Gospel Story Finder

Clearly, serving a mission for the Church puts us in a concentrated learning mode for persistent daily selfless service, where your own ministry becomes the Lord’s ministry, a ministry that carries you to many of the "least of these, my brethren." Our daughter, Emily, when serving in Austria, wrote home the following:

Sister Hopkins and I were asked to go sit with our non-member friend, a manic-depressive lady who gets so stricken with depression and anguish over her immoral behavior, when in her panic spells . . . she wants to commit suicide. We sat with her for eight hours. Part of the time she was thrashing, weeping and wailing in her bed, in the gall of bitterness. She felt that she had ruined her life and that of her family and that everyone would be better off if she were dead. I could feel my heart bleeding real blood for her and I was filled with the desire to do anything to help her.
We reviewed all of the usual wonderful doctrines about the atonement, forgiveness, her [own] worth, etc., but none of that seemed to help. Then we asked if we could sing for her. As we sang the beautiful German hymns, one after the other, in two-part harmony, the sweetest, most comforting spirit filled the room. She closed her eyes, and peace shown in her face. We felt, for that last hour we were with her, that this little room that we were in together was lifted up to heaven. This beautiful woman—even with puffy eyes and sweaty hair—who [had] been so scared by the cruelties of this earth, was picked up and cradled in the arms of the Lord (emphasis added).

We are indebted to Dr. Homer Ellsworth for sharing with us two contrasting stories about the happiness of mothers. Often, expectant mothers are so set upon having a boy child or a girl child that when a baby comes with a different sex the mother is temporarily disappointed. Generally, this disappointment is forgotten as soon as the mother cuddles her newborn in her arms for the first time. A few new mothers demonstrate their immaturity for a day or two. One, who wanted a boy baby and happened to receive a girl baby, threw tantrums and objects all over her hospital room for a day or two to show her displeasure. One wise old nurse, when feeding time came, took a baby boy born with a harelip from the nursery and quietly slipped him into the disconsolate mother’s arms. The immature mother replied, “This is not my child.”

The wise old nurse said, “Well, it has the right sex. Maybe its mother will be willing to trade babies with you.” There followed no more demonstrations of immaturity.

As I prepared for this talk today, I was impressed by the spirit to share with you another experience. It is a very sacred experience to me, one that I have never shared publicly and rarely in private, but I have felt the prompting of the Holy Spirit that I should relate it to you. The experience came in the form of a dream. Let me preface this by saying that it is very unusual for me to remember dreams, but this particular dream was so impressed upon my mind, that the details of it have permanently remained with me.

In my dream, I found myself in a dark void. I do not know the size of the space but my perception was that it was immense, seemingly without boundaries. In the distance, I noticed a narrow, vertical conduit of light, stretching out of sight in both directions. As I approached this conduit I found it to be filled with people, dressed in white robes, and moving upwards or downwards. Some were drifting, moving very slowly, and seemingly oblivious to where they were or what was going on. Others were moving more quickly, and a few were progressing quite rapidly upward. These last ones seemed very intent on what they were doing and the direction they were headed. In my observations, I noticed that no one was stationary. All were in some state of motion.

The scene then changed and I saw that this conduit of light extended upward to an immense and glorious mansion. It was of a golden hue and radiated light. I observed that it was composed of different parts or sections. At its core was a small section that shone with a brightness far beyond any of the other parts of the building. Entrance into that small, central portion of the mansion was through a single doorway that was watched over by a guardian. As I approached that doorway, the guardian instructed me that this was the abode of the Eternal God and of his Son, Jesus Christ. It became apparent to me that the conduit of light I observed represented the pathway to eternal life and that the purpose and objective of that pathway was to provide access to where our Father in Heaven lives. I then realized that entering into His presence is fully dependent on our choices in this life, that it is through our actions and desires that we choose, and that relatively few would make the choices necessary to qualify them to live in the presence of the Father and the Son.

