Gospel Story Finder

When President George Albert Smith was young, his deceased grandfather George A. Smith appeared to him in a dream and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President Smith responded, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”1
Each week as we partake of the sacrament, we covenant and promise that we are willing to take upon us the name of Christ, always remember Him, and keep His commandments. If we are willing to do so, we are promised that most wonderful blessing—that His Spirit will always be with us.2
Just as President George Albert Smith had to account to his grandfather for what he had done with his name, someday each one of us will have to account to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for what we have done with His name.
The importance of having a good name is spoken of in Proverbs, where we read: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold”3 and “The [name] of the just is blessed.”4
As I pondered these scriptures and the importance of having a good name, a flood of memories came into my mind about the good name and legacy my parents left my four brothers, my two sisters, and me. My parents did not have the riches of the world, nor did they have silver or gold. Nine of us lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath home with an enclosed back porch, where my sisters slept. When my parents passed away, my brothers and sisters and I gathered to divide their earthly possessions, which were few in number. My mother left a few dresses, some used furniture, and a few other personal items. My father left some carpenter tools, some old hunting rifles, and little else. The only things of any monetary value were a modest home and a small savings account.
Together we wept openly, giving thanks, knowing they had left us something much more precious than silver or gold. They had given us their love and their time. They had often borne testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, which we can now read in their precious journals. Not so much by words but more by their example, they had taught us to work hard, to be honest, and to pay a full tithing. They also engendered a desire to further our education, to serve a mission, and most important, to find an eternal companion, be married in the temple, and endure to the end. Truly they left us the legacy of a good name, for which we shall ever be grateful.

Arise Early
Arising early is not in Doctrine and Covenants 89, but rather in section 88: “Retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and your minds may be invigorated” (v. 124).
My husband gets up for work at 5:00 a.m. In the past, I didn’t get up with him. I would sleep in, and I didn’t get up with my teenage sons either. At night I went to bed early, but my husband stayed up until 11:00 p.m. or later. I was worried about him because he would get sleepy when driving. We needed a change.
I decided to get up with my husband and have breakfast with him. Now we spend time together talking over breakfast. As a result, I am up now with my children before they go to school, and I send them off with prayers and hugs.
My husband is now going to bed early too. I find that my sleep, which had always been poor, has become much sounder, so I don’t need as much. It seems that many things are working better in my life because I strive to heed the counsel to “arise early.”
Linda Davis, Utah, USA

In January 1994, while living in Provo, Shane and I arrived home one evening after attending the temple. When we walked into our tiny studio apartment—and by tiny, I mean tiny!—we noticed a message on our answering machine from my grandma informing us that my mom had a brain aneurism and was at LDS Hospital being prepped for emergency brain surgery. We immediately jumped in the car and drove to Salt Lake City. I cried all the way there while Shane drove as fast as he could.

When we arrived, we were met by my dad and two of my sisters. The mood was somber as we waited for the doctor to come talk to us. After a time, the doctor arrived and explained all the things that could go wrong related to the surgery. He then gave our family a few minutes for my dad and Shane to give my mom a blessing. As they wheeled her out on a gurney, she looked at us and said, “Don’t worry about me, I’m going to be just fine.”

We were shown to a waiting room, where we waited and waited and waited. It was a long night of waiting, crying, and praying. Early the next morning, the surgeon reported that the surgery had gone well, and he let us see Mom for a few minutes. We gathered around her bed and had a family prayer. Once again my mom said, “Now quit worrying about me. I’m going to be just fine. You just need to trust in the Lord.”

Shortly after the surgery, the doctors did another scan of her brain and found that they hadn’t quite gotten all of the aneurism and also discovered a second aneurism. The weeks ahead were difficult and filled with uncertainty, fear, and worry. Two more brain surgeries and many miracles later, my mom was doing well. Miraculously, the only side effect was a loss of smell.

Fast-forward to November 2022, when there was another aneurism and another brain surgery. In a journal entry from that day, I noted her amazingly positive response to this trial. I wrote that she said, “I’m not going to fear—I’m to be of good cheer! We just need to trust in the Lord.”

I continued to write: “My mom’s faith is unwavering! She is a rock. She is solid. She is positive all the time. She always finds the good in something when it would be so easy to fall into the trap of negativity.”

In 1991, as the world marked the 150th year since the death of Mozart, the BYU Singers were invited by the Israel Chamber Orchestra to join them for a series of all-Mozart concerts performed throughout their country. We faced enormous opposition as we were preparing for the trip. We thought for a long while that the Kuwaiti-Iranian conflict had finished all plans for the trip. But as that conflict ended, President Lee told us to proceed with faith and confidence.

