Gospel Story Finder

When I was young, my mother taught me how to pray, and I would attend church with her every Sunday. My sister and brother were members of the choir at the local parish church in Hertfordshire, England, and it seemed natural to follow their example and attend.
Because I was only eight years old, I wasn’t required to attend communion service early on Sunday mornings. I would sleep in but eventually would get up and cycle to the main morning service.
In the middle of the winter of 1952, with a foot of fresh snow on the ground outside and frost on the inside of my bedroom windows, I snuggled down in bed, determined not to go to church that Sunday.
My mother called for me to get up, but I pretended to be asleep. Then I could hear her footsteps as she started to climb the stairs. I called out, “It’s all right. I’m getting up.”
But then I said under my breath, “What’s the point? There is no such person named Jesus Christ anyway.” Immediately a voice came into my head and said to me, “There is, and you will serve me one day.” The voice seemed so natural, as if a friend were talking to me. The years went by, however, and I forgot about the experience.
I grew up, joined the Royal Navy, and after nine years began working for a fire-protection company. One evening after work, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, two sister missionaries introduced themselves. I was tired, dirty, and hungry, so I suggested that they come back later in the evening or some other time.
To my surprise they returned an hour later. I invited them in. As soon as they started talking, I knew there was something special about their message. My home felt different, and I knew it emanated from these two sisters.
They gave me the first discussion that night and the second discussion the following night. Two elders then came every night until I had received all the discussions. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Getting down on my knees to pray for the first time in 20 years was the most spiritual experience I had had in my life.
I made the commitment to be baptized a week after finishing the discussions. After my baptism, Elder Ross and Elder Fullerger laid their hands on my head to give me the gift of the Holy Ghost. As soon as their hands touched my head, my experience with the Spirit 20 years before came back to me. Something precious that had been preserved within me—but had been suppressed by all the mistakes I had made in life—was spiritually reunited with my memory. I was overwhelmed to think that I meant so much to the Savior that He had not forgotten me.
I’m grateful to the missionaries who taught me the gospel and to the members of my first ward who nourished me. Most of all, I’m grateful to my Savior, whose existence I had once doubted but whom I now gratefully serve.

An early experience of his own with spiritual guidance set Harold’s feet firmly on the path of obedience: “I was probably about eight years of age, or younger, when I was taken by my father to a farm some distance away. While he worked I tried to busy myself with things that a young boy would. … Over the fence there was a broken-down shed that looked very interesting to me. In my mind I thought of this broken-down shed as a castle that I would like to explore, so I went to the fence and started to climb through to go over to that shed. There came a voice to me that said this very significant thing, ‘Harold, don’t go over there.’ I looked about to see who was speaking my name. My father was way up at the other end of the field. He could not see what I was doing. There was no speaker in sight. Then I realized that someone that I could not see was warning me not to go over there. What was over there, I shall never know, but I learned early that there are those beyond our sight that could talk to us.”

Recently I received a letter from a young member of the Church whom I met three years ago at the Provo MTC. His words moved me to tears, and I would like to summarize them for you.

Spencer describes himself as being a proud and stubborn young man during his youth. He didn't always live according to the gospel principles and often neglected attending church. Unfortunately, when he was 17, a serious accident left him with a fracture in his spinal column. The accident also fractured his dream of enlisting in the army, a dream for which he had prepared himself many long years.

Spencer began to build a feeling of resentment toward God; how could He have done this to him? One day Spencer's bishop invited him to serve a mission. That inspired him to pray for the first time in a very long time. While he was praying, a thought came to his mind; military service had been his excuse for not serving a mission, but now he no longer had an excuse. He had to go on a mission.

With the help of his bishop, he diligently prepared himself to serve and was called to the Argentina Mendoza Mission. He entered the MTC with great excitement and anticipation in his heart. However, one morning just a week later, Spencer woke up and couldn't move his legs. He was taken to the emergency room in a panic. A couple of days later, even though he was back on his feet, he learned that at the recommendation of his doctors, he had to leave his mission and return home.

