Gospel Story Finder

The story is told of Ali Hafed, a wealthy ancient Persian who owned much land.
An old priest told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms. “If you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”
Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm and away he went in search of diamonds. After years of searching, he had spent all his money, and he passed away in rags and wretchedness.
Meanwhile, the man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. In the black stone was a diamond. According to the story, this marked the discovery of the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world.
Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields, rather than traveling in strange lands where he eventually faced starvation and ruin, he would have had “acres of diamonds.”1

Hetty stepped over the milk bottles near the front door and began the long walk to school. She breathed in the cool spring air and smiled. In just one week it would be May Day, and Hetty couldn’t wait. There would be parades, festivals, and fairs all over England.
May Day had always been one of Hetty’s favorite holidays, but this year it would be even better. This year she was 11, and the May Queen would be chosen from her school class.
As Hetty skipped along the cobblestones, she tried to imagine who it would be. Maybe Sara. She was pretty, and would look nice holding the gold ribbon in the maypole dance. Alice would too. She wore nice clothes, and the May Queen always had a new dress. The May Queen also needed to be a good student.
Hetty paused. She was smart. Was it possible she might be chosen?
Hetty looked at her reflection in a shop window. Her plain dress blended with the gray cobblestones behind her. She’d never had a new dress before, only ones her sister had outgrown. Hetty tried to picture herself leading the parade in a hand-me-down. No, she couldn’t be the May Queen.
At mid-morning the headmaster entered her classroom. “It’s time to announce the May Queen,” he said. “But first, the attendants.”
Hetty held her breath while the headmaster read four names. Sara and Alice were among them.
“And the May Queen is … Hetty Neal!”
Sara and Alice glared at Hetty, and she knew what they were thinking. She didn’t fit the picture of a May Queen. No one knew that more than Hetty.
After school Hetty knocked on the headmaster’s door. “Are you sure?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he said.
“But I can’t buy a new dress.”
“That’s not important. Just wear your best.”
Hetty didn’t feel any better.
When she got home, she went straight to the garden. Flowers often made her feel better, but only a few green shoots poked through the earth.
Hetty’s mother opened the back door. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Hetty said. “Well, yes. I’m the May Queen.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mother exclaimed.
Hetty nodded. It was wonderful. But terrible at the same time.
“Your dad will be proud,” Mother said. “I’ll send him a telegram at work.” Hetty’s father was away working in the southern part of the country.
Mother noticed Hetty’s expression. “What’s bothering you?” she asked.
It’s just …” Hetty hesitated. “I won’t have a new dress.”
Mother looked worried. “Do you need one?” she asked.
Hetty couldn’t lie. “No,” she said.
Mother smiled. “There’s nothing to worry about then. You’ll do fine.”
Sara and Alice didn’t seem to agree. They both looked away when Hetty walked into class the next day, and Hetty found a note in her desk that said, “You’ll ruin everything.”
After school, Hetty went to the garden when she got home. If only she had flowers. Even her plain gray dress would look nice with a bouquet. But though the green shoots were growing taller, she knew the buds wouldn’t open in time.
Mother came to the door. “I’ve heard from your dad,” she said. “He’ll try to make it home for the holiday.”
Hetty smiled at the good news. Then she had a thought. “Are the flowers blooming where he is?”
“I would think so,” Mother said.
“Could he bring some home?”
The rest of the week crawled by. Sara and Alice ignored Hetty. But the day before the celebration, Sara walked up to Hetty and whispered two words: “Stay home.”
After school, Hetty fled to the garden. Still no flowers, and no sign of her father, either. Should she stay home? Should she let someone who looked more like a May Queen take her place?
Later that evening, Hetty heard heavy steps on the porch, and then the door swung open. There stood Father with a large box in his arms.
“How’s my May Queen?” he asked.
Hetty ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Then she peered into the box. It was brimming with flowers, all kinds and colors, even more than she had hoped for.