We arrived in Israel with great excitement and anticipation and found, much to my chagrin, that the greatest conflict we were to meet was a conflict with the orchestra itself. This is a professional orchestra, made up of sophisticated musicians, most of whom have immigrated to Israel from Western and Eastern Europe, Russia, and the United States. I am sure they were grumbling to themselves as this totally unknown, probably inexperienced choral conductor from a department of music of one of those American universities was introduced at the first of our two rehearsals. To make matters worse, the orchestra had been trained to play with a delayed attack, coming after the ictus of the conductor’s beat. That means that rather than playing at the point where my conducting pattern would create the beat, they would slightly delay the sound. I have observed and been puzzled by conductors who work this way and was inexperienced when it came to that sort of music-making.

Although the attitude of the orchestra changed noticeably as they heard the musical preparation and sound of our choir, the rehearsal was riddled with precision problems that were totally unacceptable in any music, but doubly so in Mozart, where precision of articulation, dynamic shifts, attacks, and releases is elemental to the music’s sound and style. Though the music had held together generally, I left that rehearsal sick at heart. What was I going to do?

We were the orchestra’s guests in the country. We knew of the delicate relationship of our Church, particularly the university’s Jerusalem Center, and the Israeli government. We were on a mission to build goodwill. We had been told by then Elder Hunter that our mission was not to harvest, probably not even to plant, but to clear away a few more stones. And I did not want to start throwing verbal stones at members of that orchestra and impede our greater purpose for being there.

We were lodging at the Jerusalem Center because the Gulf War had forced cancellation of the Semester Abroad Program that season. I spent most of that night standing at the window of the room where my wife and I were staying, looking out over the Old City wondering what more I should have done to prepare and praying earnestly for the right way to approach our last rehearsal the following morning.

Morning came, and when Jan was ready to go up to breakfast, I told her to go without me, that I wanted to fast. After she had left, my heart was increasingly heavy, and I knew I had to speak my anxiety aloud. I walked over to my bed, and as I knelt down, even before I could address Father in Heaven, two words were spoken forcefully and simultaneously to my mind and to my heart: “Be strong.”

“But be courteous,” I added of my own accord.

And then the words came a second time, as forcefully as before: “Be strong.”

I knew then and know now that this was a great blessing, given not so much for me as for the small contribution toward the unfolding of a very large work. On the bus from Jerusalem down to Tel Aviv, Jan squeezed my hand and asked what I was going to do. “Be strong,” I answered. As we began that last rehearsal, I stated my expectation as clearly and as firmly as I could. The orchestra understood, and with only the need for small reminders, we found the precision, the musicality, the greater communication we all sought.

When I was in fifth grade, nobody else in my neighborhood or my school was LDS. And after church on Sundays, I’d play video games and watch TV with my friends.
After I finished fifth grade, I moved to a different state. My first day there was a Saturday. I met a kid named Alex. I hung out with him through the evening. When he had to go home, I asked him if he could hang out the next day. He said it was Sunday and he couldn’t hang out. I decided to follow Alex’s example by keeping the Sabbath day holy.
The next day I went to church, came home, and replaced my video-game time with reading time. That night I knew Heavenly Father was proud of me. And I thought about how proud of Alex He must be too for being a good example. Ever since then, I have kept the Sabbath day holy.

When my father-in-law passed away, our family gathered together to greet others who came to pay their respects. Throughout the evening, as I visited with family and friends, I often noticed our 10-year-old grandson, Porter, standing near my mother-in-law—his “granny.” Sometimes he was standing behind her, watching over her. Once I noticed his arm linked with hers. I watched him pat her hands, give her little hugs, and stand by her side.
For several days after that experience, I couldn’t get this image out of my mind. I was prompted to send Porter a note, telling him what I had observed. I emailed him and told him what I had seen and felt. I reminded Porter of the covenants he had made when he was baptized, quoting Alma’s words in Mosiah chapter 18:
“And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;
“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, … that ye may have eternal life—
“… If this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?”
I explained to Porter that Alma taught that those who want to be baptized need to be willing to serve the Lord by serving others—for your whole life! I said: “I don’t know if you realized it, but the way you showed love and concern for Granny was keeping your covenants. We keep our covenants every day as we are kind, show love, and take care of each other. I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you for being a covenant keeper! As you keep the covenant you made when you were baptized, you will be prepared to be ordained to the priesthood. This additional covenant will give you more opportunities to bless and serve others and help you to prepare for the covenants you will make in the temple. Thank you for being such a good example to me! Thank you for showing me what it looks like to be a covenant keeper!”
Porter replied back: “Grandma, thanks for the message. When I was always hugging Granny, I didn’t know that I was keeping my covenants, but I felt warm in my heart and felt really good. I know that it was the Holy Ghost in my heart.”
I also felt warm in my heart when I realized that Porter had connected keeping his covenants with the promise to “always have his Spirit to be with [us]”—a promise made possible by receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost.

