Gospel Story Finder

I remember about forty-six years ago when I was entering my first city of labor in southern Brazil. We were riding the streetcar from the center of town, and our companions were showing us the way to our residence. In those days all of the men in Brazil wore hats. So we were told, “When you see the men take their hats off the second time, you are to get off at the next stop.” What that meant was that the streetcar passed two churches. As it passed the churches, the men, out of respect, would lift their hats. What a lesson they taught! It ought to be a lesson to all of us to appreciate and understand other people.

Years ago I spent quite a bit of time gathering information for my four-generation family group records. The information on one of my group records was eventually complete, with the exception of a great-uncle named Edward. I had searched extensively for his birth and death dates without ever finding a real lead. Every time I glanced at this record, the white space where Edward’s information should have been stared out at me.
Several times I despaired of ever finding his information, but I prayed for inspiration to know what I should do. I asked Heavenly Father to help me find a record or a person who would be able to help. After praying I felt that I must not give up.
One day, after having tried every other source I could think of, I picked up a postcard and addressed it to the “Rector of the City Cemetery” of a town where Edward’s family had lived for a while. On the back I simply asked if there was a grave with Edward Oren Tarbutton’s name on it. I wasn’t even sure a cemetery existed in that town, yet as I sent the postcard I suddenly felt free of frustration.
A few weeks went by without any answer to my postcard, and I did not expect one. Then one day I felt unusually excited. At the normal mail delivery time, I ran out to pick up the mail. The stack was big that day, but I stood at the open box and looked carefully at every piece. In the stack was my postcard, and on it was Edward’s missing information!
As I gazed at the long-sought-for dates on the postcard, a warm feeling embraced me. I felt that Edward was somehow close to me in that moment, and I could feel his great joy.
I will never forget the prompting to send the postcard and the circumstances of its return. Later I learned that the town I had sent the postcard to had no rector and no official cemetery. Realizing no one in the town would know about my ancestor, the postmaster almost stamped the card Return to Sender. Then, on second thought, he decided to search for the grave himself. He remembered once seeing headstones in a field near a small church. It was there he found Edward’s headstone and copied the inscription.
This experience deepened my love for my ancestors and helped me understand how much they long to be linked permanently to their families. And as I have encountered disappointments in the following years of family history research, I have thought of the postcard and kept going.

My number-one requirement for a great Saturday is sleeping in. Number two is spending some time playing video games. Then there’s hanging out with my younger brother, Nathan. A Saturday cannot be great unless we get to play intergalactic heroes together.
But last Saturday I had to get up early for a church service activity. We met at the local food bank at 8:00 a.m. to fill bags with food for senior citizens. Nathan couldn’t even come with us because he was too young.
I didn’t see any way that Saturday was going to turn out well.
Mom could tell I wasn’t happy, so she reminded me that when we serve other people, we also serve the Lord.
“All right,” I thought. “Heroes serve others. I’ll try to have a good attitude.”
As we walked into the big warehouse, I saw rows and rows of empty pallets. We had to fill brown paper bags with food and put them on the pallets.
“Put 20 bags on each pallet,” a man told us. “Fill every pallet.”
I was stunned. There had to be at least 80 pallets in the warehouse. That meant we had to fill more than 1,600 bags of groceries. This was going to take forever!
We started filling bags with food. I carried a case of applesauce from the back of the warehouse to the area where the pallets were. Then I put two cans of applesauce in each bag. When my case was empty, I went to get another case.
Then we moved on to beans, canned chicken, and mushroom soup.
Suddenly I noticed how tired I was. I went to get a drink and then sat down. We had been working for more than an hour, but we were only about halfway done.
Mom noticed me sitting down.
“Ryan, are you OK?”
“I want to go home,” I said. “I’m really tired.”
Mom nodded. “You’ve been working really hard, but we need to finish what we came to do,” she said.
I looked down but didn’t say anything.
“Most of the older people who will eat this food only get a small amount of money each month,” Mom explained. “When that runs out, they have to wait until the next month to buy more food. What you’re doing will help them have enough to eat.”
A warm feeling started to fill my body. I was doing something important. I was helping other people who were mothers or fathers or grandparents or friends. All of them were Heavenly Father’s children.
Mom gave me a hug. “Why don’t you rest for a minute and see how you feel?” I bowed my head and said a prayer. I asked Heavenly Father for the strength to be able to finish the job.
When I stood up, I knew that I could work some more. I added dried prunes to the bags. Luckily the prunes weren’t very heavy.
When we were finished I stood back and saw hundreds of bags ready to go to people who needed them. I thought about my old requirements for a great Saturday. I hadn’t slept in or played any video games, but I felt good about what I helped accomplish.
In a few months, Nathan will be old enough to help at the food bank. Maybe we can come back as a family. Then Nathan and I can pretend that we’re heroes who have to bag food to save the day. That will be another great Saturday, just like this one!

