Gospel Story Finder

With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are now countries where the Church has been for less than 15 years. I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who has been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation, in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
They supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him, but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.

Since 1831, when section 65 of the Doctrine and Covenants was received, some members of the Church have continually struggled to capture the large vision of the kingdom’s destiny. An example of this is found in a story Wilford Woodruff related about the earliest days of the Church:

On Sunday night the Prophet called on all who held the Priesthood to gather into the little log school house they had there. It was a small house, perhaps 14 feet square. But it held the whole of the Priesthood of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who were then in the town of Kirtland. . . . When we got together the Prophet called upon the Elders of Israel with him to bear testimony of this work. . . . When they got through [bearing testimonies] the Prophet said, “Brethren I have been very much edified and instructed in your testimonies here tonight, but I want to say to you before the Lord, that you know no more concerning the destinies of this Church and kingdom than a babe upon its mother’s lap. You don’t comprehend it.” I was rather surprised. He said, “It is only a little handfull of Priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world.” [Wilford Woodruff, CR, April 1898, 57]

It may be that some of us are still like these early Saints—we know no more concerning the destiny of the Lord’s church and kingdom than a babe upon its mother’s lap. We don’t comprehend it. I certainly do not, but I am beginning to get the picture.

Without appearing to be self-serving, I would like to tell you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood a little about my call to a full-time mission. The year was 1962, and a call was received from President David O. McKay to serve in the Mexican Mission. Shortly after receiving the call, I learned that I had bone cancer in my right arm and that the probability of my living many weeks was extremely low. A blessing was received from a wonderful father, wherein he blessed me with my life and that the mission call would be fulfilled and that I would have a family and be able to serve the Lord all my days.
The doctor congratulated me on being one who had great faith in the Savior but assured me that I didn’t realize the seriousness of what I had. As some of you have noticed, I only have one arm as a result of that problem; but ten months after having my arm amputated, I entered the Mexican Mission, full of excitement and ready to work. You see, young men, I had several years earlier committed to the Lord that I would serve a full-time mission and that I would not let anything stop me from fulfilling that call. Well, brethren, the doctor passed away twenty years ago, always amazed to see me still breathing, and he actually became quite interested in the Church.
Brethren, I want you to know that having one arm for nearly thirty years has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. It hasn’t been my greatest challenge, but it has been a great teacher to me, teaching me to be more patient and tolerant with others as I have had to learn to be more patient with myself. It has helped me to understand the necessity of our having challenges in life to help develop our character and stamina, helping us to become what the Lord ultimately wants us to become.

