Gospel Story Finder

Elder Oaks further illustrates what it’s like to hesitate to share the gospel with our friends:
“Consider that you are invited to a friend’s house for breakfast. On the table you see a large pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice from which your host fills his glass. But he offers you none. Finally you ask, ‘Could I have a glass of orange juice?’
“He replies, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I was afraid you might not like orange juice, and I didn’t want to offend you by offering you something you didn’t desire.’
“Now, that sounds absurd, but it is not too different from the way we hesitate to offer up something far sweeter than orange juice. I have often worried how I would answer some friend about my hesitancy when I meet him beyond the veil” (Ensign, Nov. 2000, 81–82).

An example from Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables, though fictional, has always touched and inspired me. Near the beginning of the story, Bishop Bienvenu gives food and overnight shelter to the homeless Jean Valjean, who has just been released from 19 years in prison for having stolen a loaf of bread to feed his sister’s starving children. Hardened and embittered, Valjean rewards Bishop Bienvenu’s kindness by stealing his silver goods. Later detained by suspicious gendarmes, Valjean falsely claims the silver was a gift to him. When the gendarmes drag him back to the bishop’s house, to Valjean’s great surprise, Bishop Bienvenu confirms his story and for good effect says, “‘But! I gave you the candlesticks also, which are silver like the rest, and would bring two hundred francs. Why did you not take them along with your plates?’ …
“The bishop approached him, and said, in a low voice:
“‘Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man.’
“Jean Valjean, who had no recollection of this promise, stood confounded. The bishop … continued, solemnly:
“‘Jean Valjean, my brother: you belong no longer to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God!’”
Jean Valjean indeed became a new man, an honest man and a benefactor to many. Throughout his life he kept the two silver candlesticks to remind him that his life had been redeemed for God.6

Early in the morning today, I went to the municipality offices in Dombo Tombo, Zimbabwe. While I was in line, a woman dropped a twenty-dollar note on the ground. I saw it fall and told her about it. She picked it up and said, “Thank you.”
Many of the other people in line said to me, “You are stupid. You are foolish. Why didn’t you take the money and buy your own things?”
But I said, “No, I shall never do that because I am a child of God.”
When the others calmed down, an older man who was standing behind me said quietly, “Do you go to church? It seems as if you are a good girl.”
I said, “Yes, I go to church.”
And he said, “What is the name of your church?”
I said, “It is called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you want to, you can come to the Dombo Tombo Hall on Tuesday nights at 5:30 P.M. or on Sunday at half past ten, and I will meet you there.”
And the man said, “Oh, yes! I will come!”
So I am very happy about what I did today.

You look up in your school’s cafeteria at lunchtime and see Chloe eating alone again. She’s a young woman in your ward who usually keeps to herself. You’ve talked to her a few times, but she’s quiet and doesn’t usually say much in return. You’ve never really understood why.
You think, “We have fun activities. We’re nice people. Why is Chloe still so quiet? Maybe she just doesn’t like us.” You don’t want her to be alone, and you want to reach out, but you don’t know where to start. “Does she even want friends? Will I make her feel awkward if I go over there?” Sometimes the unknowns can really trip us up and prevent us from trying at all. It’s fine if we don’t always know how best to proceed—but we can keep trying.
Now you look over and see Chloe. You make eye contact, and you smile at her across the room. She smiles nervously and looks away. You tell your friends you’ll see them later, and then you stand up and walk over to her. “Hi, Chloe,” you say. “Can I sit here?” She nods her head yes, and you sit down. You pull out the rest of your lunch and notice the book Chloe has next to her. You ask, “What are you reading? I’ve been looking for a good book to read!” She looks down at the book, smiles, and starts to tell you a little about it.

“This has been a great day,” said new Eagle Scout Sam Southam of the Arapahoe Colorado Stake. “It was a real honor to sit at dinner with an astronaut, to spend the day with great Church and Scout leaders, and to be with friends who set a goal to become Eagles and who did it.”

Sam was referring to the day he and his fellow Eagle Scouts spent at the North American Aerospace Defense Command, where most of the man-made objects in space are tracked. They also toured the U.S. Olympic training facility, all as part of a reward their stake president promised them last June when he challenged all the Life Scouts in his stake to become Eagles by the end of the year.

Thirty-five Scouts rose to the challenge and practically flew to the Cheyenne Mountains, where they spent the day learning how others fly—pretty appropriate for a flock of Eagles.