Spencer wrote: "I had never been so depressed in my life. I remember going back to the cafeteria and my zone all being there. ... I broke down in tears. I was hurt and shattered to the point where I didn't know if I would ever recover."

Back home, he didn't speak to anyone for three or four days. He sank deeper and deeper into depression and despair. He was bitter toward the Church. He didn't feel comfortable attending meetings in his young adult ward. He felt despised and rejected for not having finished his mission.

But one day he met a wonderful young woman by the name of Elizabeth. They began dating, and she convinced him to return to the Church. One year later they got married, and they are now expecting their first child in August. Spencer started his career selling shoes, but he was able to improve his employment situation to become a personal trainer. Today he and his wife work together and manage their own business that provides wedding services.

Spencer concluded his letter with these words: "I could not be more blessed... Recently, I went through a box of old things and found my missionary journal. Only six pages were filled, and four of those six were thoughts about love and impressions on how a man should love his family. I have now become aware that my mission was a short yet special moment to get my life in order and realize the man I should be. My only regret is not seeing that sooner."

Now as I began, I spoke of two events during the past week, and I mentioned one—the Discovery’s successful ?ight. May I close with the second reference, to another journey not so successful. A week ago last Sunday, on September 1, 1985, Robert Ballard, chief scientist for a joint U.S./French venture, became the ?rst person in seventy-three years to view the grave site of more than fifteen hundred people whose ?nal resting place lay on the cavernous ?oor two and a half miles below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. The Titanic was the biggest, most luxurious, and supposedly the safest ocean liner of all time—unsinkable, they advertised, because of its double steel hull and waterproof compartments.
The ?rst-class register on that maiden voyage read like a Who’s Who of American and European society. The net worth of those passengers was estimated (in 1912) to be $250 million. And on the night of April 14, 1912, nearly three-fourths of the trip from Southampton was completed. New York was, ?guratively speaking, just a hop, skip, and a jump away. It had been a great party on the high seas.
Now an iceberg is relatively small and occupies so little space in comparison with the broad ocean on which it ?oats. The chances of another small object like a ship colliding with it and being sunk are minute. Chances are, as a matter of fact, one in a million. That’s not just a ?gure of speech. That was the actual risk for total loss by collision with an iceberg as accepted by insurance companies in 1912. That one-in-a-million accident was what sunk the Titanic. On the night of the collision she was undoubtedly the safest ship a?oat on any of the world’s oceans. But her captain and her crew were careless, perhaps simply too con?dent. And so were her designers and her owners. The result was that when the unbelievable had to be believed, only seven hundred were saved. One thousand ?ve hundred thirteen of the others rode the world’s safest ship two and a half miles straight down—and then waited seventy-three years to have Robert Ballard ?nally identify their burial site for posterity.

