Gospel Story Finder

An example of such service was the missionary experience of Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, who were called to fill a mission in Poland. Brother Fussek was born in Poland. He spoke the language. He loved the people. Sister Fussek was born in England and knew little of Poland and nothing of its people. Trusting in the Lord, they embarked on their assignment. The work was lonely, their task immense. A mission had not at that time been established in Poland. The assignment given the Fusseks was to prepare the way so that a mission could be established.

Did Elder and Sister Fussek despair because of the enormity of their assignment? Not for a moment. They knew their calling was from God. They prayed for His divine help, and they devoted themselves wholeheartedly to their work.

In time Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles; Elder Hans B. Ringger, then of the Seventy; and I, accompanied by Elder Fussek, met with the religious affairs minister, Adam Wopatka, of the Polish government. We heard him say, “Your church is welcome here. You may build your buildings; you may send your missionaries. This man,” pointing to Juliusz Fussek, “has served your church well. You can be grateful for his example and his work.”

Like the Fusseks, let us do what we should do in the work of the Lord. Then we can, with Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, echo the Psalm:

“My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.

“… He that keepeth thee will not slumber.

“Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:2–4).

Many times the most beautiful examples of obedience and service are given by ordinary people who live close to us. Sister Ana Rita de Jesus, an elderly widow, lived in Anápolis, Brazil. She could not read or write. The missionaries would go to her home every week to read the scriptures to her. She was loving and kind. Every Sunday she would ask the missionaries to help her fill out a tithing slip. Sometimes her tithing and offerings were not more than a few cents, but she knew the law and wanted to obey it. After paying her tithing, she would walk into the room where the sacrament meeting was held in the rented house used as a chapel and would place a flower on the pulpit. In doing so, she served her brothers and sisters, bringing beauty to the place where we worshiped the Lord. That sister, in a very simple way, taught us obedience and service through her faith. She knew that obeying the commandments is the best preparation to serve. President Monson advised us in the last April general conference to “obey the commandments” and “serve with love” (“In Harm’s Way,” Ensign, May 1998, 47). Sister Ana Rita did so throughout her life.

When I was in the National Football League, I looked up to Gifford Nielsen, who had also played for BYU before going on to the NFL, eventually becoming a sportscaster and later a General Authority Seventy. I ran into him one day on a golf course, and he gave me advice that changed the course of my professional career.
We were sitting in a golf cart, just me and him, and after I told him about my plan to go into television like he had after I finished playing football, he gave me advice to not continue pursuing a career that would require me to be at the games on Sundays. That way, I’d always be able to have a calling on Sundays and serve in the Church.
It was that simple, but it was advice that I hadn’t thought about. And that changed the course of my life.

I love sparkly things. I always have. I love how sparkles capture and reflect light, and I think that’s why I love crystal chandeliers so much. I especially love the crystal chandeliers in the temple.
I remember reverently walking through a temple open house with my family when I was only nine years old. I’ll never forget standing under the chandeliers in the celestial room in absolute awe. I couldn’t believe how beautiful, clean, and white everything was.
When we walked out of the temple, my grandpa told me he had a gift for me. My eyes grew bigger as my grandpa pulled a sparkly necklace from his pocket. It was a long chain with a small, single crystal on the end—just like the ones in the temple.
“I made this for you,” my grandpa said as he tied the necklace around my neck. My grandpa is an electrician. He sells all kinds of beautiful light fixtures. He told me he made the necklace with an extra crystal from his shop and he wanted me to wear it so it would remind me of the temple.
He asked me to promise I would go to the temple someday, and he bore his testimony of how the temple had blessed his life and how it can bless everyone’s lives. Every time I wore my crystal necklace I would think of the temple and how I wanted to go inside. I always remembered that promise I made to my grandpa.
When I was finally old enough to go do baptisms at the temple, I loved every chance I got to go. In the temple, I have always felt connected to my Heavenly Father. And I will never forget the feeling I had after receiving my endowment. After that sacred experience, I walked into the celestial room and hugged my grandpa under the beautiful crystal chandelier.
My grandpa was right about how the temple can bless our lives. It has continued to bless me my entire life because it helps me remember my purpose here on earth.

The family home evening wheels are just one of several service projects these young women have completed. In an effort to help a widow from the branch feel a little less lonely, the young women decorated a basket and filled it with lots of short, happy handwritten notes. “No one is there to take care of her,” Daisy says. “So we wanted to remind her that members of the branch are thinking about her.” The young women delivered the basket in person and explained that she could read a note each day to bring a smile to her face.