I still remember how anxious I was as I prepared to see my bishop about serving a mission. I wondered if I was good enough. Like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I wasn’t “guilty of any great or malignant sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28), but I was nervous just the same.

I was nervous because I couldn’t help but think about my friend Danny.* For months Danny had been talking about how much he looked forward to serving a mission. But that changed after he met with the bishop.

Because Danny had engaged in unworthy behavior with several young women, he later told me, he had disqualified himself from full-time missionary service. He was no longer free to choose a mission.

Danny, in the words of President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had fallen to Satan’s temptation “to misuse [his] moral agency.”1

True freedom, as For the Strength of Youth teaches, comes when we use our agency to choose obedience. Loss of freedom, as Danny learned, comes from choosing disobedience.

“While you are free to choose your course of action, you are not free to choose the consequences. Whether for good or bad, consequences follow as a natural result of the choices you make.”2

Because the scriptures teach that we are “free to choose,” “free to act,” and free to do things “of [our] own free will” (2 Nephi 2:27; 10:23; D&C 58:27; see also Helaman 14:30), we often use the term “free agency.”

But did you know that the phrase “free agency” does not appear in the scriptures? Instead, the scriptures teach “that every man may act in doctrine and principle … according to the moral agency which I have given unto him, that every man may be accountable for his own sins” (D&C 101:78; emphasis added).

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “The word agency appears [in scriptures] either by itself or with the modifier moral. … When we use the term moral agency, we are appropriately emphasizing the accountability that is an essential part of the divine gift of agency. We are moral beings and agents unto ourselves, free to choose but also responsible for our choices.”3

President Packer adds, “Agency is defined in the scriptures as ‘moral agency,’ which means that we can choose between good and evil.”4 This God-given gift means we are “free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Nephi 2:27).

Because moral agency plays an important role in the plan of salvation, Satan sought to destroy it in the premortal world. He was cast out for his rebellion and now seeks “to deceive and to blind men, and to lead them captive at his will” (Moses 4:3–4).

Satan wants us to make choices that limit our freedom, lead to bad habits and addictions, and leave us powerless to resist his temptations. The beauty of the gospel is that it makes us aware of our choices and the consequences of those choices. Wise use of agency keeps our choices open and improves our ability to choose correctly.

When the plan of salvation was presented in the Grand Council in Heaven, the Savior showed us how to use our moral agency correctly. He said, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever” (Moses 4:2). Because He was willing to do the will of the Father then and later in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross (see Matthew 26:39; Luke 22:42), Jesus paid the price for our bad choices and provided a way for us to be forgiven through repentance.

If we follow the Savior’s example, instead of saying, “I do what I want,” we will declare, “I do what the Father wants.”5 Using our moral agency this way will bring us freedom and happiness.

As I went to see my bishop for my first mission interview, I was grateful I had made good choices. A few months later I was serving the Lord in Guatemala—teaching others the plan of salvation and the vital role moral agency plays in that plan.