“Whenever we fall, whenever we do less than we ought, in a very real way we forget mother,” declared President Thomas S. Monson. He added, “Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered.”1
President Monson’s message has been a strength to me, so much so that when I first read his words, they brought to mind my mother and the wise counsel she gave me years ago, shortly after I joined the Church.
My mother was a member of another Christian church, but she was kind to the missionaries who taught me the gospel. Once I decided to become a Latter-day Saint, she always supported me.
Everything had been going well in my new life as a member of the Church until I joined in Journalism Day observances in my home country of Peru. At a party I attended, talks and complimentary words filled the air. Toasts then followed. As the party grew, so did the temptation to drink with my friends.
The change that converts to the Church make when they accept the gospel often means that they must make new friends. In some circumstances, as I learned, former friends can be instruments of the adversary to tempt us to break the commandments and resume our old ways.
When my co-workers offered me a glass of beer, I took it, drank it, and kept on drinking. At the end of the party, my conscience convicted me. I had fallen. What would my mother say?
When I arrived home, I entered quietly and immediately went to bed. My mother said nothing, but I felt ashamed and decided to quit attending church. A week later, as we sat at the table eating lunch, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son, never forget that you are a Mormon.”
To go to and from work, I rode my bicycle by the Church meetinghouse. Every time I did so, my conscience bothered me. One evening I decided I could no longer live with my guilt. I parked my bicycle directly in front of the branch president’s office, went in, and requested an interview.
I told the branch president what I had done and asked for forgiveness, after which he counseled with me. From that moment on, I have never broken the Word of Wisdom.
My mother died more than 20 years ago, but I have always tried to remember what she told me never to forget: I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Once upon a time a husband and wife who loved each other very much wanted to have a child of their very own to hold and to cuddle and to love. As time passed and they had no children, they prayed to their Heavenly Father to send them a special child. Heavenly Father heard their prayers.
One day this husband and wife received a telephone call to go to a distant city to meet with some people who said they had a tiny baby that this man and his wife could adopt. Excited and filled with anticipation, they made the journey in their car. When they arrived at the city, they went to a certain home and there they were taken into a room where they saw a tiny baby lying in the middle of a big bed waiting for them. There really is such a thing as love at first sight, for when this husband and wife saw that little boy lying there all alone, they immediately loved him. They took him home with them and loved the baby so much that they talked about him as their own beloved son.
Yet in spite of great love for that little baby, they had a fear in their hearts that they might not be able to keep him as their very own child. They first had to see a judge and ask him if they could adopt this baby according to law. Because the judge wanted to make sure the little boy would be properly cared for, he first had to find out if the husband and his wife loved each other, if they had a good and happy home, and if they had enough money to feed and clothe the baby.
It took time for the judge to decide all these questions and all the while the love of the husband and his wife for the baby grew and grew. Finally, the judge gave legal consent for the couple to adopt the baby and this was done. Now the baby was their very own special child and their fear was gone that he would be taken away from them. Still, the judge could only give them permission to have the child during their lifetime on this earth. But they loved that baby more than that! They believed in Jesus and knew that Jesus had more power than the judge. Jesus could give them the child forever and ever and not just for this life only.
After the adoption papers had been signed and the baby had been given a name, the couple took their son with them to a temple of God. There they dressed in white clothes and dressed the little boy in white clothes too. Then they all knelt down at an altar in the temple. A man who held a special priesthood sealed that little boy to his new father and mother so that the family could be together forever. Now this boy really was their own special child, not only during this life, but even after death. If they all did what was right and loved one another, they could all live together with Jesus in heaven. Now that baby really was their special child!
I know that this story is true, because I am that father who loves his very own special child more every day and, as mothers do, my wife loves him even more. Every child who lives in such a family where love is can also feel he or she is a very special child.

Five young women and their leaders from the Bucharest Romania District, along with a nonmember friend, took part in the Church’s first Young Women camp in Romania from August 24 to 26, 2009. District Young Women president Dina Cojocaru led the camp with the help of senior missionaries Elder Don and Sister Edie Van Noy.
The girls and leaders held morning and evening devotionals, studying the scriptures together every day. Elder and Sister Van Noy taught workshops on topics such as virtue and how to give effective talks in church. In another workshop, the girls learned about modesty and dressing fashionably while still maintaining integrity.
Alina Mateescu, one of the young women, said she had wondered what it takes to be a virtuous young woman, but through the workshop on virtue she felt assured she could become the exemplary woman of integrity God wants her to become.
Romania, a country in southeast Europe, has about 2,736 members in 17 branches.

When our son Eli was in fourth grade, his class set up a mock government where he was elected by his peers to serve as class judge. One day a sitting judge from the Utah 2nd District Court visited, put his official robes on Eli, and then administered an oath of office for their class. This ignited in Eli’s young, impressionable soul a passion for studying law and the Lawgiver Himself, Jesus Christ.
After years of diligent effort, Eli received an invitation for an interview with one of his top choices for law school. He pronounced, “… The final question was, ‘Where do you derive your moral compass?’ … I stated if all of humanity abided by the teachings of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, the world would be a better, more peaceful place.” Then the interview ended, and he thought to himself, “There go my childhood dreams. No one in secular academia wants to hear about Jesus Christ.”
Two weeks later, Eli was admitted with a scholarship. Before committing, we visited the campus. … Remarkably, as we walked through the magnificent library and stately corridors, we found on banners and carved in stone attributes from the Sermon on the Mount.
The Sermon on the Mount is decisively the most noteworthy discourse ever delivered, pioneering in its teachings. No other sermon can help us better understand the character of Jesus Christ, His divine attributes, and our ultimate purpose to become like Him. …
We need to infuse the Light of Jesus Christ into every corner of our lives. …