Representing the First Presidency of the Church, Elder W. Don Ladd, Regional Representative of the Twelve, and Brother Thomas E. Daniels, of the Genealogical Department of the Church, made a special presentation to United States President Jimmy Carter in May 1977.
They gave him a two-inch-thick, leather-bound volume of his genealogy. The record reaches back 12 generations into the early 1600s when Thomas Carter, Sr., was born somewhere in England. Thomas traveled to Virginia in 1632, long before there was a President of the United States.
The genealogical information about the President’s ancestors was gathered from census records, wills, land and probate records, birth and death certificates, and other vital statistics. The work was researched in Salt Lake City where the microfilming work done by the Church in the United States and numerous other countries has resulted in a file of vital statistics amounting to the equivalent of more than 4 1/3 million printed volumes of 300 pages each.
Included with the volume given the President was an 18-by-24-inch, framed family tree, with names of Mr. Carter’s family as far back as could be documented and a letter from the First Presidency. The letter read:
“Daniel Webster said, ‘There is a moral and philosophical respect for our ancestors which elevates the character and improves the heart.’ As you know, we as a people feel a deep reverence and gratitude for our ancestors, which in turn gives us a greater sense of responsibility to our posterity.
“In the spirit of respect and friendship, we present you with this documented genealogy of your family. May you feel a warm satisfaction as you study this record of the people who produced a president.”

The woodland was under a heavy shroud of cloud cover that weekend. Rain filtered through the air, and the cameramen waited patiently to expose their film. It rained, and they prayed. And it rained some more. If the filmmakers were unable to complete filming in that one week during the spring of 1975, the project would have to wait a year until the surroundings were right again. The season would soon change, and to add to the problems, the lead actor had to leave the following Friday. On Monday morning the crew awoke before dawn and and began to set up all their equipment, thinking somehow they could compensate for the weather. But suddenly it stopped raining. When the sun came up, they beheld the loveliest mist they had ever seen. The tall, wet grasses sparkled, and the birds burst forth in song, and they knew they had been blessed with a beauty they could never have produced themselves.
That morning the Brigham Young University Department of Film Production began filming scenes for the First Vision. Stewart Petersen, who played the Prophet Joseph, walked through those tall grasses with thoughts of that other “beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty” (JS—H 1:14) when Joseph Smith humbly prayed for an answer to his question, “Which of all the churches should I join?”

Then, in 1939—when Enzio was just nine—the first English bomb fell on Dortmund. The devastating war that followed fractured his peaceful world and destroyed his youthful dreams. His family fled for a time to eastern Germany, then to southern Germany, where they lived in two rooms.
At ten, Enzio became a member of the Hitler Youth organization, which all young men ages ten through eighteen were required to join. Then, in the last desperate months of the war, all of the Hitler Youth ages fourteen and over were drafted into the army of the Third Reich. Unexpectedly, fourteen-year-old Enzio was a soldier. After just a few weeks of panic and disaster in an army of desperation, he was captured and taken to an American prison camp. He fully expected to be shot there. To his surprise, however, he was not harmed and was eventually allowed to return home.
Enzio arrived in Dortmund in June 1945 to find a primitive shelter in the ruins of his home, which had been destroyed by American bombs. Fortunately for the Busche family, they had sheep to provide milk, and some land where they and several other families could grow potatoes. Ironically, one act of war helped the people of this suburb of Dortmund survive the ensuing months of near-starvation. Just before the war ended, the Americans had shot up a German supply train. When molasses came pouring out of the bullet-riddled cars, the townspeople filled every available pot and tub with the gooey, life-saving stuff, and it helped sustain them for two years.

I love how President N. Eldon Tanner’s father taught him during family prayer. President Tanner said this:

“I remember one evening when we were kneeling in family prayer, my father said to the Lord, ‘Eldon did something today he shouldn’t have done; he’s sorry, and if you will forgive him, he won’t do it anymore.’

“That made me determined not to do it anymore—much more than a trouncing would have done.”7