“Hello! This is Radio Halton. Jenny speaking. Are you happy and raring to go? I’ve got great things lined up for you today. But first, let’s hear some music.”
This cheery message is the way patients in Halton General Hospital, Runcorn, England, tune in to 17-year-old Jenny Ireland, their disk jockey for several hours each week.
What many of those patients don’t realize, as Jenny sends out bridges of comfort and hope along radio waves, is that she operates that complex equipment without the use of arms.
At Jenny’s birth, when her father saw only hands at shoulder level, his thoughts were, “Oh, how we shall miss hugs from this lovely daughter.”
Now, he says, “I have never been more wrong. Jenny’s hugs were whole body hugs. She couldn’t have been a more loving child.”
And this love for others now motivates Jenny in all areas of life. “I’d like to be everyone’s friend,” she admits. “My greatest ambition is to become a radio presenter, broadcasting to the public. A lot of lives can be touched that way.”
Touching lives is something she’s already doing. Nothing is too great an obstacle. She even completed the physically demanding Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award, setting an amazing example to the rest of her school friends. The final hike in Snowdonia, Wales, was gruelling—days of trekking over mountains in all weathers, with only a compass and map to guide. Jenny also has no ligaments in one knee, which causes problems. But sheer determination keeps her going.
Maybe growing up on Runcorn soil has added a will to win to Jenny’s life. It’s the sort of town that’s had to build bridges to go places. The fourth largest fixed arch suspension bridge in the world crosses from Runcorn, south of Liverpool’s River Mersey, to Widnes, on the north side. Without that link across the waves, much trade and communication would be lost.
Without Jenny’s sociable nature, many opportunities for missionary work would be lost. She has a gigantic testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. And she doesn’t mind who knows.
Jenny also knows how to make people feel special. Even those embarrassed by her disablement.
“Sometimes children will point at me and talk behind my back or make fun. It really doesn’t bother me one bit. I just laugh. My lack of arms is no problem to me. If I believe in myself, then I can accomplish as much as the next person.
“There was no medical explanation for my being born this way. No one is to blame. I’ve learnt a lot about myself in seminary. I feel I have things to do, and my disability is not a trial but somehow a help to others. It’s making me a much stronger, more patient person and keeps the family close together.”
Jenny has a younger brother, Jared, age 15, and two sisters, 13-year-old Maxine and Kirsty, age 9.
“The only chore I get out of is washing dishes,” laughs Jenny, “because I get a little wet—more like soaked! But, like Jared, I love to cook, and I really don’t need any help.”
Jenny once watched a video of herself and understands how people feel. “My immediate reaction was, ‘That girl needs assistance; she looks so clumsy.’ But when I’m doing things, I don’t feel clumsy. I’m just getting on with it.
“Of course there are days when I’m blue, too,” Jenny admits, “but my parents have taught me that my best friend is my Heavenly Father, and he’s always there when I need him.
“I can remember at primary school when everyone could write much faster than I. The teacher would be dictating, and I never could keep up. I’d come home crying. Mum said, ‘Ask Heavenly Father to help you.’
“Well, he didn’t seem to be helping—at first. Then a few weeks later I noticed I could do it! And I’ve kept up ever since, writing faster than others at times.
“When I was even younger,” she recalls, “I couldn’t reach to put on socks. So I sat there trying for hours until success came.”
School has presented many challenges for Jenny. But Church teachings and activities and loving parents and leaders have developed such self-esteem that nothing is a threat to progress.
“I can remember a school debate,” she smiles, “when we had to speak on a favourite subject. I chose the Church. When I mentioned ‘Church is fun,’ everyone gasped. During question time someone asked, ‘Do you really get up at six o’clock every morning for seminary?’ At the end, the teacher commented, ‘That was an excellent advertisement for your church.’
“On another occasion,” Jenny continues, “during the Duke of Edinburgh practice walks with a backpack, I felt so weighed down that I very nearly quit. Usually, before such a big trial, I ask Dad for a blessing. This time I realized I’d forgotten. I was just about to look for a phone to call Mum to come and get me when a line from my patriarchal blessing came into my head: ‘You can achieve anything you set your heart to do.’ And with help from my Heavenly Father, I did it.”
Accepting President Kimball’s “do it” challenge takes Jenny wherever she wants to go. She hikes, swims, skates, dances, camps, paints. Also on that list are graduating from seminary, learning to drive, saving for a trip to America, temple marriage. But foremost is her goal of conquering the waves—sound waves.
Jenny’s voluntary work as a hospital radio deejay has whetted her appetite for sharing music and words with anyone willing to listen. She loves all types of music from classical to modern and has a calm, humorous, slightly Liverpudlian approach to the microphone.
“I think giving talks at church from an early age has helped me feel comfortable speaking into mikes,” she smiles. The chairman of Radio Halton, Derek Owens, agrees. “She joined us five months ago as an assistant. Then one day the other deejay was absent, so Jenny was thrown in at the deep end. Being the smashing girl that she is, she stepped right in without hesitation and put on a great show. Now she has her own show each week.”
With such praise from the boss, it’s no wonder Jenny feels an obligation to set the best possible example of being a Latter-day Saint.
Sometimes temptation to slacken can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with top deejays from Independent Radio City, Liverpool—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly furthering career opportunities. Workmates kept pressing invitations. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down and my workmates, too, in the long run, because they’d have witnessed a bad example.”
And Jenny knows bad examples knock down bridges. As she’s more interested in building them, she rejoins the radio waves with another cheery message.
“Time to close for today, but before we go, I’d like to interview the lady who’s been interviewing me for the past two hours. She, too, is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes known as the Mormons. Let’s ask her a few questions about the Church and a magazine called the New Era. …”