When my sister’s in a good mood, she calls me James Herriott. That’s because I’m going to be a veterinarian.
My name is really Jeannette, but everybody calls me Jetty. I’ll be twelve on my next birthday—small but strong for my age.
Mom and Sis and I live in a big old house at the edge of Bone Hollow. There are lots of farms around here. Most of the farmers are so busy they don’t like to fuss with an animal that needs a lot of care.
Somebody brought me an orphan lamb when we moved here a few years ago, and I raised it. Now anything is apt to turn up on our doorstep.
Just this spring I was keeping a lonesome cat, Gorgeous George, in the basement while its owners were on vacation. A runt pig named Pigwig was living in a cardboard box in the storeroom. In another box were twin orphan lambs so small that I called them Minutes.
Mom works long hours at the clinic and doesn’t mind my pets as long as I keep everything clean and the animals out from under her feet. Sis is another story.
One evening I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework while some milk for Pigwig’s eight o’clock feeding was warming. Mom and Sis were doing dishes. They were having a discussion about some dumb dinner Sis wanted to have. It was to impress the parents of her boyfriend, Ted, who were coming to visit.
The discussion woke up Pigwig. He started to squeal, and Sis let out a shriek about as loud. “That kid and her weird menagerie. I can’t invite the Austins to this—this zoo!”
About that time Gorgeous George started to yowl, and the uproar woke the Minutes. It took Mom and me a while to get them all quieted down.
The next day Mom had a talk with me. “You know, Jetty, your sister’s right. It’s her home, too, and it’s only fair that she should be able to entertain her friends here without embarrassment.”
“OK, OK,” I muttered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find another place for your pets that evening.”
“But, Mom,” I persisted. “I can’t put them just anywhere! It’s too cold outside. They could get sick.”
“Jeannette, with your ingenuity I’m sure you can find a comfortable place.” When Mom starts using big words in that tone of voice, I don’t argue.
Finding a place wasn’t easy. I had to promise to give Betsy Lewis, my best friend, my very favorite record before she finally said she’d watch the animals—on the condition that her mother approved. Mrs. Lewis agreed to let Betsy keep Pigwig and the Minutes in a heated room off their garage.
Gorgeous George’s owners were back home by then so it looked like everything would work out. Sis was all excited. You’d have thought the president of the United States was coming to dinner.
I had just come back from taking Pigwig and the Minutes over to Betsy’s house when a car pulled into the driveway.
Mom and Sis weren’t home from work yet, and I was trying to decide whether I should let anyone in when I heard Curt Marsh calling, “Jetty, are you home?” He and his wife, Brenda, are good friends of ours.
When I opened the door, Curt came charging in carrying something in his arms. “Jetty, am I glad you’re here! I’m taking Brenda to the hospital. Moonbeam’s calf has pneumonia so I brought it over. We knew you’d take care of it.”
I just stood there. I mean I couldn’t even stutter!
“What’s the matter, Jet? Is something wrong?” Curt looked so worried and upset, I couldn’t tell him.
“It’s—it’s OK,” I finally stammered. “I’ll get a box.” And I rushed to find one so he wouldn’t see my face.
“Thanks, Jetty. We knew we could count on you,” he called as he hurried back to his car.
I looked at the calf. It was the size of a large dog and pure white with soft silky hair and long dark lashes. Its nose was bright pink. I promptly named it Snow White. It looked completely helpless stretched out on its side, breathing hard.
I didn’t have much time to get it out of sight before the party. I carefully placed the calf in a box. Just then Mom came rushing in, so I quickly shoved it to the back of the big coat closet.
“Hurry now,” she said. “Change your clothes and set the table.”
Everything looked super nice by the time the Austins arrived. Sis looked really neat too. She was so happy she was all sparkly.
I was eating my second piece of chicken when I noticed Sis was awfully quiet. Mrs. Austin was looking our house over like she was at a yard sale and couldn’t find anything worth buying. Mr. Austin was talking about the business he owned and how he thought Ted was wasting his time in such a small town. Ted was just sitting there. He wasn’t even holding Sis’s hand like he usually does, and I felt kind of sorry for her.
About then I thought I heard the sound of feet slipping and sliding. Suddenly through the closet door staggered the wobbly and bawling white calf. I froze for a moment.
Mrs. Austin screamed as her mink stole slid off the calf’s back and onto the floor. I had one glimpse of the stunned look on my mother’s face before I was out of my chair and dragging the calf out of the room.
The dinner party was over. I heard my mother and sister apologizing. Ted left with his parents.
Sis was crying. “Where did that thing come from?” she wailed. “Mom, I thought you told Jetty—no animals!”
“I did, and I have no more idea than you where she got it, but I intend to find out.” My mother’s voice told me I was in real trouble.
I was dragging myself out of the storeroom when the telephone rang. Sis answered it. When she turned from the phone, she had a funny look on her face. “That was Curt Marsh. Brenda had a seven-pound baby girl and they are going to name her Jeannette because Jetty is always so helpful—like tonight with that prize calf of theirs.”
Later I heard Sis say, “The Austins really are pretty stuffy, aren’t they?”
Mom said something I couldn’t hear. Then Sis giggled. “Only Jetty’s pets get to wear mink stoles,” she said. Then they both cracked up laughing!
I mean, who can understand grown-ups?

Several years ago, while I was serving as executive director of the Missionary Department, two of our fine missionaries were assassinated in a senseless terrorist attack in Bolivia. Of course, their parents and families were saddened by the tragedy. The bodies of the two young men, Elder Todd R. Wilson and Elder Jeffrey B. Ball, were shipped to the United States for burial. Following the funeral service of Elder Ball, an article appeared in the Church News. The account read in part:
“Elder Ball commented before leaving for the mission field, his mother recalled, that he felt the worst possible feeling would be to return home knowing you had not tried as hard as you could. Both parents feel their son did give his full effort, although neither could have known that he would lose his life in the Lord’s service.
“Even so, his father said he is convinced that Elder Ball would have answered the mission call had he known what the eventual outcome would be. ‘And the thing that’s incredible to me is I honestly feel I would let him go again!’” (R. Scott Lloyd, “Elder Ball Touched Lives for Good,” Church News, 3 June 1989, 14).