I’d like to say I made a great impression when I met Janette Burhold, but that would be a lie. I had just turned ten, and for my coming of age, my older brother Dan and his friends took me horseback riding. Dan even let me put on my own saddle for the first time.
“Don’t cinch the saddle up too tight,” said Dan. “It might bother the horse.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. Dan and his friends all began to snicker. I didn’t know what was funny so I just smiled back.
We trotted out of our drive and started down the lane of our small Canadian town. There was a new girl, about my age, living in the house on the end of our road. I’d seen her in church the week before, and there she was waving to us as we rode up. We all waved back.
Well, to be honest, I didn’t wave. I was too petrified of girls to move, but I thought the impressive sight of me atop our black mare would set her heart to fluttering.
“Nice horses,” she called out. I grinned back, gaining confidence. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“We’re just riding up to the old barn,” said Dan, pointing up the hill.
“Wish I knew how to ride,” she said. “My mom said we might get a horse.”
I was going to say something at that moment. Something profound and impressive. But instead, my world collapsed around me. I shifted my weight a little and my horse let out a great breath. Before I knew what was happening, the saddle and me had slipped underneath the horse. I was still in the saddle, but I was upside down.
Dan and his friends were wailing with laughter. Even the new girl was laughing. I was humiliated.
“Shut up,” I said as I let go and tumbled to the ground.
“Didn’t you cinch your saddle up tight?” asked the girl. “Even I know you’re supposed to do that.”
That’s how I met Janette Burhold.
Over the next few years I gradually overcame my fear of girls, but never my fear of Janette. I saw her every school day, and every Sunday. But on those rare occasions I’d finally get enough courage to say something to her, I’d end up doing something really embarrassing before I got my first word out.
One time I sat down next to her in the cafeteria, and before starting in on my carefully rehearsed, spontaneous conversation, I opened a can of soda that exploded. It sprayed my head making my hair stand straight up all afternoon. Another time I walked into school determined to break the ice with Janette. Of course, after I’d been told I had a line of toothpaste drool down the front of my green T-shirt, I lost my nerve. By about 14, I gave up the idea of ever talking to Janette.
When we turned 16, Janette went to work after school in the only cafe in our small town. On my way home after wrestling practice each day, I would walk slowly by the cafe hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Dan told me I was crazy not to ask Janette out. Everyone at school knew I had a crush on her. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.
In Sunday School I was taught to have self-confidence. Unfortunately I couldn’t convince my tongue or my sweat glands to believe that. When I saw Janette, all I could think was how skinny I was, why my face wouldn’t clear up, or why my voice sounded like the noise a saxophone makes when you blow it wrong.
And then, Woody McCrae moved to town and I knew all hope was lost. He was tall, athletic, good looking, rich, and he even had his own pickup. Janette and her friends stood in the halls and giggled in admiration as he walked by.
To the female population of my high school, Woody was Aristotle, Hercules, and Steve Martin rolled into one. He’d pepper his conversations with phrases like “Cold out, ain’t it?” and any girl around him would laugh and grin like she’d just discovered teeth.
On a Tuesday night in December, Dan and I were doing homework upstairs. After a short chuckle, Dan looked up from basic algebra.
“What?” I asked.
“Guess who’s been giving Janette a ride home from the cafe every night?”
“What do I care?” I said, as nonchalantly as possible.
He shrugged and turned back to his book.
“Okay, who?”
“Woody McCrae,” said Dan.
My heart stopped. I pictured Janette riding in Woody’s yellow truck. They’d probably be married by the weekend.
“You waited too long,” said Dan, grinning. “Woody got to her first.”
“You don’t get to a girl like Janette,” I said back.
“Well, you didn’t.”
“What I mean is, just because he’s taken her home a few times doesn’t mean they’re going out … does it?”
Dan shook his head. “I’d still ask her out if I were you,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to lose. Plus, if you don’t you’ll regret it.”
“You don’t just ask a girl like Janette out,” I said. “It’s not that easy.”
Dan sat on the edge of his bed. “Look, chucklehead. You’re just going to walk the girl home, maybe ask her to a movie. You’re not going to get married. It’s just for fun. You’ve got a lot to talk about—you’re both Church members, you’re both in the same grade at school. And if you run out of stuff to say just talk about me. I’m a great conversation topic.”
What Dan said actually made sense. I’d worried about dating Janette for years ahead of time, and then, when I could date her, I was petrified. Dating wasn’t supposed to be stressful; it was supposed to be fun.
“So, how would you do it?” I asked. “How would you ask her out? I can’t compete with Woody’s vehicle … or his looks.”
“I don’t know,” said Dan. “But I wouldn’t look at everything that was wrong with the situation. I’d look at everything that was right. I’d think about what I have to offer and not what I didn’t have.”
After wrestling practice the next afternoon, I passed the cafe again. I walked back and forth a dozen times before getting the nerve to walk in. Finally I took a deep breath, made sure my shirt was tucked in, and walked through the door. I took a seat at the counter and when Janette said hi and asked what I needed, I mumbled that I wanted a chocolate milk shake. I looked around at the few people in the cafe and was sure they were all watching me.