In this life, we cannot ignore the commandments of God or follow forbidden pathways and then expect to be admitted into the abode of God and live with him. We cannot sneak into heaven, hoping that our poor choices and sinful acts will somehow be dismissed without having done all we can in this life to repent of them. Our progression towards eternal life depends on the daily attention we give to achieving that goal. In the pathway that leads to Eternal Life, some are merely drifting, not really paying much attention to the details of their progression. Others are making moderate progress but could be doing better. Still others are progressing rapidly by diligently seeking to incorporate gospel principles into their lives and being totally submissive to the Father's will.

I have served as an Air Force attorney and military officer for over 20 years. Some time ago, I had an experience that taught me something about the Atonement.
One day Cadet Smith* knocked at my office door. Like many at the Air Force Academy, Cadet Smith had long held the dream of flying as a pilot for the Air Force. It was spring, and he was now within a few months of graduating, receiving his commission as a second lieutenant, and going on to pilot training.
Cadet Smith sat down and said, “You’re a lawyer. Anything I tell you is confidential—it won’t go anywhere—right?”
“Yes. You know that,” I replied. Cadet Smith then explained his problem. A few months earlier, during the Christmas holidays, Cadet Smith had been away from the Academy in a nearby community. After an evening of partying, he had been arrested for driving drunk. As I recall, there may have been a minor accident. But there was no serious damage to property, nor injuries to any person. Some weeks after his arrest, Cadet Smith went to court in that local community where he pleaded guilty and received a sentence that included a stiff monetary fine and a period of probation. As far as the civilian community was concerned, the matter was basically over.
However, the situation had not been settled with the Air Force. Cadet Smith had not yet informed his commander or any military authority. He feared the impact his drunken driving might have on his Air Force career.
“Should I come clean, and tell the Air Force?” he wanted to know. “What should I do?”
After some thought, I explained to Cadet Smith that I was required to speak to him candidly and directly. “Basically, you have two options. Option 1 is to play by the rules. Turn yourself in, explain everything to your commander, and face the consequences. In all likelihood that dream of becoming a pilot will be lost. The Air Force will not offer extremely expensive pilot training and control of multi-million dollar aircraft to a person with a drunk driving arrest. Worse still,” I continued, “once your arrest becomes known, your entire standing at the Academy will be in jeopardy.”
Cadet Smith waited for me to continue. “Let us now look at the alternative, Option 2. On this path, you say nothing to your commander. You continue to lie low, hoping your drunk driving conviction will never be discovered.
“The problem, of course, is that you have a duty to report the matter. You know you do. And every day you fail to do so you are making matters worse. You will continue living under the fear of being found out. Waiting and wondering will be miserable for you.
“In the near future, and repeatedly throughout the years of your service, you will be required to fill out official questionnaires. You will have to declare, under oath, whether there has ever been an arrest or conviction by civilian authorities. If you deny this, you will be committing an integrity violation and further serious crime under federal law.”
I sensed his distress, and I felt bad for Cadet Smith. From what I knew of him, he was a decent young man who had made a mistake. He left my office alone, in a state of confusion and sorrow.
I could not fault the Air Force for its rules and standards. Here was a manmade system where the young man faced only harsh, negative consequences for his transgression. All he had was justice.
It occurred to me that if Jesus Christ were involved, if we had divine law rather than merely that of men, there would be mercy as well as justice. The Lord would know this young man’s heart. If he were truly penitent and fully resolved to do nothing like this again, there would be a way out.
I recognized that we are all Cadet Smiths in one way or another. We all, with our own faults, are sinners like this young man. The Lord has promised, “For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent” (D&C 19:16). We are all in great need of His mercy. We all have great reason to fall on our knees in fervent gratitude for the forgiveness the Lord offers.