Josh patted his stomach, feeling more than a little full.
“That was so good,” he said, smiling at Mom and Dad.
“Are you done already?” Mom asked. “You must have been really hungry.”
“I was,” Josh said. He eyed the indoor playground in the restaurant where they were eating. “Can I go play now?”
Dad nodded. “Go ahead.”
Josh jumped up from the table, cleared away his trash, and headed to the playground. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his little brother and sister came to join him.
He had just finished climbing to the top of what he imagined to be a giant mountain where he was about to battle a dragon when he heard a voice chirp from far below.
“Joshy?”
That was his sister Anna’s nickname for him. She was almost four. He loved her a lot.
“Just a minute, Anna,” Josh called out as he raced for the twisty slide. In a flash he was down at the bottom, ready to help his sister climb. About halfway up, his younger brother, Brian, joined them. The three of them started off on a grand adventure with dragons and knights and princesses. Anna was the princess, of course. Josh wanted to be the knight, and Brian was happy to be a growly dragon.
It wasn’t long before their imaginary world was interrupted by a group of children coming in to play. Josh didn’t mind. He liked making new friends. After a few minutes, though, he began to wonder if playing with them was a good idea. The kids were nice, but they kept swearing.
Josh had been baptized a year ago, and he had been trying hard to choose the right. Mom and Dad had been talking a lot about choosing which words to use. They had taught him that Heavenly Father didn’t like swearing, mean words, or name-calling.
Josh really wanted to stay and play, but he didn’t like listening to bad words. Maybe the other kids would stop if he asked. Josh turned to the group. “Could you please not swear?” he asked quietly.
“Whatever,” one of the boys said. None of the kids stopped swearing. Josh said a quick prayer asking what to do. Into his mind popped an image of himself dressed in knight’s armor, fighting a dragon. Behind him were his brother and sister. All of a sudden, Josh knew it was more important to protect his little brother and sister from hearing the swearing than to keep playing.
“Come on, guys,” Josh said. “Let’s go see Mom and Dad.”
The three of them went down the slide and ran to their family.
“What are you doing back so soon?” Dad asked, ruffling Josh’s hair.
Josh shrugged. “Some kids in there were swearing,” he said. “I didn’t want Anna and Brian to hear it.”
Dad patted him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you for watching out for your little brother and sister.”
Josh smiled. It was almost like he really was a knight watching over those he loved while fighting a dragon. Josh also knew he’d done more than protect his brother and sister—he had also protected himself.

By my own effort, for example, I can stop eating chocolate. Susan went 14 years without eating chocolate. That required true grit. But it did not eliminate her appetite for chocolate. God can do more with us than we can do by ourselves. He can change our spiritual palates, as it were. He can change our taste not just for chocolate but for sin. He can even help us like the spiritual equivalents of broccoli, or Brussels sprouts, or poi.

I love this example from the life of George Q. Cannon, from his first mission to Hawaii, which illustrates this point.

“Before leaving Lahaina, I had tasted a teaspoonful of ‘poi;’ but the smell of it and the calabash in which it was contained was so much like that of a book-binder’s old, sour paste-pot that when I put it to my mouth I gagged at it, and would have vomited had I swallowed it. But in traveling among the people I soon learned that if I did not eat ‘poi’ I would put them to great inconvenience; for they would have to cook separate food for me every meal. This would make me burdensome to them, and might interfere with my success. I, therefore, determined to learn to live on their food, and, that I might do so, I asked the Lord to make it sweet to me. My prayer was heard and answered; the next time I tasted it, I ate a bowlful, and I positively liked it” (Cannon, My First Mission, 24-26).

As I said, I don’t know how the Lord can change either our palate or our heart, but I know that He can. For Elder Cannon the change came through his determination (“I determined to live on their food”) and God’s help (“I asked the Lord to make it sweet to me.”) For us, too, the sanctification generally comes through grit and grace.