“Kinda cold out there for a milk shake,” Janette said. She was wiping off the counter in front of me. I looked out the window at the falling snow.
“Oh, I like the cold,” I said, instantly regretting it. Why hadn’t I said something really cool? Then I looked into her green eyes, and she smiled and went off to make the shake. I took her smile as encouragement. The other customers were still watching me. I couldn’t get comfortable with them in there. I wished they would leave.
A minute or so later, Janette placed the shake on the counter and left the bill.
“Thanks,” I said, trying a deep voice and instantly regretting that too.
Janette turned back to me. “Are you okay, Andrew? You’re acting kind of weird.”
“Whatdoyoumean?” I blurted out.
“Oh, nothing.”
“No, no, no. Iwannaknowwhatyoumeant.” I couldn’t slow down. I was on a runaway train to embarrassment.
“I don’t know,” Janette said. “I shouldn’t say anything. I mean, even though we’ve known each other for years, we’ve never really talked. So I guess I don’t know if something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said, as slowly as my mouth would let me. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling. She turned to leave.
“There is something right, though.”
Janette was looking at me with the sweetest expression on her face. The world was a good place, and I was going to make it even better.
“I came in today to ask if you would …”
And then the door opened and a bolt of lightning flashed. In an instant, my brave notions were burned to a crisp. It was Woody McCrae. Janette looked up and smiled even brighter.
“Hi, Woody.”
Woody nodded at her and slid onto the seat beside me. Then they both looked at me.
“Go on, Andrew,” said Janette. “What were you going to say?”
This was all like the kind of dream you have where you walk into class late and realize you’re wearing Spiderman pajamas.
“Andrew?” she said.
I had to do it. Dan was right. It wasn’t the end of the world if she said no or yes. I had to do it.
“Janette, I’d like to know if I could give you a ride home tonight?”
Woody looked at me really mean—his face was tensed up so tight we could have used his forehead as a bicycle rack.
“Okay,” said Janette, with just enough enthusiasm. “I get off at 6:30.”
I mumbled that I’d be back, dropped two dollars on the counter, and left. I looked back as I walked down the snow-covered road. Woody McCrae was watching me and he didn’t look happy.
At half past six, Janette was standing on the cafe’s front step. It was cold, and she was breathing out small puffs of warm air as I walked up. I could feel my heart beating in my throat.
“Hi, Andrew. Where’s your car?” she asked.
“I need you to close your eyes,” I said. She shrugged and closed them.
From around the corner of the building I dragged my Rosewood Glider. It was a long, wooden sled, as old as me, with room enough for two. There were foot-high railings all around, and a heavy metal steering bar at the front. On the side I had bolted the broken end of a hockey stick so if I ever lost control I could pull back on it and drag the sled to a stop.
I told Janette to step up and I helped her in the Glider. Then I put one of my dad’s big parkas around her shoulders.
“I thought we could take the scenic way,” I said.
She opened her eyes and took it all in for a moment. “You’re going to pull me home?” she asked. She didn’t seem too happy.
“No, just to the corner. It’s downhill most of the way from there, and the road is covered in snow.”
She didn’t say anything; just sat there looking kind of stunned for a long time. My newfound confidence was slipping away with every silent second. I could already hear them at school. They’d probably be talking about this for months. “Hey, Andrew, where’s your sled? In the shop?”
But I couldn’t just stand there with Janette in the sled. I took a breath and began pulling her to the corner. Ahead of us, the sun was shooting long red ribbons across the darkening sky. We had about 30 minutes of light, more than enough to glide home. That’s if my plan actually worked, and we didn’t crash, or break a ski, or encounter any one of a number of other catastrophes.
Why wasn’t she saying anything?
At the top I swallowed hard, scanned the descent for oncoming cars, sat myself in the front of the sled, checked behind me, and then pushed us off. My life was over anyway.
The glider moved slowly at first, rumbling over a half-exposed patch of pavement. But then we hit powder and began an effortless glide through the new snow. Suddenly we were going fast—faster than I had planned. Snow began to sting my eyes. We passed the Wimmer place and took a stomach-jarring dip in the road. I heard a shout from behind me and turned around.
“You watch the road,” called out Janette.
She was laughing! I turned around just in time to see us heading toward a ditch. I tried to correct our track but the sled fishtailed one way, then another before finally landing in a snow pile.
Poooofff!
Janette’s face and hair were covered in snow. She opened her mouth, which was full of snow too. I figured all was lost.
“I’m sorry,” I said, pathetically.
“You should be!” she said, wiping off her face. “Why didn’t we ever do this before?” She pulled at my coat collar and dumped a handful of snow down my back.
“Now,” she said, getting to her feet and brushing the snow off, “I bet we can get another run in before dark. This time, keep your eyes on the road.”
She started pulling the sled up the hill. “If you keep to the middle and quit sightseeing, I bet we can get all the way to your house.”
Janette pushed us off this time, and the slide and the wind took our white breath in clouds from our mouths. We were both laughing! And that’s when I began to realize that it wasn’t so tough after all. Not the glide on the snow-covered road, but being with Janette—talking, laughing, being myself.
We slid down the hill, racing faster and faster into the coming night. And for a while, all my fears were suspended.