After the meeting my daughter Alyssa told me a story about her friend Jessie, who has a small catering business. Jessie was asked by her stake Relief Society leaders to make a dessert to serve after the general Relief Society meeting. Jessie told Alyssa she knew immediately what she should make—250 cupcakes. Alyssa volunteered to help transport the cupcakes to the stake center.
The day of the meeting arrived, and when Alyssa went to help, she found Jessie nearly in tears. The cupcakes were ready, but Jessie had sent a picture of them to a relative who said they were not fancy enough for the meeting.
Jessie began to doubt herself. She concluded that the stake Relief Society leaders would be expecting something more elaborate than her simple cupcakes. She was frantically trying to figure out a way to redecorate the cupcakes, but there wasn’t time. She and Alyssa took the cupcakes as they were, with Jessie feeling that she had let the sisters down—until President Uchtdorf spoke.
As he spoke about the tiny forget-me-not flower, a picture of the little blue flower appeared on the screen. It was such a simple flower but so beautiful with its delicately veined petals. President Uchtdorf’s message touched everyone’s heart as he pleaded with us not to become so distracted with the large exotic blooms around us that we forget the five simple but important truths he was teaching us.
After the closing prayer, the sisters made their way to the cultural hall. When Alyssa and Jessie walked in, they found everyone surrounding the dessert table and asking, “How did they know?”
Each cupcake was frosted in plain white frosting and decorated with one simple, beautiful, delicate, five-petaled forget-me-not flower.

I feel we can never compare the levels of people’s burdens. Each has his or her own set of problems, and it’s up to each person to learn the lessons from them. In the past year, my family has lost my mother and brother-in-law to cancer. Both were kind, good, righteous people who were strong in the Church. For the longest time I would not try to learn from this. Instead I could only ask God why. Then, with the help of a blessing from my bishop, I was able to learn the lesson I needed to learn. I was able to gain a greater love towards my brother and sisters. I finally realized how much my family means to me. I know that if we pray for help, our trials will become blessings and make our spirits even stronger.
Jenifer Jakoubek, 17Chehalis, Washington

Maron shoved her feet into her Sunday shoes and sat down to do up the buckles. She loved Primary, and every week she carefully brushed her long blond hair and put on her best dress. Today she was all ready to go except for her shoes. She knew by how tight they felt that when she stood up to walk, her toes were really going to be pinched. Why did her feet have to keep growing? In the last couple of months, her shoes had been getting tighter and tighter. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep wearing them.
Usually her mother took her to buy new shoes when she outgrew a pair. But right now Maron’s father didn’t have a steady job. The company he worked for had closed three months ago, and he had been looking for a new job ever since. Every day Maron prayed that her father would find a good job.
She knew that her parents were worried about money. Dad had been doing small jobs like delivering pizzas for the pizzeria and working at the gas station on the corner whenever the owner could use him. They barely had enough money to pay the bills. Her parents talked about it sometimes at night, when they thought that she was asleep.
Last week Mother had taken Maron and her little sister, Christa, to a thrift store to look for clothes. They had found two pairs of pants for Maron and a pair of pants and a T-shirt for Christa. While Mother was searching through the piles of clothes, Maron had gone to look at shoes. She was very disappointed because there was really nothing suitable to buy.
I just can’t tell Mother how tight my shoes are, she decided. I’m sure she’ll tell me to wear my tennis shoes. Maron didn’t want to wear them to Primary. They were limp and gray from being washed so often. And one had a hole in it just above the big toe. It just wouldn’t feel right to wear shoes like that to Primary. Maybe when you were only four like Christa, no one noticed what you wore, but when you were nine, Maron was sure, everyone did.
Maron stood up and winced. She walked carefully around her room. It was going to be hard to walk without limping, but she was sure that she could do it if she concentrated very hard.
During Primary it was difficult for Maron to think about anything but how much her feet hurt, especially the right one. She held her breath when Sharing Time was over. Sometimes they had singing time in the same room. She hoped they would today. Then she wouldn’t have to walk to the other side of the meetinghouse. Unfortunately, this Sunday she was disappointed. Usually she enjoyed the walk after so much sitting, but this week every step was painful and it was all she could do not to sit down in the hallway and take off her shoes.
After Primary, her right toe hurt so much that she just had to limp. As the family all climbed out of the car and walked into the house, her mother watched her with concern. “Maron, what’s the matter, honey? Is your foot hurting you?” she asked.
“A little bit,” said Maron, trying to sound as if it were no big deal.
“Sit down,” ordered Mother. She leaned down and unbuckled Maron’s shoe. She pulled it off carefully. They were both dismayed to see that the end of her left stocking was wet with blood. Mother helped her into the bathroom and lifted her up onto the counter. She gently pulled off the socks and dropped them into the sink. Then she carefully washed and bandaged Maron’s toe.
Later, after Maron had changed out of her Sunday dress, she limped into the kitchen, where Mother was preparing dinner.
“Maron, honey,” said Mother, “you should have told me that your shoes were too small.”
“But I don’t have anything else except my tennis shoes and …” Maron stopped talking as tears started to fill her eyes.
“That’s a problem, all right,” Mother said.
“Mom,” said Maron, “we had a lesson on tithing in Primary. Sister Richards said that if we pay our tithing, Heavenly Father will bless us. We all pay our tithing, and I’ve been praying every day for Dad to get a job. If he had a good job, you could buy a new pair of shoes for me. Why doesn’t Heavenly Father listen?” asked Maron.
“Oh, Maron, Heavenly Father always listens,” said Mother. “Sometimes, when He doesn’t answer as fast as we think He should, it seems like He isn’t listening. We just need to remember that Heavenly Father knows what we need, and He loves us very much. Don’t worry. When the time is right, Daddy will find a good job. We need to be patient and have faith. In the meantime, have you prayed about the problem of your shoes?”
“No. Do you think it would help?”
“Well, Heavenly Father knows what kind of help we need most, so why don’t we ask Him to help with this problem?”
Later, when Maron knelt with her father and mother and Christa for family prayer, she explained her problem about the shoes and asked Heavenly Father to please help her to find some shoes to wear to Primary. She asked again in her prayers before she went to bed, and in the morning after she got out of bed. She prayed every day that week for help in finding some shoes.
By Saturday she was starting to worry. In the morning she would be going to Primary, and she still had no shoes. That afternoon, Maron and her mother made another trip to the thrift store, hoping that someone had brought in a pair of shoes that would fit her. But there were none.
When they got home, Maron went straight to her room and closed the door. She knelt down beside her bed and pleaded with Heavenly Father to please help her find some shoes to wear to Primary. When she finished, she felt a warm feeling inside and knew that everything was going to be all right, although she didn’t understand how.
Just after supper, while Maron was wiping dishes, the doorbell rang. It was their neighbor, Sister Leavitt. She was carrying a large cardboard box. “I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday night,” she said apologetically. “I don’t know if you can use any of these things, but my sister asked me if I knew anyone who might use them, and I thought of Maron. Her little girl is just older than Maron and has outgrown them.”
“May I look, please?” asked Maron.
Sister Leavitt set down the box, and Maron opened it excitedly. Right on top, just as she knew there would be, was a pair of beautiful black patent leather Sunday shoes in just the right size.