Heavenly Father does believe in you. He knows what you’re capable of, and He hasn’t left you unaided as you try to live up to His expectations. He’s called prophets to teach the gospel in every dispensation. Making the principles and ordinances of the gospel of Jesus Christ, such as faith, repentance, and baptism and confirmation, a part of your life will bring you closer to the Lord and help you meet His expectations. As Sister Jean A. Stevens, former first counselor in the Primary general presidency, said, “The gospel ‘is not weight; it is wings.’ It carries us” (“Fear Not; I Am with Thee,” Ensign, May 2014, 83). That’s definitely what it’s done for Daniel Z., 16, and Darrius T., 16.
Life changed dramatically for Daniel when he was baptized. “Before I joined the Church, I wasn’t doing good things in my life. But when I got baptized, I felt the Spirit and knew that this was the right Church. I kept going to church, and that helped me. I stopped doing bad things. I started getting good grades in school. I started to feel more respect for others,” he says. For Daniel, the changes he’s made in his life since his baptism are helping him grow up to be the man he knows the Lord wants him to be.
Darrius chooses to be strong every day. “God expects me to be a good person, a wonderful person. He expects me to do good things and be a leader to others.” It’s not easy to do those things—especially when people around you don’t always make good choices. Darrius stays strong by staying in a good social environment. “I try to be at home with my family or at church with my friends a lot. They help me do good things.”
Like Darrius, we can all choose to be strong every day. Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “All of us can meet God’s high expectations, however great or small our capacity and talent may be. … It is a diligent, devoted effort on our part that calls for [His] empowering and enabling grace” (“As Many as I Love, I Rebuke and Chasten,” Ensign, May 2011, 100).
Living up to the Lord’s expectations does take “diligent, devoted effort,” but it’s worth it. No matter what the world tells you you’re expected to do or be, remember that you are a child of God and that He wants you to live with Him again.
You can meet God’s expectations for you, because you were sent to this earth to do great things—and because God will help you do them.

My friend and I got into an argument about religion. She thought that since our Church believes that Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are separate beings, we are not Christians. I explained that Christians are people who believe in Jesus Christ as our Savior. I gave her an Articles of Faith card with a picture of Jesus with the children on it and told her that I knew in my heart that I was a Christian. She did not accept it and told me that I was not going to heaven. We argued about it for a week and two days. Finally I wrote her a note saying that I was sorry for arguing and that I wanted our friendship back. I knew that if I tried to act like Christ, she would know that I was Christian. We decided to respect each other’s beliefs. We are still the best of friends.

It was early on Sunday when Dad called the family together.
“Where’s Mom?” six-year-old Katie said.
“I took Mom to the airport this morning,” Dad answered. “Grandpa called to tell us Grandma is very sick. Mom has gone to help them.”
“Is Grandma going to die?” Melanie worried.
“Mom will call us after she talks to the doctor,” Dad explained. “Meanwhile, there is something we can do.”
“We can pray for Grandma,” Katie said.
“Exactly right,” Dad said. “And we can fast for Grandma today, too. Let’s begin our fast with a prayer.”
The family knelt together, and Katie prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless Grandma. Bless Grandpa, too, so he won’t worry too much. And help Mama to come home soon. We are fasting for them.”
Everyone felt peaceful as they prepared for church.
At home later, the family looked at photo albums and talked about Grandma. When it was time to end their fast, they knelt and prayed again.
Mom phoned as the children were getting ready for bed. “Grandma is going to be fine,” she said. “I’ll stay to help Grandpa for a few days while Grandma rests.”
After talking to Mom, the family gathered for family prayer. Dad said, “Tell me what you learned today.”
“Heavenly Father answered our prayers,” Rachel said.
“That’s true,” Dad agreed. “He always answers our prayers. Sometimes the answer is yes, as it was today.”
“Sometimes it’s no,” Melanie added, “like when I prayed for my team to win and we lost.”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “And sometimes the answer is not yet—just wait and be patient. But He always answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. Did you learn anything else?”
Katie said, “I felt close to Heavenly Father.”
Natalie added, “Fasting wasn’t as hard as usual. I didn’t feel hungry!”
“Fasting helps us learn to control our bodies and to develop faith,” Dad said. “When we are baptized, we promise Heavenly Father we will bear one another’s burdens. We kept that covenant as we fasted and prayed for Grandma.”
Family prayer was a prayer of gratitude—for Grandma feeling better, for Mom coming home, and for their baptismal covenant.