Knocking against the low-hung branches of the bush, the grackle fell over onto the lawn. Jimmy sprawled on his stomach for a closer look. The bird was black and had an iridescent green-blue head and neck. Two yellow eyes stared in alarm. Seeing Jimmy, the bird tried to scurry away. But each time it hopped, it fell over sideways. Spreading its wings, the bird tried to steady itself. However, it seemed to use only one leg; its other leg dangled helplessly. The bird made one last attempt and fell back underneath the bushes.
Jimmy ran into the house and brought his mother outside to see the injured bird. “Can we help it?” Jimmy asked, bending low to see the bird huddled deep in the dimness of the branches.
“I doubt if we can get close enough, Jimmy,” Mother said. “Perhaps the injury will heal by itself. Many times in nature this happens.”
“Would it help if I brought some food here by this bush?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you try it!”
Every day Jimmy dropped pieces of whole wheat bread near the bird, and every time after he left, the grackle would emerge from its haven and gobble them up. Soon the bird began to realize that Jimmy was not going to harm it. As long as Jimmy sat quietly a few feet away, the grackle fed unafraid. Although Jimmy never tried to touch the bird, he still felt that they were good friends. However, he was worried. It seemed to him that the bird’s leg should have healed by now, but it hadn’t.
One day the grackle did not come when Jimmy called. No soft chirps came from the bush. In the evening Jimmy took more bread to the usual spot. Still his friend did not come.
“Maybe the bird was strong enough to join the other grackles,” Father suggested. “Let’s just wait and see.”
The next morning Jimmy sprinkled more bread by the bush, but only a crow swooped down and gulped the tidbits.
Now Jimmy was really concerned. He told his father and mother about the crow at lunch. They listened sympathetically and afterward Dad suggested a game of catch.
“Here comes my fastball!” Dad shouted. “Ready?”
The ball whizzed low and Jimmy felt it smack the edge of his glove and ricochet into the bushes. Crawling under the low limbs, Jimmy reached for his ball. But his hand suddenly stopped, for in a knot of brown leaves he saw his grackle, its bad leg curled and shriveled.
“No! No! Dad, my bird is … is dead! Why? I fed it …”
“Its injury was too serious to heal by itself,” Dad explained, coming over to the bushes. “It wasn’t strong enough to survive. Perhaps nature knew best, son. Even if it survived for a time but couldn’t fly away with its friends, it wouldn’t have had a very happy life. You did a good thing by making its last days as pleasant as possible, and it’s best it didn’t have to suffer long.”
“But I wish it didn’t have to die,” Jimmy said, tears welling in his eyes.
“I know, Jimmy, but the rule of survival has been nature’s way ever since life began.”
Jimmy was silent. He thought about the grackle—chirping, pecking, hopping, falling—always falling. He looked away from the bush and out across the lawn. Several other grackles strutted through the grass.
“I see you’re watching the other grackles in the yard,” Dad said. “Robins and sparrows too. And there’s a cardinal. They all seem to be looking for food.”
“Well, I guess I could feed them even though they aren’t hurt like my grackle,” Jimmy murmured slowly.
“Sure you could,” Dad agreed. “All birds have a problem finding enough food, especially in cold or stormy weather.”
“I could build a feeder so they could have their own restaurant,” Jimmy suggested, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.
“That’s a great idea, son!” Dad encouraged. “And I’ll help if you need me. I can see that the birds around here will never go hungry.”
“That’s right, Dad,” Jimmy said. “Now I know what you mean about that survival rule. It’s sad when a bird dies, but we have to think about the ones that are still alive. And now I’m going to help take care of them.”

Several LDS groups invited my minister friend to speak on the topic of “loving our neighbor despite religious differences,” and she experienced a great deal of acceptance from those who attended. In turn, she invited several Latter-day Saints, including me, to speak to different congregations on the same topic. After the services, I found myself surrounded by congregants wanting to talk to me, hug me, and even shed tears of mutual love and understanding. In experiences like these, I have found Elder Holland’s conclusion to be true: “When we look beyond people’s color, ethnic group, social circle, church, synagogue, mosque, creed, and statement of belief, and when we try our best to see them for who and what they are—children of the same God—something good and worthwhile happens within us, and we are thereby drawn into a closer union with that God who is the Father of us all.”14

One benefit of his high school involvement in athletics was that it kept him close to the young woman who would later become his wife. Patricia Terry was a cheerleader for the school athletic teams. Her parents, Maeser and Marilla Terry, had moved to St. George just as she entered high school. She and Jeff dated for two years before his mission.

Though he was active in the Church and enjoyed seminary, Elder Holland credits Pat’s faith with solidifying his determination to serve a mission at a time when it was not clearly expected that every worthy young man should go. Pat’s parents say strong faith was a part of her nature even as a little child. Elder Holland comments, “Her faith has always been as pure and as powerful and as strong as any person’s I’ve ever known.” And when they were dating, Pat knew even before he was sure of it himself that he should serve a mission.