The air in the gym is heavy, thick with the smell of rubber-soled shoes, of basketballs, and of sweat. In one corner, young men do warm up exercises. One of them calls out, “Pasame la pelota!”
In unison, the other players repeat, “Pasame la pelota!”
“What does that mean, Kelly?”
“Pass me the ball,” Kelly answers. “Now try this, ‘a la izquierda,’ That means ‘to the left.’
“A la izquierda!” the group answers.
And so the Spanish language practice continues as the basketball players prepare for a game. It took place at the University of New Mexico, where their team, the Lobos prepared for a game against Brigham Young University (BYU). The Lobos were getting a quick course in Spanish from their team player, Kelly Graves, who served in the Chile Santiago Mission. Many of the players for BYU served Spanish-speaking missions, and sometimes they try to confuse and intimidate opposing teams by speaking Spanish to each other during the games.
“Those BYU players can’t fool me,” said Kelly, “I served a Spanish-speaking mission too. During our warm up time, we’ve been reviewing some Spanish phrases.”
Keith Chapman, a player for the University of Utah, is a returned missionary from the Germany Frankfurt Mission. On his mission Keith learned to keep an eternal perspective on things. “Before my mission, basketball was my whole life. Now I know there are more important things like staying worthy and looking more into the eternities than just to the next game.”
From the time Reid Newey of Roy, Utah, was six years old he had dreamed of playing basketball. He played on community and church teams as a boy and as a teenager. He watched games on television and attended games with his father. Basketball was what he wanted to do with his life.
During his first year at Utah State University, Reid was honored by being selected for the national team made up of first year college students. He was making a meaningful contribution to college basketball. The following year he would have been one of the leading players. But something else was affecting his life. “I read the Book of Mormon all the way through during my first year in college,” said Reid. “And I really gained a great testimony of it. I loved it. I’d rush home from practice just to read it because I loved it so much. From then on I had a different feeling. I went through a lot of prayer and fasting, and it was a personal revelation for me that I should go on a mission.”
Reid had a tremendous experience in the mission field that made everything worth it. “We met this man who was a retired colonel from the army. He was just a great man. He was baptized a week before I left. He drove me to the airport to go home, and we had the opportunity to visit together for a while before my departure. As we spoke, he looked at me and said, ‘Thanks for coming, Elder Newey.’ I didn’t know exactly what he was referring to. But then he took my arm and said, ‘I mean, thanks for coming on your mission.’ That was the greatest experience of my life. It really touched me, and I can’t bear to think what it would be like if I hadn’t experienced that.”
Reid had one more piece of advice. “I’m a basketball player, but everybody has their own obstacles to going on a mission. Everybody can think of something to keep them from going. But I know there isn’t anything worth staying home for. My advice would be to get your life in order and go, no matter what it takes.”
Talk to any of the college players who took time out to serve, and they’ll tell you the same thing. Go! There isn’t one who regrets his service to the Lord.
“The decision I made to go on a mission was the greatest one I made in my life,” says BYU’s star player, Mike Smith. “I made my decision to serve a mission many years ago. I made the decision before other pressures could influence me.”
And the pressure did come. Mike was considered to be one of the best players to come out of any California high school and many large universities wanted him. Mike chose BYU, and in his first year, he was a starting player 27 of 31 games. But id didn’t bother him at all to leave his sports career behind for a couple of years.
There were those who didn’t understand, however. One man in particular, a long-time fan of Mike’s from his hometown, couldn’t understand why Mike would run the risk of sacrificing his career to serve a mission. Mike wrote his non-Latter-day Saint friend a letter from the mission field in which he bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, the Book of Mormon, and the prophet of the Church. Mike also told him he felt it was a privilege rather than a sacrifice to serve. His friend was so affected by mike’s testimony that he took the letter to a local Catholic priest, who happened to be interested in Mike’s basketball career too. The priest, in turn, read the letter in mass every day for a week, saying it was an example of a youth who was doing all he could to serve the Lord.
“Nothing that happens on the basketball court can compare with experiences in the mission field,” Mike explains. “The feelings you experience on the basketball court are so limited, so temporary. You can make a game-winning shot and the fans love you, but the next play you might accidentally bounce the ball off your foot and that great feeling is gone. But the feelings that you have in the mission field, where the Spirit touches your heart, you’ll never forget.”
Brian Taylor, a BYU player who served in the Spain Seville Mission, will never forget or regret his decision to serve a mission. “I had the great opportunity to go out and open up a new mission in the Canary Islands. I felt like the Apostle Paul. We’d walk down the street and people would ask, ‘What are you young men doing in white shirts and ties? Why aren’t you down at the beach in your swimsuits?’ When we explained what we were doing, they’d be impressed, and they’d listen to us, sometimes 150 people at once. We’d show movies like The First Vision and Families Are Forever on the sides of buildings, and the whole village would come out to watch. We would then bear our testimonies, and the people would weep.”
Brian smiled and shook his head as he remembered, “There is just no comparison between that and playing basketball. You win a game for your team, you feel great, but the feeling only lasts a short time. But just as I talk about being on that island and bearing my testimony to that many people, it makes me feel like cheering again. You just feel good about it, and it never leaves you. It’s that eternal kind of feeling.”
Mike Johnson from Utah Stake University has basketball in his blood. His father and uncles all played at Utah Stake, and Mike wanted to follow in their footsteps. But a mission came first. He left for the England Leeds Mission straight out of high school, not knowing if any of the college basketball recruiters who contacted him before he left would be interested when he returned two years later.
“I wanted to go on a mission,” said Mike. “I wanted to say, ‘I’ve done what I’ve been asked to do , and now, if I need to call on my Heavenly Father for help, I can do it knowing that I have kept his commandment.”
Mike has talked to several young men who are leaving on their missions. He encourages them to work hard and be dedicated. Then he tells them the lesson he learned, “If you go on a mission, when you get back everything will work out well for you.”
These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU player, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our missionary book I wrote ‘good prospect.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw what I had written, went to see her, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far.”
Jon Hansen, a student at the university of Utah, returned from the Switzerland Geneva Mission just six weeks before school started. In some ways he enjoyed taking a break from basketball. “On your mission all your focus is on spiritual things, service, and spreading the gospel,” said Jon. “A mission is a total change. It’s harder coming home than it is leaving. When you get home, you really have to work hard to stay as close to the Lord as you were on your mission.”
Tom Gneiting, one of BYU’s fourth-year players last year, said returned missionaries do have a few advantages. “Mentally, you’re smarter about the game and you know more about it. You’re not quite as emotional as you were when you were eighteen years old. You’re calmer in the games.”
Brent Stephenson, of BYU, added, “Also it helps you with patience. A lot of the game is having patience and doing the right things at the right time. I think the maturity we gain on a mission helps us.”
Hard work seems to go with missionary service and pursuing sports. Danny Conway, at Utah State University, found that a mission helped him learn how to improve his game. “If you want something, you really have to dedicate yourself and sacrifice. For me, if I’m good, it’s because I work hard and sacrifice something. I’ve never been one of those who can play well without putting forth the effort.”
Brian Taylor of BYU agreed, “After your mission you have the confidence that you know you can do it. You know you can do anything, because you’ve done the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life.”
Even though these young men love basketball, none of them love basketball more than the Church and their missions.
Jon Judkins, of Utah State, summed up the feelings for the group. “I don’t think there’s anything I could ever do in basketball that would make me feel that joy—the joy of seeing someone join the Church and completely change their lives.”