When I was 13, after eight years of living in a farmhouse with acres of land, my family moved into a suburban neighborhood. Our beautiful golden retriever, Tissue, didn’t exactly like these new conditions. She barked the entire first night we were there. And our neighbors decided to pay us a visit.
Our parents weren’t home at the time, so it was my sister who had the bad luck to answer the door. The neighbors blasted into us with their angry words. They said we’d better get our dog quiet if we knew what was good for us!
I didn’t know what else to do, so I climbed into the doghouse with Tissue. I stayed there for hours with her head on my lap until she finally fell asleep.
When my parents came home, they were upset at what the neighbors had done. But after that night I never heard Mom and Dad complain about it again. So I figured they’d forgotten the whole thing. But I was wrong. A month later my dad asked me if I wanted to help him get even with the neighbors.
I nodded quickly in agreement. Payback! Dad sent me to the garage to grab two shovels. I had no idea what kind of payback he had in mind, but I walked next door with him willingly.
I should’ve known something was fishy right away. I saw our neighbor in his front yard struggling with a wheelbarrow and shovel. All by himself, he was trying to haul a huge pile of dirt to his backyard. With how big that pile was and how slow he was going, it would take him forever to finish.
Without saying a word, Dad walked up to the mound, dug in his shovel, and started filling the wheelbarrow. Our neighbor stared at him in silent confusion. Following Dad’s example, I pitched in and we quickly filled the wheelbarrow. We kept at it until the entire mound was gone.
I’m not sure exactly what the man thought about us helping. For me, though, I felt a healing in my soul as we served our neighbor.
That day my dad taught me a lesson he’s taught me many times since: being kind is much better than getting even.

On September 12, 2001, my wife and I were pacing the floor of a hospital in Tucson, Arizona, USA, passing anxious hours as we waited for our son to be born. From our television and from every television in the building, we were barraged by footage from the day before in New York City—images of the two towers that had once anchored the skyline of that city, falling into rubble and dust. The images, broadcast for hours, left us with a sense of despair. It seemed the worst possible time to bring a baby into the world—a world that seemed so dark and threatening.
Early the next morning our infant son was born. As I held our tiny child, I considered the devastating events of the last few days, events that made me think back to the fires in Yellowstone National Park in 1988. The flames had consumed nearly 800,000 acres (323,750 ha) of forest. The park’s devastation seemed absolute. News images showed only scorched earth and thick black smoke in the sky. No amount of human effort could quickly bring back what was lost. It seemed as if even the tireless regeneration and vigor of nature was no match for the destructive power of fire.
Yet the next spring a quiet miracle occurred—small plants and flowers began to push through the charred soil. Gradually, more and more flowers and shrubs and trees bloomed from the earth. The rebirth of the park was slow and filled with tiny, glorious details, and over time the results were dramatic.
In moments of fear that seem to consume us like the blazing fires of Yellowstone, when our faith and hope are at their limits, we must remember that there is one quiet, immovable foundation beneath us, much more powerful than any evil force we will encounter. Helaman explains that this foundation is “the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God.” If we anchor ourselves to Him, then “when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Helaman 5:12).
When faced with the frenzied forces of evil and temptation in the world, we may think that the small and simple influence of the gospel is outmatched and overwhelmed. We may feel doubt and despair as we wait in vain for wrongs to be righted, pain to be relieved, and questions to be resolved. Those very winds that buffet us, however, sow seeds of change and growth, and the immense power of the gospel quietly works under the soil of earthly existence, preparing a thousand small seeds of hope and life.

Let me mention one personal experience that stays with me, an experience with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, which I first heard when I was 13 years old. I visited Salt Lake City then with my mother, who was a good musician and who wanted to hear that great organ and the choir. The memory of that sound has stayed with me; it was overwhelming.

