Gospel Story Finder

President Thomas S. Monson tells of a Robert Blatchford who, 100 years ago “in his book God and My Neighbor, attacked with vigor accepted Christian beliefs, such as God, Christ, prayer, and immortality. He boldly asserted, ‘I claim to have proved everything I set out to prove so fully and decisively that no Christian, however great or able he may be, can answer my arguments or shake my case.’ He surrounded himself with a wall of skepticism. Then a surprising thing happened. His wall suddenly crumbled to dust. … Slowly he began to feel his way back to the faith he had scorned and ridiculed. What had caused this profound change in his outlook? His wife [had] died. With a broken heart, he went into the room where lay all that was mortal of her. He looked again at the face he loved so well. Coming out, he said to a friend: ‘It is she, and yet it is not she. Everything is changed. Something that was there before is taken away. She is not the same. What can be gone if it be not the soul?’”

Keeping a journal is not easy. We often tell ourselves that we are too busy or too tired or that our lives aren’t exciting enough to write about. I realized a few years ago that journal-keeping wasn’t meant to be hard and that I could grow to love it.
I began by writing one thing a day. It didn’t matter if it was really long or exciting; I just wrote whatever was on my mind or whatever had happened that day. It has already blessed my life.
One day someone in my family was struggling and I wasn’t sure what to say to her, but then I was prompted to read her one of my journal entries. I was able to share a little piece of me that I had recorded in that little black journal, and I saw the way that it helped lighten her heart. (See lds.org/go/rememberNE10.)
I guarantee if you will start by writing one thing down a day, it will bless your life. No matter how small or how big, writing down the blessings in your life can help you to remember them.
Gentry W., Utah, USA

How would you like to switch places with your mother for a day? That’s what the young women from Manurewa and Pukekohe in New Zealand did for a role-reversal debate.
In the role reversal, the mothers argued that girls 12 years and older should be able to do as they pleased. The young women argued that there should be reasonable limits.
There were also mother-daughter duets, followed by presentations on motherhood from both the young women and their mothers.
Heather Maloney, the mayor of Franklin, New Zealand, was one of the judges for the debate. She praised the mothers and daughters for their courage in public speaking and thanked the girls for their high standards and values and for the respect they showed in honoring their mothers.

Darren Wong, an elder from Winnipeg, Manitoba, didn’t expect to be able to use his musical talents much on his mission to Hong Kong. But to his surprise, Darren’s talent for playing the piano turned out to be an excellent way to help share the gospel.

In addition to playing the piano for baptisms, firesides, and other activities that missionaries often attend with investigators, Elder Wong was invited to play at a concert given in the Hong Kong Cultural Center. His performance at that concert, as well as other Church-sponsored functions, allowed him to make contacts and share the gospel with people who might otherwise not have listened.

Although most of the Saints had left Nauvoo by summer, some remained because of poverty or sickness. This made anti-Mormons very angry. On 10 September 1846, about 800 men with six cannons began to fire on the Saints still in Nauvoo. The attack continued for several days until an agreement was reached that every Mormon would leave except five men and their families, who would stay to sell the remaining property.
Five or six hundred of these remaining Saints crossed the Mississippi and camped on the riverbank in Iowa. They had only blankets and brush bowers for shelter. None of them had food for more than a few days, and many were very sick.
On 9 October, a miracle occurred. Flocks of quail flew into their camps, landing on the ground and even on the tables. The hungry Saints were able to catch the birds. The meat saved many people from starvation and stirred their hearts as they realized that the Lord was caring for them.
Their fellow Saints had not forgotten them, either. Many came back from the Missouri River to help. Others went into neighboring cities to seek money to aid the poor and sick. In the end, the refugees were rescued and divided among the various camps in Iowa, a few even reaching Winter Quarters.