When I was a little girl, creating artwork was one of the only things in my life that came naturally to me. It was something I loved and wanted to do, not something my parents had to bribe me to practice.
However, as a child, I suffered abuse that led to mental health challenges, including obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, and depression. After these traumatic experiences, painting and drawing became more than just a hobby—it was how I channeled my feelings and coped with my anxiety in a healthy way. Mixing colors and then painting how I was feeling was one of the only things that helped me focus on the present and find peace.
The older I get, the more I realize that my mental and spiritual health are very connected. When I’m struggling with my mental health, I often feel distant from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
But Heavenly Father has provided us with so many resources to cope with our struggles. When I take the time to slow down, I am better able to connect to the Spirit and share Christ’s light with others.
Whether we realize it or not, most of us have coping mechanisms that we turn to when we feel anxious or stressed. Some of these might be positive, like using our hobbies and talents for good, exercising, practicing gratitude, or journaling to process big emotions.
But other coping skills might not be so helpful, like eating too much junk food, binge-watching TV, becoming obsessed with fitness routines, or even diving into harmful habits that can lead us down spiritually dangerous paths.
None of us are perfect at seeking support in our struggles. However, through my own mental health challenges, I’ve learned that we can use positive coping skills to connect us to Christ rather than to the world. And sometimes those coping skills can be found through our own talents, hobbies, and spiritual gifts!
For example, I have painted my entire life, but it wasn’t until I began combining my faith with my painting that I started to comprehend how Jesus Christ can help me through my mental health challenges.
In moments when I’m feeling lonely, I try to connect with the Savior through temple attendance, prayer, and scripture study. In addition, when I use my talents to connect with the Savior, I better understand what He offers us: peace, solace, hope, love, comfort, and redemption.
Bishop Gérald Causse, Presiding Bishop, spoke about using our talents to bless ourselves and others:
“Our contributions may be expressed through the creation of works of art, architecture, music, literature, and culture, which embellish our planet, quicken our senses, and brighten our lives. …
“… The Lord expects us to work diligently, as moved upon by His Holy Spirit, to grow, enhance, and improve upon the resources He has entrusted to us—not for our benefit only but to bless others. …
“… We should recognize that all is spiritual to the Lord—including the most temporal aspects of our lives.”
Your righteous creative outlets can help you draw closer to God. And through the healing power of Jesus Christ, miracles can happen.
As hard as my mental health struggles are, I am grateful for how often they remind me of my need for my Savior and Heavenly Father in my life.
I know that using our talents won’t always fix everything, but when I turn to the Savior first, I am reminded that Heavenly Father knows how I feel. One way He does this is by inspiring me to use my talents to serve others who are also struggling to find His light.
Sister Reyna I. Aburto, former Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught that “your struggles do not define you, but they can refine you. … You may have the ability to feel more compassion toward others. As guided by the Holy Ghost, share your story in order to ‘succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees’ [Doctrine and Covenants 81:5].”
I have found that when I look outside myself and try to use my talents to share light, I feel the Savior’s light brighten my life too.
I encourage you to seek Heavenly Father and the Savior through spiritual habits. Find what talents and gifts you have that help you feel stillness and peace. For me, it’s been art.
I know you can do the same with your talents too.

I could give you no better advice than that given to Henry Eyring by his father as he left the farm to attend his freshman year at the University of Arizona:

So you’re going to Tucson to study science, eh? Well now, that’s what you want to do, isn’t it? I don’t know much about science, son, but I know quite a bit about some other things. I do know the Lord spoke to the Prophet and that the gospel is true. I know our gospel teaches truth regardless of its source. Now, I’ve tried to tell you the way things look to me, and perhaps sometimes I’ve told you things that don’t exactly jibe with the truth. If I have, just discard those things. In this Church you don’t have to believe anything that isn’t true. If you want to be a scientist, son, you hit it just as hard as you can. You’re going to hear some things up there that don’t exactly jibe with what you’ve learned in Sunday School, but don’t worry about it. Just keep an open mind and truth will eventually work its way to the surface. I don’t worry about how much you learn. Study all the science you can, and if you remember your prayers and don’t profane and live in such a way that you will feel comfortable in the company of good people, then mother and I will feel good about you going. Don’t you worry about the gospel, son. It will stand the test of all truth.