I left Albuquerque to go to school in Cambridge, Massachusetts. There was one chapel and a district that stretched across much of Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I drove the hills of that beautiful country to sacrament meetings in tiny branches, most in small rented facilities or little remodeled homes. Now there is a sacred temple of God in Belmont, Massachusetts, and stakes that spread across the countryside.

At the unofficial 1906 games in Athens, Greece, an Austrian weight lifter, Josef Steinbach, was scorned by the partisan crowd because it was alleged he was a professional. The frustrated Austrian left the stadium, allowing the Greek in second place to win the event. The flag was raised and the crowd cheered. Then Steinbach re-entered the stadium, walked up to the weight the winner had lifted with great effort, and with ease hoisted it three times over his head.

A rest home may not seem like the best place to go for a night of fun and action, but the young men and the young women of the Spokane Third Ward, Spokane Washington North Stake, found that with lots of enthusiasm and a great attitude, almost any place can be fun.
The youth donated items from home that were no longer in use (planter boxes, games, etc.), and then took them to a local rest home to “auction” to the residents there. Each youth was paired with a resident and given play money to “buy” items with.
“I wasn’t sure I would like this, but it was really fun,” says deacon Luke Shaw.
The youth enjoyed the activity so much, they are considering going once, going twice, going three times a year!

Joseph F. Smith’s mother was known as “Widow Smith.” She was the widow of Hyrum Smith, who was martyred with the Prophet Joseph. She once rebuked the tithing clerk who stated that because of her poverty, she should not have to pay her tithing. She said: “‘Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold his blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper, and to be able to provide for my family.’”
Did she prosper? Her son and grandson became presidents of the Church, and her descendants today include a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and many notable Church leaders.
Speaking of his mother, Joseph F. Smith once said she paid “tithes of her sheep and cattle, the tenth pound of her butter, her tenth chicken, the tenth of her eggs, the tenth pig, the tenth calf, the tenth colt—a tenth of everything she raised.”

When Grandma and Grandpa Johns left to serve a mission to the Bern Switzerland Temple, their family members resolved to follow their example. In their own way, they would be missionaries, too.
Kyle was in the fourth grade and took the challenge very seriously. When he asked his mother what he could do to be a missionary, she answered, “You have to find someone, be a good friend to him, and then wait and see what happens.”
When the new school year began, Kyle looked around at the members of his class. Pedro, a boy from Mexico, looked like he needed a special friend. Soon Kyle and Pedro were talking and playing together. Kyle invited Pedro to his home to play, and he often went to Pedro’s home.
Because Sunday was a special day for Kyle and his family, he and his brothers did not play in their neighborhood or have friends over to their home on that day. Instead, their family went to church and enjoyed family activities together afterward.
Pedro didn’t understand. His family didn’t have rules like Kyle’s family, and he could do whatever he wanted to on Sunday. Kyle’s mother suggested that he invite Pedro to Primary. Maybe then he would understand why Kyle’s family chose to do what they did on Sunday. Kyle told Pedro, “Come with me to Primary, and we can be together on Sunday mornings. You can ride with us, and we’ll take you home afterward.”
Pedro was interested. He asked Kyle to come with him to ask his father for permission.
When Kyle asked Pedro’s father, he answered, “If Pedro wants to go, then it is all right with me.”
The next Sunday found Kyle and Pedro together in Primary. The teacher was very kind and welcoming. When the class was ending, he gave an assignment to the class from the scriptures for the following Sunday. Kyle had his own copies of the scriptures and took them to Primary each Sunday. He was eager to do the assignment the teacher made. So was Pedro, but he didn’t have any scriptures of his own. He went to his father and asked if he could have a set. Even though Pedro and his family were not members of the Church, his father saw how much it meant to him to have his own set of scriptures. He decided that they were all good books and bought them for Pedro.
The boys continued to attend Primary together. One Sunday, the teacher gave the boys a list of scriptures to study and asked them to have their parents explain the meanings to them. He made new scripture assignments each week for several weeks.
As they studied, Pedro and Kyle became more and more interested in the gospel. They had a lesson on baptism and learned that the Lord requires it of everyone. They also learned how it is administered and by whom. As they helped Pedro with his reading assignments in preparation for his Primary class each week, Pedro’s family found this information new and interesting.
One day, Pedro asked Kyle, “Do you think my dad would let me be baptized?”
They decided that they would go ask Pedro’s father together. Imagine how surprised Pedro’s father was when they walked up to him and Kyle asked, “Can Pedro be baptized into my church?”
Pedro’s father said, “I’ll have to think about it before I give you an answer. I know a member of your church. I’d like to talk with him before I give my answer.”
Pedro’s father talked with his friend, who happened to be serving in Kyle’s ward as the mission leader. Soon an appointment was made for the missionaries to begin teaching Pedro’s family the gospel. The family studied and worked with the missionaries to gain testimonies. Pedro and his brother were ready to be baptized first. As their father and mother watched them enter the waters of baptism, the Spirit whispered to them that what was taking place was true and correct. They decided to prepare themselves for baptism.
As Kyle rode home with his family after the baptism of his friend, he told his mother, “Tomorrow Pedro and I will look around our class and find another person who needs a friend. Then we will invite him to Primary!”
Kyle was very happy to write to his grandma and grandpa in Switzerland and tell them of his experience as a missionary. He ended his letter by saying, “Everyone can be a missionary. You just have to be a good friend and then wait and see what happens!”