My family had a similar experience. My two faithful brothers, wonderful sister, and I were raised by exemplary parents. We were taught the gospel in our home, we successfully made it to adulthood, and all four of us were sealed in the temple to our spouses. However, in 1994 our sister, Susan, became disenchanted with the Church and some of its teachings. She was persuaded by those who mocked and criticized the early leaders of the Church. She allowed her faith in living prophets and apostles to diminish. Over time, her doubts overcame her faith, and she chose to leave the Church. Susan has given me permission to share her story with the hope that it might help others.
My brothers and I and our widowed mother were devastated. We couldn’t imagine what possibly could have led her to abandon her faith. My sister’s choices seemed to be breaking our mother’s heart.
My brothers and I had served as bishops and quorum presidents, and we had experienced the joy of success with ward and quorum members as we left the ninety and nine and went after the one. However, with our sister, our persistent efforts to rescue her and to invite her back only pushed her further and further away.
As we sought heavenly guidance as to how we might properly respond to her, it became evident that we had to follow the example of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. Susan had made her choice, and we had to figuratively let her go—but not without her knowing and feeling our sincere love for her. And so, with renewed love and kindness, we watched and we waited.
My mother never stopped loving and caring for Susan. Every time my mother attended the temple, she placed Susan’s name on the prayer roll and never lost hope. My older brother and his wife, who lived closest to Susan in California, invited her to all family events. They prepared dinner in their home each year on Susan’s birthday. They made sure they were always in touch with her and that she knew of their genuine love for her.
My younger brother and his wife reached out to Susan’s children in Utah and cared for them and loved them. They made sure that her children were always invited to family gatherings, and when it came time for Susan’s granddaughter to be baptized, my brother was there to perform the ordinance. Susan also had loving home teachers and visiting teachers who never gave up.
As our children went on missions and were married, Susan was invited to and attended these family celebrations. We tried diligently to create family events so that Susan and her children could be with us and they would know that we loved them and that they were part of our family. As Susan received an advanced degree at a California university, we were all there to support her at her graduation. Although we could not embrace all of her choices, we could certainly embrace her. We loved, we watched, and we waited.
In 2006, after 12 years had passed since Susan left the Church, our daughter Katy moved with her husband to California so he could attend law school. They were in the same city as Susan. This young couple looked to their aunt Susan for help and support, and they loved her. Susan helped care for our two-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, and Susan found herself helping Lucy with her nightly prayers. Katy called me one day and asked if I thought Susan would ever come back to the Church. I assured her that I felt she would and that we needed to continue to be patient. As another three years passed, with continued love, we watched and we waited.
Six years ago this weekend, my wife, Marcia, and I were sitting on the front row of this Conference Center. I was to be sustained as a new General Authority that day. Marcia, who is always in touch with the Spirit, had written a note to me that read, “I think it is time for Susan to come back.” My daughter Katy suggested that I leave and call Susan to invite her to watch general conference that day.
Prompted by these two great women, I walked to the foyer and called my sister. I got her voice mail and simply invited her to watch that session of general conference. She got the message. To our delight, she felt impressed to watch all the sessions of conference. She heard from prophets and apostles she had loved in earlier years. She found new names she had not heard before, such as President Uchtdorf and Elders Bednar, Cook, Christofferson, and Andersen. During this and other unique heaven-sent experiences, my sister—like the prodigal son—came to herself (see Luke 15:17). The words of prophets and apostles and the love of her family moved her to turn and begin the walk back home. After 15 years our daughter and sister who was lost had been found. The watch and the wait were over.
Susan describes this experience just as Lehi described it in the Book of Mormon. She let go of the iron rod and found herself in a mist of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23). She states that she did not know she was lost until her faith was reawakened by the Light of Christ, which brightly magnified the stark contrast between what she was experiencing in the world and what the Lord and her family were offering.
A miracle has occurred over the past six years. Susan has a renewed testimony of the Book of Mormon. She has received her temple recommend. She has served as an ordinance worker in the temple, and she currently teaches the Gospel Doctrine class in her ward. The windows of heaven have opened to her children and her grandchildren, and although there have been difficult consequences, it feels as if she never left.

