Gospel Story Finder

I did like seeing my friends at church. And every Sunday after church, my dad and I would talk about the gospel. One Sunday we talked about prayer. I said I felt like I was talking to the air. My dad helped me understand more about prayer. We talked about how I was afraid of being called a goody-goody or being known as too “churchy.” My dad helped me realize I didn’t have to let negative labels keep me from doing what’s right.

In February 1846, Elder Pratt left the branches in Anaa and Tubuai, bound for the United States. He promised to return with additional missionaries. Four and a half years later, on October 21, 1850, 21 travel-weary Latter-day Saints—seven men, five women, and nine children—arrived on the shores of Tubuai.11 Elder Pratt, called to lead a contingent of missionaries back to the islands, had returned in advance of the rest of the group but was detained by colonial officials in Tahiti who were suspicious of the missionaries. Louisa Barnes Pratt, Elder Pratt’s wife, and their four daughters, however, were with the company. Louisa immediately asked to be introduced to her husband’s “old friends” Telii and Nabota. An older man guided her and the other missionaries to Telii and Nabota’s home, where, despite having been sick for several days, Telii had prepared a feast of pork, fish, po’e (a local dish made from taro root), and fruit. The rest of the evening was spent celebrating their arrival by singing himene late into the night. “The music was delightful,” Louisa said. “Their voices are loud and clear.”12

Stakes in the Ogden, Utah area performed a service that not only delighted thousands of visitors to Temple Square in Salt Lake City during the Christmas season, but brought joy to dozens of children in Israel. The Young Women made stuffed dolls dressed in the native costumes of nations throughout the world. The dolls were tied with wide red ribbons to Christmas trees in both the North and South Visitors’ Centers on Temple Square. Each girl researched the country her doll was to represent and tried to make the costume look as authentic as possible. She then attached a note with her name and address to the doll.
After Christmas, the dolls were transported to Israel where they were given to Arab orphans in Bethlehem. When the first doll was delivered, a small girl wearing glasses named Ikhlass received it. She clung to her new doll throughout the day, taking it with her as she played, ate, and slept.

One other perspective. Some years ago I knew a young woman whose life kind of wandered off the fairway and into the rough. She made some serious mistakes, but repentance and the Savior could have helped her come back. However, in utter frustration, her mother once said to her, "You are damaged goods! No worthy priesthood holder will ever want you!" The girl burst into tears. I'm sorry to say that she believed her mother, and she went on living as if she really were damaged beyond repair. If anyone today feels even a little as she did, or if you have a friend who does, please know that no matter what damage you have known, your condition need not be permanent. You are God's literal son or daughter. He loves you and He can completely heal any damage. If you need to repent or you need to forgive, you will discover that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, you can learn from your mistakes without being condemned by them.

After we got baptized, I was eager to have my mother’s temple work done but not my father’s work. The missionaries, however, encouraged me.

"It’s part of doing your part," they said. "Your father is also waiting for you to have his work done."

I told them I didn’t care. I was still upset with him.

"We have found the gospel," my aunt told me. "You need to forgive him and do his work."

Reluctantly, I accepted their counsel. A year after I was baptized, I took my parents’ names to the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. It was a powerful, emotional experience. I was baptized for my mother and for several other people. Then our branch president prepared to be baptized for my father. I did not want to watch, so I began to leave.

After the branch president entered the font, I heard my father’s name during the ordinance. Immediately afterward, I felt the presence of my father. That experience left me feeling ashamed for not wanting to have his work done.

"Forgive me, Heavenly Father," I prayed as I began to weep. "I have been selfish."

When I returned to Nicaragua, I went to the cemetery where my father was buried. For the first time, I visited his grave and placed flowers on it. I asked him to forgive me, and I told him that I loved him. Then I wept again.

