Gospel Story Finder

How could Brigham Young have been so sure when he told Wilford Woodruff, upon entering the valley, “This is the right place. Drive on”? The answer is that as the Valley of the Great Salt Lake came into view, Brigham Young was seeing much more than the salt flats and the swarms of black crickets. Sometime later Wilford Woodruff described their entrance into the valley in these words:

When we came out of the cañon into full view of the valley, I turned the side of my carriage around, open to the west, and President Young arose from his bed and took a survey of the country. While gazing on the scene before us, he was enwrapped in vision for several minutes. He had seen the valley before in vision, and upon this occasion he saw the future glory of Zion and of Israel, as they would be, planted in the valleys of these mountains. When the vision had passed, he said: “It is enough. This is the right place. Drive on.”

Tracy Y. Browning was about 15 years old when her mother saw a Book of Mormon advertisement on a late-night television infomercial and requested a free copy.
Within a short time, Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on her door, presented the Book of Mormon, and began teaching her the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At the time, Tracy lived in New Jersey, USA, with her father, but she often visited her mother in New York, USA. While visiting, Tracy observed with curiosity as her mother progressed toward baptism.
With her grandmother, Tracy had attended a Christian church, where she learned foundational Christian beliefs. Soon Tracy began attending Latter-day Saint Sunday worship services with her mother.
The culminating experience came when mother and daughter attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Standing in the Sacred Grove, attending church, and listening to messages of the gospel in new ways moved her. Tracy told her mother she was ready to learn more about the Church.
“She put me in front of the missionaries very quickly after that,” Sister Browning said.
Tracy Yeulande Browning was born in New Rochelle, New York, on October 9, 1976, to Clive Adams and Sharon Cox. She grew up in Jamaica, New Jersey, and New York. She married Brady Browning in the Salt Lake Temple on May 2, 1997. They have two children.
Sister Browning studied at St. John’s University. She has worked in financial services for 15 years and is now a director in the Church’s Publishing Services Department. Sister Browning has also volunteered with the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, Habitat for Humanity, and the United Way’s Day of Caring.
Sister Browning has served as a ward and stake Relief Society presidency counselor, as a Relief Society and Sunday School teacher, and in the Young Women organization. She was serving on the Relief Society general advisory council when she was called to the Primary General Presidency.

This story began in 1987 with the Bennion First Ward’s youth conference trip to the Manti Utah Temple and the time capsule that the youth buried afterward.

After three days of service and activities near the temple grounds, the teens and leaders from Taylorsville, Utah, drove home to wrap up the conference. Then in a corner of leader Brenda Jeppson’s yard, they stood quietly in the warm July twilight and watched as a long, black time capsule was buried about three feet deep in the crumbly soil.

Sixteen-year-old Stacie Hankins wrote in her journal that night, “After we buried the time capsule, we promised we would return with our spouses and children in 15 years.” Then she vowed, “I will return.” Along with most of the youth and leaders at the conference, Stacie kept her promise.

The crowd that gathered in the same corner of that yard 15 years later not only looks very different, it is three or four times bigger than the original gathering. Children run around on the soft grass in the Jeppsons’ backyard while their parents—the grown-up Bennion Ward teens—chat about what they included in the capsule.

The capsule is sealed so tightly they have to saw the ends off. Inside is quite a collection of 1980s memorabilia. Banana hair clips, tape recordings of popular music, newspaper articles, postage stamps, clothing ads, microwave popcorn, letters to themselves with their testimonies, and a New Era are all packed into the smooth black tube.

It’s fun to see the crazy things they buried all those years ago. But the real treasure of the 1987 Bennion youth conference wasn’t buried in the corner of the Jeppsons’ yard. It’s testimonies, families, friendships, and dreams—all things you can’t bury in a time capsule. The ones in the group who seem the happiest now are those who envisioned what they wanted to be when they were young and then worked toward those goals, rather than simply going wherever life took them.

When the warm summer evening slips into night, the group of reunited friends is still talking under the light of a few bright lamps. They each read the testimonies they wrote and put in the time capsule—their testimonies are the only things that outlasted the constantly changing popular culture. “Today I recommit myself to the gospel of Jesus Christ,” Brenda Jeppson reads from her tattered piece of paper. Tonight, through her tears, she repeats her commitment to Christ as she looks forward to a future with the people she loves.