Such was Walter Stover of Salt Lake City. Born in Germany, Walter embraced the gospel message and came to America. He established his own business. He gave freely of his time and of his means.
Following World War II, Walter Stover was called to return to his native land. He directed the Church in that nation and blessed the lives of all whom he met and with whom he served. With his own funds, he constructed two chapels in Berlin—a beautiful city that had been so devastated by the conflict. He planned a gathering in Dresden for all the members of the Church from that nation and then chartered a train to bring them from all around the land so they could meet, partake of the sacrament, and bear witness of the goodness of God to them.
At the funeral services for Walter Stover, his son-in-law Thomas C. LeDuc said of him, “He had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he acted accordingly.”

“Easter is a good time to think about Jesus and to remember His Resurrection,” Sister Rojas said. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Because of Him, people who have died can live again.”
Alonso looked up when his Primary teacher said this. Does that mean I can see my parents again? Alonso wondered.
Mamá had died years ago. Alonso didn’t remember her well, but he liked looking at pictures of her. Then Papá died too.
Now Alonso lived with Abuela, his grandmother. She had been teaching him about her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was going to be baptized and confirmed next year, when he was old enough.
Then Sister Rojas held up a picture of a white building. “Another amazing gift from Jesus is temples. This is one of the temples here in Chile.”
Alonso looked at the gold statue on top of the building. It was beautiful! He wondered what happened inside.
“Temples are where families are sealed together forever,” Sister Rojas said. “This temple in Santiago is where I was sealed to my parents after we joined the Church. Because we were sealed, I can be with them even after this life.”
Alonso felt excited when he heard that. “Could I be sealed to my parents?” he asked. “Even though they already died?”
Sister Rojas nodded. “Yes! That’s one of the reasons temples are so important. They bless all of our family members, including those who have died.”
For the rest of the day, Alonso kept thinking about temples. He asked Abuela to teach him more. She talked about the white clothes people wear inside and the beautiful artwork on the walls.
“Best of all, it’s where you can be sealed to your parents,” Abuela said. “We’ll ask two people from the ward to stand in for them during the sealing.”
“Can we go tomorrow?” Alonso asked. “I want to be with Mamá and Papá forever!”
Abuela smiled. “I’m glad you want to go,” she said. “But the nearest temple is in Concepción. We don’t have enough money for bus tickets.”
“I’ll help save for the trip!” Alonso said.
From then on, whenever Alonso found a coin on the street or had a chance to earn some money, he paid tithing and then added the rest to their temple fund.
After months of saving, Alonso and Abuela finally had enough money to travel to the temple. They asked Brother and Sister Silva to come with them. On the day of the trip, they took a long bus ride to the city of Concepción. It was almost sunset when Alonso spotted something gold in the distance.
“I can see the angel Moroni!” Alonso said, pointing to the statue on top of the temple’s blue dome roof.
They spent the night at an apartment next to the temple. In the morning, Alonso went inside the temple for the first time. He saw a big picture of Jesus inside. He and Abuela got dressed in white. He felt happy and peaceful.
When it was time for the sealing, Alonso walked into a beautiful room with mirrors on the walls. A temple worker showed Alonso, Abuela, and the Silvas how to kneel around a special table called an altar. It was covered in soft fabric.
Brother and Sister Silva were there for Alonso’s mom and dad. Abuela was there for his sister who died before Alonso was born.
Closing his eyes, Alonso imagined his family all together.
I can’t wait to see them again, Alonso thought. I’m so grateful families can be together forever!