“Elder Confer, teach me,” said the voice on the other end of the line, “but don’t teach me about the Book of Mormon.” Christine Yong, our new investigator, was wanting to know more about our religion.
As missionaries in the Singapore Mission, my companion and I were excited to have an investigator like Christine. She and her sister Sara seemed to be sincerely interested in the gospel. But during the weeks we had shared the gospel with them, they had some doubts about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. We weren’t about to give up on them, though, so we set up another appointment.
I went with our branch mission leader, Patrick Lim, while my companion went with another member to other appointments. Brother Lim and I planned to teach Christine about repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. We usually invited people to be baptized when we talked about baptism. But both of us wondered, given all the challenges she was facing, whether Christine would be ready for baptism. We prayed for the Spirit before meeting with her.
During the discussion, Christine seemed to understand repentance and baptism. But as Brother Lim taught about receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, Christine voiced her concerns.
“Elders, I’m not sure if God is there and if He would really answer my prayer,” she hesitantly admitted.
We described to her the calm, peaceful feelings the Spirit brings, but she wasn’t familiar with the influence of the Holy Ghost. She had tried to pray and read the scriptures, but things just didn’t seem to be coming together.
For a moment, we were at a loss for answers. Then a scripture came to my mind, and I felt impressed to share it, even though it was in the Book of Mormon—the book she had requested us not to teach from. I asked Christine to read Ether 12:6: “I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
As I explained that our faith in the Lord is tested before we receive an answer from Heavenly Father, I felt the Spirit strongly in my heart. I prayed Christine would feel it too. And she did.
“I’m so touched. I’m really very touched,” Christine said, as tears flowed down her cheeks.
“This is the Spirit, Christine. This is what the Spirit feels like,” Brother Lim and I said as tears started to flow down our cheeks too.
After we had shared that verse with her and taught her further, Christine accepted our invitation and was soon baptized.

“We’re number one!” shouted the cheerleader at a high school football game. I admired her straight teeth and perfect smile. I watched as she laughed and talked to the girls and flirted with the boys.

“It must be glorious to be her,” I thought, reflecting on my own loneliness. My father’s job required us to move every three to five years, so it was hard for my sister and me to form lasting friendships.

The cheerleader had a reputation for dressing immodestly and going to drinking parties. Watching her, I began to ache for the popularity that I thought she represented. I wanted friends so badly that for one fleeting moment I wondered if I should lower my standards to become like her.

While my sister and I drove home, I was wallowing in self-pity, and I prayed in my heart to Heavenly Father. I asked Him to tell me the secret that would take away my loneliness and insecurity. Although I wasn’t a Church member at this time, I had a strong faith in God.

Immediately came into my mind the idea, “Stop thinking about yourself.”

“That’s the secret?” I thought disappointedly. “How can that help me to become popular?”

Later that week, I read about charity in 1 Corinthians 13. It helped me understand that Heavenly Father was trying to teach me to have charity toward others rather than focus on how they were treating me. I took the characteristics of charity listed there and put them to work. When I did this, I found that my whole school experience changed. Here are some of the valuable things I learned.

I tried to become more patient with people at school. One boy teased me during gym class, but I tried to meet his ill will with kindness and smiles. Eventually he stopped teasing me. By the end of the year, we became good friends.

I had always admired a girl in my class who was friendly to everyone, no matter how popular or unpopular they were. I began to follow her example and look for opportunities to show kindness to others.

My sister and I were jealous of the talents of a basketball player in our school, and we used to make cutting remarks about her. I decided to start rejoicing in her victories instead. I also began to develop my own talents. When I did these things, I lost my bitter burden, and I was much happier.

I sometimes thought I was better than some people because I lived higher moral standards. When I thought about the Savior, who was meek and loved all people, I decided to change my attitude. As I tried to be humble and kind, people began to make the effort to be my friend.

I loved the Lord and had high moral standards. I decided that compromising these standards would make me unhappy.

Once, a teacher made a comment that hurt my feelings. Rather than reacting, I asked her if she was having a hard day. She admitted that she was and then apologized. Those comments had come from her personal problems and had nothing to do with me.

One thing my Latter-day Saint friends taught me was that gossiping and spreading lies is evil. I tried to avoid gossip and changed the subject whenever someone started to say unkind things.

I began to see the good in people and be optimistic. When I made this attitude change, people began to feel uplifted around me. This made them want to associate with me more often.

When my sister became seriously ill and lost her ability to walk normally, many of her friends abandoned her because she walked funny. I saw her heartbreak, and I realized the importance of sticking with people through tough times.