My father, like my mother, had been waiting for me to take his name to the temple, where Heavenly Father allowed me to have a wonderful experience. That experience cleansed my heart. In that moment, all of the pain and anger I had felt toward him went away.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

“Mom,” Nancy asked, as she carefully put her toothbrush back into the holder and started for her bedroom, “who can I invite to my baptism Saturday?”
“Well, your dad and I will be there and the rest of your Primary class, so just about anybody else, I suppose.”
“But my teacher said that I should invite a ‘special friend,’ and all my special friends are already going to be there.”
“Why don’t we ask Heavenly Father for some help?” her mother suggested, and they knelt beside the bed.
The next day was Friday, and it was a busy one for Nancy. She came in from school and immediately started her weekend homework. She would be too busy to do it Saturday, and tonight Sister Johnson, her Primary teacher, had invited her to dinner. Nancy had never been to Sister Johnson’s home before, so she was quite excited about the evening, and it was hard to keep her mind on her homework.
At last she was through, and it was time to go. “Have you thought of a special friend to ask to your baptism tomorrow?” Nancy’s mother asked as they drove to her teacher’s house.
“No, I haven’t,” Nancy slowly replied, “but I know that Heavenly Father will help me think of someone before it’s too late.”
The Johnsons lived in a small home with a pretty yard. Their children were grown, but the house had the warmth and friendliness that people who love children bring to any place they live.
When Sister Johnson introduced her husband to Nancy, Nancy asked, “Are you coming to my baptism tomorrow?”
“No.”
Mr. Johnson’s reply was short but not angry, so Nancy then asked, “Why don’t you come to church with your wife?”
Mr. Johnson looked a bit uncomfortable as he explained to his young guest that since he wasn’t a member, he didn’t go to church.
Nancy thought for a minute. Then she asked, “Mr. Johnson, do you believe that Jesus is Heavenly Father’s Son?”
He looked startled as he answered, “Certainly.”
“Well, do you have something that you have to repent of—” Suddenly realizing that what she’d asked was none of her business, Nancy turned very red and started to apologize.
But Mr. Johnson was really nice about it. “Nancy,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose everybody has some sin or wrongdoing that they should get squared away on, but I doubt that I have anything terrible to repent of.”
“Then why don’t you get baptized too?”
Mr. Johnson smiled patiently at her. “It’s just not that simple, young lady,” he said. “Your church asks you to believe a lot more than the fact that Jesus is the Son of God.”
“Oh,” Nancy said. “But the things that we learn in Primary are all things that Jesus wants us to know, aren’t they?”
“From what I know about what my wife teaches in Primary, they are,” Mr. Johnson acknowledged cautiously.
“Then all you have to do is pray about it, and the Holy Ghost will tell you that it’s right. Then you can be baptized!”
“Nancy, I’ve had the missionary discussions, and I simply don’t know for sure.”
The call to supper came just then, and the subject was dropped. Sister Johnson had fixed Nancy’s favorite foods, and Mr. Johnson told many interesting stories about his childhood while they ate.
Soon it was time for the Johnsons to drive Nancy home. As they pulled into her driveway, Nancy remembered her prayer. She turned to Mr. Johnson and said, “Your wife said that I should invite a special friend to my baptism tomorrow. Will you be my special friend and come?”
As Nancy waited anxiously for his answer, he was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled at her and said, “I’d be honored to.”
That evening as she prepared for bed, Nancy knelt and thanked Heavenly Father for helping her find a special friend to invite to her baptism.
Saturday afternoon Nancy and her family went to the meetinghouse. She and her father sat in their white clothes in the front row by the baptismal font, ready for the big event. As Nancy looked for the Johnsons, she saw the bishop come in and, to her surprise, he was dressed in white also. As he shook her hand, she asked, “Bishop, why are you dressed that way? Isn’t Dad going to baptize me?”
“Oh yes,” smiled Bishop Guthridge. “I’m going to baptize someone else.”
“Who?” Nancy asked. “I thought that I was the only one getting baptized today.”
“A special friend,” responded the bishop, with a twinkle in his eye. He nodded toward the doorway, where the Johnsons were coming in. Mr. Johnson was wearing white pants and a white shirt!
As they sat down next to Nancy, the bishop went to the front of the room to start the services. “We’d like to welcome you to our baptisms today,” he said. “You all know that this is Nancy’s big day, but you probably didn’t know that I got a call early this morning from Brother Johnson. It seems that he is a ‘special friend’ to someone who taught him last night how to know that the gospel is true, and he wants to be baptized too. So today will be extra special for two people, their families, and for all of us.”

