Gospel Story Finder

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.
My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.
It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

While working on the pioneer film 17 Miracles, my team and I created several scenes to convey this threat of wolves. We brought in a wolf trainer, and one day he left his wolves in a trailer while we looked for some good places to shoot scenes in the heavily wooded outdoor studio. Even though they are “trained” wolves, they are still wolves and can be very aggressive. They have natural instincts to attack and kill.

We returned a couple of hours later and were amazed to see a deer standing less than 15 feet from the trailer. Her ears were out, her eyes alert, and she was staring at the trailer. She seemed mesmerized.

Normally when you see a deer in that wooded area, the deer sees you, bounds off, and disappears within seconds. This time, not so. The deer was so focused on that wolf-harboring trailer that she didn’t even notice us until we were about 15 feet away. She finally noticed our presence and then seemed to come out of her trance and ran off. I asked the trainer if he’d ever seen anything like that before. He hadn’t, and he couldn’t explain it.

The next morning when the trainer approached his trailer to begin the day’s work, to his astonishment he saw close to 15 deer standing in a circle, all the way around the trailer. Like the first deer, they too were transfixed and stared intently at the trailer. Their circle grew smaller and smaller as they each continued to move closer to the trailer. The trainer could hear the wolves inside, pawing and clawing away as they seemed to be saying in wolf language, “Let me at ’em!”

Again the trainer moved very close to the deer before they became aware of him and ran into the nearby woods.

I understand Joseph Smith’s need to pray. I had always prayed before I went to bed at night. When I became a teenager I didn’t stop believing, but I stopped taking the time to pray. One day that changed.
I had gone on a campout with some young men, and one of my good friends and I were in a tent together. I jumped into my sleeping bag, and I looked over to see my friend kneeling on his sleeping bag and praying. When he got into his sleeping bag, he said, “Lynn, don’t you pray?”
I answered, “Not as much as I should.” And I made up my mind then that no one would question again whether I prayed.
I also understand Joseph Smith’s wanting to be alone as he prayed. On another occasion a few years later, I was in a similar situation, this time with a young man I didn’t know. I was nervous about praying in front of him, so I waited for him to go to bed so I could kneel and pray without him watching me.
But he wouldn’t go to bed, so I finally knelt and prayed and got into my sleeping bag. When he got into bed a few minutes later, he said, “Lynn, do you always pray like that?”
“Yes, I try to. If I ever hurry and get into bed forgetting to pray, I get out of bed and kneel and pray.”
He said, “I should do that.”
I am so grateful to the Prophet Joseph for his courage and faith to ask and his preparation to believe the things he came to know. I love the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Through the revelations of Joseph Smith, I came to understand my need for the Savior. I knew about Jesus Christ, and I knew He was the Son of God. But the more I’ve come to understand how the Atonement works, the greater my testimony and love of the Savior is. Only His Atonement can allow us to be forgiven of our sins. We can repent, but that does not forgive us; it only qualifies us for His forgiveness.
We need to gain a testimony of who we are, to know we are spirit children of our Father in Heaven. When we know that, we can feel His love for us and His great desire for us to return to live with Him. When we have truly repented and He forgives us, we become clean. We become new creatures, as if the sin had never been committed. And when we understand that, then we really come to know Him.

Jeff and Dad were statue-still as a squirrel nibbled crumbs from Dad’s hand; another squirrel approached and demanded its share, then chattered with delight to find crumbs in Jeff’s hand too. He and Dad had been sitting under the tree for about an hour. Two deer had cautiously entered the nearby clearing, shyly watching them.
Jeff loved being in the mountains with his dad. As they hiked to their campsite, Dad taught him the names of the wildflowers and showed him where a beaver had stripped the bark from a tree. After they ate dinner, they sat serenely on top of a little knoll and watched the sun set.
They were just snuggling down into their sleeping bags, with the stars twinkling over their heads, when the peacefulness of the night was shattered by blaring rock music and the roaring of a jeep engine.
A group of people pulled up to the next campsite. They kept revving the engine, shouting, and swearing. Jeff watched, dismayed, as they broke branches from the trees to start a fire, then swore at each other when the fire would not start in the green wood. After a long time, Jeff was able to fall into an uneasy sleep.
Early the next morning, the sun had barely risen when Jeff stood by the lake, reeling in his first fish. He was so excited that he could hardly stand still while his father undid the hook and put the fish in the creel. As the sunlight touched the treetops on the far mountainside, the birds were singing in high spirit, and some chipmunks went scurrying by. The beauty of it all made Jeff want to shout for joy.
He thought about the night before. “Dad, why were those people acting that way last night? They seemed to hate each other, their campsite, and the other campers.”
“Maybe they never learned to be reverent and respectful,” Dad suggested.
“What does reverence have to do with it? That’s a church word.”
Dad was quiet for a moment while he thought. “I love nature. I feel a reverence for nature that is a little like the reverence that I feel for Heavenly Father. I love the mountains so much that I’ve tried to learn about them. I’ve learned the names of the flowers and birds and trees. I’ve learned to walk quietly and sit quietly so that I can watch the animals. I pick up litter whenever I see it so that it doesn’t spoil what’s here, and I’m very careful with our campfire. I do everything I can to show respect for the beauty that is here and try to make sure that my activities don’t interfere with other people’s enjoyment of the area. Every time I come, I love it more. After I’ve been in the mountains, I have a good feeling about myself. I always leave with a feeling of peace. The reverence that I feel for Heavenly Father is similar, only much stronger.”
“I think I understand,” Jeff responded. “When we feel love for Heavenly Father, we want to learn as much about Him as we can. We do everything we can to show respect for Him. The more we learn about Him and respect Him, the more we love Him.”
“That’s right. And after I’ve been worshipping Heavenly Father and praying to Him, I feel good about myself.”
“What about the kids in church who joke about the lessons and don’t pay attention?”
“Well,” Dad replied, “when someone is not reverent in church, it might mean that he isn’t feeling very good about himself, that he wants attention for himself instead of giving it to Heavenly Father.”
“Is that why Jared is always acting like a smart aleck?” Jeff wondered aloud. “Sometimes I hate to be around him.”
Dad put his arm around Jeff. “The thing is, you could probably help Jared be more reverent by being his friend. Maybe we could bring him up here with us sometime. When someone is not reverent, he usually knows that he is doing something wrong, and he feels even worse about himself.”
“Is that why Jared is always trying to get attention?”
“It could be. When someone is not respectful toward Heavenly Father, it’s hard for the Holy Ghost to help him love Heavenly Father and himself.”
Jeff thought for a minute. “We also need the Holy Ghost to help us have a testimony. When you’re not reverent, it must be hard to have a testimony.”
Dad gave Jeff a hug. “You’re right! And now look at the sun! It’s time to go cook some fresh fish for breakfast.”
The Jeep was gone when they got back from the lake. Jeff was amazed at the mess its passengers had left the campsite. There were cans and papers and torn branches everywhere. The fire they had finally started by pouring gasoline on the wood was still smoldering, and a bush was completely crushed where the jeep had been parked.
Dad got a garbage bag, and father and son started cleaning up. “I wonder,” Jeff said, “if those people have ever had a deer come close to them and watch them. Or a squirrel eat out of their hand.”
“I doubt that they have,” Dad said. “I wonder if they like themselves better today. Do you think that they know how truly beautiful these mountains are?”
After a breakfast of fish, pancakes, and hot cocoa, father and son made sure that the campsite was clean and the fire had been put out. Jeff lay on his stomach to enjoy the deep, sweet-smelling grass one more time before they had to go. He was full of love for the mountains, for his dad, and for Heavenly Father. “You know, Dad,” he said, “some people think that reverence just means being quiet. I think that’s sad. There is a lot more to reverence than that.”