I can see only 10 percent of what is around me—mostly objects that are big and that move slowly. But that changed for a few moments one afternoon.
No one seemed to be around as I sat on a shady hill. The grass beneath me covered the earth like a green carpet, and I savored the smell of nearby roses. I knelt to touch each flower, thankful that I could see a small part of God’s lovely world.
Suddenly, I sensed movement close to me. Then I heard a chirp about a foot away. It must be a bird, I thought, wishing I could see it. I had never seen a real bird, just pictures of them in books. But I never would: they were so small, and they flew so swiftly.
My pulse quickened as I caught a glimpse of something brown. I strained my eyes until I could tell that the object was a bird. I stared in awe as the bird spread his wings majestically before me. I held my breath, not wanting to scare him away.
He lingered only briefly. As he disappeared into the blue sky, I wept freely. I had seen something so exquisite that I wanted to see more.
But soon another thought passed through my mind. If I could fully see, I might not value every priceless image as I now did. I might not see inner beauty as easily, nor have the compassion I had learned from my own suffering. It was God’s gentle reminder of his will for me. I could serve him best as I was.
I dried my eyes. “Thank you, Lord,” I prayed, “for letting me see a bird.”

When I was a sixth grader at Garland Elementary School in northern Utah, I received word that a newspaper was sponsoring a pentathlon for grade school boys. I was almost 12, it was spring, and I was anxious to join all the other boys who had signed up to compete.
As you may know, penta comes from the Greek word meaning five. Thus, the pentathlon consisted of five track-and-field events that all of the boys in the state could compete in. The pentathlon was conducted throughout the grade schools across the state. The scores that each competitor attained in the various events were computed by applying a factor for age, height, and weight. They were then added together, and winners in various categories were selected. Winners received recognition and, among other things, an expense-paid trip to Salt Lake City, where they would spend a day as special guests of the newspaper.
The five events consisted of the high jump, broad jump, shot put, basketball free throw, and the 50-yard dash.
The pentathlon was the talk of my school. Most of the boys old enough were suited up for the event. At age 11, I was a 98-pound weakling with marginal coordination. But how I wanted to do well in that athletic contest. I suppose in that respect I was not much different than anyone else as I imagined the thrill that would accompany one to the winner’s circle. I knew I wasn’t what you would call a coach’s dream. But I had studied the rules carefully, and was hopeful the factors for height, weight, and age might give me a chance.
Well, I really got into it. I found a round rock that weighed within an ounce or two of the regulation five-pound shot. I spent considerable time in the evenings when the chores were done putting the shot around the backyard.
I also dug a pit that I used to practice my broad and high jumps. I nailed some old flooring boards together for a backboard, installed a hoop, and secured it to the end of the barn. While it was not fancy it provided the facility to practice my foul shots.
I felt I was ready when the big day finally came. We began with the shot put, and I did exceptionally well for my size. My practice shooting foul shots paid off, and I scored well in that event. The high jump didn’t go quite as well. My lack of coordination worked against me.
Then it was time for the 50-yard dash. We lined up by the starter and were off. It almost instantly became obvious that I would view the race from the rear of the pack. But how I tried. I gave it all the effort I had. As I passed where the coach was standing, I noticed him turn and say something, and then there was a burst of laughter from those who stood around him.
As we crossed the finish line, I was the fifth of five runners. I resigned myself to the fact there would be no trip to Salt Lake for me that year. But the worst was yet to come. As I approached the place where the coach had been standing, one of the more arrogant boys couldn’t wait to call out, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.” And there was more laughter.
Well, of course, I laughed too. But many thoughts went through my mind. I was angry, hurt, and embarrassed. When I went to bed that night, it was still on my mind. When I awakened the next morning, those pointed words came back, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.”
I struggled with that situation for quite some time. I admit I had thoughts of never getting on the athletic field again. But then I resolved that I would learn to run. And I was going to show the coach and my friends—but I suppose most of all myself—that I could do it.
From that moment forward, every time I had some distance to go, I ran. When coming from the fields at noon, I ran. When the grain bin on the harvester was full and I had to get the truck to empty it, I ran. When I went to the pasture to get the horses, I ran. As I had spare time while on army duty in Korea, I practiced my running. And after returning home, I kept it up.
Though I realized I had made some substantial progress, it was not until a particular stake fathers and sons outing that I had a chance to evaluate those 20-plus years of determination. We were at a campground in the Uinta Mountains in Utah for the Saturday morning games. All of the youth had run their races when the call came for “everyone over 21.” As I lined up with the dads and others, I noticed a young man in the group who had made a name for himself in high school in the 440-yard run. I knew he would be the challenge.
Again the starting gun sounded, but this time, instead of bringing up the rear, I was in front, where I remained as we crossed the finish line. Of course, the coach wasn’t there to see it. And neither were my grade school friends—particularly the arrogant little guy with the loud voice. But this I know: winning the pentathlon could not have resulted in the self-satisfaction I felt as I shared the first prize—a giant candy bar—with my two little sons that day.
What a lesson in life I gained from that experience. I learned humility, as I was humbled. I learned tolerance, as I successfully fought back the urge to slug the boy who made fun of the way I ran. I learned patience, as I found that some things take several years of determination to accomplish. And I experienced the sweet feeling that comes from successfully accomplishing a goal.