When I practiced charity in my relationships, I developed many true and lasting friendships. My loneliness disappeared, and I realized popularity was nothing compared to the real treasure of friendship and respect that comes from living gospel principles.

I am thankful for a Father in Heaven who took the time to teach a sophomore in high school the secret of gaining friendships that would last.

Often the blessings come long before the end when you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that many times on his mission. Take the day he met Kevin Smith, for instance.

Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint girl in his office and had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scriptures.

“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past 16 years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, clothed in sharp suits, with toothpaste-advert smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they’d looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as myself at the sight of a wheelchair.”

“Kevin is such a cool guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time I felt good about things that would happen.”

Elder Folkett and Kevin hit it off from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

“Thursday, March 26—President McKay told an interesting story. He said, ‘A farmer had a large tract of land. When he grew old it became too much for him. He had a family of boys. He called the boys around him and told them they would have to carry the load. The father rested. But one day he walked out into the field. The boys told him to go back, they did not need his help. He said, “My shadow on this farm is worth more than the labor of all of you.”’ President McKay said that the father in the story represented President Stephen L Richards, who was ill, but whose contribution and friendship President McKay valued so highly.

“Being adopted means having a family that loves you,” says nine-year-old Kimberly who was adopted and sealed to our family five years ago. Often adoptive parents think they will teach and guide the adopted child, but in our family Kimberly is the one who often does the teaching.
Kim recently entered two events in a track-and-field competition. She had never raced before but wanted to give it a try. She positioned herself on the track to compete with the 20 or so other girls her age in the 100-meter race. A shot rang out to begin the race and, with hundreds of spectators looking on, Kim started running. I was waiting near the finish line with camera poised to capture her coming down the lane, when I realized that she was in last place. I expected to see a disappointed little girl, but Kim had a huge smile on her face! When I retrieved her from the group of girls, she blurted out, “Mom, that was so much fun! When’s my next race?” She then rushed off to sit with her new friends.
Feeling shocked, but extremely proud of my daughter’s positive attitude, I took my place once again at the finish line to see her race in the 50-meter dash. The starter’s gun fired again, and I caught sight of Kim’s beaming smile as she ran with all her might toward me. As I watched my beautiful daughter cross the finish line, parents around me were jumping up and down, congratulating their own daughters. I stood calmly as a warm, peaceful feeling of gratitude filled my heart. Only I knew how far Kim had come in the years since she came to our home. She was once a frail, malnourished, and withdrawn child, and now her strength and confidence couldn’t be contained. She cried out, “I came in third, Mom!”
I gently replied, “No, Kimmie, you didn’t come in third. The winners are over there receiving their awards.”
“I meant I came in third to last, and I want to race again!” I hugged her tightly, and we both giggled out loud as we walked off the dusty track. I knew that Kim was the real winner and had been blessed with gifts and talents far greater than speed and agility. How blessed I felt at that moment to be her mother. I can only hope that I will face my challenges and trials in life with a smile on my face and the same positive outlook that Kim showed me that day. I thank Heavenly Father for bringing us together and pray that I can continue to learn from her example.