I come from a small city in eastern Colombia. It was there that I was taught about the Church and was baptized, and it was also there that the desire to go on a mission was born. I was the only member of my family to accept the gospel.
I remember going out with the missionaries almost every night to help them in the work and at the same time to gain experience in the field. When the missionaries asked me where I wanted to serve my mission, I told them, “Anywhere but Venezuela.” My response was such because this was a time of great tension between my country and Venezuela, and I had little love or appreciation for the Venezuelan people.
Time passed, and I had my interview with the mission president. One of his questions was, “Brother, will you go where the Lord calls you?”
I responded without hesitation, “Yes, President.”
He then leaned forward, looked me in the eyes, and said, “And if the Lord calls you to Venezuela?” I knew then that the president knew my thoughts. After a short time I was able to tell him that I would go where the Lord sent me, but still inside of me I felt as if I could not accept those people.
Finally the day arrived when the mailman brought the large white envelope containing my mission call. I opened it. I was called to serve in the Venezuela Mission. That night I knelt and asked the Lord not to make me go to that country. After talking to him for some time, I said that I needed his help. I got up, turned on the light, and began to leaf through the Doctrine and Covenants. I stopped in the 53rd section. There was the answer from the Lord to me:
“Behold … I have heard your prayers; and you have called upon me that it should be made known unto you, of the Lord your God, concerning your calling. …
“Take upon you my ordination, even that of an elder, to preach faith and repentance and remission of sins, according to my word, and the reception of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands;
“And also to be an agent unto this Church in the place which shall be appointed by the bishop. …
“And again, I would that ye should learn that he only is saved who endureth unto the end.” (D&C 53:1, 3–4, 7.)
I closed the book and knelt once again, this time in the spirit of humility. The tears burned my cheeks, and in my prayer I asked the Lord to forgive me for telling him his will.
Now I was ready to head for Venezuela, this time in a white shirt and tie. I met many people who needed to be saved, and I had to fight for them. I learned to love them with all my heart, persons who today have gone to the temple, who are the leaders of the Church in Venezuela, and others who are missionaries themselves.
I received a great deal of love and satisfaction from the Venezuelan people, and I came to learn why I was sent to that part of the Lord’s vineyard. My greatest blessing came shortly after being released as a missionary when I saw my own mother enter into the waters of baptism. I know the joy that the Lord promises to those who bring others into his kingdom. I know that this is the work of Jesus Christ because I have felt his direction. I know that it is for us to bring the message of the restoration to the millions who are waiting. And I know that one of the best ways to do this is to serve a full-time mission wherever the Lord would have us go.

Finally, look for insights inside from the Spirit. An early trial in my life was giving up a four-year scholarship to serve a mission in Italy. Upon my return, I was humbled to discover I could test out of many Italian classes due to my Italian fluency. My grades not only helped my acceptance to law school but with a law school scholarship that the Lord had lovingly returned to me. The scripture Ether 12:6 came to mind—that we “receive no witness until after the trial of our faith.” [12] But the Lord had further refining to do. After my first year, my top-20% law school status was challenged when a drunk driver hit us head-on, which, in turn, decimated my law school grades. I made a covenant with the Lord not to study on Sundays (amongst other covenants), much to the chagrin of my law school study partners. My covenants resulted in nearly straight A’s the remainder of law school and a return to the top 20% upon graduation.

Uncle Jack had been a police officer most of his life. His job was to help people who needed help. He used his radio to hear about people in trouble, his police car to get there in a hurry, and his badge to tell people he was a friend. He also used his fast legs, strong arms, and quick mind to come to the rescue.
Lots of people counted on Uncle Jack.
When Uncle Jack became a grandpa, he decided to put away his radio, his police car, and his badge and do something less dangerous. He didn’t like giving up his trusty aids, but he decided there were other ways to help people. So he began working as a security guard. His job was to make sure the school buses were kept safe at night. He counted each bus as it came back after its long day of carrying children to and from school. Then he parked all the buses in a huge building. Even though he didn’t need his radio, his fast car, or his badge to keep the buses safe, he did miss his old aids. Now the only aid he really needed was his big flashlight.
Because he cared about the children who would ride the buses to school the next morning, he walked around the building each night with his bright light, checking every door to make sure no one could break in and cause problems.
One cold night after Uncle Jack finished his job and got in his car to drive home, he heard the Holy Ghost whisper in his mind, “Go back into the building.” But Uncle Jack thought, I have a long ride home. I’m hungry and tired, and I’d have to turn off the security alarm before I could open the giant door.
He decided to keep driving.
About two blocks farther, he heard the voice again. This time it wasn’t a whisper. “Go back into the building.” But Uncle Jack kept driving.
About three blocks farther, he heard the voice for the third time. This time it was loud! Uncle Jack turned the car around, drove to the giant door, and left his car headlights shining on it. Then he turned off the alarm and began raising the heavy door.
As the door went up, the car lights shone brightly on a small boy standing alone in the darkness of the building. As Uncle Jack walked closer, he could see that the boy’s face was streaked with tears.
He was a five-year-old who had fallen asleep in the back of the bus, and no one had noticed. “I prayed that someone would help me,” the boy said. “I prayed and prayed.”
“Heavenly Father heard your prayer,” Uncle Jack told him. “I used to get messages over the police radio in my car, but this time Heavenly Father sent me a message through the Holy Ghost.”
Uncle Jack helped the lost boy find his parents, and everyone was safe and warm at home that night.
Even though he no longer had a fast car, a badge, or a radio to receive messages on, Uncle Jack was still helping people. The Holy Ghost had become his most important aid.