I had the great opportunity, through the kindness of the choir itself, to lead it once, on June 27, 2007. They were at the Ravinia music center in Highland Park, Illinois, outside of Chicago. A few days prior to the concert, I received a call from the choir’s music director, Dr. Craig Jessop, who asked whether I would consider assuming the conductor’s podium at the end of the performance and lead the choir in an encore number. Never had I been asked to do something like that! I seized the occasion, and, after a brief lesson from Craig at the dress rehearsal, I got up and faced the choir with a tremendous feeling of awe and power and great satisfaction. There was silence as this marvelous choir was looking at and waiting for me. If that doesn’t give you something of an ego trip, I don’t know what would! I paused for a moment, and then I gave the downbeat, according to Craig’s instruction. All of a sudden, that vacuum of expectant silence was filled with this magnificent, overpowering sound, all in unison, all in harmony. I thought to myself, “I’m doing better with the Mormons than I am with the Catholics!” I have a lot harder time getting them to sing together!

Freddie hugged Dad goodbye. “Tell Haraboji we’re praying for him.”
“I will. I’ll call every day to let you know how he’s doing.”
Freddie nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat.
Dad was leaving for South Korea to visit Freddie’s grandparents, Haraboji and Halmoni. He would be gone for almost a month while Freddie and his family stayed home in the United States.
The door closed, and Dad was gone.
“I wish I could go too,” Freddie mumbled. He wiped away a tear. Freddie hadn’t seen Haraboji and Halmoni in a long time. His family had been saving money to spend their next vacation with them in South Korea. But Haraboji was sick, and now he needed surgery.
“I’m sorry, Freddie,” Mom said. “I wish we could all go with Dad, but we haven’t saved enough money yet. And it’s important for your dad to go now, when Haraboji needs him.”
“But what if the doctors can’t help Haraboji? What if he dies and I never get to see him? We should go with Dad now!” He wiped away more tears. He felt sad and angry.
Mom wrapped her arms around him. When he stopped crying, she asked, “Should we say another prayer for Haraboji?”
Freddie nodded, and they folded their arms and prayed together.
Freddie and his family prayed for Haraboji every day. Freddie made sure to always remind them. He tried his best to help out while Dad was gone. He did some of Dad’s jobs, like walking the dog and reading stories to the little kids before bed.
Weeks passed, and Freddie wasn’t so sad anymore. But he still worried about Haraboji.
One night he was talking on the phone to Dad. “What if I never get to go to Korea?” he asked. “What if Haraboji doesn’t get better, and I miss my chance to see him?”
“Freddie, someday you’ll have a turn to visit Korea. But whether or not Haraboji is still alive, you’ll see him again. Our family is eternal.”
“I know,” Freddie said. He felt something warm in his chest. He would see Haraboji again someday, no matter what happened.
“I love you, Freddie,” said Dad. “And I’ll be home soon.”
“I love you too.”
Freddie smiled as he hung up the phone. He knew they would all be together someday. He was glad he had a forever family.

I am an American exchange student in Bateman’s Bay, Australia. I am the only Latter-day Saint in the town, and the nearest branch is 100 miles away, so I don’t get to church very often. I wrote to my mother and told her how much I miss the Church, and to help me out, someone is sending me the New Era every month. I love the New Era. It’s brought me so much closer to the Church, even though I’m the only member for miles. The New Era has motivated me to start reading the Book of Mormon, and I can hardly wait to get home and participate in the Young Women activities.
Lisa MatsonBateman’s Bay, Australia

Others were called upon to speak, and near the close of the meeting, the president suggested that I take the remainder of the time. “Have you had any inspiration?” I asked. He said that he kept thinking of the mayor. (The voters in that large city had elected a member of the Church to be mayor, and he was in attendance.) When I told him we could have a greeting from the mayor, he whispered that the man was not active in the Church. When I suggested that he call upon him anyway, he resisted, saying flatly that he was not worthy to speak in that meeting. At my insistence, however, he called the man to the stand.

The mayor’s father had been a pioneer of the Church in that region. He had served as bishop of one of the wards and had been succeeded by one of his sons—a twin to the mayor, as I recall. The mayor was the lost sheep. He came to the pulpit and spoke, to my surprise, with bitterness and with hostility. His talk began something like this: “I don’t know why you called on me. I don’t know why I am in church today. I don’t belong in church. I have never fit in. I don’t agree with the way the Church does things.”