“Will these do?” Father asked.
“Oh, yes!” Hetty pictured herself at the head of the parade, decorated with blossoms from head to toe. Alice and Sara would be amazed.
Then Hetty had another idea.
The next morning she was up early, but she was still late for school. When she walked in the classroom, her instructor looked relieved. “Hetty, we were beginning to worry,” she said.
“I’m sorry to be late,” Hetty said. “I was making these.”
From out of her box she took a circlet of flowers and placed it on her instructor’s head. Out came more circles, one for each girl in the class, and small bouquets for her attendants. As they took their bouquets, Sara and Alice looked surprised.
“Why, Hetty, what a queenly thing to do,” her instructor said.
At the bottom of the box was one more flower circle for her own head. As she led the parade, Hetty didn’t feel plain or poor. She felt like a queen.

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”
As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

Laurie Baldwin wiped at the tears that stung her eyes during the long trip to Denver. Great-grandma, her mom’s grandma, had died yesterday after being sick a long time. The whole family—Laurie, Mom, Dad, and Laurie’s two older sisters—was going to the funeral.
When they arrived at Great-grandma’s house, Laurie met the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had gathered there.
“How are we going to put together a funeral in only two days?” Aunt Christy asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Mom didn’t look worried. “I know where we can find help,” she said, reaching for the phone book.
Laurie listened as Mom called the bishop of a Denver ward and explained the situation.
“Why did you call a bishop?” Laurie asked after Mom replaced the phone. “Great-grandma wasn’t a member of the Church.” Mom was the only member of her family who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Even though Grandma wasn’t a member of our Church, we can still ask for help in preparing for her funeral. That’s part of belonging to the Church—being able to go anywhere and know that there are people who are willing to help us.”
Laurie would always remember that.
Soon the phone started ringing. Her mother spent the next hour taking calls and making others. She was smiling after the last one.
“Everything’s taken care of,” she announced to the family. “The bishop called some people. The Relief Society president is going to arrange a meal for the family after the funeral. She’ll also find someone to play the organ and lead the music.”
“Why are they helping us?” Aunt Christy wanted to know. “We don’t live here. We don’t even know them.”
“In our church we call each other ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ That’s because we’re all brothers and sisters in the gospel and help each other whenever we can.”
Laurie thought about that—brothers and sisters in the gospel. She liked the sound of it.
Mom spoke at the funeral and told some things about her grandmother’s life. A lady with a pretty voice sang “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), which had been Great-grandma’s favorite song. Mom was crying and smiling at the same time.
After the funeral, Mom thanked the bishop and everyone who had helped with the music and food. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
The bishop took her hand. “We were happy to help. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman.”
Laurie heard the quiet sincerity in his voice. The family spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking about Great-grandma.
“I want to find out more about your church,” Aunt Christy said.
Laurie listened as Mom began to explain. “We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …”
“Bishops, home teachers, visiting teachers, and members of priesthood quorums and of Relief Societies … all stand ready to help. …
“Of course, your brothers and sisters in the Church are not to solve your problems for you. … But your brothers and sisters will be at your side to strengthen you, encourage you, and help you.”Elder Joseph B. WirthlinFrom an April 2000 general conference address.

I have been inspired by Moroni’s courage because of the many trials the world has seen this year, including the COVID-19 pandemic. Many of us around the world were forced into social isolation this year, some of us needing to separate ourselves from the people we love most. I too had to make that difficult decision.
I am a pediatric doctor, and I work on the front lines to give children urgent and emergency care in Maranhão, Brazil. During this pandemic, I made the difficult decision to avoid close physical contact with my beloved husband, two-year-old daughter, mother-in-law, and nephews (who all live in my home), along with all my other family and friends elsewhere. I isolated myself to avoid possibly transmitting the disease.