I remember reading several years ago of a man who had gone into the wilderness area of the state of Montana with a companion on a big game hunt. The hunters came upon a grizzly bear at rather close range, and one of the men fired at the bear and wounded it. In a rage the huge animal charged the hunters. One of them, in panic and in a desperate attempt to save himself, climbed into the lower branches of a small tree close by. The tree was not large enough to support the man’s weight and hold him beyond the reach of the bear’s powerful claws and jaws. Before his companion could destroy the bear, it had inflicted such serious injuries on the treed hunter that it was necessary to amputate both his legs in order to save his life.

My plan to make friends and integrate seamlessly into my new boarding school was working out as I had hoped—until the first Sunday morning when I hurried into the dining hall dressed in my suit and tie to grab a quick bite before heading to church. It felt like the room went silent as my peers, still wearing their pajamas, stopped eating and stared at me through their half-shut, sleepy eyes. I quickly realized that I was the only active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the school.
The Lord has said to Church members, “Arise and shine forth, that thy light may be a standard for the nations” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:5).
Without me saying a single word, news of my religion spread rapidly. I began receiving daily questions about my faith, which usually began with “Hey, you’re Matteo, the Mormon, right?” Most questions were genuine, some were jarring, others were malicious, and a few were simply comical.
One friend asked me sincerely, “Isn’t it true that you guys don’t eat oranges?” to which I jokingly responded, “Oh yeah, oranges are straight from the devil.” As we were both laughing, I realized that his initial apprehension eased, and we felt a stronger connection as friends.
Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.
The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.
After Halloween, people’s attitudes toward me changed, and questions about my faith evolved into peers asking me for advice about their own lives. To my surprise, friends and acquaintances who had gotten over the initial shock of learning that I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs and that I am waiting to have sex until I’m married turned to me for guidance specifically on those topics.
I found myself reassuring friends who were feeling pressured into having sex that they had the power to choose, encouraging some to go to the school counselor to talk about mental health and addiction concerns, and even consoling someone who made a mistake that would likely lead to expulsion. I was baffled by the way many of my peers could transition from mocking me to seeking my advice.
Over time, I understood that being completely confident, open, and vulnerable about who I was drew others to me who were seeking a judgment-free space and a listening ear.
I am grateful for two of the many important lessons I learned that year. The first is that healthy laughter can dissolve apprehension and contention and is an excellent way to unify people. The second is that choosing to be confident in who you are brings remarkable opportunities to help others that would have never come otherwise.
There were many times when I wanted to hide my religion and be known for something else. But having a sense of humor and vulnerability about who I am allowed people to get to know me as Matteo, not just someone with different beliefs.
Elder Matteo Huish, age 18, Arizona, USA
Enjoys spartan races, family game nights, and performing music.
Elder Huish is currently serving in the Canada Toronto Mission, speaking Persian.

Willian M., age 15, shared: “The missionaries were the first to bring me to church. Then what kept me going was everyone’s reception. I thought that coming to this Church would be just to hear something about the gospel and then go back home, but I realized that it wasn’t just that—it was something very welcoming. When Bishop Gil Santos was called as our bishop, he invited young people to work, with the aim of bringing more young people to the Church. He knew that young people are the future of the Church. That’s why I’m here!”

One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

As a youth, these words sunk deep into my heart and helped prepare me to become a worthy Melchizedek Priesthood holder. But for years after receiving the priesthood, I couldn’t bring myself to give priesthood blessing to others, and the biggest reason was fear.
I was afraid I was unworthy or that I might not say the right thing. This fear kept me from using the priesthood authority, with which I’d been entrusted, to call on the powers of heaven to bless others. But deep down I knew that if I wanted to magnify the priesthood, my feelings needed to change. I needed to overcome my fears and insecurities about using God’s power to bless others.
By exercising faith in the Lord and acting on the inspired counsel of His servants, I aligned my life more closely with His teachings. I took the time to pour out my soul in prayer every day, and I prayed to be spiritually strengthened as I studied the scriptures. I shared scripture verses with whoever came to mind while reading. I listened to general conference talks. I shared my testimony of the gospel with others. And I fasted when I needed extra strength.
As I followed these basic instructions with a determination to align my will with God’s, I could feel the Holy Ghost more, my spiritual capacity increased, and my connection with the powers of heaven was strengthened. At last, I had the courage to give a blessing of comfort and guidance.
I remember feeling nervous at first and worried about what to say. But as the Spirit washed over me, my fear was gone, and my worry was replaced by the very words I should say! It felt so right, like I had been missing a part of myself all along!
Since then I’ve been called on to give more blessings than I can count, and I love it! Each time I give the Lord’s blessings to His children, I’ve been blessed immensely. A priesthood blessing truly blesses everyone involved.