My journey started when I was introduced to the Church in 2015 by my son (who is a Graduate student in Texas), while he was visiting Kolkata. It was then, that I had received my first Book of Mormon in Bengali and had the opportunity to visit the Relief Society President of our Kolkata Branch. Soon enough, I started taking lessons through Skype from the Elders belonging to the New Delhi Mission. On 18th June 2016, my daughter and I became the then newest members of our Kolkata Branch. My son was present then to baptize us.

Gary loved to visit Grandpa and Grandma McGregor on their farm near Cardston, Canada. It had been nearly four years since the family had made the long trip there from their home in Quebec. But at last they had reached the farm, and Dad stopped the car by the back gate.
Everything was quiet as they opened the doors. Suddenly Mother whispered, “Sh-h! Don’t move—listen!”
Gary and Dad listened carefully. “What’s the matter, Mom?” Gary asked. “I don’t hear anything.”
“It’s a swarm of bees” Mother answered, “and it’s close by.” She looked around and then pointed toward the lilac bush by the door. “There it is. Look, Gary!”
Gary could hardly believe what he saw. There were bees flying around the lilac bush—more bees than he had ever seen before.
“What are they doing?” Gary almost shouted. “There are thousands of them. Where did they come from?”
“They’re swarming, Gary. Every spring some of the bees leave a hive with a queen,” Mother explained. “We mustn’t get too close to them or they’ll chase and sting us, but I want to show you something special. Do you see that large brownish clump on the underside of the limb?”
Gary looked at the lilac bush. “You mean that big thing hanging down? The bees are flying around it.”
“That’s the swarm of bees. The queen is inside the swarm,” Mother answered.
“You mean that big clump is solid bees?” Gary asked.
“Yes,” Mother replied, “and I haven’t seen one for years.” Then she smiled as she reminisced. “One time a swarm landed on the bottom of Grandpa’s tractor seat, and he couldn’t go to work until he’d put them in a hive. They were hanging almost to the ground. Another time they were so high in the quaking aspen that Grandpa couldn’t get to them. A bad wind came up and the bees blew about so much that part of the swarm broke off and fell to the ground.”
“Can Grandpa get all of these bees out of the lilac tree?” Gary asked. “Where is he, anyway?”
Just then they saw Grandpa coming from the field. Gary ran to meet him. “Oh, Grandpa,” he said, “I just love being back on the farm, even with the bees.”
Grandpa McGregor laughed. “Well, we’ll take care of the bees later, when they’ve settled down a bit. I’ll show you how to handle them so no one will be stung.”
Gary watched the bees from the back porch. He was fascinated by the funnel shape clinging to the branch. Only a bee or two hadn’t settled down with the others. Gary wondered how they could hang on like that and why they didn’t break off and fall to the ground.
When Grandmother called Gary to eat, he was afraid the bees might disappear while he was in the house. Grandpa assured him they would still be in the lilac bush. “Sometimes they’ll stay like that for a day or two. Then if someone doesn’t put them in a hive of their own, they’ll leave.”
“Where would they go?” Gary asked.
“Sometimes they find an old hollow tree and make their home inside it,” Grandpa explained.
“Will you give the bees a hive of their own so they won’t fly away?” Gary wondered.
Grandpa smiled. “After dessert I’ll show you what we’ll do.”
When everyone had finished with supper, Grandpa pushed back his chair and said, “I’d better put on my bee clothes. That’s a large swarm, and I don’t want to lose any bees. They make a lot of honey for us.”
Gary saw Grandpa open the cupboard on the back porch and take out some strange-looking clothes. He watched Grandpa put on the clothes. Grandma tied his gloves at the wrists. “So the bees can’t crawl up his arms,” she explained. Grandma also tied his pants tightly at the ankles over some high boots. But when Grandpa put a big covering over his head, Gary could hardly believe what he saw! A net covered Grandpa’s hat and was tied tightly around his neck. It made him look like a man from outer space.
Grandpa made a little fire in an odd-shaped can. He put some oily rags in the can, touched a lighted match to the rags, and put the lid on. When Grandpa squeezed the handle, smoke came out of the spout on the can.
“What’s that for, Grandpa?” Gary cried.
“Bees don’t like smoke, Gary. If some get angry while I’m working, the smoke will keep them from stinging me.”
Then Grandpa went out to the shed and carried out an empty beehive. Gary watched from the back porch as Grandpa set the beehive directly under the big clump of bees. He removed the lid from the hive, and with a quick movement he shook the limb of the lilac bush. The large cluster of bees fell into the hive. Some of the bees were angry at being disturbed. They began buzzing around Grandpa’s head, but he aimed the smoking can at the bees and puffed some smoke at them. A few bees flew away, but some of them still buzzed around.
When the bees were in the hive, Grandpa put the lid on and carried the beehive out behind the bunkhouse with the others. “That’s one place I’ve never explored,” Gary said to himself.
“I’d like to go out there when the bees are asleep and take a look.”
The next morning after breakfast Gary headed straight for the bunkhouse. Gary looked at the first hive. He thought it was the one Grandpa had put out last night, but then all the beehives looked alike.
Quickly Gary lifted the lid to take a little peek. As if they were waiting for him, the bees swarmed up into the sunlight! Gary turned and ran for the house, but it was too late. The bees were after him. One flew down his shirt. Others flew around his head and hands.
When they heard Gary’s cries, Grandma and Mother came running. They helped chase the bees away, and Grandma put mud on the bee stings. Gary’s face was so swollen, he didn’t look like himself. And his arms and hands were swollen too.
“You know, Grandma,” Gary admitted, “I didn’t want to steal their honey, but I guess the bees didn’t know that. Next time I’ll go with Grandpa and wear bee clothes.”
Then Gary was quiet. He was thinking about the report he’d have for school next fall after learning all about bees. He thought he might leave the bee stings out of the report—but he’d have all summer to decide about that!