One summer some of the youth in my stake were asked to put on a play commemorating the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Many of my friends were involved, and I was excited to watch the performance. About a week before opening night, I received a phone call from one of the directors. She told me that one of the actors would not be able to participate and asked if I could fill in for him. I was surprised, but I accepted.
Because I’d joined the cast so late in the rehearsal schedule, I had less than a week to learn my lines and know what to do during the scenes I was onstage. By our first performance, I felt confident in my role, but I was still unfamiliar with much of the play’s content. One night I decided to watch the rest of the play from backstage. The play was wonderful, and during the scene where Joseph and Hyrum Smith were martyred, the Spirit testified to me that Joseph Smith truly was a prophet. I felt the Spirit stronger than I ever had before.
I can never deny the testimony I gained that night. I know the Lord truly helped cultivate the Spirit in that performance, and I know I had the chance to play a role in the production so that I could gain a testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I will be eternally grateful for Joseph Smith’s faithfulness and for inspired leaders who asked me to participate in this testimony-promoting experience.

Because I studied Come, Follow Me, I think Heavenly Father helped me with school. At first I made lots of mistakes in my homework. Then my dad asked me to start by saying a prayer. After the prayer, I understood better. Soon I was no longer making as many mistakes. When my teachers received my homework, they would say, “Congratulations, Sarah! Keep doing what you are doing!”
I successfully completed my school year. And school at home went well, because we always started with a prayer, just like we do when we study Come, Follow Me.

Last year, I attended a play at Brigham Young University in Provo called “Handing Down the Names” by Steven Dietz. While the characters were fictional, the play was a family story, based on historical facts. The play begins with a woman named Irina living in Colorado in the 1940s. She introduces the play by saying that each family has a history but the beginning is difficult to find. She takes off her wedding ring and places it on the table.

The play then steps back in time almost 200 years as we see a young widow named Ruth Dorn in Germany. She picks up the wedding ring, saying that it belonged to her husband, Henry. He had just been killed in a war. His brother then arrives for the funeral. Ruth is expecting her first child, and the brother offers to marry her so the child can have a name and family. The young family decides to travel to Russia to colonize an area along the Volga River. The mother dies during the journey, and the father cares for the child, eking out an existence in the harsh land. Even though that baby daughter is not his biological child, she gives his life a purpose.

The play then shifts to the early 1900s, showing descendants of the Dorn family leaving their home along the Volga River to come to America. Unfortunately, the mother dies on board ship, but the father carries on with his three adult children. Upon arriving at Ellis Island, one of the daughters, Katie, is found to have an eye infection. She is sent back to Russia, while the rest of the family helplessly watch her go. They move to Colorado where they work hard to raise enough money for Katie and her husband to join them. They pray constantly that their family can be reunited. One year follows the next and they cannot understand why Katie’s family does not come. We find out later that Katie never received the money or the letters due to political interference.

Katie eventually has a son named Adam. Before she dies, she tells him to do whatever he can to go to America and join her family. Just as World War II is starting in Europe, Adam finds someone who offers to help him leave Russia and go to America. However, as he enters Hamburg, Germany, preparing to board the ship for his journey across the Atlantic, he is seized and conscripted into the German Army.

He is captured and sent to America as a prisoner of war. Ironically, or maybe providentially, his imprisonment is in the same area of northern Colorado where his now deceased grandfather and uncle had lived. The prisoners are forced to work for farmers in the area, and that is where he meets Irina, a young woman whose father was also from the German colonies along the Volga River. He recognizes that she is one of his own people. After the war, he is sent back to Germany, but later manages to return to Irina in Colorado, bringing the wedding ring that had been handed down for many generations. Ruth Dorn, from 200 years earlier, then enters the stage, saying, “He farms now, on land where he’d been held prisoner. She wears a ring that I wore, nearly two hundred years ago. And their son, Henry, wears a name that belonged to my husband. A name seven generations in the making.”[3]

This family story touched me because it showed how the individuals who lived in the twentieth century were profoundly influenced by their family members from previous generations. You may not realize it, but your life and situation have come about in part because of the decisions made by your ancestors. The playwright Steven Dietz stated, “We can look back . . . because they chose to look forward.”[4]