Now I think I’ll skip over some of my missionary experiences. This one might interest you. While I was laboring as a district president in Amsterdam on my first mission, my companion and I were invited to the home of one of the Saints. She wanted to invite her neighbor in and wanted us to come and teach her the gospel. When we arrived, the neighbor was there, but she had brought her minister along with her to make sure that we told her the right things. Well, the minister and I had a little difference of opinion on the subject of priesthood and right there he challenged me to a debate in his church. In those days we were not advised not to debate, and so I accepted the challenge–I was young and had plenty of fight in me.

When we arrived at his church a week from Saturday night, the church was full; all of his people were there, and all of our people. How our people had found out about it I do not know. I had not told them. I think he had spread the word around, thinking to show us up. But at any rate, he stood up and said, “Inasmuch as Mister Richards is a guest in our church we’ll accord him the privilege of opening the debate, and we’ll each talk for twenty minutes and continue as long as it’s mutually agreeable.” He asked, “Is that agreeable to you, Mister Richards?”

And I said, “Very much.” I did not tell him that I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he had just handed it to me on a silver platter. I did not know whether the Lord had anything to do with that or not, but I thought he did.

I stood up and said, “The last time I talked to my friend, we had a difference of opinion in regard to the principle of the priesthood. I’ve come tonight prepared to discuss that subject, but I do not propose to start with that subject.” This is a device that has helped me in my work: I said, “If you were going to build a house, you wouldn’t try to put the roof on it before you got the foundation in, would you? Because if the foundation were faulty the house would tumble anyway so what good would the house be? I propose to open this debate tonight by laying the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I choose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews, where Paul said,
Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,
Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment. [Hebrews 6:1–2]
I hurried over faith and repentance; I assumed that they believed that. I preached baptism by immersion for the remission of sins until everybody in the audience was giving me accord. Then it came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and they did not believe that. They thought the Holy Ghost just came, like the breezes that blow from the heavens.

I reminded them that when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip they sent Peter and John. When these apostles arrived, they prayed for the people, then laid their hands upon them, and the people received the Holy Ghost. When Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying, “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.” And Peter said, “Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gifts of God may be purchased with money” (see Acts 8:14–20). Then I gave two or three other references on laying on of hands and I sat down.

The minister stood up. He never mentioned a word I had said. He started expounding on a few of the bad things that our enemies had said against us and then said, in the most courteous manner, “Now, if Mister Richards will enlighten us on these matters I’m sure this audience will be most appreciative.”

I was on my feet just like that. (My companion later asked how I could think so fast; I responded, “What have you been praying for all week long?”) I stood up and said, “In the days of the Savior his enemies tried to trick him with cunning and craftiness. I don’t suppose there’s anyone here today who’d like to see us resort to those old tactics. If I understand a debate, it’s a presentation and answering of arguments. Has this man answered any of my arguments?” All shook their heads negatively. “All right, my friend,” I said, “you may have your twenty minutes over again.”

He would not do it. I knew he could not. His wife, who was in the audience, stood up and said, “What Mister Richards is asking is fair. You ought to answer him.” And even then he would not do it.

I said to my companions, “Stand up. Give me my coat and hat.” (It was winter.) “One more chance,” I announced. “I am willing to remain here till ten o’clock tomorrow morning, when I have to be in my own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you have set up. If not, I am going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our people to leave, and I shall leave it with you to settle with your people for what has happened here today.” And still he would not do it. So we all walked out on him. I met him on the street time and time again after that and he would duck his head so that he would not have to speak to me. Well, that is one of my little experiences there.