In the heart of England, a town with cobblestone streets, streetlamps, and centuries-old churches, was ready for the 2019 Christmas season. Warwick resembled the perfect Christmas card with wreaths, lights, and a larger-than-life Christmas tree in the centre of town. While it is best known for its castle, where in years past it was frequented by queens, princes, dukes, duchesses and other notables, most locals are not aware of a quiet miracle that took place at Christmastime not so long ago.
In an unassuming chapel near Town Square, a faithful group of Christians from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints gather each Sunday to worship together and partake of the holy sacrament. These followers of Christ pattern their lives after His teachings and strive to give of themselves and serve others.
At Christmastime, tradition requires a choir to sing, and all members of the small congregation were welcome to join and prepare to sing at this special time of year. Singing experience wasn’t required—just a willing heart and voice. Even the full-time missionaries were recruited to increase numbers and achieve a proper balance between men and women. The choir director chose a simple two-part melody with a piano accompaniment, which shared a thoughtful message of the first Christmas night.
Many members of the choir had not performed before and each was placed next to a more experienced member, to better hear how their part was sung. The choir members rehearsed together for weeks before Christmas.
On the Sunday that the choir was to sing, a young man named Tom Brannan was visiting the sacrament service with his father and happened to arrive early, when choir members were holding a final run through before singing in Church that day. Tom was invited to sing with them, and he willingly joined in. He had a nice voice, picked up the men’s part quickly and added a measure of support to the men’s section.
While waiting for the pianist to arrive, the men and women of the choir sang through their parts, together and separately. With just a few minutes to go before the service was to begin, word came that the choir accompanist was unexpectedly delayed; she was not likely to make it in time for the performance. It would be impossible for this humble group to sing without a piano. Disappointment filled the room as the choir members soon realised that they may not be singing in church that day; something they had looked forward to for some time.
As thoughts were aired, Tom came forward and said, “I don’t read music, but I play by ear, and I could try to play a few chords.” He then sat down at the piano, composed an accompaniment and a miracle was born. Tom played beautifully, the piano framing the melody. The choir director brought in the women first, and next the men—all while the piano carried the song forward.
Tears flowed freely as the words of the song filled the hearts and souls of those present. Tom’s unexpected offering brought a spirit of unity and strength. Imperfection was made perfect in that moment as the story of the first Christmas unfolded through music.
The experience sunk deep. It was a reminder that when we give of ourselves, miracles can happen. That is the true gift from God, offering our best, and being made whole through His Son, Jesus Christ.