Social isolation was difficult because my family is so close. Every Sunday we get together for lunch. We also have regular family nights. I soon discovered that without them, I felt sad and lonely. However, I decided to spend a lot of time reading the Book of Mormon to invite the Spirit into my life. I learned that having the Holy Ghost as my constant companion helps me focus on gratitude and goodness, shows me how to serve others, and surrounds me with the Savior’s love during difficult times.
Sometimes I wonder how comforting it must have been for Moroni to read the words of his father, Mormon, after he was gone. I tried to apply his words to me: “Be faithful in Christ [my daughter]; ... may Christ lift thee up” (Moroni 9:25). I’ve learned that He always will! The Savior can give us power that is greater than all the problems we may face in this troubled world and help us hold on to hope.
As hard as this year has been, I am so grateful this experience has strengthened my testimony of Jesus Christ and taught me to place my total trust in Him as Moroni did. As I read the account of Jesus Christ in the Americas, I realized that before His arrival, the land of the Nephites was undergoing great and wonderful transformations (see 3 Nephi 11:1). Certainly, before the Savior returns, we will be able to go through our own transformation, preparing ourselves to meet Him again. I know that all the challenges we are experiencing all give us the opportunity to help us prepare to meet Him.
I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior. He is the light that I need to guide me when the way is uncertain. And I know that the Book of Mormon is a testament of Him. The truths found in that book can truly help us turn to Him and to have strength and courage and faith in times of crisis. I know it has for me.

“Look! There she is—let’s get her!”
Mrs. Goodson was outside, calling her kitten. “Ready, set—now!” the boys started to pelt the elderly lady with snowballs that they had been making.
Startled, Mrs. Goodson turned towards her attackers. “You boys—get on to school! Stop that!” One of the snowballs hit a stinging blow to her forehead. She cried out.
“We’d better get out of here!”
Most of the boys ran off, but one of them hesitated. He had seen Mrs. Goodson fall. A hard tug on his sleeve spun him around.
“C’mon, Jake! She’ll be OK. But we won’t if we go back there. Come on!”
Jake joined the others as they ran to school.
All day long, though, Jake couldn’t get Mrs. Goodson out of his mind. He kept remembering the way she fell—and the way he ran away. He’d pass her house on the way home from school. He wanted to see if she was all right, but he was afraid. He knew that what they had done was wrong.
Jake had moved to town right before school started. His next-door neighbor was the first boy he’d met who was his own age, and Jake had begun hanging around with him and his friends, even though he often felt uncomfortable around them. Sometimes they did mean things to people and thought it was funny. Sometimes they talked about cutting school or doing things even worse. Jake realized that he’d better find some new friends before he got in trouble with them—if it wasn’t already too late. …
As he turned the corner, a boy that Jake remembered seeing at school was coming out of Mrs. Goodson’s garage. The boy was holding a gray-and-white kitten.
“Hi, Jake.” The boy hurried toward Jake, who stood on the other side of Mrs. Goodson’s fence. “Do you live around here? Do you remember me? I’m Jeremy Slater. We have science class together.” The boy’s nose was red from the cold, but his smile was genuine and his eyes were friendly.
“Sure—hi, Jeremy. Yeah, I live just down the street. Do you live here?”
“No, my grandma lives here, and I’m staying with her after school until my mom gets off work. Do you want to come in? We’ll have to be quiet, because my grandma isn’t feeling well today.”
Jake studied the snow on the fence post. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Some punk kids threw snowballs at her this morning. One of them hit her in the head, and she fell. She had to get a cast on her ankle—I guess she broke it when she fell.”
Jake swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’d better get going. My mother gets upset if I’m late coming home from school. See you.” Jake ran almost all the way home.
That night, Jake knelt to pray. He hadn’t prayed much in his life, but he was troubled, and he hoped that prayer would help. His family didn’t have a regular church they attended, and most of their prayers were at the dinner table. He had heard that some people prayed both at night and in the morning, that they talked to God like He really listened and would help them.