As a boy and a young man, I prepared to serve a full-time proselytizing mission for the Church. Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled us, I wanted to be a missionary, not just to go on a mission.1 But because of my medical challenges, the Missionary Department informed me that it was not in my best interest to face the stress of a full-time mission. Although it would have been easy to become bitter, I had prepared to serve my Savior, and I was prepared to accept His will for me.
What happened to me is called being honorably excused. That means that Church leaders saw my worthiness and my desire to serve but encouraged me to serve in other ways. Like many others who cannot serve a full-time mission, I felt prompted to do more than just “get on with my life.” I wanted to serve, so I did—as a local Church-service missionary. With help from my bishop and stake president, I found a way to serve the Lord while living at home.
There was a need at the Church’s Audiovisual Department, and since I live near the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City, I could help. My stake president extended a call, set me apart, and developed special rules for me during my year of service. Though the rules seemed strict to me, I learned that I was blessed when I followed them. While other service missionaries with different stake presidents may have different rules, these were the ones I followed:
Stick to a daily schedule: arise at 6:30 a.m.; study the scriptures and Preach My Gospel for two hours each day; exercise for 30 minutes each day; go to bed at 10:30 p.m.
Follow the Church’s dress code.
Listen to classical or Church music only.
Limit computer use to e-mail; limited television viewing; no video games.
Participate only in group activities—no dating.
Have monthly interviews with my bishop.
Sometimes when I was down in a crawl space under a building in 100-degree heat (38ºC) winding up cable all day, I found myself wondering what it had to do with bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man (see Moses 1:39). Was I really part of the team sharing the gospel around the world? I knew that Mosiah 2:17 says that when we are in the service of our fellow beings we are in the service of God, but it took me a while to believe that was true.
I learned that just like a proselytizing mission, a service mission isn’t about you. It is about learning to do what the Lord needs done. During my service, I helped set up and take down lights, run sound for meetings, and transport equipment. It was hard, dirty work, and I will never take general conference for granted. In fact, now when I watch any broadcast, my whole body aches because I know the intense work involved.
During my Church-service mission, I learned the importance of punctuality, responsibility, doing the job right, and giving my best effort. While my parents had tried to teach me these things, I didn’t understand until I saw how wasting time and effort can directly affect the work of others. Before my mission, it was easy to focus on just having fun. But once you are on your mission, you realize it will not be fun to be the companion who doesn’t know how to work. Part of preparing to serve is learning how to work.
I also learned to appreciate those who work behind the scenes. I saw how hard Church leaders work without drawing attention to themselves or expecting special treatment. I saw others serving who had greater challenges than I did, teaching me that everyone can serve in some way.
I realized that I have been blessed with strengths and abilities and that through hard work I could do more than I had been doing. I learned that as I respect other people, I like myself better. It’s easy to get in the habit of looking down on people in order to try to feel better about ourselves. But respect works both ways, and those who represent Jesus Christ must be respectful.
The most important lesson I learned, however, was that the Lord will help you do difficult things. It was hard to stay home, hard to do menial chores, hard not to be the center of attention, hard to obey mission rules, and hard to hear people tell me I wasn’t on a “real” mission. But the Lord helped me. I know He will help you do the things you need to do to be happy, to feel good about yourself, to grow, and to be a better person. Get down on your knees, bow your head, and be honest with yourself as you pray. Then get ready to serve wherever and whenever you are called.

While I was serving as a full-time missionary in my homeland of Ecuador, one day I had a definite feeling that someone special was waiting for us—someone who would accept the gospel.
As my companion and I walked, we came to a humble house. An elderly lady, perhaps 80 years of age, smiled sweetly at me. I smiled at her in return. I was ready to keep walking, but the woman looked so happy to see us. Something told me to stop right there.
Many people in that little town were illiterate, so I asked her if she could read. Her answer was an enthusiastic yes. I was suddenly filled with excitement. I felt that she was the person the Lord wanted us to teach. I took a Book of Mormon from my bag and showed it to her. I was surprised when she began to read aloud from the first page without needing glasses. I asked her if she would like to have the book, and again she answered yes. Happiness glowed in her tired eyes—eyes that had long been seeking a better life.
We began to teach her the gospel, and the Spirit bore witness to her of its truthfulness. Such tender feelings filled my heart.
As we concluded our lesson, I showed her chapter 11 of 3 Nephi, which tells about the visit of Jesus Christ to the Americas. She promised to read it. She marked the page herself and kissed the book, beaming with an unspeakable joy.
We made other visits to our new investigator, and we were delighted to find she read everything we assigned her. After completing her daily work, she would read the Book of Mormon late into the night. She also started attending church, although it took two hours for her to walk slowly to the meetinghouse. Her feelings about the Book of Mormon and Jesus Christ grew rapidly and deeply. After hearing all of the missionary lessons, she wanted to be baptized and pay tithing.
What great blessings this dear woman received! Her heart was ready to follow the Lord, and His Spirit guided us to her. She taught us about love, courage, sacrifice, joy, and obedience. Above all else she taught us that it is never too late to change.

A few years ago two of our American churches on the West Coast were holding a convention in Salt Lake City. The people came from California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada and represented the Congregational and Evangelical churches. The leader of that group wrote a letter to President McKay and asked if he would send one of the General Authorities to talk for two hours in the morning session of their convention to tell them the story of Mormonism, then to remain as their guest for lunch, and then to stay an hour and a half in the afternoon for questions. Well, I got the assignment, and I don’t mind telling you I was glad to get it. I always tell our missionaries you never need to argue with anybody—“If you learn how to tell our story, you tell them things they’ve never heard of, and prove them out of their own Bibles.” When I arrived at the meeting, I asked, “Now, do you want it just the way we believe it, how we got the church and what we believe?”
The man in charge said, “That’s just what we want.” Some of them had to get away on earlier planes, so they moved the luncheon back half an hour and gave me two hours and a half in that morning session. I just gave them chapter and verse and showed them what we received through the restoration of the gospel. You remember the words of Peter when he said the heavens were to receive the Christ until the restitution of all things spoken by the mouths of all the holy prophets since the world began (see Acts 3:20–21). A restitution is not a reformation, which is how all these other churches have come into existence. They have tried to correct the mistakes of history, but we have a restitution of all things. I showed what we got by the coming of the different holy prophets, as Peter said, and when I was through, I had only one question out of all those ministers and church leaders. You might be interested in that question. The man in charge said, “Now, Mr. Richards, you’ve told us that you believe that God is a personal god.”
I said, “That’s right.”
He said, “We’re heard it said that you believe that God has a wife. Would you explain that to us?”
I think he thought he had me in a corner and that I couldn’t do it. So rather facetiously I said, “Well, I don’t see how in the world he could have a Son without a wife, do you?” They all began to titter, and I didn’t have any more trouble with that question.