“My name is Omar Interdonato,” the e-mail began. “I’m the son of Fiorella Italia. I hope you still remember her baptism.”
The mother, along with her oldest son and two teenage daughters, their grandmother, and their friend were eventually baptized. Following my mission, I kept in touch with the family, but until I received the e-mail, I had wondered what had happened to Fiorella, the daughters’ young friend.
“My mother has been faithful to the gospel all her life and in 1983 married a good Church member from the Messina Branch and got sealed in the temple,” her son wrote. “I was born in 1984 and my sister, Veronica, in 1987. We are all active in the Church. I served a mission in the Italy Rome Mission from 2005 to 2007, hoping to repay the Lord for all the struggles of two missionaries who decided to preach the gospel in the small town of Floridia!”
There were times during my mission when I wondered if the two years of sacrifice were worth it. But how great is my joy (see D&C 18:15–16) to learn that Fiorella’s life was changed forever because my companion and I made the decision to go forth and forget ourselves in the service of others on the island of Sicily.

An old Jewish legend tells of two brothers, Abram and Zimri, who owned a field and worked it together. They agreed to divide both the labor and the harvest equally. One night as the harvest came to a close, Zimri could not sleep, for it didn’t seem right that Abram, who had a wife and seven sons to feed, should receive only half of the harvest, while he, with only himself to support, had so much.
So Zimri dressed and quietly went into the field, where he took a third of his harvest and put it in his brother’s pile. He then returned to his bed, satisfied that he had done the right thing.
Meanwhile, Abram could not sleep either. He thought of his poor brother, Zimri, who was all alone and had no sons to help him with the work. It did not seem right that Zimri, who worked so hard by himself, should get only half of the harvest. Surely this was not pleasing to God. And so Abram quietly went to the fields, where he took a third of his harvest and placed it in the pile of his beloved brother.
The next morning, the brothers went to the field and were both astonished that the piles still looked to be the same size. That night both brothers slipped out of their houses to repeat their efforts of the previous night. But this time they discovered each other, and when they did, they wept and embraced. Neither could speak, for their hearts were overcome with love and gratitude.8

When my wife and I were dating and discussing marriage, we knew that we could not blindly go to the Lord and ask Him if it was right just because we liked each other. We knew we had to study it out in our minds. Were we a good fit for each other? Did we have similar perspectives on the most important things, like the gospel? Were we willing to give marriage our all, despite the ups and downs that life inevitably would give us? After studying it out in our minds, we decided that we needed the approval of the Lord. We joined together in a full 24-hour fast to ask the Lord if what we decided was right for us. After fasting, we both had clarity of mind and a peaceful feeling. We were married in the Laie, Hawaii temple, and have been married for almost 22 years.