Sunny is an exchange student from Korea. She is living in a strange new land with a new language and a new family. School was hard and she had no friends to eat with or talk with or go to school activities with. She said: “I felt so miserable. Then I started thinking about praying. I had not thought about praying for help to Heavenly Father and for comfort and faith in myself. Then I began to read the Book of Mormon every morning and pray before I went to school. School began to be much easier. I was so surprised that I could understand better! I felt like someone was helping me while I was studying” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

I know from experience the troubled mind of such a young person. When I was preparing to go on my mission, some surprising forces tried to discourage me. One was my dentist. When he realized my appointment was so I could be a missionary, he tried to dissuade me from serving. I had not had the least notion that my dentist was against the Church.

The interruption of my education was also complicated. When I asked for a two-year leave of absence from my university program, I was informed that it was not possible. I would lose my place at the university if I did not return after one year. In Brazil, this was serious since the only criterion for admittance in a university program was a very difficult and competitive examination.

After repeatedly insisting, I was reluctantly informed that after being absent for one year, I could apply for an exception on extraordinary grounds. It might be approved or not. I was terrified at the idea of retaking that difficult admissions test after two years away from my studies.

I also was especially interested in a young woman. Several of my friends shared that same interest. I thought to myself, “If I go on a mission, I’m running a risk.”

But the Lord Jesus Christ was my great inspiration not to be afraid of the future as I strove to serve Him with all my heart.

Remember the challenges that I thought I faced prior to my mission? My dentist? I found another. My university? They made an exception for me. Remember that young woman? She married one of my good friends.

But God truly blessed me richly. And I learned that the blessings of the Lord can come in ways different from how we expect. After all, His thoughts are not our thoughts (see Isaiah 55:8–9).

Eight-year-old Betsy left her home on the Indian reservation to live for the school year with a white family. There was much for Betsy’s new family to learn about her and her Indian ways, and there was much for Betsy to learn too. Her new white sister understood Betsy best, even though some children at school were unkind to both of them.

After a few months Betsy unexpectedly had to return to her Indian family because they needed her. No one knew if she would ever return to her white family, but eventually Betsy let the white sister know of her love.

“My mission did not help my football,” Bart says. “Some guys go out and expect that since they’re making a sacrifice for the Lord, the Lord is going to bless them by improving their football skills. That’s not the case.” Toward the end of his mission Bart did rise at 4:30 A.M. for conditioning workouts. (“All my companions wanted to be transferred. I know that,” he laughs.) But he wasn’t a superman when he returned. He had to scramble to regain his skills and reflexes.
“I wasn’t better than I was before my mission,” he confides. “I wasn’t even as good. But it didn’t take me long to get back into shape.” Bart also notes that by the time he returned to BYU, the starting center ahead of him had graduated, and the position was open to Bart for the next three years, whereas he would have been second string two of those three years had he chosen to stay and play.