One of Heavenly Father’s most beloved tools in guiding His children is righteous grandparents. My father’s mother was such a woman. On an occasion that took place when I was too young to remember, my father was disciplining me. Observing this correction, my grandmother said, “Monte, I believe you are correcting him too harshly.”
My father replied, “Mother, I will correct my children as I want.”
And my wise grandmother softly stated, “And so will I.”
I’m pretty sure my father heard the wise guidance of his mother that day.

“Come on, Danny,” Jim called, “let’s practice diving.”
“I’m coming,” Danny replied, scowling as he read the notice beside the dressing room door at the swimming pool.
“How can a guy be in two places at the same time?” he grumbled.
Tryouts for the swim team were scheduled for two o’clock on Saturday—the same day and the same time he’d promised Mr. Duncan he would pitch in an exhibition baseball game for the boys and girls at the school for handicapped children. But when Danny had agreed to pitch for the game, he had forgotten that the team tryouts would be on the same day.
“Watch this,” Jim yelled as he dived into the pool.
Danny gave a whistle of admiration and thought, Jim will make the team for sure. I guess I’ll just have to tell Mr. Duncan I can’t pitch that game because I want to be in the tryouts.
“I hope we both make the team,” Jim said. “It means that we’d be invited to compete in the state swim meet and that we could swim in an Olympic-size pool.”
“Dreamer,” Danny chuckled. “OK, let’s practice diving. We’ve got to sharpen up before the tryouts.”
As he stood on the diving board the swinging doors leading to the pool opened and a boy he had never seen before came in with a woman helping him. His arms and hands were moving all the time and his head wobbled a little. He was having trouble walking, and his legs didn’t seem to go where he wanted them to. A lump caught in Danny’s throat as he thought, I’ll bet he’s from the handicap school.
“Let’s go in here, Richard,” the lady said. “The pool is shallow at this end.”
“OK,” Richard agreed.
Danny didn’t want to hear anymore. He quickly dived into the water and swam for the ladder. “Jim,” he said, climbing out, “I’m going to get out for a little while.”
“What’s the matter?” Jim asked, puzzled.
“I have a problem,” Danny replied. “I think I’ll go home. If you want to come along, I’ll tell you about it.”
Later, as they walked along, Danny explained his problem to Jim. Then he said, “I had made up my mind to tell Mr. Duncan I couldn’t pitch that game because I really want to try out for the swim team. But when I saw that boy who could hardly walk and might never have a chance to catch a ball. …” His voice trailed off. “Jim, what would you do if you were me?”
“Me?” Jim said. “I’d try out for the swim team. Danny, you can’t always be worrying about other people.”
“I guess not,” Danny agreed and went over to see Mr. Duncan.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” Mr. Duncan said. “I just received this letter from the youngsters at the handicap school. They’re really excited about our game.” He showed Danny the letter. “But we have a problem—we’re short of players and are going to have to find some substitutes.”
Danny read the letter, and then he felt worse than ever. Somehow he didn’t have the heart to tell Mr. Duncan now that he wouldn’t be able to pitch the exhibition game. He handed the letter back and said, “You’ll find somebody, I’m sure.”
“How about your friends, Danny? Would they help out?”
Danny shook his head. “I don’t think they can. The game is scheduled at the same time as the swim team tryouts. Most of my friends will be there.”
“I see,” Mr. Duncan said. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to keep on looking.” Then the older man put his arm around Danny and added, “We’re counting on you though, Danny. I’ll stop to pick you up on Saturday.”
Danny’s hope collapsed. “All right,” he answered and left. Now he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think that the swim coach would change the tryout time till later just for one boy.