My knees shook a little and my stomach fluttered as I stood with Mom in the office of my new school. I straightened my shirt and tried to see my reflection in the glass door. My family had just moved from another state, and now here I was on my first day of fourth grade. Would I make friends here? I wondered. Would they like me? Was anyone going to sit by me at lunch?
A lady walked out from behind the counter and gave me a big smile. “Hi, Christina, I’m Mrs. Collins. I’ll take you to your class.”
I nodded. Mom bent down and gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll see you after school, OK?”
I nodded again, afraid that if I said anything, I would start to cry. Mom left the office and walked down the front steps of the school. I felt like running after her, but Mrs. Collins put her hand on my shoulder and led me down a long hallway. I glanced into classrooms and saw a few kids looking out the door at us as we walked by. Would any of them be my friends? We finally came to my classroom, and Mrs. Collins introduced me to the teacher. Mrs. Murphy smiled. “We’re glad to have you in our class, Christina,” she said. “You can sit next to Melissa.”
She pointed out a girl and I made my way to the empty desk next to her. I slid into my seat and smiled a little at Melissa. “Hi,” I said softly.
She smiled a little too. “Hi.”
I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my racing heart. Some of the kids turned around to look at me. I heard whispering and a few giggles, and I felt my face turning red. Did they not like me already?
A little while later, the class visited the school library. I tried to stay close to Melissa, but she went with a different reading group. Most of the girls quickly sat down at the round tables with their friends and favorite books. There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit, so I pretended to look at different books as I walked up and down through the rows of shelves. When I came to the end of one row, I was right in front of a table of girls. I recognized one of them from my new Primary class. I swallowed hard and smiled. Maybe they could be my friends.
Suddenly, the girl closest to me leaned back in her chair, as if she were trying to get away from me. “Why is your skin dark?” she asked.
“Um. …” I didn’t know what to say.
“Why do you look different?” another girl asked.
“What are you?”
I tried to smile at their questions, but the girls weren’t smiling at me. They looked like they were smelling rotten food. Just then Mrs. Murphy walked in. “OK, class, it’s time to go back to the room.”
I didn’t look at anyone as we walked back to the classroom. For the rest of the day, I peeked at kids around me and tried to see why those girls thought I was different. None of my old friends thought I was different. No one at my old school had ever asked me what I was, and I didn’t know how to answer. I was me, that’s what I was.
I looked at my arm, and then at Melissa’s arm resting on her desk. My arm was a lot browner than hers. I scooted close to my desk and hid my arms underneath it.
“How was your day?” Mom asked when I got home from school.
“Mom, why is my skin dark?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A girl in my class asked me why. These girls wanted to know why I look … different.” I started to cry.
Mom pulled me into her arms and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Oh, honey, everybody’s different. It’s not a bad thing.”
“Those girls aren’t different,” I said. “They all look the same. They all have blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“All of them?”
I thought about the girls in my class. “Well, no. But why is my skin darker than theirs? I didn’t think I was different. Those girls think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Mom said, hugging me tight. “Do you remember the stories about my ancestors?” she asked.
I sniffed and shrugged.
“Grandma and Grandpa Ruiz are from Texas, but their parents’ families came from Mexico. They had beautiful skin like yours. When we put my ancestors and Dad’s ancestors together, you come from all over! Mexico, Scotland, Spain, England, and probably other places we haven’t found in our family history yet. You are the best combination you could be!”
“I don’t want to be different than kids here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to have friends.”
Mom frowned. “Do you want to have friends who hurt your feelings like those girls did?”
I thought about it, and then shook my head. “I’ll try to find friends who like me for me.”
The next morning at school, Melissa looked up at me as I put my backpack next to my desk. I looked at her, afraid of what she might say. Was she going to ask me why I looked different?
“Hi, Christina,” she said. “Do you want to play with me and Sarah at recess?”
I grinned and nodded. Melissa’s blue eyes shined as she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, but I noticed her wide smile the most.

This is an example of a simple childhood act that represents being present for another. This is the nugget of living and being present as the ‘evidence of things hoped for.’ The impact from this experience has already created an optimistic lens of how I see the world and my life in the future with kids and grandkids. This was a special powerful spiritual lesson from my youngest grandson Willie.

One day, we finally had a chance to practice all our preparations for riding a bike. We had talked about the rules of the road. The importance of looking for safe places to ride and being smart about being safe on the road.

We plotted our course in the empty parking lot. We put together our bike safety equipment. We laced our shoes to protect his feet, special knee pads and elbow pads, and a helmet. Then after a few attempts to get our balance, we took off. It was a blast as he pretended to put out fires from his Blaze and Blippy replica bike. If you do not know who Blaze and Blippy are all you need to do is consult with a five-year-old for up-to-date TikTok and YouTube influencers.

As we took a rest, we dismounted from our bikes. He dropped his bike on the ground, he was still learning the nuances of pedals, brakes, and handlebars. Then we started to walk across the parking lot. I grabbed his hand to guide him to the spot we were headed to.

As we approached the cross-way path, he stopped walking. I strengthened my grip, preparing for him to bolt from my hand at any moment. As I stepped into the walkway, he gripped my hand, with both of his and stood his ground. I am thinking, now you want to be like this, you stubborn little guy? Then I finally looked up to see the car coming down the road.

He did not say a word, he just simply held my hand, present in the moment, following the instructions he learned from papa. I taught him, ‘always look both ways before you cross the road.’ He learned and was obedient to live that principle, in the moment.

