before my eyes two scenes. The first scene was of a man drinking beer with his buddies and wasting away his life. The second scene showed the same man dressed in white and officiating in the ordinances of the holy temple. The stark contrast of that second glorious scene will forever remain in my heart and mind.
What allowed this good brother to elevate himself and his family? The answer is found in the power of the word of God.

I was supposed to wake up, hop in the shower, get dressed, and then head to seminary. That’s how it always went, anyways.
But this morning, my routine was interrupted by my mom coming in to tell me that one of my soccer teammates had died in a car accident the night before. I was stunned. My teammate was gone?
Only a few weeks after the death of my teammate, one of my close friends took their own life.
I attended two funerals that month—my first encounters with death.
In a lot of ways, my friends’ deaths didn’t seem real, and they had a big impact on my testimony. As time went on, I found myself wondering again and again if what I had been taught all my life about resurrection and the plan of salvation was true. And although I might have tried to say the words, I wasn’t sure if I really believed that I would see my friends again someday.
But I hoped that I would.
I thought of my two encounters with death while I was studying 2 Nephi 9:21–22, which talks about the Savior, saying, “He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children … that the resurrection might pass upon all men.”
I really wanted the plan of salvation to be real. I wanted to believe that Jesus Christ had overcome death and that because of Him we would all be resurrected. So, I acted according to that hope. I did my best to believe, even if I wasn’t completely sure.
Then came my third encounter with death.
A few years later, my family and I drove across the country to visit my grandparents. My grandpa had been battling cancer for several years, and the chemotherapy treatments were taking a significant toll on him. It was painful to watch him struggle.
At the end of our trip, we woke up early to start on the long drive home. We all hugged our grandpa goodbye, and the realization began to hit us that this would likely be our last goodbye. He asked if he could pray for us, which we gratefully accepted. Then we left.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
At his viewing, my grandmother reminded all of her children and grandchildren of how much our grandfather had loved us and how grateful she was for the plan of salvation. As I looked down at my grandfather’s body, his spirit now gone, I didn’t want this to be last time I saw him.
Suddenly, I felt that this wasn’t the end. My grandfather was dead, but he wasn’t gone. I felt the Spirit testify to me that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is real.
I felt in my heart the words of Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles regarding the plan of salvation: “The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home.”
Death, though painful, is part of God’s plan for us. But we can trust in the Savior, who died that we all might live again. This is the amazing promise of Easter. Knowing this doesn’t always make the pain of losing my loved ones go away. But now I have hope and peace that I, and everyone I love, will be resurrected and that if we are sealed in the temple and keep our covenants, we can live together again (see Doctrine and Covenants 88:14–17, 27–31; 132:15–21).
This Easter, learn about the truthfulness of Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the Resurrection, and everything joyful that’s encompassed in the plan of salvation. Choose to believe. Know that because of Christ’s sacrifice and perfect love for us, death is not the end.
It’s OK if all you can do now is have faith that the plan of salvation is true. As you continue to live the gospel and to hope, your hope, like mine, can also blossom into a testimony.

Sammy opened his eyes and yawned. He could smell something yummy.
Mmmm, Papa is making bread! Sammy thought.
Papa baked bread for the family every Saturday. Sammy liked to watch him take the crispy brown loaves out of the oven. Papa always gave Sammy the first slice.
But today isn’t Saturday, Sammy thought. Why is Papa baking?
Sammy got out of bed and went to the kitchen. He asked Papa what was going on.
“Do you remember what our bishop asked us to do?” Papa asked.
Sammy nodded. “He asked us to help people. And I helped Sister Martin take her bag upstairs, remember?”
“You did a good job,” Papa said. “I prayed about how I could help. I had the idea to bake bread to share.”
Sammy looked in the oven window. He counted the loaves of bread.
“One … two … three … four. Who will you give the bread to?”
“That’s something I need your help with,” Papa said. “There’s one loaf for Sister Martin. And two loaves for the Miller family. Who should we give the fourth loaf to?”
Sammy thought about it.
“What about Mr. Lee?” Sammy asked. Mr. Lee lived in their apartment building. He didn’t go outside very much. Mostly he just watched people from his window.
“That’s a great idea,” Papa said.
After the bread was done baking, Sammy helped Papa wrap the bread. Then he got his wagon. They put the loaves inside.
“The bread wagon is ready to roll!” Sammy said.
Papa helped Sammy pull the wagon. Sammy’s heart felt nice and warm, just like the bread they were about to share!