Last Easter during general conference, President Russell M. Nelson called on us to increase our faith.1 These last few months have been rather challenging for my family—physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually. Between March and May this year, a second surge of the pandemic hit Madagascar, my home country, in an unprecedented way, completely overwhelming the health system. Many people and even doctors were asking questions like, “What is happening to us?” “Where is God?” and “Are we such bad people to deserve such a calamity?”
Our family has not been spared, as my wife and I, most of my siblings and their spouses, and my parents were infected. My mother, my wife and I, having a more serious form of the disease, had to be hospitalized and were put together in a single room. After ten days of treatment and improvement, my wife and I were discharged with a recommendation to rest in bed for several more weeks.
My mother was left alone. Her feeling of loneliness turned to depression, as none of us could visit her. She then requested to be brought home and treated by me, a medical doctor. We all reasoned with her, as it was impossible to meet her oxygen needs at home. As her condition worsened, she became angry with all of us, and her desire to go home became a command. We finally were all convinced to bring her home as we miraculously found a solution to her oxygen supply needs. Once home, she slowly improved each day. But on the following Sunday morning, she suddenly went into cardiorespiratory arrest before my eyes. I immediately started, with the help of my brother, the best—and longest—resuscitation I have ever provided. We finally had to resign ourselves to the fact that she would pass away. With my eyes filled with tears, I signed the official medical death declaration for the woman who gave birth to me.
After comforting my loved ones, my mind became filled with questions and doubts. Had I, as a doctor, done something wrong in the care I had provided to my mother? Did we make the wrong decision in bringing her home? Those moments of doubts and questioning required me to work on increasing my faith to feel peace.
I received a call from Elder S. Mark Palmer, the Africa South Area President, who ministered to me with so much love. As I reported how my mother passed away for a reason I did not understand, he said: “As a doctor, you do not understand. But as a servant of the Lord, you do.”2
I have always had a strong faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, but what Elder Palmer said helped me get back on the right track.

Elder L. Tom Perry taught my wife Stefani and me about the proper priorities of a true temple marriage over 30 years ago when he performed our sealing in the Salt Lake temple. Now, you may be wondering, how did you know Elder Perry? That’s the interesting part of the story: we didn’t know Elder Perry personally, and we had never met him before our wedding day. So how did he end up being our sealer?

Well, at that time, my father-in-law, Dennis Wood, worked as the director of government relations for US-West, the old phone company in Salt Lake City. A few weeks prior to our wedding, my father-in-law’s supervisor, who was not a member of the Church, came into his office and asked him if his daughter’s wedding was going to be in a temple. When my father-in-law confirmed that it was, his supervisor surprised him and said, “I have a community board meeting this afternoon and Tom Monson will be there—I’ll ask him if he will do your daughter’s wedding!” My father-in-law quickly told him that he shouldn’t do that, and that Elder Monson has a very busy schedule. His supervisor simply responded, “I’m going to do it.”

The next morning, the supervisor returned and said, “Well, I talked to Tom Monson, and he said he is going to be out of town on the day of your daughter’s wedding. But Tom Perry was there, and he said he’ll do it!” Even on the morning of our sealing, Stefani and I weren’t quite sure if it was really going to happen. But, sure enough, as we were sitting in the sealing room, in walked Elder Perry. After greeting us and our families, he turned to my wife with an unforgettable grin and said, “Stefani, what are you going to do the first time you walk into the kitchen and find a child covered from head to toe in strawberry jam?”

Now, that may seem like a bit of an odd thing to say to a bride on her wedding day—and not just because it involved a child covered in jam. Why was Elder Perry asking us about our children when we weren’t even married yet? I know now that it was because he wanted us to begin our marriage with the end in mind, and he was inviting us to see our marriage in an expanded and eternal way.

Elder Perry then opened the scriptures to us and read from Doctrine and Covenants 88:118, which reads: “Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God.”

Elder Perry taught us that we were gathered that day not just to participate in and witness a wedding, but that we were gathered to create a new eternal family. And that if we would prioritize these eternal truths in our marriage that our relationship with each other would be blessed and strengthened. Stefani and I have been so grateful for that teaching in our lives. In fact, we have had that scripture hanging in the entryway of our home throughout our marriage.

I am so grateful for that expanded vision of marriage. I love my sweet wife Stefani; she is my spouse, my partner, and my best friend. But I also love and admire her as the mother of our children and now as “Grandma Stef” to our grandchildren. And there are no titles I cherish more in this world than being called “Dad” and “Grandpa Jas.”