Lara sat by the big window, looking at the pictures in the book that Grandma had given her. She wished that Mother had time to read the story to her. Baby Emily seemed to need all of Mother’s time.
Baby Emily started crying again. Lara put the new book down and went over to the baby’s crib. Lara picked up the blue and pink rattle and shook it. It sounded like a bunch of little bells. Lara thought that it sounded nice, but Baby Emily just kicked and cried some more.
“Doesn’t she like the rattle?” Lara asked.
“She’s too little,” Mother explained, picking up Baby Emily. “She’ll like it when she gets a little older. I’ll change her diaper; then she’ll be happy again.”
Lara ran to get a soft white diaper from the top of the tall stack. Then she got a damp cloth and the bottle of baby powder. After the clean diaper was on, Lara took the cloth to the bathroom and put the powder back on the shelf with Baby Emily’s other things.
When Mother sat in the rocking chair with Baby Emily, Lara tiptoed out of the room. She knew that Mother wanted the baby to go to sleep.
Lara wanted to run and shout and skip, but even before Baby Emily came, Mother wouldn’t let her run and shout and skip in the house.
The newspaper was on the floor, so Lara folded it and put it on the table.
“You are a big help,” Mother said, coming into the room. “Emily is asleep, and because you helped, I have time to do something with you. What shall we do?”
“We could read my new book.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ve been wanting to read that story.”
Lara got the book and snuggled happily beside Mother in the big chair by the window.

As a young elder in the missionary training center, I thought I knew how to do missionary work until I had an experience that changed everything about my approach to sharing the gospel. It happened in a Sunday School class with hundreds of other missionaries.
During the class, the teacher focused our attention on a comment made by the Prophet Joseph Smith. He explained that in the area where Joseph Smith grew up, missionaries of other churches tried to convince people that their churches were true by reasoning from passages of the Bible. These efforts often became quite intense, leading young Joseph to describe them as a “war of words and tumult of opinions” (Joseph Smith—History 1:10).
Over time, Joseph recognized that this approach was ineffective and confusing, and he offered an insight that can influence the way we share the gospel. He said, “The teachers of religion of the different sects understood the same passages of scripture so differently as to destroy all confidence in settling the question [of which church was true] by an appeal to the Bible” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12).
This was a revolutionary idea to me. I had assumed that the most effective way to share the gospel was by teaching it primarily from the Bible—common ground with other Christians. What Joseph Smith discovered had never occurred to me: because the Bible can be interpreted so differently, it can be a source of contention and misunderstanding, sometimes leading to “Bible bashing.” As President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, explained, “The Bible, so frequently described at that time as ‘common ground,’ was nothing of the kind—unfortunately it was a battleground.”
So what should we rely on when sharing the gospel? Again, Joseph Smith identified the answer: “Unless I could get more wisdom than I then had, I would never know [which church was true]” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12; emphasis added). Joseph discovered that the only way to know which church was true was to get “more wisdom,” or, in other words, more revelation, truth, and inspiration from God. The revelation he received to answer his question is known today as the First Vision.
This is the simple realization that changed my life as a missionary. I knew what I should do. Instead of trying to prove the Church true by reasoning from the Bible, I would rely on latter-day revelation. Specifically, I would teach the First Vision because it is God’s answer to the question of which church is true. The Holy Ghost could then confirm that answer to each individual. As one former mission president counseled, I would take “the quickest and most direct route to the Sacred Grove.”

I am grateful for Young Women leaders who go to girls camp and, without shampoo, showers, or mascara, turn smoky, campfire testimony meetings into some of the most riveting spiritual experiences those girls—or those leaders—will experience in their lifetime. I am grateful for all the women of the Church who in my life have been as strong as Mount Sinai and as compassionate as the Mount of Beatitudes. We smile sometimes about our sisters’ stories—you know, green Jell-O, quilts, and funeral potatoes. But my family has been the grateful recipient of each of those items at one time or another—and in one case, the quilt and the funeral potatoes on the same day. It was just a small quilt—tiny, really—to make my deceased baby brother’s journey back to his heavenly home as warm and comfortable as our Relief Society sisters wanted him to be. The food provided for our family after the service, voluntarily given without a single word from us, was gratefully received. Smile, if you will, about our traditions, but somehow the too-often unheralded women in this church are always there when hands hang down and knees are feeble.1 They seem to grasp instinctively the divinity in Christ’s declaration: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”2