Samuel Billings was only seven years old, but tonight he got to stay up late. His family was spending the Independence Day holiday in Independence, Missouri, with his grandparents.
Stretched out on the lawn on Grandma’s puffy quilt, Sam and Grandpa waited for the fireworks celebration to begin.
“Sam, do you realize that we are on the very spot our pioneer ancestors stood on the night the stars fell?” Grandpa asked.
“When the stars fell?” Sam was confused. “What do you mean, Grandpa?”
Grandpa smiled and began the story. Sam listened with wonder.
As Grandpa ended the story, the fireworks began. They were spectacular. But even better, Sam thought, was the memory of a miracle performed in the heavens long ago. Sam and Grandpa watched the sky, remembering.

“How many pennies are equal to a nickel?” Mrs. Connor, the kindergarten teacher, asked.
Christopher’s hand shot into the air, but Mrs. Connor acted as if she hadn’t seen him. She called on Tony, who wasn’t even raising his hand. Tony fidgeted in his seat, staring at the floor. “Five?” he asked doubtfully.
“That’s right! Good job, Tony.” Mrs. Connor walked over to Tony and mussed his hair a bit. That was something she did when she was happy with you. Tony smiled with relief.
Christopher sat poised for action as the next question was asked.
“How many pennies are equal to a dime?”
Christopher raised his hand high above his head, but Mrs. Connor called on Caroline.
“Next question: How many pennies equal a quarter?”
Christopher waved frantically. “I know, I know,” he chanted in a half whisper.
Again he was overlooked. Disappointed, he slumped back and gave up. He didn’t even raise his hand for the next two questions, though he knew that the answers were fifty and one hundred. “Why doesn’t she call on me?” he wondered. “She must not like me.”
“Christopher.”
She was calling on him! His heart leapt with excitement. He sat up and faced the teacher, ready to answer any question she might ask.
“How many pennies are equal to five dollars?”
“Wow!” Christopher thought. “That’s a new question.” He paused, thinking hard. Then he saw how it worked. “Five hundred,” he answered.
“Very good, Christopher! How did you know that?”
“I have an electronic brain—just like my dad!”
Mrs. Connor smiled. “Well, I guess you must.”
Christopher grinned as the class moved on to the next subject. Mrs. Connor still liked him. He was smart. He was happy with himself.
When the final bell rang that afternoon, Christopher quickly stuffed his homework into his backpack and ran for the door. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom that he had answered the hardest question. Maybe he would even call and tell Dad.
Mom was waiting just outside the kindergarten room. “Hurry, Son,” she called. “We need to get you to soccer practice.” Christopher had forgotten about practice, but he was eager to go. It was his first year playing soccer, and he was looking forward to his first game on Saturday.
“How was school?” Mom asked in the car.
“Great! Mrs. Connor asked me how many pennies were in five dollars, and I knew that the answer was five hundred.”
“That’s wonderful, Chris. How did you know that?”
Christopher shrugged. “I guess I’m just the smartest person there is—except for Dad.”
“Oh, Christopher.” Mom was using her worried voice. “That kind of attitude will get you in trouble. I’m glad you do well in school. You are very blessed, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than anyone else.” She stopped talking, seeing that he wasn’t really paying attention.
Christopher was thinking about Saturday’s game. He imagined himself powering past the other team, scoring goal after goal. He could almost hear the crowd cheering him on to victory.
Saturday morning, Christopher got up early and dressed in his soccer uniform—shin guards and all. The game was at 11:00, and he wanted to be ready. At 10:30 he was sitting in the car, water bottle in hand, wishing Mom and Dad would hurry.
“There’s my coach!” Christopher shouted as they neared the school yard. The grassy playground was divided into six small soccer fields. Christopher ran ahead to join his teammates as they took turns kicking the ball into the net. The excitement level was high.
The referee called the two teams to the center of the field for the coin toss. Christopher looked at the player across from him and was surprised to see Tony. “Hi, Tony!” he said. “I didn’t know you played soccer.”
“Oh, hi, Chris,” Tony answered, equally surprised.
Tony’s team won the coin toss and chose to kick off. Christopher was surprised to see Tony lining up to kick the ball. A team’s best player usually did that. At the signal, Tony nudged the ball gently, and one of his teammates kicked it back to him. Then Tony took over, dribbling the ball down the field and blasting a shot into the net. Christopher’s team tried to stop him but couldn’t. Just that fast, the score was one to nothing!
Christopher was amazed. Tony was the best soccer player he’d ever seen!
Now Christopher’s team got to kick off. Taylor, the best player on the team, ran and kicked the ball with all his might. Christopher ran along with Taylor, surprised at how different a game was from practice. In practice you could take your time, plan your passes, and move steadily down the field. In a game everything happened quickly. There was no time to stop and think. Christopher stayed with the mass of players kicking the ball back and forth, and managed a few good kicks. When the referee signaled the end of the first half, the score was five to one. Christopher’s team was losing.
Tony continued his stunning performance in the second half. Christopher did pretty well. He almost scored a goal, but the ball bounced off the goalpost. The final score was eight to two.
The two teams lined up to give each other high fives. Christopher stopped when he reached Tony. “Congratulations!” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You’re an awesome player. Where did you learn to play like that?”
“From my dad. He’s the greatest soccer player ever. He plays with me every night.”
“I wish I was as good as you,” Christopher said. “You scored more goals than my whole team!”
Tony smiled. He held his head high as they left the field.
Christopher was quiet on the ride home.
“What are you thinking about, Son?” Dad asked.
“About Tony,” Christopher answered. “He’s in my class at school, and he can’t answer math questions very well. I always thought he was, well, sort of dumb. But he plays soccer way better than I do, and I’m the smartest one in my class. How can that be?”
“Everyone is different, Chris,” Dad began. “We all have different talents. What’s important to remember is that we should always do our best. You may never be as good at soccer as Tony is, and he may never be as good at math as you are. But if you both try hard and do the best you can, both of your parents will be proud of you. We’re Heavenly Father’s children, and He doesn’t demand that we all be math whizzes or score ten goals. He only asks that we do the very best we can with the talents He’s given us.”
Christopher thought for a moment. “But what if our best isn’t good enough?”
“That’s the point, Son,” Dad explained. “Our best is always good enough.”