“Come on, Fynn. It’s time to go!” Johan said.
Fynn’s brother, Johan, was waiting impatiently at the front door. He didn’t want to be late for school.
Fynn frowned. He didn’t want to go to school. His family had just moved to a new house. It was his first year at school, and he hadn’t made any friends here yet. He missed his old friends.
“I’m scared!” Fynn said, running to his mom. “Why do I have to go to school?”
Mom gave Fynn a hug. “It’s going to be OK. Let’s say a prayer,” she said. “There’s always time to pray.”
They knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help Fynn. Then Fynn and his brother went to school. The day went a little better.
Every morning after that, Fynn knelt down and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father for help.
Slowly, things got better. Fynn made a friend, and he wasn’t scared anymore. After a while, Fynn started liking school.
One day Fynn and his brother were walking to school, and Fynn felt happy. He noticed the sun shining. He thought about all the fun things he was learning. Suddenly he stopped walking.
“I forgot something!” he told Johan. Fynn ran back to their house.
Mom looked worried when he ran inside.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I forgot to pray!” Fynn said. He knelt down. He wanted to thank Heavenly Father for helping him.
After ending his prayer, he gave Mom a hug. “There’s always time to pray!” he said.
Fynn smiled. Mom smiled. And as Fynn ran to catch up with his brother, he thought maybe Heavenly Father was smiling too.

Now to those of you who have not yet been to the temple to receive your temple ordinances, you can be in the temple regularly performing that sacred work of baptisms and confirmations for those on the other side of the veil.

When I was in the temple presidency I would often go to the baptistry early in the morning and observe the wonderful young people doing baptisms and confirmations I loved to hear the swishing of the water. One morning at 6 a.m. I witnessed a father baptizing his daughter. When I visited with them I found out that it was the daughter=s 12th birthday. The father said she wanted to be in the temple on her 12th birthday. What a joy it was to see that father, the daughter and the mother all together in the holy temple.

“When I was 10 years old, my family became refugees in a new land. I had always been a good student in school—that is, until we arrived in West Germany. …

“Because so much of the curriculum was new and strange to me, I fell behind. For the first time in my life, I began to wonder if I was simply not smart enough for school.

“Fortunately I had a teacher who taught me to be patient. He taught me that steady and consistent work—patient persistence—would help me to learn.

“Over time, difficult subjects became clearer—even English. Slowly I began to see that if I applied myself consistently, I could learn. It didn’t come quickly, but with patience, it did come.”

A friend of ours in South Africa shared how she came to this realization. When Diane was a new convert, she attended a branch outside of Johannesburg. One Sunday, as she sat in the congregation, the layout of the chapel prevented a deacon from seeing her as he passed the sacrament. Diane was disappointed but said nothing. Another member noted the omission and mentioned it to the branch president after the meeting. As Sunday School began, Diane was invited to an empty classroom.
A priesthood holder came in. He knelt, blessed some bread, and handed her a piece. She ate it. He knelt again, blessed some water, and handed her a small cup. She drank it. Diane had two thoughts in rapid succession: “Oh, he [the priesthood holder] did this just for me,” and then, “Oh, He [the Savior] did this just for me.” Through the sacrament, Diane felt Heavenly Father’s love just for her.
Her realization that the Savior’s sacrifice was just for her helped her feel close to Him and fueled an overwhelming desire to keep that feeling in her heart—not just Sunday but every day. She realized that although she sat in a congregation to partake of the sacrament, the covenants she made anew each Sunday were individually hers. The sacrament helped—and continues to help—Diane feel the power of godly love, recognize the Lord’s hand in her life, and draw closer to the Savior.13

My baptism into this Church was one of the highlights of my life. I was eight years of age. My parents taught me and my brothers the significance of this great ordinance. My mother told me that after my baptism I would be held accountable for the things I did that were not right. I remember the day of my baptism very vividly. I was baptized in the baptismal font in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. Those who were being baptized put on white coveralls and one by one were gently taken down the steps into the water. One of the children baptized that day was not totally immersed, and so the ordinance was repeated. This was necessary because, as the scriptures indicate, “baptism symbolizes death, burial, and resurrection, and can only be done by immersion.” It also follows the pattern set by the Savior, who was baptized in the river Jordan, where there was much water. As Matthew records, “And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straightway out of the water.”
Even though I was only eight years of age, the words of the baptismal prayer penetrated deeply into my soul. After repeating my name, Brother Irvin G. Derrick, who baptized me, said, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