I confess that I began to worry, but he then paused and lowered his eyes to the pulpit. From then until his talk was over, he did not look up. After hesitating, he continued: “I guess I just as well tell you. I quit smoking six weeks ago.” Then, shaking his fist in a gesture over his head towards the congregation, he said, “If any of you think that’s easy, you have never suffered the hell I have suffered in the last few weeks.”

Then he just melted. “I know the gospel is true,” he said. “I’ve always known it was true. I learned that from my mother as a boy.

“I know the Church isn’t out of order,” he confessed. “It’s me that’s out of order, and I’ve always known that too.”

Then he spoke perhaps for all of the lost sheep when he pleaded: “I know it’s me that is wrong, and I want to come back. I have been trying to come back, but you won’t let me!”

Of course we would let him come back, but somehow we hadn’t let him know that. After the meeting the congregation flooded up—not to us but to him to say, “Welcome home!”

On the way to the airport after conference, the stake president said to me, “I’ve learned a lesson today.”

Hoping to confirm it, I said, “If we had done what you wanted to do, you would have called on this man’s father, wouldn’t you, or perhaps his brother, the bishop?”

He nodded in affirmation and said: “Either of them, given 5 minutes, would have presented a stirring 15- or 20-minute sermon to the approval of all in attendance. But no lost sheep would have been reclaimed.”

There is a story told of a dishonest character who approached a trusted employee to help him steal a considerable amount of money from the company. The employee constantly refused until finally, after being offered one million dollars, he gave in to the idea.
After the two had successfully committed the crime, the criminal offered the employee one hundred dollars for his help. The employee was furious. In a voice filled with anger the employee said, “What do you think I am, a criminal?” The man who had planned the crime said in a voice filled with contempt, “We already know what you are; now we are just arguing over how much you get paid.”

María Angela Rodriguez said, “When I decided to follow Christ and make the covenants of baptism, I left everything (which wasn’t much) and followed. In the Church I have found that which I most lacked, true friendship and love. When I made my decision to follow Christ, problems and adversity did not disappear. Sometimes they seemed to increase, but I always said to myself, ‘There can’t be any halfway disciples. You must either follow Him or turn away from following.’ I am grateful to say that I always chose to follow. Like María Josefina, I, too, am acquainted with repentance. When one comes to truly understand this principle, he feels a great power in his life. The Church has made my life progress. I am progressing in the gospel and feel a very great love for all my fellow Saints everywhere.”

This is a piece of pottery that I made when I was in kindergarten. When I was five years old, my kindergarten class was given the opportunity to make pottery. Each student in the class was given a lump of sticky clay. As my teacher explained the process of making pottery, she took great care to warn us about removing each air bubbles. At first I didn't understand how an air bubble could be harmful, but my teacher's urgent words soon explained. Any air bubbles left inside the pottery would cause it to explode when placed in the heat of the kiln. I worked and reworked the soft clay to make certain that each bubble was removed. After the kiln, I was relieved to see that my piece had surveyed and was rigid and unchangeable.
We are much like a soft piece of clay. Who will we allow to shape us--will it be the master potter, Our Heavenly Father?

Guy de Maupassant, the French writer, tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecome who came on market day to the village. While walking through the public square, his eye caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. His actions were observed by the village harness maker with whom he had previously had a dispute.
Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecome was arrested on the accusation of the harness maker. He was taken before the mayor, to whom he protested his innocence, showing the piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and was laughed at.
The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecome was absolved of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the indignity he had suffered because of a false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. He neglected his farm. Everywhere he went, everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. By day and by night he brooded over it. Obsessed with his grievance, he became desperately ill and died. In the delirium of his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.” (The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Black’s Reader Service: Roslyn, New York, pp. 34–38.)