Jake didn’t know where to begin, so he just bowed his head and started to talk to Heavenly Father. He prayed for help in finding new friends. He prayed for Mrs. Goodson. He prayed for the heavy feeling inside of him to go away. He fell asleep later that night with a strange warmness about him—the way he’d felt when he was little and fell asleep in his mother’s arms.
The next morning, Saturday, he remembered everything that had happened the day before. He made up his mind to apologize to Mrs. Goodson.
When his chores were done, he told his mother where he’d be. His heart raced as he approached Mrs. Goodson’s house. He hoped that Jeremy wouldn’t be there. It was going to be hard enough to talk to Mrs. Goodson, and he figured that he’d eventually have to tell Jeremy, too. Jake liked Jeremy and hoped that they could be friends. But if Jeremy knows that I was one of the boys who threw snowballs at his grandma, Jake thought, he won’t want to have anything to do with me.
It was Jeremy who answered the doorbell. “Hi, Jake. Come on in.”
Jake stepped into the hallway but stayed next to the door. “Actually, Jeremy, I came to see your grandmother. Can she have company?”
“She’d love it! Grandma’s cool. She’s fun to be around.” Jeremy led the way into the living room, where his grandmother was sitting with her leg propped up on pillows, the kitten beside her.
“I didn’t know you knew Grandma. Come on in.”
Mrs. Goodson’s cast was bright white except for the large Jeremy scrawled on it with a bright blue marker. She set aside the afghan she’d been working on and looked up at Jake.
“Hello, Mrs. Goodson, I’m Jake Lowder.” Jake took a deep breath. “I’m one of the boys who hurt you yesterday, and I’m sorry. I don’t know why it happened. …” He stood there staring down at his feet, waiting to be thrown out of the house. Or yelled at. Or something.
“Jeremy, why don’t you go into the kitchen and start some popcorn and hot chocolate for you boys. I’d like to speak to Jake alone.” Mrs. Goodson smiled at her grandson. “It will be all right.”
Jake saw the shock on Jeremy’s face and watched him head reluctantly toward the kitchen, glancing back to make sure that his grandmother really would be OK.
“Jake, sit down.” She patted the stool next to her ankle. “It took a lot of courage for you to come see me today. Do you want to tell me about it?”
Jake nodded, but he had a hard time speaking. He hadn’t expected to be treated this nicely. He was in the middle of his story when Jeremy poked his head in the doorway. Jake motioned for him to come in, feeling it would be easier to explain everything to both of them at once.
“You see, Mrs. Goodson, I never meant any harm. I’ve already decided not to hang around with those guys anymore.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “I even prayed about you last night.”
“Tell me, Jake,” Mrs. Goodson said. “Tell me about your prayer. What church does your family go to?”
Jake explained that his family didn’t have a regular church. He told her what he’d heard about prayer, and he shared some of what he prayed about with her.
“Jake, in our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we call what you’re doing ‘repentance.’ Do you know what repentance is?”
Jake nodded. “It means to feel bad about something you’ve done wrong and to not do it again.”
Mrs. Goodson smiled. “That’s right, Jake. You have already admitted that you have done something wrong, and you have prayed for forgiveness. Now you are asking me to forgive you. Do you see that your prayers are being answered?” Mrs. Goodson smiled again.
Jake raised his head. “Is there anything else I should do, Mrs. Goodson?”
“Yes, Jake, two things. One you’ve also already done—you’ve promised to never again throw snowballs to hurt someone. The last thing is to try to make restitution to that person whom you have wronged. Do you know what restitution is?”
Jake shook his head.
“‘Restitution’ means to compensate for—make up for—anything you have done wrong or said or damaged.”
Jake looked up at her. How could he make up for what he had done to her?
“I know that sometimes that can be hard to do, Jake, but it is important.” Mrs. Goodson smiled. “I know—I’m going to need help around the house for a while. How do you feel about coming over and helping me every day until my ankle is better?”
Jake’s face lit up. He really liked Mrs. Goodson and Jeremy. It wouldn’t be hard at all to come over and help!