For example, there was a young soldier on sentry duty one day. His foul-mouthed sergeant, whom he generally avoided, approached him. The recruit steeled himself for the customary barrage of profanity that he would later have to scour from his mind. Instead his sergeant said, “You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” The recruit nodded in the affirmative, with some surprise, only to be stunned by the next observation: “I could tell because you don’t swear.” The private gulped inwardly as he took quick inventory. The sergeant continued: “You know what gets me about you guys? You are good when you don’t have to be!”
Another time in the military a whole delegation of LDS college men went through summer training. As they moved from one field demonstration to another, each hour they endured the military instructors who began each session with a dirty joke. One NCO unintentionally prefaced the inevitable lewd story by asking, “Anyone object to a joke?” There was a split second of intense silence while the opportunity ran through the group. Then quickly from the back came a solitary but solid, “Yes.” The cadreman looked up in shocked surprise, immediately becoming defensive. Intending to intimidate such an upstart, he fired back, “Well, leave if you don’t like it.” Again a second of silence—followed by a decision. Then three-fourths of the group voted with their feet.
The military experience is like other forays into secularism that LDS youth are facing today. They are away from home with carnal options on every hand—gambling, profanity, pornography, immorality, and bug-out-ism. Such crass enticements successfully ensnare the uncommitted, but thousands of others choose to swim against the current. One young priest, during his first week away from home, confronted some returned missionaries in his barracks who appeared more sophisticated. Why weren’t they saying their prayers, he queried. His challenge encouraged them all to overcome their smoothly disguised fears of censure. They joined after lights out for a family prayer each night. Soon they discovered that their Mormon compatriots throughout the post were doing the same in small scattered groups; they even included their fellow nonmember squad members. The result was a brotherhood—blessing when sick, counseling when troubled, and bolstering each other during competition—instead of the harassing, cutting, and undermining that are so common in basic training. This higher life occurs without leaders or instructions; it emerges from being “anxiously engaged in a good cause,” from conviction, from feeling the power of God within. All over the globe, many Mormon youth seek out each other. Their spiritual adventures are legion. They often reach out to friends who have followed the carnal path into deprivation. Their example, caring, and persistence have supported many through a transformation that has led them into the Melchizedek Priesthood, the temple, sometimes mission calls—in other words, into their eternal potential.

Shadows wrapped the room in darkness as I lay awake listening to my husband breathe, trying to determine whether he was sleeping. It had been only two days since our 12-year-old daughter had passed away from a sudden traumatic accident. I closed my eyes again, but sleep evaded me. My heart yearned for my daughter. All the knowledge of the plan of salvation couldn’t ease the ache of missing her.
As dawn neared, I felt a sudden, intense longing. The sun would be rising soon, and in my mind I saw the sky bathed in soft pink light. Our daughter loved the color pink. A pink sunrise would be just the thing I needed to feel close to her again.
“Let’s go watch the sunrise,” I whispered to my drowsy husband.
We stood in the driveway, faced east, and waited … and waited. Though the sky lightened, the sun did not push through the low-lying clouds.
I leaned my head on my husband’s shoulder and sighed, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. But I wanted more. I needed more. Surely Heavenly Father could have granted me this desire after taking our sweet girl home to Him.
As my husband turned to go inside, looking behind us toward the west, he said, “Look!”
I turned. Behind us the clouds were bathed in a delicate blush, golden light surrounding them. My breath caught, and tears crept to my eyes. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined. It felt like a hug from our daughter. I knew Heavenly Father was aware of my aching heart and was sending a promise of hope for the future—a gentle reminder of eternal families and all the beautiful moments yet to come.
I have thought often on that beautiful moment and the new perspective it gave me. Who looks for a sunrise in the west? And yet that is where my miracle was waiting. How many blessings and miracles do I miss because they come from unexpected places? How many times do I focus on what I think should be and miss the glory of what is?
We had prayed relentlessly for a miracle that was denied, but as I looked around with my new perspective, I saw the miracle of the four lives bettered through our daughter’s organ donations, the miracle of family love and ward unity, and the miracle of service. I have felt deep sorrow, but I have also felt powerful hope fill my soul with each blushing sunrise, each rosy sunset, and each pink flower that crosses my path.
Now as the sun rises, I look east and then turn to look west. I smile with the realization that there are always miracles and blessings to be found—and that the sun will always rise on our sorrows if we let it.

When I started setting goals for Children and Youth, my mom and I talked about what new talents I wanted to learn. I wanted to practice singing, dancing, and playing piano. I also wanted to learn about animals, and I wanted to learn to cook. I wanted to read the Book of Mormon too!
My mom taught me many things about developing my talents. At first, it was hard. But then I practiced and practiced. Now I can play “I Am a Child of God,” “Do, Re, Mi,” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the piano. I learned how to cook rice and hot dogs and how to bake cookies. I read some books about animals. Now I know the names of many birds, like buntings, honey creepers, and mockingbirds. And I was able to finish reading the Book of Mormon before I turned nine. It was cool finishing the whole book after two years.