By then, running had become a way of life. She challenged herself more, pushed herself harder, and then, in 1978, faced the two greatest challenges of her life. One challenge was to run completely across the United States. The other was to accept the message of the Mormon missionaries.

Standing on the steps of the Los Angeles City Hall on 12 March 1978 she knew she was facing “the greatest challenge of my life” both spiritually and physically. “It was my greatest ambition, but I felt so apprehensive. Would I really be able to do it? What lay ahead of me? Was I strong enough? Had I prepared properly? I wished I’d had enough sense to have stayed at home.”

Then the clock struck nine and she was off. Followed by two vans, Mavis ran fourteen hours a day, starting at 4 A.M. and stopping only for meals. She ran through thirteen states, through four time zones. She took six million footsteps, one at time. She wore twenty-five pairs of shoes in rotation, and had repairs made forty times.

The weather, almost systematically, hit her with every variation. For four weeks she slogged through intense heat. For the next four weeks, she struggled through gale-force winds—that literally blew her off her feet more than once—and bitter cold, staggering along under the weight of two tracksuits, a soft, flat cap with no visor, gloves, and a lightweight jacket the wind can’t blow through. Then it rained without stopping for seven days. One raincoat would keep her dry for exactly one hour; she wore two. Together, they kept her dry for four hours.

The weather was not her only challenge. “The traffic was frightening,” she exclaimed. At one dangerous stretch, cars were whizzing past every seven seconds. She stopped running only one day—the thirty-third—when shin splints made it impossible to continue. The next day, teeth gritted and literally dragging her right foot, she was back on the road.

“I prayed often for courage to bear the pain,” she remembers. “I didn’t ask God to take it away, but just to help me bear it.” She prayed often throughout the journey: “‘Please God, give me the stamina to fight the wind, the endurance to continue the distance I need to go, the willpower to keep going.’ At no time did I ever doubt that I would finish the distance, but I can assure you that there were times when I didn’t know how I could finish the day or even the next hour. And then I prayed, in the words of John Henry Newman’s beautiful hymn, ‘Please, God, I do not ask to see the distant scene. One step enough for me.’” (“Lead Kindly Light”, No. 112).

Finally the weather relented, and “the last two days were the most beautiful imaginable.” She trotted into New York and landed at the city hall just before noon on May 20, the only woman in history to have run from the Pacific Coast to the Atlantic Coast across the U.S.. Exhilarated from the run, after sixty-nine days, two hours, and forty minutes, she was surprised that it was over, “It came too suddenly,” she said.

Was it worth it? “Yes! I grew beyond my wildest dreams. I learned that nothing is impossible if you’re prepared to work hard enough. Age is irrelevant. There are no barriers and no handicaps. And you must do it yourself. No one can run for you. I also learned that failure is important. From it we learn discipline, patience, perseverance, and the ability to accept disappointments.”

“Are you girls excited to see the temple?” Mom asked as she, Natalie, and Stephanie drove to the Detroit Michigan Temple site.
“Yes!” the sisters said.
“Is it true they’re putting the marble on the walls right now?” Natalie asked.
“I think so,” Mom said.
“I can’t wait until it’s done,” Stephanie said. “It’s going to be so pretty.”
The girls were going to a special activity day. They were visiting the new temple while it was still under construction.
When they got to the temple site they met their group of girls and their leader, Sister Jones.
Walking around the construction site, Sister Jones told stories of the Kirtland and Nauvoo Temples and the early Latter-day Saints.
“They built temples and then were run out of their towns. They had to leave behind the beautiful buildings they had spent so long making,” Sister Jones said. “We are blessed to have the temples that we do today, and to now have a temple so close to us.”
Natalie looked at the temple and imagined what it would be like to have to leave it after working so hard to build it. It made her sad.
“Do any of you know what blessings the temple gives us?” Sister Jones asked.
Kelsy raised her hand. “My family was sealed in the temple.”
“That’s right! People are married and sealed together in the temple so their families can be together forever. What other blessings are there?”
“Baptisms for the dead,” Natalie said. “That’s when people are baptized for people who aren’t alive anymore so they can choose to be members of the Church if they want.”
“Very good,” Sister Jones said. “Those are just some of the blessings we can receive in the temple.”
Natalie was excited to do baptisms for the dead when she turned 12. On her own baptism day she had felt clean and peaceful, and she wanted to share that feeling with others. Natalie felt important knowing she could do something to help people who had passed away.
“I have a gift for each of you,” Sister Jones said. She opened a bag and pulled out a piece of white stone.
“This is a piece of the same marble they are using to make the temple. I got special permission to give each of you one piece.” Sister Jones handed out the pieces of marble. “I want you to keep your marble in a special place to remind you of the temple and the blessings that the temple gives us. Can you do that?”
“Yes!” the girls said.
“I also want to challenge you to make goals to be worthy to enter the temple to do baptisms when you are 12, and to be married in the temple when you are older. The temple is a special place, and I want each of you to be a part of it,” Sister Jones said.
Natalie held her piece of marble tightly. It was white and beautiful and reminded her of being clean. She knew she wanted to be worthy to go inside the temple someday.
“I promise to remember the temple. I will go inside someday,” she said to herself. As she held the marble close to her heart, it felt like she was holding a piece of the temple there as well.