When I first received a call to serve as a health missionary, I knew very little about the program. I had a vision of myself heading into the deep, dark jungle, mounted on a carabao, laden down with an eighteen-month supply of Band-Aids, aspirin, multi-colored fly swatters, rubbing alcohol, shoe-laces, insect repellent, obsolete snake-bite kits, bouillon cubes, and various first-aid manuals collected from MIA and physical education classes.
This dream has been shattered in the months I’ve been serving in the Philippines as a health missionary, but the vision that has taken its place is so beautiful, I don’t miss the carabao at all!
The health missionary program of the Church has been underway for two years now, but still many are asking, “What is a health missionary?” “How do you get called to serve?” “What do you do?”
Contrary to what many of us believed when we first heard of the program, we are not sent out to cure all the diseases on the face of the earth. We are not even called to treat the illnesses of the members of the Church but rather to teach them principles of good health that will help them prevent disease. What a beautiful program!
We are called, as are other missionaries, to serve at our own expense for eighteen months or two years. Our calls come from President Harold B. Lee through our bishops. We go to the Missionary Home in Salt Lake and then spend time in language learning and/or our health program orientation. And then it’s away! We’re off to the islands, or the Lamanites in the Dakotas, or south of the border to Uruguay, or all the way to the Philippines!
This is a unique country. There are many varieties of beautiful plants, trees, flowers, fruits, and sunsets. And some of the most friendly, humble, wonderful people in the world—40,000,000 of them in this country of 7,100 islands. They speak 87 different dialects. They are remarkably gifted, particularly in music and handiwork.
This is also a developing country and a land of many health problems. Manila is a crowded city with many people living in poverty. Thousands of families live on a salary of 50 pesos per month (about $8.00) or less. There are typhoons and floods and flies and garbage. Pneumonia and tuberculosis are serious health problems.
Where and how do we begin to change this trend in the lives of our Church members and have some impact on their basic health? We have the advantage of a perfect organization already established and the direction of the priesthood. What a perfect way to reach the family and the individual—through the Church program, which is already functioning all over the world! We will work with and train leaders who will then share with the members. Under the direction of the district and branch leaders and our mission president, we will help to gather resource material, determine health problems in specific areas, and formulate lessons, programs, and activities that can be adapted to various teaching situations. Because of the way our program will work and the emphasis on health care rather than sick care, we can establish something that will endure long after we’ve gone home.
Happily we have found that active members of the Church are generally in better health than their countrymen. I attribute this to their keeping of the commandments, including the Word of Wisdom, and the purposeful living that comes with activity in the Church. These members already understand that their bodies are temples and must be kept clean and healthy. One humble sister who lost her husband and must work to have enough for herself and her children said to me with tears in her eyes, “Sister, I don’t have enough money to buy what I know my children should eat; but you know, I always express thanks to my Heavenly Father for the food I do have and ask him to bless it to give us health. And that makes all the difference.”
We have opportunities to proselyte along with our work in the health program. There are probably few experiences in life that bring the same quality of joy as that of bearing witness to a family that God lives and that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. Even if it happens in a humble, two-room home, with mice running around on the floor, the rain coming in on your back, one light globe to light the room, and a big mother pig bursting in in the middle of your testimony, it still can be one of the most beautiful experiences life has to offer.
Some of our proselyting opportunities come in connection with our health work. We’ve had discussions with many interesting and interested people and have placed tracts and copies of the Book of Mormon in such places as the Department of Health, the World Health Organization, the Nutrition Foundation of the Philippines, and with taxi drivers, people on the bus, people at the post office, and even with Sister Ester, a delightful Catholic nun I met on a plane between Manila and Cebu. It was thrilling to see Sister Ester reading Alma.
One of the best things about a health mission is the association with the tremendous young people who serve on regular missions. Part of our work as health missionaries is concerned with keeping all 250 of them healthy. We start with simple things like “boil your water and wash your hands.” Then, somehow, you get the flu, and an elder asks innocently, “Did you forget to boil your water, Sister Edmunds?” We give the missionaries injections of the “gamma goblins” (gamma globulin), and many have laughed about “finally getting the point of the program.” Sometimes we’ll be engrossed in a book on the nutritional value of rice, and a missionary will ask humbly, “Are you sure that’s one of the standard works?”
Hymns begin to have different meanings sometimes when you’re singing them as a health missionary. “Thou flowing water, pure and clear” (no. 4); “With healing in thy wings” (no. 20); “With sleep refresh my feeble frame” (no. 59); “In every condition, in sickness, in health, In poverty’s vale or abounding in wealth” (no. 66); “Feed us with knowledge and daily bread” (no. 43).
Scriptures, too, take on a new meaning. “And ye shall serve the Lord your God, and he shall bless thy bread, and thy water: and I will take sickness away from the midst of thee.” (Ex. 23:25.) “Thou shalt not eat any abominable thing.” (Deut. 14:3.) “I have … drunk strange waters. …” (2 Kgs. 19:24.) “And there were some who died with fevers, which at some seasons of the year were very frequent in the land—but not so much so with fevers, because of the excellent qualities of the many plants and roots which God had prepared to remove the cause of diseases, to which men were subject by nature of the climate.” (Alma 46:40.)
You grow a lot on a mission. Your feet grow flat, your leather books grow mold, your clothes grow thin, and your heart grows bigger. You learn a lot of things you didn’t know before, like how to live without milk. You learn to make exotic noises with wet Hush Puppies as you walk down the street. You become better acquainted with Nephites, Israelites, and parasites. And through it all—the study sessions by candlelight, the rain on your bed in the middle of the night—you’re thankful to be here and thrilled at all the things you have to write home about as you try to put into words the best two years of your life.
What or who is a health missionary, then? Someone who’s going to learn and share a lot for a few short months. Someone who will gain much more than he or she will ever be able to give. A health missionary is not necessarily a nurse or a doctor. It is possible for Church members with many different skills to participate in this great, beautiful, inspired program. The potential is exciting.
This is a labor of love and an opportunity to represent the Savior. And he is our greatest example, for truly he was ever concerned with both the physical and spiritual health of all he met.