On May 15 of this year, an event occurred in our home that is repeated literally hundreds of times per week in Latter-day Saint homes throughout the Church. After a period of anxious anticipation, a letter from the prophet containing a mission call for our son Bradley arrived. This was the third such letter that we have received in our family, but each time really is the first time. The letter arrived on a day when mission business had me away from home, so the unopened letter sat on Brad’s desk in the mission home in Vienna, Austria, until late that night. Finally the moment arrived, and we were all gathered together—Mom, Dad, younger brother Stephen, and, of course, Bradley.
As in many families, there is also a sort of tradition in our family that accompanies the opening of a mission call. Each of us handled the envelope, turning it in our hands and holding it up to the light as if we could somehow discern its contents. Each of us took a piece of paper and recorded our own predictions for Bradley’s call: Japan, New Zealand, and France. Then there was the inevitable fumbling at opening the envelope, extending the excitement for all of us. The letter was at last in Brad’s hands: “Dear Elder Neuenschwander, you are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Poland Warsaw Mission.”
Tears flow easily at such moments, perhaps for different reasons. Mom’s eyes are moist at the thought of another son leaving the nest and facing the world. Dad recalls so vividly a day long ago when he received his call to serve in Finland. Stephen understands that this last departure of older brothers means that he will finally be the oldest at home, but his tears also mean a quiet commitment that his letter will not be far behind.
There were phone calls to returned missionary brothers at home in America, each happy but playfully disappointed that Brad’s call was not to New Mexico or Munich, where they had served. Grandparents were thrilled that yet another grandson was worthy to serve the Lord.
Busy days of preparation began. July 10 came all too soon, and it was time for Brad to leave. Bidding farewell to a missionary son, as many of you know, at the MTC definitely does not get easier with practice.
In our quiet moments, Brad and I spoke of his mission. For four years he had watched missionaries come and go through the mission home. Some had even gone to Poland. Yet there are things I would share with him and with you as this great missionary experience now becomes his.
Your mission will be exactly what you decide to make it. Your excellent mission president, President Whipple, and good missionary companions will help you along the way, but keep in mind that you are the central and decisive factor in the success of your own mission. Your young but strong shoulders bear the responsibility of the call you willingly and happily accepted. You have seen missionaries in a variety of countries and circumstances. You have also observed that in rather similar situations one missionary is successful, another a little less so. The difference lay in the attitude and desire of the individual missionary. Make the inevitable challenges of missionary work stepping stones for your own spiritual growth. Determine now that nothing will keep you from magnifying with honor your missionary call.
As most missionaries, Brad, you come from school years, rich in their variety of choice and activity. But your success as a missionary will depend, in part, on your ability to simplify your life and focus on the purpose of your call. You now move from a life centered on your own needs to one concerned with the welfare of others. Some missionaries struggle, not wanting to let go of the past and consequently never fully committing themselves to the labor at hand. There is no way a successful missionary can have one foot in the world and one in his missionary labors. Successful missionaries make that transition. They leave behind everything that may distract them from their primary purpose. Resist bringing extra luggage with you into the mission field, both in your suitcase and in your mind.
Whatever calling you hold in the Church, someone will always preside over you. That person will teach and encourage you in your responsibilities. Brad, be wise enough and humble enough to learn from them. Elder Boyd K. Packer taught us new mission presidents in 1987 that if we would learn to be silent, the Brethren could teach us a lot. I considered it good advice, and I have learned since that in the mission field, as well as in all Church callings, a person who can be taught is also one who can be trusted.
Mission rules are important in the same way commandments are important. We all need to keep them, understanding that they give us strength, direction, and limits. The smart missionary will learn the intent of the rules and make them work for him. Your mission is a time of discipline and single-minded focus. You will be required to go without some things common to your current life-style: music, TV, videos, novels, even girls. There is nothing wrong with any of these things, Brad, but then again, there is nothing wrong with food either, unless you are fasting, in which case even a teaspoon of water is improper.
Missionaries sometimes feel they need doctrinal reference books to enhance their understanding of the gospel. Believe me, Brad, they are not necessary for your gospel study in the mission field. Make the scriptures the basic doctrinal textbook of your mission. The Lord has told his elders: “Teach the children of men the things which I have put into your hands by the power of my Spirit;
“And ye are to be taught from on high. Sanctify yourselves and ye shall be endowed with power, that ye may give even as I have spoken” (D&C 43:15–16).
You will find the Lord to be a man of his word. The promise he extends to you as a missionary is true.
There are few men in the Church who are referred to as “Elder,” but one is you—a full-time missionary. Respect that title, Brad; refer to it with reverence. Many men have brought honor to it, including your brothers. You do the same.
The real success of a mission is not measured on a chart—it is etched in your heart and in the hearts of those whose lives are eternally changed because of you. Share your testimony often. I have seen nothing in a missionary that exerts more power and positive influence than the bearing of pure and simple testimony. Your testimony is the first step in the conversion of those whom you teach. Have courage to invite others to change their lives and come to Christ through obedience to the principles and ordinances of the gospel.
The Lord taught the Nephites: “Now this is the commandment: Repent, all ye ends of the earth, and come unto me and be baptized in my name, that ye may be sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost, that ye may stand spotless before me at the last day.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, this is my gospel” (3 Ne. 27:20–21).
Bless the lives of others with your priesthood and your presence.
Brad, love every minute of your service to those wonderful Polish people. Love their country, their food, customs, language, and heritage. They will enrich your life and understanding.
The work in which you are engaged is true. You are teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the promise of salvation to all who will listen and accept your message. Of this I bear my witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