I was told once of a young man who for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life he moved away. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past. Above all, as many in the military do, he discovered the beauty and majesty of the Church and became active and happy in it.

Then, after several years, he returned to the town of his youth. Most of his generation had moved on but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there, waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old “so-and-so”—you remember the guy who had the problem, the idiosyncrasy, the quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn’t it all just hilarious?

Little by little this man’s Pauline effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that God had laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again inactive and unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad that he was again to be surrounded by a whole batch of Lot’s wives, those who thought his past was more interesting than his future. They managed to rip out of his grasp that for which Christ had grasped him. And he died sad, though through little fault of his own.

Sometimes even those of us who think we practice inclusion can be unintentionally exclusionary. For example, when I served as a nursery leader, I often missed announcements that were shared during the second hour of Church meetings. When I told a leader about this concern, he said, “But doesn’t your wife hear the announcements in Relief Society?”

At the time, I just laughed. But this good man’s response represented a mindset that excluded me. Do we view our fellow Church members as part of a “family ward,” made up of married men and women with children? Or do we view one another as part of a “ward family,” made up of individuals who care for and strengthen one another? Both views are important. While remaining aware of families in our ward, we can also get to know people individually—their circumstances, interests, needs—and perhaps prevent unintentional exclusion.

I really don’t know why I signed up for seminary in 11th grade. Ninth grade was easy enough to explain. My best friend, Mary, begged me. Her mother insisted that she attend, and Mary vowed she’d die of boredom if I didn’t go with her. We’d been practically inseparable from the time we were two, so I believed it was my duty to go with her.
Tenth grade was a little more difficult to explain. I registered for seminary with Mary—again because she had to. But her mom remarried before the school year started, and Mary moved to Nevada. That year, although I didn’t drop the seminary class, most of the time I didn’t attend. I wasn’t interested in what the seminary teacher had to offer, and I was lonely without Mary.
By default, I registered for seminary again when I was a junior, mostly because there were no other classes I wanted. So I went and sat in the back, nestled by myself in the corner. Brother Hardy often tried to involve me in the discussions and scripture reading. Sometimes I participated, but most of the time I declined during our study of the Book of Mormon.
Every day Brother Hardy closed his lesson by bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel. He seemed sincere enough in his beliefs, but each day I grew increasingly irritated at his word choice. He always said “I know.” But he couldn’t, I thought. He was wrong. He could feel, he could think, he could believe. But he could not know.
After class one day I decided to set him straight. He turned and smiled at me, and his eyes smiled too. “Sister Atwood, what can I help you with?” he asked.
“It’s about your word choice,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d say ‘I believe’ rather than ‘I know.’ You can’t know what you can’t see.” I turned to walk away, certain he’d choose his words more carefully from then on.
“Sister Atwood, wait!” he called out after me.
I stopped and looked at his gentle green eyes. Something about him drew me in, something in his gaze. “What?” I asked.
“Sister,” he said softly, “do you want to know?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “But no one can know what they can’t see.” I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t believe there was a God; I didn’t want to let him know how hopeless and bleak the world looked to me. “No one can know,” I mumbled again, and the conviction of that belief left me lost, lonely, and small.
Brother Hardy reached for a book on his table. “Have you ever read the Book of Mormon, Colleen?”
“No.”
“Do you have one at home?”
“No. I have a Bible. But I don’t read it anymore.”
“Here.” He held the book out to me. “This is yours. You keep it. Every night before you go to bed, kneel down and pray to your Heavenly Father. He’ll hear you. Even if you haven’t prayed to him for a very long time. Ask him to help you understand what is in this book. Remember, always pray before you read. Read it just like you would those good books I see you with. Read it as if the people in this book are speaking directly to you. Will you do that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took the book from him. I didn’t want to take his book. But he was so kind I didn’t want to tell him no.
The next day Brother Hardy bore his testimony. And he said “I know” again. He didn’t understand after all. He watched me as I walked out the door that day. I could feel his eyes fixed on me even while he talked to the other students. I didn’t look back.
At home that night I picked up the book. I knew he’d ask me if I was reading it. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I thought about dropping the class as I set the book back on my nightstand.
For the next several days, I went to seminary, dreading the day he’d pull me aside. Although he always greeted me warmly, he never asked me if I’d been reading the book. I began to relax and decided to stay in the class. I even took my turn reading scriptures. The days passed, and, as always, Brother Hardy bore his testimony. He looked me squarely in the eyes each time he said “I know.” Always the look was gentle, almost pleading.
One night, with nothing else to do, I picked up the Book of Mormon and turned the pages. I started reading Joseph Smith’s testimony. Then I remembered Brother Hardy’s instruction to pray first. So I crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. “Help me to understand,” I asked simply. I finished Joseph’s testimony and the testimonies of the Three Witnesses. Night after night, I stayed with my plan. Pray then read. Let those in the Book of Mormon speak to me.
Soon the voices were real, and it seemed that Nephi was pleading with me because of the hardness of my heart. My appetite for the book became insatiable, and I read into the wee hours.
In 3 Nephi when Jesus Christ visited the American continent, I felt that I was there with them, that I could see and feel the prints of the nails in his hands and feet. I cried. When the Nephites fell away and all but Moroni were slain, I wept again.
Then I read the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5]. I put the bookmark in the book, closed it, climbed out of bed and knelt down to pray once again. “Heavenly Father,” I asked simply, “if it’s true, please help me to know and understand.” I closed my prayer and climbed back into bed, my eyes so full of tears that they blurred my vision.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, then lay awake at the wonder of it. I knew—without seeing or touching—that the Book of Mormon was true. For the first time I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus were real. I knew Joseph Smith had seen God. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, with my spiritual eyes, I too saw him.
The next day I sat on the front row in seminary. When Brother Hardy finished his lesson by saying “I know,” I said “amen.” He stopped me after class. “It’s been a while, Colleen. How are you doing with the reading?” he asked.
“Oh, I finished it,” I said.
“Good!” He clapped his hands together. “Good! And?”
I looked at the ceiling and shook my head. “And I know,” I choked. “I know.”
In the years since, I have often thought of Brother Hardy. I have wanted him to know that I married a returned missionary in the temple and that I have two fine sons who also will serve the Lord in the mission field. I have wanted Brother Hardy to know how his pebble rippled.