All the rest of the week Danny and Jim practiced swimming and diving. They worked hard, laughed, and had fun, but best of all they improved their form and strokes and were sure they could make the team. However, Danny’s promise to Mr. Duncan to play in the game Saturday kept crowding into his mind. He knew he would soon have to decide what he was going to do.
“Who did Mr. Duncan get for substitutes?” Jim asked, bobbing to the surface of the water.
“I don’t know,” Danny said. “I wish I did.”
He had a heavy, uneasy feeling on Saturday while putting on his swim trunks. He sat down on his bed, his thoughts completely mixed up. Then he thought of something that was at least worth a try, and he pulled his baseball suit on over his swim trunks.
Right on the dot, Mr. Duncan arrived in his station wagon. The same boy Danny had seen at the pool was with Mr. Duncan. Danny gulped. “Hi, Richard,” he said, and the boy’s face brightened as he returned the greeting.
Mr. Duncan nodded at Danny and then said disappointedly, “We had to call off the game because we couldn’t find enough substitutes.”
Danny looked at Richard and thought about the other boys and girls at the school who had counted on seeing a baseball game. He knew he couldn’t disappoint them. The idea that had come to him was so simple he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
“Mr. Duncan,” Danny said, “would you mind driving over to my school for a minute? Maybe we can have that ball game after all.”
Danny caught the swim coach, Mr. Webb, in the hall and asked if the tryouts could be held later in the afternoon so that the boys could play baseball for the handicapped children.
“I wish you’d talked to me about this earlier,” Mr. Webb told Danny. “Some of the boys are already in the pool. However, I’ll see what I can do. It sounds like a great idea to do something for those boys and girls. They have a rough time and the least we can do is arrange for a baseball game if they’ve been counting on it.”
Pushing through the double doors that led to the swimming pool, Mr. Webb blew his whistle and when the boys gathered around, he explained to them why Danny was in his baseball uniform instead of in his swim trunks.
“If any of you would be willing to go over to the school and play a quick exhibition baseball game, I’d be willing to postpone the tryouts for a couple of hours,” the coach promised.
The boys looked at each other. No one spoke for a few moments. Then Jim said, “Well, I think Danny has a great idea. Sometimes it’s good to worry about other people. I’m willing.”
“Me, too,” the other boys agreed.
“Thanks, guys,” Danny said. He smiled at Jim, who gave him an understanding wink in return, and then Danny hurried out to tell Mr. Duncan and Richard the good news.

In a letter to the editor of the Upper Valley Standard Journal, dated November 3, 2012, a man named Ron Merchant, from Jackson, Mississippi, wrote about an experience he had while passing through the upper valley with his wife a few months earlier. His vehicle had broken down in Rexburg and this was his experience.

I walked into an auto parts house in Rexburg, Idaho, and while there a young man gave me a spoof by asking where I was from - obviously because of my Southern drawl.
The young man followed me outside, along with his girlfriend. He explained that he was a diesel mechanic and he would help me install the part.
Being a skeptical person (and especially skeptical of Mormons) I declined the offer. He assured me he would do it at no charge whatsoever. With that, all the negative flags shot straight upwards!
He then explained that he was a twenty-three year old student at the nearby Brigham Young University-Idaho. He had recently finished a two year tour as a missionary for his Church. He also said that his dad had taught him to help other people free of charge, since that was what religion was all about.
With that, I relented. And, sure enough, he adamantly refused any money at all. I finally convinced him to take a $20 bill and treat his girlfriend to a Coke.
As I rode down the road, I thought about the young man and the integrity of his religion.[10]