In the early days of the Church, missionaries traveled without purse or scrip. That means they did not take with them any money or other usual items. Instead, they depended upon the Lord to furnish them with food, a place to sleep, and clothes to wear.
While my father was on his mission, he always had a place to sleep and plenty of food to eat. Once, however, he was discouraged because of his shabby appearance and the condition of his clothes. He had walked so far that his shoes had worn through; he had torn his coat and trousers; his shirt was ragged and faded; and low-hanging tree branches had poked holes in his hat. He prayed as he had never prayed before for the Lord to somehow help him get new clothing.
Soon afterward my father arrived in the town that was the county seat. When he went to pick up his mail, he found three letters waiting for him, each containing money. He also met two or three individuals who gave him money. So he went to the store and purchased the things he needed. As the clerk totaled the purchases, the bill came to exactly the amount of money he had received. Father always said, “This was truly an answer to prayer.”

Our seventeen-year-old son wanted to attend a movie that some of his friends had already seen. We read the newspaper review which commented on the “sex, profanity, violence, and vulgarity,” portrayed in the movie.
“So what if it is?” he said. “It can’t be any worse than what I see and hear every day at school.”
“That may be true,” I answered, “but that doesn’t mean you should see the movie.” I then said that according to the newspaper review, the movie was pornographic.
“It’s not pornography, Dad,” he argued. “The newspaper says it’s a teenage comedy, and I’m a teenager.”
“Yes,” I said. “But you’re not just any teenager. You hold God’s priesthood. Please don’t go.”
He didn’t go.

At youth conferences in the Orlando Florida and St. Albans England Stakes, teens received written “calls” to be member missionaries. They then participated in “mini missionary training centers,” where they were assigned a companion and attended workshops on how to share the gospel with others. “My understanding of the importance of missionary work has grown, and I feel I’m better prepared to share the gospel with my peers,” says 16-year-old Rachael Solomon of Orlando.