The rest of the afternoon went by quickly. As he and Jeremy swept the floors and helped get Mrs. Goodson’s supper for her, they became friends. As Jake left, he heard Jeremy and his grandmother talk about getting ready for church the next day. Jake decided that he wanted to hear more about their church.
When Jake arrived home, he told his parents everything that had happened—throwing snowballs, Mrs. Goodson’s fall, and his need to pray. He told them how forgiving Mrs. Goodson was, and he asked permission to spend time helping her. He also asked if he could talk to Mrs. Goodson more about her church.
Monday morning Jake woke up to fresh snow on the ground. That meant he’d need to get over to Mrs. Goodson’s house right away to shovel her walk before school. Maybe Jeremy would be there, too. He smiled. If he hurried, he’d probably have time to talk to them before he went to school. He was going to see if they’d tell his whole family about their church. He smiled again. He just knew that it would be a wonderful day!

The Smith family and others in their area were given opportunities to heft the ancient record and feel its individual plates at the Smith family home in Manchester Township, New York. Joseph’s younger brother William, age 16 in 1827, had a vivid memory of witnessing the plates, which he later shared in a sermon: “When the plates were brought in they were wrapped up in a tow frock. My father then put them into a pillow case. Father said, ‘What, Joseph, can we not see them?’ [Joseph responded,] ‘No. … I was forbidden to show them until they are translated, but you can feel them.’ We handled them and could tell what they were. … Could tell whether they were round or square. Could raise the leaves this way (raising a few leaves of the Bible before him). One could easily tell that they were not a stone, hewn out to deceive, or even a block of wood.”

On another occasion, William provided further information: “I could tell they were plates of some kind and that they were fastened together by rings running through the back.” He also wrote that in addition to feeling the individual plates and rings, he had hefted the entire artifact: “I was permitted to lift them. … They weighed about 60 pounds according to the best of my judgment.”

Ever since I started running track, it has been a dream of mine to break the school record in the mile run. Then towards the end of this season I ran the mile in five minutes flat, breaking the record by more than three seconds.
The next day, though, we found out that my mile had not counted. The officials explained that I’d taken three steps on the inside of the track, which disqualified me from the race. My coach argued that I only stepped out because I was pushed by another runner. The official said, “It may not have been her fault that she was pushed out, but it was her fault she was so close to the line.” I walked away feeling like my accomplishment had been wrongly ripped from me.
The next Sunday in Young Women class, we watched a video that compared staying in the lines in sports to keeping the commandments.1 Throughout the lesson I sat there, angry at the reminder that I had failed.
The next day as I ran around the track, I looked down and noticed I was running right on the inside line. And every once in a while, I would step inside, just as the official had said. I immediately stopped running, humbled. I had become so comfortable with where I was running that I didn’t see the dangers in it anymore.
Luckily, I was given a second chance a few weeks later. I distanced myself from the center line and broke the school record, this time while staying in bounds.
That experience made me think about how close to the line I was running with some of the commandments. But because of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, I am always given another chance as I repent.
When it comes to the commandments, we should distance ourselves from the line and do our best to stay inbounds. But I’m grateful that when we do make mistakes, the Savior allows us to repent and try again.
Raygan P., Utah, USA

I was privileged last month to be assigned to attend a seminar with the mission presidents from the North America West Area. Among the mission presidents in attendance was my son, Lee. He had been called to serve before I had completed my yearlong assignment in the Europe Central Area Presidency. It had been three years since I had spent any time with my son, other than a few short visits while passing through his area on other assignments.
After a get-acquainted dinner with all of the mission presidents and their wives, Lee and I, with our wives, went to my hotel room for a visit. Our conversation, of course, centered on missionary work. Lee explained what had happened to his missionaries since President Hinckley asked us to raise the bar on qualifications for missionary service. He reported a decided improvement in the preparation of the missionaries arriving in the mission field. The conversation led us to recall an experience Lee and I had while he was attending high school.
Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop.
Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting-goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors.
After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard.
One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, “How high is the bar?”
He said, “Five feet, eight inches.”
“Why that height?”
He answered, “You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.”
My reply: “Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.”
He replied, “Then I might miss.”
I queried, “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?”
So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming.
Remembering this experience with my son brought to mind the message Elder M. Russell Ballard gave at the priesthood session of the October 2002 general conference, in which he challenged the young men of the Church to become the greatest generation of missionaries. He announced that the bar for the minimum standard of missionary service had been raised. He instructed the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood to prepare themselves more vigorously to reach this new and higher minimum standard. He also gave instructions to fathers, bishops, and stake presidents about helping young men prepare to serve full-time missions. (See “The Greatest Generation of Missionaries,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2002, 46–49.)
In his concluding remarks at that same priesthood session, President Hinckley commented on Elder Ballard’s talk. He said: “Elder Ballard has spoken to you concerning missionaries. I wish to endorse what he said. I hope that our young men, and our young women, will rise to the challenge he has set forth. We must raise the bar on the worthiness and qualifications of those who go into the world as ambassadors of the Lord Jesus Christ” (“To Men of the Priesthood,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2002, 57).
Soon afterward, in a letter dated December 11, 2002, the First Presidency instructed Church leaders about the principles of eligibility for full-time missionary service. The instructions stated: “Full-time missionary service is a privilege for those who are called through inspiration by the President of the Church. Bishops and stake presidents have the serious responsibility to identify worthy, qualified members who are spiritually, physically, and emotionally prepared for this sacred service and who can be recommended without reservation. Those individuals not able to meet the physical, mental, and emotional demands of full-time missionary work are honorably excused and should not be recommended. They may be called to serve in other rewarding capacities.”
The bar was raised by the leaders of the Church, and now the minimum standard for participating in missionary work is absolute moral worthiness; physical health and strength; intellectual, social, and emotional development. In every high-jumping competition there is a minimum height at which the competition starts. The high jumper cannot ask to start at a lower height. In the same way, you should not expect the standards to be lowered to allow you to serve a mission. If you want to be a missionary, you must be able to clear the minimum standards.
But once you reach those minimum standards, shouldn’t you try to keep raising the bar? I ask you the same question I asked my son many years ago: “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?” My challenge to you is to recognize that a minimum standard exists—and you must reach it to serve as a full-time missionary—but don’t stop there. The greatest generation of missionaries will not reach its full potential unless it keeps raising the bar.
Let me offer a few suggestions about what each of you can do to raise the bar even higher as you prepare for missionary service.
The minimum physical standard for full-time missionary service refers to a potential missionary’s physical health and strength. For example, one of the questions on the missionary recommendation forms asks if you “can work 12 to 15 hours per day, walk 6 to 8 miles per day, ride a bicycle 10 to 15 miles per day, and climb stairs daily.” Missionary work is hard, and full-time missionaries must be in good physical condition to serve. Raising the bar to a higher physical standard could involve further physical conditioning.
It also could include improving your physical appearance. A missionary is expected to dress a certain way, projecting a clean-cut appearance that includes an appropriate haircut; being clean shaven; wearing a clean white shirt, a tie, and a well-pressed suit—all the way down to a good shoe shine. Start now to prepare for a full-time mission by adopting the appearance of a full-time missionary.
Raise the bar higher in your intellectual preparation. Take your schooling seriously. It is important to be able to read, speak, and write with intelligence. Expand your knowledge of the world around you by reading good books. Learn how to study. Then apply your improved study habits to learning the gospel of Jesus Christ. Consistently and regularly read from the Book of Mormon.
Don’t neglect the opportunity of attending seminary and institute classes. Participate and gain all you can from the scriptures taught in these great religious-education settings. They will prepare you to present the message of the restored gospel to those you have opportunity to meet. Study from Preach My Gospel, emphasizing the basic doctrines taught in chapter 3. Each time you are asked to speak in church or to teach a family home evening lesson, focus on these basic doctrines.