Keoni Barney, 16, is a recent Church convert in the Mount Vernon Stake. “All the kids were just so nice,” he says. He found out about the Church when he moved in with his aunt and uncle and started dancing with the youth at their practices. He says his friends’ examples helped him gain a testimony. “I’ve never seen so much energy out of a group of youth in my entire life,” Keoni laughs. He says he can’t keep up with them, but maybe it’s the over-sized collar on his disco outfit that’s holding him back, he jokes. “I love having the opportunity to be in the dance festival.”

If you want your influence to extend beyond the circle of your friends, you may want to prepare a Book of Mormon and then give it to the missionaries to be used wherever it can do the most good. If you wish, you can include a photo of your entire family and make it a family project. The John R. Poulton family of Salt Lake City, Utah, treasures several letters from people who have received the Book of Mormon from them in this way through the missionaries.
Lawrence C. Alamargo of the Philippines wrote to the family: “We received the Book of Mormon you sent, and we have read it already. It inspired the whole family. The Book of Mormon was handed to us by the elders who taught us the gospel of God. We were baptized December 25th, and the gift of the Holy Ghost was the most precious gift we ever received in our lives.”

Susie Finlayson had been trying for some time to get a friend to have the missionary discussions, but he “kept not being too excited.” She gave him a subscription to the New Era, and while he was waiting for the first issue to arrive, someone gave him a couple of old copies so that he would know what he was getting. A day or two later he stopped Susie in the hall. “I’ve got a poem for you,” he said. He then quoted from memory a poem he had read in the New Era. A few weeks later he asked if he could start taking the missionary discussions. That success reminded Susie of another friend she had given the New Era to a year earlier. She checked with him and found that he was feeling bad because the subscription had ended. He is now receiving the New Era again.

I remember vividly an experience I had as a small boy. One day while playing with my friends, I accidentally broke a window in a store near our home. As the glass shattered and the security alarm blared, a paralyzing fear filled my heart and mind. I realized immediately I was doomed to spend the remainder of my life in prison. My parents eventually coaxed me out from a hiding place under my bed and helped me to make amends with the store owner. Fortunately, my jail sentence was commuted.
The fear I felt that day was overwhelming and real. You undoubtedly have experienced much greater feelings of dread after learning about a personal health challenge, discovering a family member in difficulty or danger, or observing disturbing world events. In such instances, the distressing emotion of fear arises because of impending danger, uncertainty, or pain and through experiences that are unexpected, sometimes sudden, and likely to produce a negative outcome.