Elder Andrew Ballantyne’s excitement bounced in his throat. The cloud cover at Inverness Airport blocked all views of Scotland’s Highlands, but it didn’t matter. He was nearly home—home, family, and Gemma. For the first time in two years, he allowed Gemma fully into his thoughts. They’d agreed not to write after he’d been away 12 months. It became easier then to give his whole attention to the work.
“Are we there, young man?” His thinking was interrupted by an elderly lady in a tweed skirt occupying the next seat. She had awakened with a start as the flight attendant announced, “Fasten your seat belts.”
“We certainly are,” he smiled. “Inverness at last.” He gave a long sigh of satisfaction, settling back once more to dreams of Gemma, brown hair waving across her face; eyes, large and laughing.
“My, oh my! Have I slept all the way from Heathrow?” the lady peered at Andrew as if seeing him for the first time. Her face looked weatherworn and inquisitive.
“You a visitor then, young man? I’m Mrs. McKivett by the way. I cannot quite place your accent.” She pushed her glasses firmly on her nose, squinting more closely.
Andrew, with his cropped black hair and square-faced good looks, had a certain air of authority about him, a sense of purpose, reassuring and calm. “Not exactly a visitor,” he chuckled. “I’ve been in Switzerland for two years doing missionary work for my church. I expect my accent’s a mixture of German, French, American, and Scottish by now.”
She smiled back, nodding slowly. “Ahh … that explains everything.”
Before he could ask what everything meant, they were taxiing to a halt, and the confusion of disembarking began.
He saw them as soon as the baggage cleared. His parents; 16-year-old Adam, now taller than himself at six feet; and 11-year-old Beth, grinning widely, skipping around the three of them. With a lump in his throat he reached out to meet their embrace. Looking from face to familiar face and swiftly absorbing the changes that had taken place, he felt complete—like his mission had crowned them all with a circle of love. But part of the circle was missing.
“Is Gemma working or something?” he asked his mother as soon as the barrage of questions and answers quieted.
Andrew thought he saw an expression of dismay before she glanced away. He caught his breath. “Let’s get home first, dear,” she whispered gently, “then we can talk properly.”
The drive to Relkennan seemed to take forever. Andrew scarcely noticed as they sped over bridges and down winding roads. The view of the firth, reappearing now and again between frosted hills, then slithering down to the sea, was shrouded in a mist, as cheerless and chilling as his thoughts. His replies to the family became more automatic than interesting.
“Don’t worry, son,” his father leaned across, patting his arm. “You must be exhausted. We’ll get you in the house; then you can get some sleep before tonight’s social.”
But Andrew’s mind was racing too fast for sleep. As soon as he unpacked, he went looking for his mother, following his nose and smells of fresh baking. Her face shouted bad news before she spoke.
“I’m sorry, dear,” her placid features broke into small lines of worry as she struggled to find the words.
Andrew felt suddenly weak. “Is she … she’s not ill, is she?”
“No. It’s not that. Gemma’s … that is … we would have written but didn’t want to spoil things for you before your return.”
“She’s found someone else, hasn’t she?” Andrew stared out of the window, desolation sweeping all else aside. Then clearing his throat, “Is she happy? What’s he like? Is he a member? How long … ?”
“It’s best you see for yourself tonight,” Sister Ballantyne said, putting an arm around her son. “Go and rest, Andrew. You’ll feel better after a nap.”
But sleep was now further away than ever. His future looked bleak. It had always held Gemma. Even though she had stayed in a distant corner of his thoughts for two years, he could not imagine the future with anyone else.
It was as though his thoughts turned into prayer and a hymn began playing through his mind. They’d sung it at the last zone conference, and it was the first time Andrew had even noticed it in the hymnbook. Now here was number 336 in clear replay. He could even see his companion up there conducting with resolute conviction. “School thy feelings, O my brother; Train thy warm, impulsive soul. Do not its emotions smother, But let wisdom’s voice control …”
Jumping off the bed, Andrew rummaged through his backpack until his fingers touched the familiar worn covers. As the pages flipped open to exactly the right place, a sheet of paper dropped out. The mission president had given everyone the same quote that day: “What man thinks in his heart, he advertises on his face.”
With a rueful grin, Andrew decided, there and then, he would not spoil this homecoming for anyone. Somehow he would smile at them all. He sighed, then fell into a fitful sleep.
The meetinghouse was full. Members, family, and old school friends, everyone. “Well, young man,” a familiar voice piped up, as he worked his way around the congregation after the formal welcome. “I thought I’d find you here. Remember me?”
“Of course,” Andrew blinked in amazement at the elderly lady from the plane, still in the same tweed skirt. “I had no idea you were LDS.”
“LDS? Never heard of it. I think they called me an investigator last week. Prefer to be called Eva McKivett actually, but not to worry.” Hooking her hand through his elbow, she steered him towards a seat at the back of the hall. Andrew’s stomach knotted as he saw where they were heading. There was no way out. Next to the empty chairs sat Gemma and her boyfriend.
“I have great respect for you young elders,” Eva continued. “Taught me a few things this past month. Must say I like what I hear and feel.” She gazed unwaveringly at Andrew.
“Now then,” she eyed his missionary badge, “now then, Elder Ballantyne, please point out your family to me. Done a good job bringing you up, they have. And then tell me which of these pretty lasses has been waiting for you to come home.” Her blue eyes twinkled knowingly behind the glasses as she tapped his arm.
By now Andrew was squirming in discomfort. He had caught Gemma’s eye before sitting down, but on hearing her gasp, didn’t dare turn in her direction.