The sun shone fiercely on a hot summer day in Salt Lake City, Utah. There was some problem underneath the street near the home of President George Albert Smith, and several workmen from the city had come to fix it.
The workmen were not very careful with their language. They were swearing and using terrible language as the sun beat down on their backs.
Very few people had air-conditioning in their homes in the late 1940s, so nearly everybody had their windows open, hoping to catch any breeze that might cool them. After a while, the neighbors could hardly stand to listen to the workers’ words any longer. One of them walked over to where the workmen were digging and asked them to be more considerate. He pointed out that the Church President, George Albert Smith, lived nearby—couldn’t they show some respect for him and keep quiet, please?
At that, the men let loose with a new string of bad words and spoke even more loudly than before.
Quietly President Smith scurried around in his kitchen and prepared some ice-cold lemonade. He placed some glasses and the full pitcher on a tray, carried it out to the workmen, and said, “My friends, you look so hot and tired. Why don’t you come and sit under my trees here and have a cool drink?”
Their anger gone, the men responded to the kindness with meekness and appreciation. After their pleasant little break, the men went back to their labor and finished their work carefully and quietly.
George Albert Smith believed in treating others with courtesy regardless of how they treated him. On that hot summer day in Salt Lake City he handled a difficult situation with kindness and great wisdom.

After a few weeks of hard proselyting, my patience was wearing thin and I began to get angry at very small things. During a particularly discouraging day, I briefly scanned the pages of the March 1992 issue of the New Era. My eyes were drawn to the article “Flunked.” After finishing the story, I felt much better. I had been touched by the Spirit and the anger I was feeling was gone. That article has become a source of personal strength for me as I continue to share the gospel daily.
Elder Kevin HillChile Vina del Mar Mission