A simple act, gracious, and present from a little boy saving his ‘papa.’ A lesson papa will always remember of his being faithful to his lessons and that he could persistently be present enough for both of us to be safe and healthy.

Another story involves Ruth, a seminary student, who felt she had no occasion to exercise her free agency. At home she was a servant to her inactive and very demanding mother and stepfather. At school she had been placed in a specific seminary class without any choice on her own part. She decided to drop the seminary class as part of her decision to use her free agency. After two weeks away from the class, she returned—she had made a decision with her agency, and it was a decision she felt good about.

I was driven by the burning desire to serve a full-time mission. My wish was to serve in an English-speaking mission to enable me to improve my English and have a better position in my country.
When I learned that I had to serve in my country and in my stake, I was very dejected. Despite this I decided to accept the Lord’s will and to go on a mission.
After serving for a period of time in Côte d’Ivoire, I was transferred from my country to Senegal where I was able to confer the priesthood upon the first native members of the Church in that country. I then had the opportunity to teach English speakers residing in the country, which forced me to learn English to be up to the task. During my mission, I had many experiences that built my faith.
When my mission ended, I was apprehensive about my return home. I did not know where I would live. My parents had divorced when I was young, and I had lived alone and done several odd jobs to provide for myself. Fortunately, my last mission companion and his parents offered me a place to live. This helped me a lot because his family was very strong in the gospel. They provided me with a roof over my head and this helped me avoid many of the problems experienced by some returned missionaries.
I have found a stable job because of the English language I learned on my mission. I was first recruited as a motorcycle delivery agent. At the end of the first day of work, some of my colleagues refused to pick up some of the goods by hand, arguing that it was not part of their responsibilities. But based on the principles of service I had learned on my mission, I set to work with one of the modestly dressed people who later turned out to be the company’s manager. Immediately after picking up the goods, he gave me a very important financial responsibility in the office.
Although I am younger, less qualified, and less experienced, many of the staff members come to me for advice because they have found that I do not consume alcohol or tobacco at the workplace. They call me the pastor.
I am currently enrolled in BYU–Pathway Worldwide to improve my English and I plan to get married in the temple soon.
I know that many African missionaries want to go on missions to learn new languages and are sometimes disappointed when they do not see their wishes come true when the mission call arrives. That was my case. But today I am thankful for my mission. I often wonder if I would have had this current job and place to live if I had served an anglophone mission? Only God knows. Because of the testimony I am currently experiencing, I would like to remind us all to let God prevail.

My real acquaintance with and love for the book developed between 1929 and 1941, the years during which I practiced law.

After I had worked my way through law school, had passed the bar examination, and had been admitted to practice, I became concerned over the question of whether or not I could live the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ and practice law at the same time. My father’s worrying about it added to my concern. I don’t know that he had heard the story, but I was told that some wag, walking through a cemetery, saw on a headstone the inscription, “Here lies John Brown, a lawyer, and an honest man.” Whereupon he added to the inscription: “I wonder why they buried all three of them in the same grave?”

Remembering the Prophet Joseph’s appraisal of the book, I decided upon and carried out the following procedure:

I went regularly to my law office half an hour earlier than my associates, locked the door, and spent 30 minutes each morning praying and reading the scriptures. During the 12 years I practiced law, I read the Book of Mormon through nine times.

I had a really rough time when I didn’t have as strong a testimony as I wanted to. I was scared that I would fall away from the Church, and it sent me into a pattern where I did not want to come to church. However, at a baptism, somebody bore their testimony that they had followed the path that Church leaders and their parents had set out for them, and they eventually gained a testimony of their own. This helped me a lot, and now I love to go to church.
Kaden W., age, Utah, USA

Michael DeLoach of Hollister, Florida, won top honors nationally in team roping. He and his partner, Andy Mills, placed first in their event at the National High School Rodeo Finals held in Rapid City, South Dakota. They also helped the Florida contingent to outscore the two-time defending champs from Texas. This was the first time that a high school rodeo team east of the Mississippi had claimed overall top honors.