“My parents are over there … by the bishop,” he stammered. “Would you like to come over and meet them?” He half stood, hoping she would follow.
“No, no, my dear, not yet. Only just sat down.” She pulled him back into the chair. “So which one … ?” Eva began a survey of the handful of young women scattered around the hall.
“Excuse me.”
Andrew let out his breath with a relief at the interruption. Then he realized it was coming from the young man next to Gemma.
“Gemma made me come tonight. We might as well get this over with. Glen’s the name, Glen Munroe,” he said, extending one hand to Andrew and slapping him on the back with the other.
While Andrew introduced Mrs. McKivett, he took stock of Glen out of the corner of his eye. The light red hair and fair complexion, so typical of Highlanders, gave Glen a distinctive air.
He turned at last to Gemma. As their eyes met, he was puzzled by what he saw, but the look was gone in a second. Her smile was warm as she held out her hands. “Welcome home, Andy. It’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you. But it’s gone quicker than I expected.”
Andrew swallowed hard. This didn’t feel right. He wanted to give her a hug, sit down, and talk and talk. “Yes … quicker than you’d ever imagine,” he said, deciding the cool approach was his only option.
“Okay, Gemma,” Glen grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. “That’s about as much missionary talk as I can take for one night. No offense, Andrew, but you’d never catch me taking off for two years.” He pulled Gemma to his other side, away from Andrew. “Wouldn’t go and leave a beautiful girl like this floating about waiting to be snapped up by someone else.” He laughed as they moved away.
Andrew caught a glimpse of Gemma’s blush as she bit her lip with embarrassment. His stomach churned, but he gave her a quick wink, shrugging his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows in defeat. He felt someone poking him in the back. He’d forgotten Mrs. McKivett.
“Ah ha!” she said, head nodding vigorously. “So that’s the one.” She pulled the back of Andrew’s jacket until he sat down again.
“I think it’s time to turn the tables. Let me be a teacher for a moment, and you can be … what’s the word, an investigator?” Her voice sounded bossy, but her kindly smile said otherwise.
Andrew winced. “Whatever you say.”
“Do you love this young lady?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
He looked grave for a moment. “For the sake of her happiness, I guess I could go away, far away. Back to Switzerland maybe.”
“Is that what you really want?”
“Of course not.”
“Is that what she really wants?”
“Er … I don’t know.”
“Are they engaged?”
“Don’t think so. I couldn’t see a ring.”
“Then what are you waiting for? My father always said, ‘If what you want is right, then don’t give up until it’s yours.’”
“Sounds like he should have been a missionary,” said Andrew with a fleeting grin.
“And that’s another thing, young Andrew. When I came to this church, the first thing I asked the elders for was a hymnbook. Music’s been the joy of my life. In there I found this hymn, number 336 I think it is. You go and read verse four. Then find that lass before it’s too late.”
She shooed him away before easing herself to her feet and making her way over to his parents.
It was an hour later before Andrew could escape the crowd and find a peaceful moment on his own in the chapel. Sinking quietly into a seat in the corner he shut his eyes and leaned back. It was good to be home, but he missed having a companion when it came to talking things through.
What if Mrs. McKivett is wrong? he thought. Suppose Gemma really loves Glen? I can hardly go all out to break up a relationship that could bring her happiness.
He reached for a hymnbook, but his thoughts continued. It’s odd, Eva McKivett finding that song, he thought. As he was carefully reading verse four, he became aware of someone entering the chapel.
When Gemma whispered, “May I join you?” he raised his head. For a second he didn’t know if he wanted this conversation or not. Then Mrs. McKivett’s parting remarks echoed in his mind. His smile of welcome advertised a wealth of feeling far deeper than he intended.
“I … I’m sorry about Glen, Andrew.”
“You don’t need to apologize. You’re a free woman. Always were.”
“When you and I stopped writing, he was constantly around. He is very persuasive you know.”
“I noticed.”
“We got engaged last week.” She looked down at her fingers. “No ring yet. Glen couldn’t afford one.”
Andrew turned away. With his heart sinking, he made quick mental reminders to keep cool, keep smiling, let her think he didn’t mind.
“But,” she went on with a rush, “I only agreed because he said I owed it to him after all this time. I guess he convinced me that I did owe him.”
“Do you mean you don’t really love him?” Andrew’s voice rose a pitch as he stared at Gemma.
“I don’t know. I thought I did,” she looked pleadingly at him. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I don’t expect us to be back where we were before. I simply want you to know that Glen and I are no longer a couple, as of 10 minutes ago. He’s so angry he scares me right now.”
“Gemma, listen to me.” Andrew spoke softly. “We’ll deal with Glen. I’ll be right there for you. Right now I want you to know something.”
She watched his face anxiously.
“The things I felt for you before I left have increased a hundred times.” Andrew paused, watching Gemma’s frown turn into a smile of relief. “It’s as if,” he concluded, “as if someone’s fine-tuned the strings and an amazing song is about to begin.”
For Andrew, his homecoming circle could not have been more complete.

The Prophet’s role as a judge and as mayor of Nauvoo and the head of the Nauvoo Legion required him to discipline the legionnaires and render judgment as the mayor. Anthony, a black, had been selling liquor in violation of the law—to make it worse, on the Sabbath. He pleaded that he needed money urgently to buy the freedom of his child held as a slave in a southern state. Said Joseph: “I am sorry, Anthony, but the law must be observed, and we will have to impose a fine.” The next day Joseph gave him a fine horse to purchase the freedom of the child.