I had awakened that morning to the sound of Trophy’s hooves on the dusty cobblestones outside my window. I jumped from my feather bed and ran to the window, flinging the shutters wide. Through the vines, I saw Trophy bobbing his head and waiting patiently as Malcolm Greenaway delivered milk to our doorstep and walked along the picket fence toward Bridey’s house. “Good morning, Mr. Greenaway,” I called as he passed beneath my window.
“Good morning, Jessica.” He waved, then continued on his way.
At the sound of my voice, Trophy swung his head slowly in my direction and peered at me from behind his blinders.
“Hi, Trophy, old horse,” I whispered.
The black dappled horse followed his master, the milk wagon rumbling quietly behind. I leaned far out the window and pushed the green viny leaves aside, watching as the wagon turned the corner and went down Church Street.
A horse is a beautiful creature, I thought, and sank back on my bed to stare at the ruffled canopy above my head. If Father would only allow girls to ride horses, how much happier I would be! But my father held to the idea that girls and ladies should ride in wagons, with their skirts tucked neatly about their ankles. Grudgingly, I went to the washbasin, splashed water on my face and wrists, pulled my petticoat and dress on over my head, then ran downstairs.
After breakfast, Father took Steven by the hand and headed for the door. Then, without a thought for my feelings, he turned to Mother. “I’m taking Steven for his riding lesson,” he said. “We’ll not be away very long.”
When the door had closed behind them, Mother came to me. “I know how you feel, Jessica,” she whispered as she straightened my braids and fixed my collar. “But your father thinks riding is unladylike.”
A lump stuck in my throat. Then I swallowed and asked, “Shall I wipe the steps down Mother?”
I was twelve and my brother, Steven, barely nine. Yet my dream was his reality! It was an unfairness that I could hardly stand! As I knelt on the hard wooden steps, I rubbed the banister railings until they shone. Then I bent my head and scrubbed the stairway, my tears mingling with the soapy water.
Of course, I couldn’t blame Steven for his good fortune, but when he returned all smiles and smelling of horse and stable, I wanted to box his ears! Instead, I went to our granary and listened to the doves under the eaves. I could see Mother stirring apple butter in the iron kettle in our backyard, but it held no interest for me today.
I ran from the granary and across the meadow. And before I knew it, I was standing outside Malcolm Greenaway’s stable.
“Jessica?” Mr. Greenaway called. “Are you looking for someone?”
“No, Mr. Greenaway,” I replied. “I was just wondering if I could feed Trophy.”
He walked over to me, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a straw hat on his head. “Certainly!” he said with a smile. “I’m just going to join Mrs. Greenaway in the garden, so make yourself feel at home.”
I watched as he slanted his hat against the sun, then turned toward the garden. I stepped into the cool stable. Trophy bobbed his head over the door and greeted me with a snort. I held oats up to his mouth and watched his lips gently nibble them from my hand. Then—I don’t know what made me do it—I opened the stall door and stepped in beside Trophy.
He watched me for a moment with soft brown eyes. Then he nuzzled me with his nose, bumping me toward the side of the stall. Suddenly, I had an idea! I raised my skirts with a single motion and climbed up the side of the stall, where I perched on the top board and clicked my tongue till Trophy moved closer. Then, with trembling hands, I grasped his mane and swung my leg over his back. It seemed a long way up, and I thought I was in heaven. Trophy looked over his shoulder at me, then pushed the stall door open while I grabbed for his halter and hung on for dear life. Trophy slowly plodded out into the sunlight with me on his back. Gently I pulled on the halter, guiding him this way and that. I was riding!
Certainly it was a willful, deceitful thing to do, but every chance I had, I went to the stable. And if Mr. and Mrs. Greenaway were not close by, I climbed up on Trophy’s back and circled him around the yard.
Then about two weeks later, when Steven was off gathering more berries and Mother and I were sealing preserves, we heard a frantic call. Mother rushed out the door, wiping her hands on her apron, and I followed. As we burst through the granary door, we saw Father sprawled on the floor, his leg twisted beneath him. Mother cradled his head in her lap.
“Oh please, Margaret,” he moaned. “Get the doctor, quick!”
Mother’s trembling hand went to her throat. “I can’t leave,” she said. “Jessica, please get help!”
I ran outside and called in every direction, but the yards were deserted and, without another thought, I ran toward the Greenaway’s stable. I pounded on their door, and although it was open, no one answered. Instantly, I ran to the stable and climbed onto Trophy’s back. Leaning forward, I grasped the halter and urged him toward Doctor Kroller’s house.
A short time later, Trophy stood frothy wet and snorting as I slipped down from his back and banged on Doctor Kroller’s door. Panting, I explained about the accident, then watched as Doctor Kroller’s buggy raced toward our home.
Later, as I lead Trophy to his stall, Mr. Greenaway came out of the house. “Young lady!” he snapped. “Your father would tan your hide if he knew you ran off with my horse!”
“Please, Mr. Greenaway … I had to fetch the doctor. My father’s had an accident in our granary,” I stammered.
“I’m sorry, child,” Mr. Greenaway replied quickly. “Come, let’s go see if everything is all right.”
After the doctor had left and Father was resting in bed, I tapped softly on his door.
“Come in!” he replied.
I tiptoed into the room where the warm breezes of the afternoon blew through the open window. “I deceived you,” I said quietly.
He looked at me sternly, then patted the bed beside him. “I’m glad you came, Jessica. I have something to tell you.” He opened his arms and I slid into them, burying my head in his shoulder. “I know you rode Trophy to get the doctor, Jessica. Will you forgive me?”
I raised my head and stared into his face. “Forgive you, Father?”
“Forgive me for being a stubborn man.” He rocked me gently in his arms and spoke quietly into my hair. “We’re getting a horse, Jessica. It was to have been Steven’s and also to be used with a buggy. But now I see how unfair I’ve been. It will be as much your horse as Steven’s. And when Mother sends for clothing, I want you to look through the catalog and get a pair of riding—”
“Jodhpurs, Father?” I asked, hopefully.
“Yes, jodhpurs,” he said his face beaming.
My father is a stem man, well educated and fair, and he always taught us to be truthful. I know he heard me when I said I’d deceived him, but he never mentioned it again, and somehow I know he forgave me.