However, there was one incident that changed the entire course of my life. One Saturday night I took the family car, and a companion and I went to a movie. Afterwards I drove to a local drive-in for a malt. In the parking lot we met three of my schoolmates. They were acting so jovial that I should have guessed something was not just right. It was Saturday night, and I wanted to be a good sport, so when they invited us to go for a ride with them, I agreed. My companion and I climbed in their back seat, and we all headed for the canyon.
Before long the driver was gunning the car up the narrow, windy road with reckless abandon, and I could see that they had all been drinking. There were times when I wanted to caution him to slow down, but I didn’t want to appear to be chicken.
We went several miles up the canyon, then turned around to come back. I learned the true meaning of fear as the driver began taking hairpin curves at an unsafe speed. Then it happened. The car flew off the road at high speed and struck a concrete abutment. As the car flipped over on its side and then onto its roof, we skidded down the road in a mixed-up bundle of humanity.
As I watched the sparks flying from the roof of the car, I reviewed my life—down to the last wasted opportunity and foolish act. I prayed too. I don’t remember what I prayed for, but it must have been a prayer of desperation, a plea for life and a chance to change. After skidding down the road for several hundred feet, the car came to a jarring stop against a large cottonwood tree that stood above the river.
Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt. Suddenly sober, the driver and his companions began concocting a story to make the accident look less incriminating. It was agreed that the driver had swerved off the road to avoid hitting a deer. To my shame, I agreed to this lie, and later that night I told it to my parents. They believed their son.
The next day dad insisted we go to the scene of the accident. When he saw where the car had struck the abutment, he knew at once that the story of the deer was pure fiction. Back home, dad sat me down across the table from him. He was very serious.
“Son,” he said in a voice that was touched with emotion, “the night of the accident your mother and I kneeled at your bedside and your mother asked the Lord to protect you and your companions. She said she had a feeling you needed help.”
It took him a few moments to control his emotions; then he continued. “Today we thank God for preserving your life, and we have come to the conclusion that he has a mission for you. This could have been a day of sadness for us; instead, it is a day of rejoicing. Our family is still together, but only by the grace of God.”
I went into my room and lay on the bed. “Okay, dad, okay,” I thought, only this time I thought it with love and appreciation. “You have put something into my heart that was never there before—an understanding of your love and the love of my Heavenly Father.” I spent that night riding upside down, watching the sparks fly up from the road, and feeling the closeness of death. I was glad when morning came with its warm sunshine.

I had the privilege to serve as the secretary of my deacons quorum. I recall the many assignments we members of that quorum had the opportunity to fill. Passing the sacred sacrament, collecting the monthly fast offerings, and looking after one another come readily to mind. The most frightening one, however, happened at the leadership session of our ward conference. The member of our stake presidency who was presiding called on a number of the ward officers to speak. They did so. Then, without the slightest warning, he stood and said, “We will now call on one of our younger ward officers, Thomas S. Monson, secretary of the deacons quorum, to give us an accounting of his service and to bear his testimony.” I don’t remember a single thing I said, but I have never forgotten the experience or the lesson that it taught me. It was the Apostle Peter who said, “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”

When I was 11 years old, something else happened that helped build my testimony. My family was having a fun summer weekend at our cabin in the mountains. On Saturday night a man showed up at our cabin door with some bad news. He told us our home in Salt Lake City had caught on fire and most of it had been destroyed.

Fire can be scary. I was very upset that our home was gone. But then my father did something I’ve never forgotten. He gathered our family of eight around him and said a beautiful prayer. He told Heavenly Father how grateful he was that our family was safe.

As my father prayed, my heart again felt that same warm feeling that I’d had in stake conference when I was five years old. I knew that when we returned to our burned home, our friends and family would be there to help. And they were. They gave us food and clothing. And they helped us rebuild our home.

How grateful I was for my parents’ faith and the example of their testimonies. The fire destroyed many precious things. But because of the Holy Ghost, I was blessed with a more precious possession—my own testimony.

But there’s more to these brothers than sports. Their father, Don, recalls that “when Matt was serving as teachers quorum president, he took his calling seriously. He identified quorum members who didn’t attend regularly and prayed about what to do. He worked with adult leaders to organize an overnight campout he thought they would attend. One young man said he would be interested, and Matt followed up with him almost daily at school. In the end, three less-active boys came, enjoyed the association with the others, and heard the bishop make a presentation about Joseph Smith and bear testimony of the Savior.”

A member of our ward had to be on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. I had an idea that our family could take care of her son a couple of days a week. My brothers and sister and I helped watch him and make sure he was having fun when he wasn’t with his mom. It was so fun to have him come over and to know that we were helping his family.
Mason, Cooper, Weston, and Ellie T., ages 10, 8, 5, and 3, Georgia

Dad continued to work until he was eighty and then developed leukemia. He received a blessing that he would live as long as life seemed sweet. Dad lived joyfully for one more year, enjoyed each tulip and crocus of spring. He listened with interest as I told him about the things I was learning in my classes at college. I love to discuss literature and astronomy with him, for they were two of his favorite subjects. But most of all, I enjoyed telling him what I had studied in religion classes. As a bishop, dad had set a goal to study the scriptures daily; for thirty-eight consecutive years he had read the Book of Mormon at least twice a year and the other standard works at least once each year.
When my father entered the hospital for the second time, the doctors said he had several months to live—so I was surprised when he announced during one of my visits that he was “going home.” He died in his sleep a week later. Before he died he recorded his testimony:
“I have found that the Lord has always returned to me anything that I have given him. It has not always been a financial return, but I have found that no one ever gives more to the Lord than the Lord gives to them. One can never do anything for him except he returns so much to you that you always feel indebted to him.”