“Some of the people we visit have so much to say, but no one to say it to,” Sue added. “I know it means a lot to my special friend just to be able to talk. I’ve got a great relationship with my grandparents back home, and leaving them was hard. Having someone up here who more or less is ‘family’ means a lot to me. But when I first met my friend I felt I had something to overcome. I talked with her for about 90 minutes, and a couple of days later came back. She couldn’t remember who I was. The next week I went back, and she still didn’t remember me. I finally started calling her every day and talking to her. I wouldn’t tell her who it was; I’d make her guess. Then she started saying, ‘Oh, I’ve been looking forward to your call all day.’
“About three weeks ago she said, ‘Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can call you sometime?’ It was when she actually phoned me that I got excited. She called the other night. My roommate said, ‘I think it’s your grandmother.’ I got on the phone and said, ‘Grandma?’ She said, ‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve got something exciting to share with you,’ and told me that a group of children had just come by with a basket of fruit and a card. That meant a lot to me. I feel like I’ve overcome the problem of her not knowing who I am.” Sue obviously won her heart. She’s the same elderly lady mentioned at the beginning of this story, the one who asked Sue to help her wrap a present and then gave the present to Sue.

Many years ago, after returning from an activity in our ward, when we were about to go to sleep, my daughter asked if we would pray together, the two of us that night, to which I replied, sure, honey. Then she looked at me with a serious, worried face and said: yes, we need to pray because I have a problem. (I am so thankful that she was six and not sixteen when she told me that!) So, I asked what happened. Then she explained that when we were at the activity in the church that day, she lost her pink rubber CTR (Choose the Right) bracelet. Well, in my mind, this was not a big deal because I could easily buy another one, and the cost was probably just a few dollars. But then the invitation to make sure that I was awake came from her when she said: Let's pray so we can find the bracelet. I was the old guy, the leader in the church, the one who knew the scriptures. Still, at that moment, I realized that I needed to make sure that I was awake, that I truly understood the situation, and how much Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives, including a matter that may seem insignificant from a world perspective. After praying with her, I went to my room and prayed a lot more, asking for the guidance necessary to understand the situation and provide the answer my daughter was looking for.

The next day was Sunday, and I needed to attend my early morning meetings. Although I planned to participate in a sacrament meeting in a different building and park my car on the street, I decided to park my car inside the church property. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but in South America, big, tall fences surround some church properties, probably 13 feet tall, so you need to open the gate to enter the property. Still, that day, I decided to park inside, and even though there were no parked cars and the closest spots to the door were available, I chose to park in the middle of the parking lot, like “this is my parking lot.” Then, when I turned the car and started facing the building wall, I noticed a little pink thing on the ground next to the wall. My heart started beating fast, and it was not because of the monetary value of the pink rubber CTR bracelet. Instead, it was for the opportunity to awaken to the principles that we teach and try to live daily in our lifelong journey as disciples of Jesus Christ.