“Time-marked pages of a dusty pioneer journal speak movingly: ‘We bowed ourselves down in humble prayer to Almighty God with hearts full of thanksgiving to Him, and dedicated this land unto Him for the dwelling place of His people.’

Sutton, England—The Hamburg (Germany) MIA Choir won a standing ovation here recently from an enthusiastic audience of British Saints following a highly successful concert. The blending of cultures and the great surge of spirit was a joyful experience to the German and British youth. The choir gave concerts elsewhere in England, all of which were equally well received. President Clifton I. Johnson of the England Central Mission called the event “fantastic! It is fitting that from a nation such as Germany, with such a remarkable musical heritage, there should come such a truly great group of youth singers.” Director of the choir, Rolf Gluck, said that his young singers loved the hospitality of the British Saints.

One child said, “Even though she is very tired after working all day, my mother comes outside to play with me.” Her mother cried when she heard that her daily sacrifices matter. A young woman said, “Even though my mother and I sometimes disagree, I trust my mother.” Her mother cried too.

The author lives in Utah, USA.
Photographs by Getty Images
I had just finished breakfast when my stake president called to tell me that my mission application had been denied. My heart sank as he told me why—I needed to lose a certain amount of weight before I would be able to serve. As he explained to me what I would need to do in order to resubmit my papers, the only thing I wanted to do was climb into my bed and hide.
After the shock wore off, I called my dad at work and explained what had happened. He paused and then asked, “Well, what are you going to do?” Would I give up? Let go of my dream to serve a mission? No.
“I’m going to go for it,” I replied. “I’m going to try to lose the weight.”
Within a week, I had a solid plan of action. I learned as much as I could about nutrition and exercise and, after setting some goals, I was ready to get started. I felt so much love and support from my Heavenly Father. I knew that I was doing the right thing and that He would help me every step of the way.
As I worked hard every day, I began to see progress! It was exciting to notice the physical effects of diet and exercise, but what surprised me most was the spiritual health I was gaining. I became more confident and self-aware as I developed into the person Heavenly Father wanted me to be.
I realized that as my spiritual health increased, it actually became easier for me to improve my physical health. The sacrament was so important in helping me stay focused on my goals. It became a sacred time of reflection for me as I thought about my Savior and how much He had helped me on this journey. I knew that He would stay by my side no matter what.
Prayer also made a big difference. There were so many times when I was running on the treadmill and would just start crying because I was so tired and my lungs hurt and I just wanted to go on a mission. I would say a prayer because I knew that someone in the mission field needed me, and I knew that I needed help to get there. After every workout, I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the strength to go on.
The gospel teaches us that our bodies and our spirits are one, but until this experience, I had never thought about how directly the health of my body could affect the health of my spirit. As I thought about my body as a temple, this connection between body and spirit began to make more sense. I knew that one reason we keep the temple so clean and beautiful is because it helps the Spirit to be there. So it makes sense that as I began to eat healthy and exercise more, I began to feel the Spirit even more.
I also noticed that I felt more energized and more willing to talk to and serve the people around me. I could feel the Spirit guide me as I put my trust in the Lord, and I discovered that I could turn to Him for help with any trial or hardship I might face.
Photograph courtesy of Jillian Pierson
After months of hard work, I finally received my mission call! I was so excited I could hardly wait. And when I entered the Missionary Training Center, I felt prepared both physically and spiritually.
I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to learn how to take care of both my body and my spirit. Working toward a meaningful goal gave me the motivation I needed to become a better version of myself. I learned that if I rely on the Lord as I try to accomplish my goals, He will help me every step of the way.