When I was growing up, every year or so my stake would put on a road show. For weeks before the event, leaders in the wards would concoct unlikely plots, create ridiculous songs and dances, and coerce reluctant youth into wearing outlandish costumes. Our road shows could hardly be termed theater, but they were a lot of fun.
Of all the stake road shows I took part in, one in particular stands out in my memory. The year I was 16, the stake presidency, of which my father was a member, decided the wards would not be allowed to use glitter in their costumes or makeup. Although the shimmering flecks looked wonderful on stage under the spotlight, they invariably found their way into the carpets and furniture. Because the road show was to be held on Saturday night, the stake presidency hoped this measure would help keep the building clean for the Sabbath.
But in the enthusiasm and good-natured competition of that year’s road show, the stake presidency’s counsel unfortunately went largely unheeded. When the performances concluded, I looked for my dad among the members slowly trickling from the building. They all seemed to have had a night of friendship and amusement. When I finally found my father in one of the rooms used for preparation, I could see that he was not amused. He was walking slowly around the room, surveying the damage.
“Most of the wards used glitter,” I said, stating the obvious.
“It’s like this in almost all the rooms,” he said and sighed, pointing to the glitter scattered across the carpet. “Weren’t we clear about not using glitter?”
“I think you were,” I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
When we found the rest of the family and went home, it was already late. After seeing the younger kids to bed, my father took his coat and the car keys and went to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Back to the stake center,” he said quietly, “to see what I can do to get it ready for Sunday. Do you want to come?”
I didn’t have any special desire to spend what remained of my Saturday evening cleaning, but then I thought about him doing all that work alone.
By the time we reached the stake center, my dad’s attitude had changed. As we cleaned, he seemed less and less discouraged and even somewhat enthusiastic about the challenge before us. He spent the time asking me about school and my friends.
Although the cleaning took several hours, we both felt a certain pleasure in our work and tried to be as thorough as possible. It wasn’t until after midnight that we felt the building was ready for church in the morning.
The next day, I felt special satisfaction as I looked through the clean rooms and remembered how they had appeared the night before. I considered telling my friends about my one-night stint at janitorial work, but that didn’t seem appropriate. Apparently, my father felt the same—to this day I can’t remember his mentioning that night to anyone.
Today when I think back to that road show, I’ve forgotten the humor, costumes, and music. What comes to my mind are images of my father vacuuming and sweeping and picking up glitter from the floor of the church—doing behind-the-scenes work in preparation for the Sabbath.

As I navigated life after my parents’ divorce, I learned that Jesus Christ really is the ultimate source of peace and hope.
Christ’s healing power is real. For years, I didn’t talk to my dad. I tried to forget what he had done. I begged for Christ’s grace to help me let go of my anger. The Spirit helped me understand what to do, and eventually, I was able to forgive him. Our relationship, while still recovering, was instilled with new life.
Easter is a reminder that through Jesus Christ, hope will conquer despair, life will conquer death, and light will conquer darkness. Choosing to follow Him is the decision that shapes my life—not one made by someone else.

For me, the key to choosing to serve a mission was gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon. When I was 15, living near St. Louis, Missouri, my seminary teacher challenged us to read the Book of Mormon not just once, but twice during the school year. As a reward, she offered a steak dinner. Eating a steak dinner with the girls I knew would take the challenge sounded very appealing to me.
For the first time in my life I began a committed attempt to read the entire Book of Mormon. I had tried many times before, but I always got stuck in the Isaiah chapters. I pushed past those, and within a few months I had read all the way through for the first time. When I finished, I thought, “This is a really good book! But is it correct?”
I started reading again with the intent of determining whether it was factual or fabricated. I checked for consistency in dates and calculated the ages of the various prophets to see if they were realistic. I found evidence supporting the reliability of the Book of Mormon as an ancient text. When I finished reading the second time, I was convinced that it was correct.
At this point I had reached the original goal to read the Book of Mormon twice. I was surprised to realize that I was no longer interested in the steak dinner—this was becoming too important, too sacred, for such a reward. I was now convinced the Book of Mormon was good and correct, but was it true? To answer that question, I read it for a third time.
Before I read, I said a short prayer, asking, “Father, is what I’m about to read true? If so, please tell me through Thy Spirit.” Then, when I was finished reading for the day, I’d close the book and ask, “Father, is what I have just read true?” I read it through this way the third time, and not long after that, the Spirit bore witness of its truthfulness in an unmistakable manner. I had found out for myself that the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 really works!
Since that day, I have been on fire to share the gospel with others. I’d openly carry my Book of Mormon around school with me, hoping people would ask me about it. I would talk about it whenever I could.
I talked to my friends about it and invited them to Mutual, seminary, and church. Ultimately, three of my high school friends and the mother of one of those friends were baptized. It was very exciting!
After a year of college I was called to be a full-time missionary in Colombia. That was one of the greatest events of my life.
Do I love missionary work? You bet! Just as I learned for myself that the Book of Mormon is true, I learned that what the Book of Mormon says is true: “The Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15).
Just as gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon was an anchor to my soul, going on a mission laid a foundation for my life. I still refer back to those special, sacred events that happened on my mission. Beyond the witness I received of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, these sacred experiences were further witnesses to me of God’s reality, divinity, and love.

Michelle has always tried to be a good influence in her family. The Ramnauths used to live in Guyana, a small country on the mainland of South America directly below Trinidad. In Guyana, their father David made his living driving a truck, but the family was struggling financially. He found he could make more money if he went to work in the interior jungles.
“I know he was just trying to provide for us,” Michelle says, “but we grew apart because the most we would see him was like two days in a month.” Eventually her mother, Pamela, got discouraged. “She eased up on going to church, and that really discouraged me,” Michelle says. “For a few Sundays, since I didn’t have my parents’ support, I didn’t go to church.”
Then rather than giving up, Michelle went into action. “I would press [iron] my clothes each Saturday and then get up early on Sunday and go to church by myself. I did that for a few months. It was kind of hard each Sunday because people would ask, ‘Where are your mom and dad?’ I felt a part of me was missing when I went to church by myself.”
So she turned to heaven for help. “I prayed and then cried myself to sleep at night, but I always asked Heavenly Father to help us find a way. I fasted a lot of Sundays by myself, and one or two times my mother fasted with me.”
Eventually, help did come. First, Michelle persuaded her mother to come to church again. Then a missionary couple, Elder and Sister Dunn, took an interest in her family. “They said they were going to fast for us and asked if I would join them,” Brother Ramnauth recalls. “I told them that ever since I became a member of the Church, I had never fasted. But I said I would.”
Michelle and her mother joined in that fast, too. The result was positive. “I found the strength to say that the work situation I was in wasn’t good for my family and to realize that not going to church on Sunday was also bad,” Brother Ramnauth says. “So I started going back to church, and we started having family home evening.” He also was able to find a contract closer to home that allowed him to transport materials with the same truck.
“Our family became very active in the Church again,” Michelle says. “I would say it was an answer to prayer and that fasting helped, too.” It was only a few months later that the family moved to Trinidad, and in their new country they are still sticking to their standards. Michelle, Melissa, and their mother and father all have callings. Brother Ramnauth is serving in the branch presidency. “I see him sitting in front of the congregation, and I say, ‘Hey, that’s my dad,’ and I’m so proud of him,” Michelle says.