For Mindy, a young mother of twin toddlers, the simple efforts of her ministering sister made a huge difference in her sacrament meeting experience every week.
“Because of my husband’s work schedule, I take our twin daughters to church by myself every week,” Mindy explains. “It’s really overwhelming to try to make it through all of sacrament meeting with two busy toddlers, but my ministering sister has taken it upon herself to help me.
“She sits with us and helps me take care of my girls every week. Just having her next to me means so much and really eases my anxiety in their moments of tantrums or fussiness. I don’t think she’ll ever know how much her actions have impacted me at this time in my life. She saw my need as a young, anxiety-filled mother, and she helps make church a peaceful and happy place for all of us.”

Many years ago I was in Stockton, California, and a high councilor came up to me and said, “Elder Featherstone, I’ve been impressed by what you’ve said about the family. I have a son who is 17 years old. I haven’t hugged him or told him I loved him for half of his life—not since he was eight years old. I’m going home today, and I’m going to hug him and tell him I love him.”

I was afraid he might chicken out, so I asked him to write me a letter and tell me how it went. He wrote me a letter that arrived about three days later. Essentially, he said this, “I went home after Church. My son was watching a football game. He was slouched in the big easy chair with his leg up over the arm. I walked up to him, grabbed him by the arm, pulled him out of the chair, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him I loved him for the first time in half his life.”

I read the letter as I sat in my office, and the tears ran down and splashed on the letter. Of course we love each other. Love is critical.

Austin Nickle began learning sign language when he was 18 years old. He started attending his local Deaf branch and even signed up to take classes at the community college. But Austin isn’t deaf.
“I was born with a speech impediment,” says Austin. “I’ve been afraid to speak much throughout my life because of my stuttering and lack of ?uency [the ability to say all the sounds in words so they are clearly understood]. But I’m not shy. I enjoy social settings, I just don’t talk as much as others.”
Sometimes it takes Austin minutes to get out what others can share in seconds. But that’s never stopped him from being optimistic and fully participating in school or church. And though he may feel fear at times, he portrays courage.
“He is fearless,” says Austin’s home ward bishop, Rodger Pickett.
“I used to be his seminary teacher. He was fearless despite the fact that he could be teased. And there were members of the class who would roll their eyes a little, but he was fearless to be engaged, o?er answers, pray, and do other things in class.”
And it’s true. Austin is not only brave but also kind. But that doesn’t mean things come easy.
Serving a mission was something Austin knew would present a challenge.
“When I thought of serving a full-time mission,” said Austin, “I knew I could be successful at a service mission, but I was worried about serving a full-time proselyting mission. However, I knew that wherever the Lord called me was where He could use me best.”
“I knew that wherever the Lord called me was where He could use me best.”
For Austin, it was just a matter of ?guring out the best route.
One Sunday, the direction became a little clearer. Austin’s stake president was visiting Austin’s ward, and Austin was blessing the sacrament. Before he ?nished the prayer, the stake president and Bishop Pickett both received the same impression.
“We turned and looked at each other with the exact same thought,” said Bishop Pickett. “He should learn sign language!”
As soon as Bishop Pickett and President McCall shared their thought, Austin said, “I was no longer nervous about going on a mission. I knew I wanted to serve as an ASL [American Sign Language] missionary.”
Austin began attending a local Deaf branch and then took sign language classes at the local community college. Of course, there was no guarantee, but he worked diligently and prepared himself in case it was the Lord’s will for him to serve an ASL mission.
On September 26, 2019, Austin received his mission call—a two-year ASL mission to Phoenix, Arizona, USA.
“I wish you could have seen his face,” said Bishop Pickett. “Joy. Pure joy. He was signing and his mother was interpreting as he opened the email. He made an ecstatic yell … accompanied by some ?st pumping.”
“I’m excited,” says Austin. “It’s exciting that there are lots of ways to serve.”
Elder Austin Nickle with his first companion
“The Lord has a mission for you where you can make a difference.”
A warm welcome to the mission in Phoenix, Arizona!