One summer I participated in a youth leadership summit hosted by a popular teen magazine. Once there, I soon made friends with the other girls. We addressed important issues like how to overcome bullying, the smart use of technology and social media, and how to be a good friend.
During my group’s free time, one of the girls pulled out her phone and began to watch a video that was very offensive. When I realized what they were watching, I was really confused. If we were the leaders, then why were they choosing to watch this awful video?
I asked them to turn the video off, which they did, but soon turned on another video that was even worse. I decided to walk away and left the room. Another girl followed close behind me, and we spent free time somewhere else.
I thought about Sister Ann M. Dibb’s general conference talk, “I Know It. I Live It. I Love It” (Oct. 2012 general conference). When we really know, love, and embrace our faith in the Savior, we can receive the help we need when tough choices have to be made.
I had been taught the gospel my whole life. In that moment, I had been able to live what I knew to be right, but most importantly, I loved the peace I felt from making the right choice.
Mia H., Missouri, USA

The happiness I feel in seminary is a lot like the happiness I feel when I’m in the temple. Before I turned 11, my siblings and friends had all been to the temple but I hadn’t.
When I was finally old enough to go inside and do baptisms, I felt a great peace. Even though my family and friends had described to me the feeling of being in the temple, I was so excited that I was able to feel that for myself.

Two years after my father’s death, I left Uruguay on a mission to Peru. Upon my return, life blessed me with a family of my own, university degrees, and a career in business. I became an international executive, which made it necessary for us to move from country to country—Peru, Argentina, Venezuela, and the United States. My home base was then in the United States, and I eventually became a citizen.
Then life took a sudden turn. I became a diplomat for the United States government, first in Mexico, then in Chile. I sought the assignment to Chile because I desired to get to know the country where I had been born and perhaps find more about my father.
A few months after my arrival in Chile, I had the opportunity to make an official visit to Antofagasta, the city of my birth. I knew that my father, a British subject from whom I had inherited my name, had worked at the Chile-Bolivia Railroad as his own father once had. Therefore, I asked my secretary to make an appointment with the president of the Chile-Bolivia Railroad to see what I could learn about my father. As the main diplomat on commercial business, this meeting with the railroad was eminently qualified for my assignment as well.
Because the company’s president was traveling, my secretary set up an appointment with another executive by the name of Jorge Lyon on a Saturday morning. Saturday came. I put on my best suit and headed for the offices of the railroad. Mr. Lyon soon arrived, and I introduced myself as John Harris, head of commerce for the United States in Chile. He was a stately man in his sixties, who had sacrificed part of his day off to see a visitor from Chile’s main trading partner.
I started the conversation with the usual questions about goods transported, tonnage routes, and expansion plans. After a few minutes, Mr. Lyon interrupted me and said, “It is quite a coincidence, but I used to work at the railroad for a man with your same name.”
I remained silent for a moment. John Harris is not a common name in South America, much less in a railroad company in the midst of the Atacama Desert. I knew I had found someone who had known my father personally.
“How was he?” I managed to ask. But inside I was asking questions similar to those of Joseph of Egypt: Did he love me? Did he care about me?
Mr. Lyon answered. “He was a good man. He hired me and trained me. He was a patient and good teacher. He knew the railroad business better than anyone else in the company.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “He was my father,” I said, barely containing a tear.
Mr. Lyon then showed me what my father did and where he worked. I did not find out about his feelings toward me; for that I will have to wait a few years. But in my search I have been able to define my feelings toward him.
That day in the city of my birth, I learned something about my two fathers. I learned about the life of my earthly father, but more importantly, I learned that my Heavenly Father cared enough for me that 33 years after my father’s death he had helped me find the only man alive in Chile who had known my father. If the president of the railroad had been able to receive me, I would have missed the opportunity to meet Jorge Lyon and thus learn about my own father.
I have learned that our Father in Heaven lives, that He loves us, that He indeed cares for us and is always close to us. I know I was guided by the Lord to meet Jorge Lyon in order to satisfy my thirst to know my earthly father. How grateful I am for the plan of salvation and eternal life and for the opportunity to reunite with loved ones in the next life.