Thirteenth President of the Church
Missionary work was difficult in England in the 1920s. Thus, when Elder Ezra Taft Benson and his companion received an invitation to speak in a sacrament meeting including both members and nonmembers, they fasted and prayed. “The hall was filled,” President Benson later recalled. “My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. … When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.” After the meeting, several people came to the missionaries and said, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.” President Benson said, “It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord” (“Our Commission to Take the Gospel to All the World,” Ensign, May 1984, 44).

Marcus watched the crackling campfire as he listened to his father’s lesson.
“We should all follow Jesus Christ’s example so we can be happy,” Dad said to the family. They were sitting on logs around the fire. “It’s very important for each of us to show charity toward others,” he said.
“What’s charity, Dad?” Marcus asked.
Dad added more wood to the campfire. “Charity is the pure love of Christ,” he explained. “We cannot be saved in the kingdom of God without it.”
Marcus looked confused. Dad looked around at their family and asked, “Can each of you think of an example of charity, to help Marcus better understand what it is?”
Mom turned a marshmallow over the fire on a stick. “When Mrs. Clanton fell and hurt her hip, I helped do chores around her house,” she said.
Tanner told how last week he helped the deacons quorum collect food and clothing for some of the city’s poor and homeless.
Ashley had befriended a neighborhood girl whom other girls ignored.
“Dad helped fix Mr. Johnson’s roof because Mr. Johnson is in a wheelchair,” Mom said.
“Does taking care of Jo-Jo count?” Marcus asked. Jo-Jo was his hamster. “I feed him and change his water and give him a new sock for his bed.” Marcus bit into a toasty marshmallow.
“Any act of kindness or service we do for someone—including Jo-Jo—is charity,” Dad said.
“I want to do stuff for somebody bigger than Jo-Jo, like you and Mom and Tanner and Ashley do,” Marcus said. “But I’m too little, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be big to help someone, do you, Marcus?” Dad asked. “Or to have your prayers answered?”
Marcus smiled. “No.”
“Why don’t you ask Heavenly Father to help you find someone you can help, and when the time is right, you’ll know it.”
“How will I know it?” Marcus asked.
Ashley reached over and wiped a smear of marshmallow from the side of Marcus’s mouth. “You’ll feel it about as deep down inside you as that marshmallow you just ate,” she said.
Later that night, Marcus lay curled up in his sleeping bag. He listened to the tree branches rub against the outside of the tent. “Heavenly Father, please help me find someone I can help,” he prayed. “I’m just a little kid, but Dad said you don’t have to be big to be kind or helpful to others. I help Jo-Jo and my family by being kind and doing my chores, but I want to do something for somebody else. Jesus helped lots of people, and I want to be like Him.”
One Saturday afternoon two weeks later, Marcus worked alongside his mother in their flower garden. He noticed their next-door neighbor sitting alone in her front-porch swing. She looked sad. “Mom, what’s the matter with Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom straightened up from bending over the flowers and looked at their neighbor. “Mr. Walton died almost a year ago, and she misses him very much. Some days are hard for her, and it looks like this is one of those days.”
Marcus stood up and looked at Mrs. Walton across the low hedge that separated the two yards. He felt a feeling deep inside him. It got bigger and warmer just like the campfire did when his father added more wood to it. “Can I pick one of our big yellow flowers and give it to Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom smiled and nodded.
A few moments later Marcus stood in front of Mrs. Walton. She looked surprised. Marcus held out the flower to her. “This is for you,” he said.
She took the flower and then looked at Marcus. He climbed into the swing and sat beside her. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled. Mrs. Walton patted Marcus’s hand, and the two of them sat there together and listened to two red birds singing in her maple tree. Then Mrs. Walton looked at Marcus again. He was still smiling.
“You’ve got miles and miles of smiles,” she said. “Did you know that?” Marcus kept smiling. “Your smiles came at a time when I most needed them. Thank you.”
That night Marcus put clean bark shavings in his hamster’s cage before going to bed. “Jo-Jo, today I worked with Mom in the flower garden, and I helped Mrs. Walton be happy. It made me feel happy too. I don’t have to be big to help others. I can be like Jesus right now.”