In a personal way, I recall the experiences my dear wife and I went through after deciding the course I should take for my life’s work. I had taken some courses in pharmacy with the plan in mind of converting to a career in medicine. As many of us do, I changed my mind and engaged in another business, banking. We were blessed with steady employment, but I felt attracted toward the profession of law. This was a serious decision because I was married and had a family to support but after fasting and prayer and obtaining the facts as to the best way to proceed, I completed my undergraduate work and entered law school. I took classes at night because it was necessary to be employed during the daytime. These were not easy years for us, but desires are usually accomplished if we are willing to make a determined effort. Needless to say, I had the help and support of my wife. She remained a homemaker and cared for our children. What she gave in love, encouragement, frugality, and companionship was far in excess of any material contribution she might have made by taking employment.

As a child in the ‘70s, I learned many things: how to ride a bike, jump rope, and write perfect cursive, and that Donny was my favorite Osmond. I also learned to be afraid.

Afternoons spent watching The Brady Bunch flowed into evenings when the nightly news flickered images of far-away wars in Vietnam. A highly publicized kidnapping case caused me great distress, certain I would be the next innocent girl snatched from her home. In school, I learned that teachers like children who are quiet, obedient, and who color in the lines. It was also clear that my worn, little desk with its spindly legs, pencils, carefully colored pictures, and Elmer’s paste would never provide enough protection to keep me safe from a looming nuclear threat.

Summer evenings were filled with neighborhood children gathering under the streetlamp at the end of our cul-de-sac to play night games. While these were often thrillingly scary, they occasionally took a mischievous turn. One evening under the cover of dark, my childhood best friend and I followed our older siblings to the doorstep of a woman who lived nearby. Imagine our surprise when the older kids rang her doorbell and then dashed down the street. Stumbling along behind, not quite sure what had just happened, I remember feeling dread that I was certainly going to get in trouble for this one. And I did. The policeman from my sleepy little town who was dispatched to answer the call found me hiding and crying in my friend’s basement. The officer kept me from a certain life of crime as he described the horrors that befall little girls who are thrown into the slammer. I was effectively scared straight that night, and I have never been tempted to doorbell ditch since.

Another time, I was riding behind my father on his snowmachine as he and several friends and family members adventured in the snow-covered mountains near our home. The group congregated in the bowl of a large, natural basin and my dad thought it would be great fun to climb his sled up the steep slope. Much to my parents’ disappointment, I definitely did not want to go on that ride as the hill looked much too steep and scary. After a bit of fussing on my part, my father conceded, lifted me off the back of the machine, and gunned the sled for the top of the hill. To my relief, all went well with his climb. However, as he crested the rise and turned the machine to head back down, he quickly lost control. From my childhood perspective, my father looked exactly like the characters on Saturday morning cartoons who tumble down a mountain gaining speed, momentum, and snow—all while losing bits and pieces along the way. It was difficult to spot my dad amongst the white powder and flying machine parts as the snowmachine rolled, flipped, and tumbled down the hill. Luckily, he escaped that adventure with only minor injuries, but his machine was not so fortunate. As the snow settled, I looked about the chaotic scene and knew with certainty that my course was best. Danger, accidents, trial, hardship, and trouble must be avoided at all costs.

São Paulo, Brazil—Jose Evandro Pontalti was close to fulfilling the dream of most Brazilian boys to become a professional soccer player, when he decided to serve a full-time mission.
Jose was playing for a minor league soccer team in Cambara, Brazil, when the team trainer, Brother Alcides dos Santos Goncalves, introduced him to the Church. Brother Goncalves would discuss the Bible, family relations, and similar topics with the team. Then he moved away.
Jose began to read the Book of Mormon and soon gained a testimony. The Church was not organized in Cambara so he had to travel to Bauru, near São Paulo, and to be baptized.
While in Bauru, he played in a soccer competition, was named the team’s best player, and received an offer from the Regatas do Flamengo, a professional team. After some months as a reserve team member preparing to turn professional at age twenty-one, he decided to serve a mission. Despite arguments from the club owner and coaches that he could be giving up a promising career, Jose would not change his mind.
Even though some people don’t understand his decision, says Elder Pontalti, “I am very happy to be serving in the São Paulo South Mission.”