As I stood in the family circle above the baptismal font, I watched our little grandson Clayton walk timidly down the steps with his daddy. Raising his arm to the square, his father said the baptismal prayer, then buried him in the water that sloshed and splashed around them.
After the last song had been sung and the closing prayer said, the families of the newly baptized children reverently left the meetinghouse. Later, as we celebrated the occasion, one of the children looked up from his ice cream and asked, “Grandma, were you baptized in shiny blue water?”
“No,” I chuckled. “When I was baptized, we didn’t sit in draped, carpeted rooms with soft music and inspirational talks. No one wore white coveralls and there weren’t clusters of relatives standing above a tile font.”
“Tell us about it, Grandma,” the children pleaded. And so I told them my story.
Well, you see, Hurricane was just a pioneer town in Southern Utah when I was little. We planned for me to be baptized in the Hurricane Canal on my birthday. I was so excited I could hardly wait. And then, just four days before my birthday, the canal broke.
The farmers were frantic. Peach orchards and hayfields were dry. Every man in town went up the river with his pick and shovel to help fix the break, but it was a bad one. The day before my birthday, I climbed the slope to the canal, hoping to see just one trickle of water. Instead, the hot, dry winds had caked and cracked the mud in the bottom, curling it up into little clay dishes. “Oh mama, what shall we do?” I asked. “How can I be baptized when the canal is dry?”
“You can always go to the hot sulphur springs, like your sisters did,” she suggested.
“But their birthdays were in the winter. We’d scald in July!”
Mama knew better than to suggest postponing the date. It was family tradition for each of us to be baptized on our eighth birthday.
“Let’s see what other choices you have,” Mama said. “Come with me.”
The cow’s watering trough was just outside the corral under the apricot tree, with a hole in the fence for the cows to poke their heads through.
“You could be baptized here,” she said. I regarded the long strings of floating green moss and shuddered. “You can scrub the trough with the broom and fill it with fresh water from the cistern.”
“But Mama …” I wailed.
“If being sorry would fix the canal, the water would be running in it now,” she said, cradling me in her comforting arms.
I had heard Uncle Ren say that the canal might be mended by sundown, so just before dark I climbed the bank, hoping to see the frothy head of the stream. But the cracked clay was only curled deeper. Heavy of heart, I trudged home and plopped down on my bed in the peach orchard, where we slept in the summertime. Looking up at the evening sky I watched the first stars appear. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “help the men get the water in the canal by tomorrow.”
I wasn’t surprised when a short time later I heard a little splash of water coming through the headgate high on the bank above our house. Scrunching my feet under me, I sat on my heels and listened. The sound grew until it was the full-grown tumble of water splashing over the rocks and, finally, rippling through the ditch past our place. The canal had been fixed before sundown, but the water had miles to race before reaching town.
“Oh thank you, Heavenly Father,” I whispered. Then I hugged my pillow and drifted to sleep, lulled by the merry music of laughing, tumbling water.
By the next afternoon, all of the debris and froth from the new stream had washed itself on through the canal and the water ran placid and smooth. I put on my clean white nightgown and Uncle Ren Spendlove came in his faded bib overalls. Mama walked to the canal with us. Sitting in the shade of the willows along the bank were my playmates and cousins, waiting. Uncle Ren stepped down the slick muddy side into the water then, reaching up, gave me a hand. Ripples of light danced on the stream, and a few willow leaves glided like canoes through the mottled shade. The wind held its breath as Uncle Ren said the baptismal prayer. I felt the rush of water in my ears, and he brought me up blubbering. He held onto me until I had caught my breath. Then I noticed everyone watching and smiling at me and I felt wonderful and loved.
“Mama, I’m baptized!” I exclaimed. Reaching for my hands, she pulled me up beside her. She had said that baptism was a sacred ordinance, and when she hugged me, dripping wet as I was, I knew it was true.

Our next stop was at the home of the American consul and his family, also our investigators. They were a wealthy family and lived in a large home in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the city. We went to the front door and began to sing the same songs we had just sung to the poor people in the monastery.
We had barely started the second verse of our first song when the door opened. Dozens of people came outside and started to sing with us. They were all diplomatic representatives of several countries who had gathered there to commemorate Christmas. We soon saw in their faces the same tears and smiles we had seen in the faces of the poor people living in that abandoned monastery.
When we finished singing, the wife of the consul said, “We were gathered here with everything to make us happy; nevertheless, we felt that something was missing. It was then that you came, bringing the Christmas spirit of Jesus Christ. Now our Christmas is complete.”
Our group consisted of more than 20 missionaries from several parts of the world—Brazil, Portugal, Angola, the United States, Canada, Paraguay, and Colombia. When we were invited in, each missionary bore testimony to the diplomats from his country. As in the monastery, we invited them to hear the discussions and attend church.