Janet was new in my class. I knew right away that she wasn’t someone I wanted for a friend because whenever Mrs. Shell said anything to her, she put her finger in her mouth and said, “Duuuuuh,” then laughed as if it were really funny. A lot of other kids laughed too. Mrs. Shell didn’t.
On the playground, Janet was a bully. One day she was pushing a little kid around until a teacher stopped her. When she called the teacher a name, she was sent to see the principal. From then on, it seemed that Janet spent almost as much time in the principal’s office as she did in our classroom.
I stayed away from her because she was always getting into trouble. She didn’t like me, anyway. She couldn’t call me by my name, Esther—she called me Redhead-Wet-the-Bed. I thought she enjoyed being mean.
In January I went into the Merrie Miss class in Primary. There were seven girls in my class, but only six of us came. Janet was the seventh. When Sister Card asked us about Janet, we told her what kind of a girl Janet was. She hadn’t been to church since her family had moved into the neighborhood, so we hadn’t even known that she was a member.
Sister Card went to Janet’s house several times to invite her to Primary, but she didn’t come. Nobody in her family came to church. Sister Card suggested that we try something as a class to see if we could get Janet to come to Primary. We weren’t very eager to do it, because we were all a little bit afraid of her. She was different from us, and we didn’t understand her. But Sister Card said she would help us, so we finally agreed.
We had a hard time deciding what to do. “Maybe we need to try to understand why Janet acts and talks the way she does,” said Sister Card. “That might help us come up with a good idea.”
I knew why she acted and talked like she did. I said, “Her whole family acts and talks like that, even her mother and father. I’ve heard them when I walk past their house.”
“Yes, I suppose they do,” said Sister Card sadly. “Do you think there are any other reasons for her behavior?”
“Maybe she’s lonely,” said Christina.
“Maybe she is,” said Sister Card. “What do you think we could do to help her realize that we like her?”
“Let’s be pixies to her for a week!” said Mandi excitedly.
“That’s a good idea,” Sister Card said, smiling.
Well, we planned to deliver something to Janet every day for a week, beginning on Sunday. It was kind of scary going up to her porch after dark to ring the doorbell and hope we could run and hide fast enough to not get caught. Each night it got to be more and more of a challenge because everyone in her family began watching for us. We decided to reveal ourselves on Saturday and take her a necklace with a little gold heart and a note telling her that we loved her and wanted her to come and be part of our Primary class.
Ringing the doorbell and hiding had been fun, but meeting Janet face-to-face was going to be different. We were all nervous, even Sister Card, because we didn’t know what Janet would do or say. As we stood on the porch, getting ready to ring the doorbell, the door flew open and Joel, Janet’s eight-year-old brother, yelled, “I caught you!”
We must have all jumped a foot in the air. Then we started laughing. Finally Sister Card asked if Janet was home. Joel left us standing on the porch while he went to look for her.
Just when we began to think they had forgotten us, Janet appeared at the door. She looked a little uncertain when she saw all of us standing there.
“Hello, Janet,” Sister Card said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I’m Sister Card, your Primary teacher. You remember me, don’t you? And I think you already know all of these girls from school.”
Janet barely nodded her head.
Sister Card then looked at us expectantly. We had decided earlier that we couldn’t let Sister Card do all the talking, or Janet might think it was only the teacher who wanted her to come to Primary. We looked at each other, and then Kelly said, “We wanted to do something special for you so that you would know that we like you.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling a bit more courageous. “We hope you got all the things we’ve been bringing you.”
Before I could go on, Janet said, “Oh, so it was you guys who were bringing that stuff. I guess you’re trying to bribe me into going to Primary. That’s kind of what they tried to do where we lived before, too, but it didn’t work. I just don’t like to go to church.”
We were all stunned. No one said anything. Janet looked triumphant, like she had just scored a crucial point.
Then Sister Card spoke. “No, Janet, we’re not here to bribe you. We brought you those gifts to let you know that we like you, just as Kelly said. We brought one more today.” She handed Janet the necklace, beautifully wrapped in a small box, accompanied by a card with the note we had all signed.
“Thanks,” Janet said, as she took the gift, “but don’t expect to see me at church.”
And she went inside and closed the door.

After our family moved a hundred miles south to Santa Barbara, Arthur performed a simple service for me that has made all the difference. My mission call in 1950 came while the Korean War was raging. As I was about to depart for the mission, a telegram came from the Missionary Department requiring that I obtain a written release from my San Luis Obispo draft board as a condition of entering the Salt Lake Mission Home. Although obtaining such a release seemed impossible, we decided to try. Mother and I drove to San Luis Obispo, without an appointment, but acting on the impulse of the Spirit. As we neared San Luis Obispo, another impression came to first visit our friend Arthur at the high school.

“I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll call the chairman at the draft board. He is a friend of mine. We serve on the Boy Scouts council together,” Arthur said. The call resulted in an invitation to come at once for an interview. As we sat across the desk from him, the chairman explained the difficulties in our request, then said, “I’m going to sign this release. I know of no better man than Arthur Godfrey. If he believes this is right, I will take his word. There is no one I respect as much as I do Arthur.” Instead of going to war I went to Montana and Wyoming to share the gospel. Those two years have made all the difference in my life. I owe them to my friend and to our Lord.

by Margit Däweritz
Anyone familiar with Frankfurt, Germany, (or with most European communities, for that matter) knows how difficult it is to obtain garden space in a bustling city. Whenever ground is allocated for gardening, there are waiting lists; sometimes people wait years before a place is available for them. But as young people in the Frankfurt and Frankfurt-Hoechst Wards, Frankfurt Germany Stake, we had listened to President Kimball’s conference address, and we wanted to follow his challenge to grow at least some of our own food.
When a new telecommunications tower was built in the city, some garden areas became available, and we were able to lease a surprisingly large plot. Each person was allotted a small area to plant as he wished. The result was a hodgepodge of intermingled plantings, with seeds in lengthwise rows in one area and crosswise or diagonal rows in another. Lettuce popped up here and there, and tomato plants were scattered through the entire area. One girl even planted flowers in a circle with radishes and spinach in the center.
One of the nicest benefits of the garden, however, was the missionary work it allowed us to do. Most of us didn’t know a lot about gardening, so we asked those working nearby for advice. It didn’t take long until they found out that we’re Mormons, and we have become great friends with them through working “next door” to each other. They have shared plants with us and seem to enjoy having us around. And there is plenty of time for gospel conversations while tilling soil and hoeing weeds. We may not know much about horticulture, but we’re learning. And we’re certainly learning some lessons about sowing seeds—seeds of friendship and understanding as well as seeds for plants. We hope to continue our garden project for many years.