Ever since I became a member of the Church I have loved to read the New Era and the Ensign. But then I could only read them when I could borrow a copy from the members of the Church. Now on my mission I always have the chance to read the Church magazines. I came across a story in the April 1984 New Era called “The Happiest 18 Months.” I love the story very much. It gave me inspiration to work hard and inspired me to set important goals—to obey Christ’s teachings, follow his example, and pray always to have charity in my heart. I learned also to set goals that could help me understand the nature of my work. Love is very important, and it must be developed and must be shared.
Sister Towena CantagoPhilippines Cebu Mission

“What’s wrong, Bryan? You look pretty disgusted,” Grandpa said, coming out of his house next door.
“I am disgusted, Grandpa,” Bryan grumbled. “Today we were assigned a subject for our reports, and Mrs. Hall gave me leaves. Who cares about leaves? And how can a teacher expect me to find any of them in the winter? I counted twenty-seven trees and shrubs in your yard and ours, and every one of them is bare! The only green things I found were some needles on pines and other evergreens. But no leaves!”
“You aren’t trying, Bryan,” the pleasant gray-haired man said. Reaching down, Grandpa plucked a three-leaf clover from a tiny patch of grass between Bryan’s feet.
“The best place to look for leaves in the right season is on trees, because they have so many of them. But look at this tiny leaf. It’s a bit of green, but each leaf is a miraculous little factory gathering sunlight to make a chemical called chlorophyll.
“A leaf can be any size, but because of its distinctive shape, you can tell whether it once grew on a towering oak, an elm, or a maple tree. No two leaves are ever exactly the same.”
Bryan examined the clover leaf with new interest as his grandfather talked.
“All most people know about a tree is that it is pretty, makes property more valuable, gives birds a nesting place, and has leaves that make cool shade,” Grandpa continued. “But one single well-watered tree does a lot more than that. The daily evaporation from one tree can produce the cooling effect of hundreds of air-conditioners.”
“Wow!” Bryan said with new interest. “Then trees should be preserved instead of being bulldozed down. No wonder the ladies from the garden club worked to save those big trees in front of the library!”
“Those trees were large even when I was a boy,” Grandpa told Bryan. “Did you know that leaves protect the soil from raindrop impact that erodes the soil away? Leaves also stabilize water tables in the ground so wells don’t go dry, and they have the ability to absorb polluted air and throw off air rich in oxygen,” he added.
“Leaves are essential to life. They help muffle noise and moderate temperature, wind, and water. Some maple leaves will turn upside down, exposing their lighter sides, to warn of approaching rain!”
“I wonder if the people interested in ecology know all that,” Bryan said thoughtfully. “All I knew was that we find millions of leaves on the ground in autumn. I knew that leaves hang onto trees until fall, when they turn many beautiful colors and then fall off.”
“Dead leaves can still serve man,” Grandpa explained. “Plants can be covered with them to survive in the winter. When ground up or shredded, leaves make a good mulch to fertilize the lawn, or they can be turned into rich compost for the garden.
“Certain leaves also represent different things. The laurel leaf is a symbol of victory. Olive leaves have been symbols of peace and hope ever since the time of Noah when a dove brought an olive leaf back to the ark to show that the flood was over. Oak leaves stand for strength, glory, and honor.”
Bryan stared at the three tiny leaves wilting in his hand. “My report on leaves will be much more exciting than I thought. But I wish I had some leaves to tape into my notebook.”
“What do you see filling all of Grandma’s windows over there?” Grandpa asked.
“Plants! Her house plants,” Bryan answered. “Grandma must have lots of different kinds of leaves! Thanks, Grandpa.”
I’ll bet no one else was given a subject as important as mine, Bryan thought as he started across the yard to ask Grandma for some leaves for his notebook. Now he could hardly wait to get started on his report!

A few years ago while I was presiding over the mission in Minneapolis, Minnesota, an interesting event took place. I would like to use that experience to bear my testimony. A rather severe tornado hit the area. It was severe enough that it came to the attention of the nightly news broadcast over the national networks to California, Arizona, Utah, and Idaho. Before long, the telephone started ringing in our office there at the mission home. This went on for two or three hours, with parents calling from many areas wondering about their Johnny or Richard.
I recall later walking across the parking lot from the mission office to the mission home saying to myself, “You know these Mormon mothers. They just won’t undo the apron strings. They just won’t let their boys go.” As I walked into the mission home, the phone again was ringing. I picked up the phone and guess who? My mother! She was wondering how her missionary was doing under these circumstances.
I learned a great and deep lesson. A mother’s love and concern never ceases—nor should it.