One morning during the course of their journey, Joseph and his oldest brother Alvin walked down the stairs of the inn where they had stayed the night. They knew something was wrong. Other guests, travelers like themselves, were clustered about the windows and front entrance.
Curiosity sent Joseph to a side window to see what was happening. A little way from the inn Joseph saw a man throwing some household goods out of a wagon into the snow. Immediately Joseph’s eyes rounded like a hoot owl’s. “Hey, Alvin … that’s our wagon!”
Alvin pushed in beside Joseph. “What about it?”
“Mr. Howard’s throwing all our goods out on the ground!”
Alvin bent over and looked out the window just in time to see a rocking chair dumped overboard. His face tightened. He ran out the door toward the wagon.
“Mr. Howard … what are you doing?”
The husky teamster dropped an iron skillet. It clattered to the road.
“Never you mind.”
Alvin stood bewildered, but only for a moment. With quick, long strides he ran back to the entrance of the inn.
“Joseph, you stay here and watch. I’m going to fetch Mother.”
Just as a featherbed hit the ground, Alvin returned, clamoring down the stairs, two at a time. He didn’t break his stride until he was almost to the wagon.
“Mr. Howard, my mother wants to talk with you in the inn.”
The teamster’s glance was crafty. He pulled his hat down on his head until it nearly covered his black eyes. He didn’t seem in any hurry as he sauntered toward the inn. He pushed open the front door. It slammed against the wall. Several travelers turned to watch. One questioned Joseph.
“What’s the trouble, son?”
“We’re supposed to meet my father in Palmyra. He hired Mr. Howard to take us there in our wagon.”
“It appears Mr. Howard is planning to take off without you.”
Joseph flushed with anger. If Mr. Howard took off with their team and wagon, Joseph didn’t know how his family would ever get to their new home.
With a calm dignity, Lucy Smith descended the stairs to meet Mr. Howard. Hyrum, Samuel, William, Catherine, and Sophronia, who was holding baby Don Carlos, followed at her heels. The teamster sidled up, his thumbs hooked over his belt. Four-year-old Catherine began to cry. Hyrum knelt beside her and she buried her head in his arm. Alvin and Joseph walked across the room to stand beside their mother. Their eyes were steady; their feet planted firmly on the bare wood floor.
Lucy looked into the man’s eyes. “Mr. Howard, what are your intentions?”
Some of the travelers stepped a little closer, sensing an air of hostility. Joseph watched as the teamster’s eyes darted about the room like a painter (cougar) looking for a tree in which to hide when dogs are on his trail.
“Mr. Howard, my son tells me you were about to start off with our team.”
“Well, the money you gave me is gone.”
Lucy was incredulous. “Gone? We gave you more than enough.”
The teamster turned toward the door. “It’s gone,” he persisted. “I can’t take you any farther.”
Lucy’s mind was whirling with questions as she watched him walk out into the snowy street. He paused, then ran for their wagon again. Lucy followed him. Her words hung on the frosty air as she grabbed at the reins to hold the team.
“These people will be my witnesses,” she said, turning toward the crowd of onlookers and speaking directly to them. “This team, as well as the goods, belong to my husband. This man intends to take them from me, or at least the team, leaving me and my eight children without the means of proceeding on our journey.”
One of the travelers hurried toward Lucy and remarked. “It appears there’s no decency in this man.”
“You’d better leave their wagon be!” another challenged.
The teamster shifted uneasily. Lucy gained courage.
“Sir, I forbid you to touch the team or drive it one step farther. You go about your business. I shall take charge of the team myself, and, hereafter, attend to my own affairs.”
The teamster’s thin, hard mouth twitched with unsaid words. Turning, he clumped down the street.
“We’ll help you, Mother,” comforted Alvin, as they watched the man go.
“And we’ll get to Palmyra—somehow,” added Joseph, as he began piling their belongings back into the wagon.

The Vershinin family from Nizhniy Novgorod first visited the Stockholm Sweden Temple in 2000. After traveling to St. Petersburg, Sergey, Vera, and their daughter, Irina, joined a group of Russian Latter-day Saints from various cities and traveled by bus and ferry to reach the temple. At the temple, Irina participated in baptisms for the dead and was sealed to her parents. “The trip gave us testimonies and many blessings,” she recalled. “They were small testimonies received individually by each person. But as a whole they helped us and gave momentum for further spiritual growth.”12

One day, I was playing a trivia game with two of my neighbors. In the game you draw a card and answer the question on it. If you answer correctly, you get to advance on the game board. I drew a card that asked this question: “One of the world’s major religions was established by a man named Joseph Smith. What is the common name for the members of this religion?” My two neighbors are not members of the Church, so they looked confused, but I had a big smile on my face. I knew the answer! I quickly said, “Mormons!” I was so surprised to read a card about my religion. I was very happy that I knew the right answer.

Mum spent nearly two months in the hospital and doctors kept saying she might not make it. Hospital workers even discarded her clothes, thinking she wouldn’t survive. We would have family prayer every night with my mum on video call and we would hear her breathing heavily, with the beeping sound of the monitoring machines in the background.
Most nights at 7 PM sharp, Mum called to listen in on our family prayer. On nights she didn’t call, we knew she was not feeling strong enough, so our prayers were even more earnest. Our service to the other patients and our wrestling with the Lord through personal and family prayers helped us through this frightening time.
Our service might have helped others, but we were the ones being blessed—Mum came home alive!

Just a few weeks ago, I saw a new deacon start on that path of diligence. His father showed me a diagram his son had created that showed every row in their chapel, a number for each deacon who would be assigned to pass the sacrament, and their route through the chapel to serve the sacrament to the members. The father and I smiled to think that a boy, without being asked to do it, would make a plan to be sure he would succeed in his priesthood service.
I recognized in his diligence the pattern from the new Duty to God booklet. It is to learn what the Lord expects of you, make a plan to do it, act on your plan with diligence, and then share with others how your experience changed you and blessed others.