While I was still a student, my grandmother fell down a flight of stairs, injuring herself so severely that her heart stopped three times and had to be restarted. She also suffered broken ribs, a broken hip, and a broken jaw. Worst of all, she lost almost all of her vision.
A few weeks later, my grandfather suddenly died of a heart attack. Why had she survived her accident only to face this? she wondered. She missed my grandfather and longed to be reunited with him. Fortunately, she had a good home teacher who helped her to feel secure and looked-after.
As time went on, Grandma began to feel that perhaps she had survived her fall for a reason, and she determined to find out what it was. She began to realize that once a person is gone, there isn’t much left on earth to remember him or her by. Many of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren—including myself—hadn’t known her and Grandpa well. And she wanted us to know our heritage. Neither she nor Grandpa had ever kept a journal, so she decided to write about her fifty years of marriage and of her service in the Church.
With this new goal, Grandma became excited about life again. Her only problem was how she would be able to do it. She was nearly blind, and she didn’t know how to type. She tried tape-recording her recollections, but her memory was failing just enough to make accuracy impossible.
About this time, Grandma phoned me and asked for help with her history. I had never had a very close relationship with my grandparents, and the last thing I wanted to do was to help with this project. Besides, I didn’t have the means to get to where she lived to help her.
But the Lord must have wanted me to help, because when I graduated from college, I found a job and an apartment near where my grandmother lived. Though I still didn’t really want to help write her history, I felt a family obligation to give her some of my time.
One day, I visited her and evaluated what needed to be done. She had a box full of photographs, tapes, letters, newspaper clippings, and certificates. To organize this would take months, maybe years!
But the Lord was listening to her prayers. The first week at my new job, I hurt my back and couldn’t work for some time. I decided to spend the time recovering from my injury to helping Grandma with her history.
I soon found that the fastest way to compile the material was to tape-record Grandma telling her story as she responded to questions I asked her. Though the history was soon progressing well, my injured back wasn’t, and after a while I was almost out of money. I decided that I would have to return to work; the history would have to wait.
About this time, my grandmother’s home teacher, John Minor, told me about a night when my grandmother had almost died. She had been very sick and had called him—not to ask him for a blessing, but to ask him to pray for her, which he did.
That night John had dreamed that he saw my grandfather, who said that he was going to call for Grandma. John had pleaded, “You can’t. She hasn’t finished her book yet!” The next day, John had checked on Grandma, and she was all right.
As John told me of his dream, I felt the Spirit soften my heart. I sensed the urgency of finishing my grandmother’s history. It would not be easy, but I determined to spend as much time as I could with her—as long as my limited funds lasted.
Now my concern was shared by other family members. They all helped to support me with food and with rent money while I wrote. In a pocket of some clothing I had my family send from home, I found some money that I had forgotten about. The Lord was blessing me and Grandma as we worked on the project together.
As I wrote, I began to better understand my grandparents. I learned about the persecution they had endured when they had joined the Church. I learned that soon after their marriage they had found out that they could not have children until Grandma underwent an operation to allow them that blessing. I felt the Spirit of Elijah turn my heart to my fathers, and I loved and appreciated my grandparents more than I ever had before.
After a few months of steady work, I gave the first chapters of the history to Grandma. She loved them!
A few weeks later, Grandma died.
After Grandma’s death, I finished her history and made it available to our family. I am grateful that through it, other descendants can come to love and understand my grandparents’ as I have.

My daughter is a musically talented young woman. For many years I felt that this talent would not be developed unless I stood over her at the piano and insistently supervised her practice like a slave driver. One day, sometime in her early teens, I realized that my attitude, probably once useful, was now visibly affecting our relationship. Torn between a fear that she would not fully develop a God-given talent and the reality of an increasingly strained relationship over that very issue, I did what I had seen my own mother do when faced with a serious challenge. I closeted myself in my secret place and poured out my soul in prayer, seeking the only wisdom that could help me keep that communication open—the kind of wisdom and help that comes from the tongues of angels. Upon arising from my knees, I knew what action I must take.
Because it was just three days before Christmas, I gave to Mary a personal gift and a small note. It read: “Dear Mary, I’m sorry for the conflict I have caused by acting like a sheriff at the piano. I must have looked foolish there—just you and me and my pistols. Forgive me. You are becoming a young woman in your own right. I have only worried that you would not feel as fully confident and fulfilled as a woman if you left your talent unfinished. I love you. Mom.”
Later that day she sought me out, and in a quiet corner of our home, she said: “Mother, I know you want what is best for me, and I have known that all my life. But if I’m ever going to play the piano well, I’m the one who has to do the practicing, not you!” Then she threw her arms around me and with tears in her eyes she said, “I’ve been wondering how to teach you that—and somehow you figured it out on your own.”
As Mary and I reminisced about this experience a few years later, she confided in me that my willingness to say “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake, please forgive me” gave to her a great sense of self-worth, because it said to her that she was worthy enough for a parental apology, that sometimes children can be right.