I counted the days on my calendar. Where had summer gone? I could I hardly believe my first day of middle school was only one week away. I felt excited, glad, and scared to death—all at once.
As my friends and I began making plans for school, we each described the new outfits we had picked to wear on the first day, and debated if backpacks or book bags were the “in” thing this year. We joked about keeping our lockers organized, with each book in perfect class sequence.
Together, my friends and I completed a list of items we thought would be important to put into our lockers. A hair brush, a magnetic mirror, and a pencil box were some of the ideas.
Then Karen spoke up. “I’m going to put a picture of the Savior in my locker.” Everyone became silent. Suddenly the brush and mirror didn’t seem quite as important anymore.
When the first day of school finally came, my anxiety grew. I walked through the hallway to locker number 1290 and began turning the black knob to complete my combination.
I unloaded my new pink book bag and filled my locker with notebooks, pencils, and personal belongings. Then I unzipped a small pocket on the side of my bag to remove a three-by-five picture of the Savior. It was a picture I had received in church nearly a year ago. With a magnet, I carefully hung the photo. There it would stay as my continual reminder to always stick up for what I believe in and to “stand for truth and righteousness.”
I called to Karen, who had a locker just a few feet from mine, and motioned for her to come and see what I had done. She looked in my locker and smiled when she saw I had followed her example.
I often hear people talk about peer pressure and how damaging it can be. But when I look at the picture of the Savior hanging in my locker, and notice his picture in many of the lockers of classmates around me, I realize peer pressure can be positive as well as negative.
I can only imagine how much better this world would be if all the youth of the Church would truly take a stand for truth and righteousness. What a powerful group of peers that would make.

“July 1839.—President Joseph Smith had taken the sick into his house and door-yard until his house was like an hospital and he had attended upon them until he was taken sick himself and confined to his bed several days.
“July 22, 1839.—Joseph arose from his bed of sickness, and the power of God rested upon him. He commenced in his own house and door-yard, commanding the sick, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole, and they were healed according to his word. He then continued to travel from house to house from tent to tent upon the bank of the river, healing the sick as he went until he arrived at the upper stonehouse, where he crossed the river in a boat, accompanied by several of the Quorum of the Twelve, and landed in Montrose.
“He walked into the cabin where I was lying sick, and commanded me, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. I arose and was healed, and followed him and the brethren of the Twelve into the house of Elijah Fordham, who was supposed to be dying, by his family and friends. Joseph stepped to his bedside, took him by the hand and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. His voice was as the voice of God. Brother Fordham instantly leaped from his bed, called for his clothing and followed us into the street.
“We then went into the house of Joseph B. Noble, who also lay very sick, and he was healed in the same manner; and when, by the power of God granted unto him, Joseph had healed all the sick, he recrossed the river and returned to his home. This was a day never to be forgotten.
“During my further stay in Montrose I attended meetings and administered to the sick when I was well myself.”7

I’m Carolyn Neave of Brisbane. As one of my Laurel projects, I decided to get very involved in missionary work. My friend Elizabeth Smith and I set up dates with the sister missionaries and went tracting with them.
The first day was hot, but spiritually uplifting. Working with these wonderful servants of the Lord I learned not only what it means to be a missionary, but also how to cope when a member of your own family goes on a mission.
My big brother Sean left for his mission to Adelaide in November, and by being close to the missionaries in our ward, I was able to know that my brother is in good hands—the Lord’s. Although I miss not having him around, I know he’s doing what’s right, and he knows I love him.
I also learned that missionary work doesn’t bless you only if you bring souls unto Christ, but it blesses you for trying.