During her campaign for student-body president, Sue introduced a theme, “Seek for the highest that is in you.” As high school students will do, some started making fun of the theme. But Sue persevered, using the theme for all the activities throughout the year, and the silliness died down. The principal of Mt. Si, Scott Menard, said, “There are always those who will take something positive and try to undermine it. Sue was able to overcome that just by her good-naturedness and by not taking herself too seriously or getting defensive when people would put the theme down. She kept it through every assembly. She didn’t allow the focus to wander, and it became the accepted motto for the students that year.”

I was called to serve in the New Zealand Wellington Mission. When I knew I needed to go home early, I felt like I had let Heavenly Father and my parents down.
I’ve learned so much from my mission and from this situation. I never needed to rely on Heavenly Father and the Savior’s Atonement like I did when I came home early. I needed to trust God and accept whatever He wanted me to go through and learn. I cannot deny the power of the Atonement and how I’ve truly come to know that Jesus Christ is my Savior. I’ve learned that God humbles me and teaches me through my weaknesses and hard times.
No matter where I am, or whether I have a name tag on my chest, I’m still a disciple of Jesus Christ. I know that the Lord still loves me and is with me, and He wants me to keep serving others. And even though I’m home, I know I’m not a failure because He’s helped me become a better person through this experience.
Natasha Krisanalome, Thailand

Some women face illness and incapacity, even to the point of being bedfast. Even so, there is the privilege to rise above affliction and to be a true example of faith, of love, and of service. Such was the partnership of Virginia and her husband, Eugene Jelesnik. They for many years worked together in bringing the gift of song and the joy of music to thousands of servicemen and women and to audiences from stages worldwide. Then illness and advancing age forced Virginia to remain within four walls—bedfast. But her spirit could not be held hostage by an impaired body. She continued to encourage her husband and to be his inspiration and constant support. All who are the beneficiaries of Eugene’s community concerts and his civic service marvel at his energy, his enthusiasm, and his kindness. In his many responsibilities, Virginia was ever a source of his strength.

When General Douglas MacArthur kept his promise to the people of the Pacific Isles that he would return, in his troops was a young Latter-day Saint soldier. They landed on a beach on the Isle of Luzon in the Philippines and set up a beachhead. The enemy had established a fortress on a hill nearby and was bombarding the beachhead to rout their opposers, but General MacArthur’s troops captured the hill. In doing so, approximately 700 men lost their lives.
This slaughter was a dramatic shock to the mind of this young man. He spent two years on the island but could not overcome the horror of what he had experienced. When he returned home, he never told any war stories. He never shared the details of his experiences even with his family. His feelings lay dormant inside him. The scene of the battle haunted him for years. He tried hard to forget, and finally he felt that he had been able to put it behind him.
Forty years after the carnage at Luzon, while he was serving as a counselor to the mission president in his home area, he and his wife received a call to serve a mission. He rejoiced at this wonderful opportunity, for he loved to teach and talk about the gospel. Several months passed before he learned where he was assigned. A letter from the First Presidency advised him that he was to serve in the Philippines. This information was very disconcerting. He had to go back to the place where he had been on that fateful day many years before. He feared that going back would resurrect the horrible scenes that had haunted him through the years and that he had tried to bury in the recesses of his mind.
When he arrived in the Philippines, the memory of that dreadful experience returned. On one of his preparation days, he went to the beach where he had been with General MacArthur when they landed 42 years before and where he had witnessed the great loss of life. He visited the hill where 700 men had died in taking the stronghold. He saw smoke on an adjoining hill, which sickened him as it brought back scenes of booby traps and dangers that had confronted him years before. He recalled wading through swamps in water up to his armpits and lying in foxholes with poisonous snakes slithering around him. He recalled things he had seen and experienced that he had blanked out of his mind. Then in contemplation he realized he couldn’t shut out reality. Not talking about it had bottled it up inside. Talking about it helped. Now he has shared his feelings of those difficult days with his friends, family, and loved ones. To do so is therapeutic when the listener is understanding and supportive.