Darrell Bevell had a decision to make. It wasn’t an easy one.
Growing up as the son of a football coach, Darrell had always enjoyed sports, whether it was basketball, baseball, or football. If his parents wanted to keep him happy, they put a ball in his hand. Consequently, whatever sport was in season Darrell was playing it. Big ball in the winter, small ball in the spring, oval ball in the fall. He was a good basketball and baseball player, but it was football where he really excelled. And as a quarterback it had always been Darrell’s goal to earn a football scholarship to a major college.
“I had been recruited by Arizona State, Washington, New Mexico, BYU, Utah, and Wyoming. Most of the big schools in the West were interested in me,” says Darrell. “I had a really good junior year and played well in the first two games of my senior season when I broke a finger on my throwing hand. I missed the rest of the season, and most of the teams that were recruiting me backed off because of the injury.”
Darrell eventually signed to play football at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. It wasn’t exactly a big-time college football program as had been his plan, but school would be paid for and he was going to play college football.
“When I signed for that scholarship to play football, that was my dream. That’s what I always wanted to do. Right then I said, ‘Nope. I’m not going on a mission.’ I didn’t stop and really think about it because I got caught up in the excitement and everything.” That was the spring of 1988.
After signing with Northern Arizona, Darrell headed north from his home in Scottsdale, a suburb of Phoenix, to Flagstaff for two-a-day football practices in August. All he had on his mind was football. The mission thing had been decided, he thought.
“During those summer practices, I had been playing pretty well,” Darrell recalls. “But for some odd reason, right before the season started, it popped into my head, ‘Go on a mission.’ I knew I was about ready to turn 19, and I was still going to church every Sunday. But I again said, ‘Nope. I’m not going on a mission.’”
And that’s when an amazing turn of events took place. Almost immediately after deciding for the second time he wouldn’t go on a mission, Darrell began struggling on the field. “It was really amazing. A guy would go out for a short pattern and I’d throw the ball at his feet,” Darrell says. “So I called my dad and told him how this dang mission kept popping into my head and that I was starting to play terrible.”
Darrell’s father, Jim, told him to think about a mission and then pray about what he should do. “I did that, but I told the Lord in my prayer that I couldn’t quit the team because the season had already begun. I did promise the Lord that as soon as the season was over I’d begin thinking about a mission,” he recalls.
There was only one problem with that plan. When the season ended, Darrell didn’t think about a mission again. He had redshirted during his freshman season, so even though he was a sophomore in school, he was still only a freshman in football eligibility. And when the Lumberjacks’s starting quarterback the previous two years went down with an injury in spring practice, Darrell emerged as the number one quarterback. His dream had finally come true. He was going to be the starting quarterback for Northern Arizona University.
“After everything had been decided and I had talked to the coaches about being the starter, boom, going on a mission popped right back into my head,” says Darrell. “It had been a long time since I’d even thought about going on a mission, so I started praying about it. I kept praying and praying until I finally knew a mission is what I needed to do. I already knew the Church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I just decided I should go on a mission too.”
Now he had a problem of a different sort. For two years, Darrell had been concentrating on football and telling everybody he wasn’t going on a mission. Now that he had decided to serve the Lord, he had to tell his coach he wouldn’t be his quarterback. Driving to Flagstaff with his father to break the news to the coaching staff, Darrell had a good case of butterflies in his stomach. “When I got to his office, I was really nervous,” he says.
After the quarterback and the coach shook hands, Darrell said, “Coach, I’m going to go on a mission for my church. I’m not going to come back next season.”
Obviously, finding out your starting quarterback is leaving the team for two years isn’t the kind of news that helps a coach sleep well at night. After hearing Darrell’s decision, he began trying to dissuade him. Darrell listened as his coach told him how football players who go on missions lose their drive to play after they return home, and how he was throwing away a chance at stardom. “I was believing a lot of what he was saying. But I’ve always been the kind of person who makes a decision then sticks to it. That’s something I’ve always tried to do. Since I’d already made my decision to go, it wasn’t that hard, regardless of what the coach was saying.”
So long, Flagstaff, Arizona. Hello, Cleveland Ohio Mission.
“I had a great experience, and I loved my mission. The work was really going well there, and we had a lot of good missionaries,” Darrell says. “Of course, I wanted to play football after my mission, but I figured the Lord would take care of that. I had always wanted to play football, and somehow I knew it was going to work out.”
When Darrell’s mission was almost complete, he began thinking more and more about football. He knew the coaching staff at Northern Arizona had been fired, so he was an unknown commodity to the new coaching staff there. The great mystery in Darrell Bevell’s life was where he was going to go to college. Would he ever get to stand on the field and throw balls to open receivers? Would anybody offer him a scholarship?
One of his assistant coaches at Northern Arizona had taken a job as an assistant at the University of Wisconsin, and he remembered Darrell. In need of another quarterback in the program, the assistant got in contact with Darrell’s dad and asked if he thought his son would be interested in playing football in Wisconsin. Considering Wisconsin competes in one of the country’s top football conferences, and that it plays its home games in a 75,000-seat stadium, Darrell’s dad figured he might be able to persuade his son to check out the school.
After he finished his mission in October of 1991, Darrell made his recruiting trip to the University of Wisconsin and became convinced that was the place for him. “I basically decided then that I wanted to go there,” he says. He sat out the entire 1991 season and got ready for 1992.
During his freshman season of 1992, Darrell broke into the starting lineup in Wisconsin’s second game against Bowling Green State, and helped engineer a win over then number-12 ranked Ohio State in the Badgers’s fourth game. What made that victory all the better is that it was televised nationally by ESPN. Needless to say, a lot of people in Scottsdale, as well as those who knew him as Elder Bevell in Ohio, were crowded around their television sets. A shoulder injury hampered his play the remainder of the season, but he still completed 51 percent of his passes and threw for eight touchdowns. The future is extremely bright for Darrell as he prepares for his sophomore season. And the missionary work continues.
“It seems like every time an article is written about me, the first thing it says is my name and that I’m a member of the Church or that I’m a returned missionary,” he adds. “If I were at BYU, nobody would have cared. It would have been the same old story. But here at Wisconsin, not that many people know about the Church so it’s a bigger deal.”
A big deal just like Wisconsin’s victory over Ohio State. However, Darrell still knows that was just one game, and winning football games isn’t the most important thing in his life. “Beating Ohio State on national television was nice, but how long does that last?” he asks. “Seeing someone going into the waters of baptism is so great. I remember I was able to baptize a woman the day before I went home from my mission. I know that ordinance is something that is going to last forever. It’s something I’ll always remember. I don’t think that when we get into the afterlife someone’s going to say, ‘How about that one drive against Ohio State when you were five for five and you were able to pull it out on national television?’ But I might see that woman I baptized and have her come up to me and give me a big hug and say thank you very much.”
Maybe it’s a little strange to Wisconsin football fans that while most 23-year-olds have already graduated from college, Darrell Bevell is only a sophomore. Maybe Darrell’s teammates can’t understand why he would take two years off from football, not make a cent on his mission, and not be able to go to movies, watch TV, or date while he was a missionary. Maybe they never will understand. But Darrell does. In his life, he’s glad his job on the football field didn’t interfere with his call to the mission field.

Berglind (left) with her sister Elín (right). When Berglind was in the deepest depression she had ever faced, she felt that she couldn’t go on. By opening up about her struggles to family and friends, she has found spiritual and emotional healing through the tools Heavenly Father has provided.
Mindy Selu, Photographer
I’ve been dealing with depression since I was 13. At one point, things got so bad that I tried to take my own life. I felt very hopeless at that time. I thought, “I’m never going to be happy. I’ll never achieve anything.”
There was a moment when I thought that leaving the Church was the answer to my problems because I just felt hopeless about everything. It is so easy to do what you’re not supposed to do in Iceland. The Church is so small here. It was just me and my siblings in our Church classes growing up. I felt lonely and for a while I didn’t like going to church.
Most people in Iceland push religion away. People start drinking at an early age. I got caught up in that, and I was inactive for a moment in my life. I’m not proud of that, but it’s a part of my experience and I learned from it. I studied a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and liked what he said: “The past is to be learned from but not lived in. … When we have learned what we need to learn … , then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future.”1
One day when I was really struggling, I read my patriarchal blessing. As I read it, I realized that I do have a future. God has a plan for me, and He actually loves me. Going to church, taking the sacrament, reading the scriptures, and praying has brought so much light and happiness into my life. I soon realized, “This actually helps me.” That’s when I knew I always wanted the gospel in my life. After everything I’ve been through, I know that the gospel has saved my life, and I’m very happy about that.
Talking about my depression with family and friends has helped so much. It also led to more help. I didn’t want to take medications or go to therapy. I kept telling myself, “I have God.” But God provides many other tools, like medication and therapy, for us to use in addition to spiritual things.
As I started reading my scriptures more every day and getting closer to God through prayer, I received many blessings and revelations that my purpose is to help others. I feel like so many of us face mental health issues and we try to hide it. My depression and struggles have taught me that it’s better to open up and connect with others. My friend recently opened up to me about her struggle with depression. We talked about it and we truly understood each other.
We don’t always notice what others are struggling with, but I just walk around sometimes and look at other people and realize that God knows each and every one of us. He loves us and knows exactly what we are all going through. And we can help each other.
Through my struggles with depression, I’ve learned to ask, “What can I learn from this trial?” instead of “Why do I have this trial?” I love Ether 12:27, where it says that weak things can become strong if we have faith in Jesus Christ. This is always a comfort to me.
We all chose to come here to earth. We knew we were going to suffer through trials. And honestly that is what makes life great. Because we know there are good things to come. We know that if we follow the Savior throughout every hard phase, we can have eternal life and all these blessings that are waiting for us.
I’ve definitely noticed how I’ve changed through my depression. The Savior’s Atonement is real, my heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was. People notice and say, “You’ve changed.” One girl from school even said, “I see a difference and a light in you.” It’s weird because she isn’t even a member of the Church, and we hadn’t ever really talked before.
When I was in my worst depression, people would tell me, “It’s going to get better.” I would get so tired of hearing that but, as weird as it sounds, it’s true.
But you have to want to get better. I’ve learned that you can’t expect to get better by doing nothing. You have to want to be happy and believe that you have potential and a future. It’s important to remember that you are loved by so many people, including your Heavenly Father. They are all there to help you.
I never thought I would be as happy as I am now. Some days I still struggle, but with the tools Heavenly Father has given me, I can handle it. Now when I feel myself slipping into depression, I tell myself I am loved, I have people to talk to, and things will get better.
Facing depression has made Berglind more aware of how we can help each other through challenges. “God knows each and every one of us, He loves us, and He knows exactly what we are all going through. And we can help each other.”
Berglind has seen a change in herself through her challenges. “The Savior’s Atonement is real,” she says. “My heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was.”
“As I started reading my scriptures more every day,” Berglind says, “I received many blessings and revelations that my purpose is to help others. I love Ether 12:27, where it says that weak things can become strong if we have faith in Jesus Christ. This is always a comfort to me.”