At the same time I lost my faith in science, I began to lose my faith in mankind. I took a class in which beliefs, truths, ethics, and morals were discussed. Many students in the class believed that there was no such thing as absolute truth, a God, or morality. They did not believe in personal responsibility and accountability for their actions. These people symbolized the world to me, so I began to lose my faith in mankind when I lost my faith in them.
I realized that much of what I had been taught as fact was not. This changed my perspective on everything in my life. I no longer saw teachers as sources of truth. I began to question all that I had been taught and had believed in. I wanted everything to be proven to me.
I began to question whether an absolute truth could exist. Yet I knew that certain things must exist. My lack of ability to comprehend God caused me to question his existence. I would say to myself, “God exists and his laws are absolute.” Then I would quickly think of something else to avoid questioning God’s existence.
Yet as I learned more, I tried to understand and explain God. Although I disliked my thinking, I could not deny what I felt. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to believe in that which I had always believed. My life was becoming depressing and insecure.
As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

A few days ago I was trying to read my scriptures, but I kept getting interrupted. First it was somebody coming to tell me I hadn’t done a job right. Then it was my little sisters fighting. I was about ready to explode. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Was it asking too much just to be able to concentrate?
Finally, I lowered my head and said a silent prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to bless me that I could understand what he wanted me to learn from the scriptures. I finished my prayer and put the book down. All of a sudden, it was like all of the interruptions shut off.
I had been reading 1 Nephi 8, where it talks about Lehi’s dream about the tree of life and the iron rod. I thought about the people who get distracted and end up wandering in darkness. It occurred to me that I should not let myself get distracted by worries or noise.
Then I thought about the tree of life, and I re-read 1 Ne. 8:11–12: “And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the fruit thereof; and I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. …
“And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy.” [1 Ne. 8:11–12]
The Lord had granted me peace, the peace of understanding. I sat thinking, grateful for the quiet in the room, but even more grateful for the newfound inner calm.