I recently read a story about a young man named Duke Fergerson. He is a retired professional football player who is now attending Harvard Business School. He grew up in the housing projects in Merced, California. His father died when he was a boy, and his mother passed away not long ago. But when he was a young man, Duke’s mother gave him advice that sunk deep into his heart: “Do what they think you can’t do.”
In an interview, Fergerson explained how he got through high school using his wits and the help of a girlfriend. He graduated without learning how to read; since he was one of the top three high school hurdlers in California, he didn’t think he needed to. Somehow, he got into a local junior college.
But then something began to happen. He realized that he had cheated himself. So besides working hard on athletics, he began to educate himself for life. He hired tutors and took classes to make up what he had missed in high school.
He got through junior college and became a star on a college team. He got into professional football and played for the Dallas Cowboys and the Seattle Seahawks. The entire time, he continued studying, even after he had a professional football contract.
“A lot of players laughed at me when they heard I was going to school and being tutored,” he says. “The hardest part was sitting down with tutors who were younger than I was, and who looked up to professional athletes. That’s because midway through tutoring, your status changes. You become smaller. But I needed it. I had to do it” (Harvard Business School Bulletin, Apr. 1988, p. 15).
Duke was traded to the Los Angeles Rams, then released during training camp in 1983. He applied to several graduate schools, and one of the admissions officers suggested he apply at Harvard. He thought it was a joke, but he gave them a call. They accepted him. And I can tell you this—Harvard University will not be the end of Duke Fergerson’s education.
Let me tell you two of the attitudes Duke Fergerson has that I believe are two of the three keys to lifelong learning.
FIRST: You are a child of God. Now Duke Fergerson doesn’t mention God. But his mother said, “Do what they think you can’t do.” He believed that. You have a deeper reason for believing in what you can do, because you know who you really are. As a child of God, your destiny, if you work hard enough and are faithful, is to become like Him. That means that there is nothing that is true that you cannot learn, because He knows all truth.
Most people stop learning out of fear. They are afraid they cannot learn. You need never have that fear if you are faithful. Your formal schooling may be interrupted for some reason, but I want you to know with absolute certainty that you can learn whatever God would have you learn. Great learners believe that. They have the attitude that they can learn.
SECOND: Duke Fergerson talked about how hard it was to be a professional football player and yet hire a tutor. The tutors were younger than he was. He was wealthier and older. But he said that in the tutoring process something happened. He had to become smaller.
That is the second attitude of all lifelong learners: Because God is so great and I am so small, it is easy to admit what I do not know. Therefore, I am teachable.
My father was an internationally famous research chemist. When he would give talks to audiences of nonscientists, he would often give his explanation of an answer to a scientific question and then he would say, “You know, sometimes I think that God watches me and laughs at me as I struggle like a little child. Someday I will be with Him and He will show me how childlike my ideas were.”
That always got a chuckle from the audience. And it endeared Dad to people because they thought it was a sign of humility.
But it was far more than a sign of humility. It was an explanation of why he was a lifelong learner. He really saw himself as a little child. Because of that, it was easy for him to admit that there were better explanations than the ones he had already offered. He was constantly changing, constantly trying to learn.
THIRD: Duke Fergerson does not mention the third attitude, but it’s an attitude that Latter-day Saints know is vital to all true learning. This is it: Because I am clean, the Holy Ghost can teach me.
I imagine many of you have had some experience where you were taught by the Holy Ghost. You have had times in your life when you were keeping the commandments of God and the Holy Ghost could be close to you and teach you easily. If you persisted, you felt the power of the Holy Ghost adding to your capacity to learn. You felt the Holy Ghost nudging you in the direction of truth, confirming truth when you found it, even bringing ideas directly to your mind. That may not have happened often to you and it may not have lasted long. But if it has happened to you once, you know it is possible.
I gain some understanding of how powerful learning through the Holy Ghost can be by reviewing the experience of the Prophet Joseph Smith. He never stopped learning and had a range of education come into his life that can only be explained by the power of the Holy Ghost. The same would be true of Brigham Young, who had less than a month of formal education.
Remember these three beliefs: First, there is no limit to your potential learning as a child of God. Second, childlike humility is the key to teachableness. And third, living a clean life will allow the Holy Ghost to confirm and expand your learning.
If these are your beliefs, and if you live by them, then you too will be able to “do what they think you can’t do.”

Once, when our children were younger, we saved up some money and planned a trip to Disneyland. It was a surprise for the kids and when it came time to let them know, we gathered around the TV and Emily put up a screenshot of our tickets to the park. As it dawned on them what they were looking at, they started to get excited. However, Theo, our youngest, was having a hard time believing his luck. In fact, he was skeptical. “It’s a fake!” he exclaimed. As if we would do anything so cruel as creating fake Disneyland tickets to trick our kids with.

I wonder if sometimes we are like Theo, unable to quite believe that someone would just give us something so potentially wonderful, to enjoy, for free, with no strings attached. Not possible, we think. It must be a test.