One Thursday evening at branch meeting at the Provo Missionary Training Center, a large group of Primary children filed into the chapel. The children gathered on the stand, facing the missionaries, and sang about being in the army of Helaman and hoping to be called on missions.
When the children finished singing, they remained standing. The elders and sisters arose, hearing the piano introduction to “Called to Serve,” the hymn which has become a missionary anthem. The missionaries had been so moved by the children’s songs that many were on the brink of tears. Starting their own song was not easy. As they sang I noticed the children. They were not looking at the floor or at each other. They were gazing intently into the faces of the missionaries whose song bore testimony of faith. The children believed the words they heard, and they knew the missionaries believed them too.
Both missionaries and children were witnesses to a demonstration of faith that borders on the miraculous, and both accepted it matter-of-factly as they would a more routine event. Yet, in that group of missionaries were individuals who had saved for years to serve a mission. All of them were willing to go where and when they were asked. Most had received a letter from someone they had never met which informed them they were going to a place they had never been, to meet people they had never seen and learn languages and discussions they did not know. Most were going at their own expense or were helped by other equally faithful people who made contributions.
As a branch president at the MTC, I was able to watch several hundred young men and women begin their missions. The power in their devotion and faith impressed me greatly. I never found an end to what seemed a tremendous willingness to give, learn, teach, and serve. If tired or less productive on one day, they arose the next filled with more resolve. Some had minor complaints. Collectively they had their immaturities and weaknesses. Some worked faster, some slower. Some were more prepared than others. Some worked hard to learn; others gave less effort. A few were unprepared. Overall, however, it was evident that a strong sense of purpose was driving them.
There is one part of missionary life, however, I am certain that all have in common. When faced with the work involved, possible hardship, new and strange places, the missionaries all spent time thinking, talking, and probably praying about their reasons for serving a mission.
I noticed many group discussions on the subject. I learned that companions often discussed with each other their reasons for serving missions. The search for reasons to serve a mission was also a major part of talks given in church meetings. Many speakers related conversion stories about how they had been prepared through spiritual means at a very young age. Some told of vivid dreams that were confirmed when they later heard about the gospel.
One missionary, for example, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about the idea that God was an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Her views, which she held to faithfully, caused her and her family much discomfort during the time she went to private religious schools. Anyone she spoke to about religion was asked to satisfy her question, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” She often asked her friends at school, which was why she was troublesome to them and to her teachers. After a while, getting no satisfaction, she tired of asking.
Years later at work. when she was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. These talks continued until the woman asked her to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” she said. She asked the woman, and for the first time in her life received an answer that satisfied her. The woman answered, “Yes, my church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Missionaries were found, the young woman was taught the gospel, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day of class when her MTC teacher walked in, she recognized her as the missionary who had taught her the gospel months earlier in a place far away from the Missionary Training Center.
There were many ideas presented as reasons for serving missions. Some missionaries wondered if they were going just to please their parents, to satisfy a girlfriend or boyfriend, or because their family and ward expected them to go. Others considered the possibility that they were part of a cultural tradition where the importance of missionary work had been taught through song and lesson from the time they were young. Many had other more individual reasons such as gratitude for miraculously surviving accidents, or seeking forgiveness for something they were ashamed of.
Faced with being away from home and family and the difficult parts of missionary life, they searched for “real” reasons. They did not want to undergo the challenges and hardship confronting them unless they had good, inspiring reasons for doing so. Straining to learn a difficult language, for example, might not seem worth doing if a missionary were only trying to please his or her parents.
I was interested in their conversations. I wanted to learn what they concluded. As I watched them from the day they arrived, I could tell they were progressing and beginning to sense and understand some things they could not verbalize. It appeared in their faces, in the diminishing number of pranks, in the gospel focus of their language, and in what they did in their private moments. Most quickened their scripture study and increased their attention to learning language and discussions. Watching all this, I finally recognized it for what it was—the real reason missionaries serve.
They were like salmon. They had originated in one place but had gone to live in another. After spending time away from their origins there was a pull, unyielding, subtle, but very dramatic in its persistence. It beckoned them to return or find a way to commune with what they had once known. I remembered the scripture:
“For what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? even so the things of God knoweth no man, except he has the Spirit of God.
“Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the spirit which is of God; that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God” (JST, 1 Cor. 2:11–12).
I noticed that most of the missionaries were unaware of what was truly taking place. As they received this Spirit they were separated from the world and educated in the communication of spiritual things. They comprehended it at a level of understanding beyond words. It was clear they could feel it, were fed by it, and wanted more.
I learned then that a mission is a joining between a mortal soul who prepares and embraces the things of God, and God’s Spirit. When this happens, every missionary learns he or she is part of something greater and more important than self. Missionaries have an important part to play for themselves and for others. It is not the same as a ball game or a date. It involves being entrusted with the most essential ideas and ordinances of all. As they feel the Spirit and share his work, they come to know and love his Son—and to understand why they serve.