In Doctrine and Covenants 11:21, the Lord tells us, “Seek not to declare my word, but first seek to obtain my word, and then shall your tongue be loosed; then, if you desire, you shall have my Spirit and my word, yea, the power of God unto the convincing of men.” The pre-missionary age is an ideal time to set the bar higher as you prepare your mind by acquiring the light and truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
You must recognize that missionary service is emotionally demanding. Your support system is going to be withdrawn from you as you leave home and go out into the world. Many of the ways you use now to cope with emotional stress—like hanging out with friends, going off by yourself, playing video games, or listening to music—are not allowed by the rules of missionary conduct. There will be days of rejection and disappointment. Learn now about your emotional limits, and learn how to control your emotions under the circumstances you will face as a missionary. By doing this, you raise the bar to greater heights and, in effect, fortify yourself against emotional challenges during your missionary service.
While President Hinckley did not mention this, prospective missionaries also must be prepared with the social skills needed to serve a mission. More and more, young people are isolating themselves from others by playing video games; wearing headphones; and interacting through cell phones, e-mail, text messaging, and so on instead of in person. Much of missionary work involves relating face-to-face with people, and unless you set the bar higher in the development of your social skills, you will find yourself underprepared. Let me offer a simple suggestion: get a job that involves interacting with people. As an increased motivation, set a goal to earn enough money from your part- or full-time work to pay for at least a significant part of your mission. I promise great blessings—social, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual blessings—to every young man who pays for a significant part of his mission.
Personal worthiness is the minimum spiritual standard for serving a mission. This means that you are worthy in every way to make and to keep sacred temple covenants. Do not disqualify yourself from the blessings bestowed on those who serve in this very special calling by committing acts of transgression which will make you ineligible to serve.
Please recognize that while your teaching as a missionary may be persuasive, only the Spirit converts. Preach My Gospel gives a good description of what missionary work is all about. It states, “As an authorized representative of Jesus Christ, you can teach people with power and authority that ‘redemption cometh in and through the Holy Messiah,’ and that no one ‘can dwell in the presence of God, save it be through the merits, and mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah’ (2 Nephi 2:6, 8)” ([2004], 2).
We remind you that where much is given, much is required. We issue the call again for all spiritually, physically, and emotionally qualified young men to come forth prepared to become missionaries in the Church of Jesus Christ. Be certain that you easily clear the minimum standards for service as a missionary and that you are continually raising the bar. Prepare yourself to be more effective in this great calling.
May God bless you that this will be your desire as you leave this priesthood session of general conference and start now to prepare yourself for the glorious service which is ahead of you as a missionary of the Lord Jesus Christ. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Rebecca Rosanne couldn’t stop following things. She followed the big brown garbage truck as it crawled like a giant beetle from dumpster to dumpster in the apartment complex where she lived.
She followed the gardener on his riding lawn mower. And she followed the letter carrier in his little white jeep with the red and blue stripes. But every time Rebecca Rosanne followed something, she followed it so far that she got lost.
“Rebecca Rosanne,” her mother would say, “when will you stop following everything that moves!”
Rebecca Rosanne would hang her head. She never meant to get lost by following things. But she was curious about trucks and jeeps and lawn mowers. She was curious about the letter carrier’s bag of mail.
One day Rebecca Rosanne was digging in the sandbox when a strange bus drove into her neighborhood. It wasn’t orange like the bus the older children rode to school. It was green and black.
Rebecca Rosanne was curious. She ran to the parking lot, where the bus had stopped. People lined up to climb the three tall steps into the bus. So did Rebecca Rosanne. When she looked inside, she was surprised. Instead of seats on this bus, there were shelves of books. She followed a boy to the back, where there were some picture books on a rack.
Rebecca Rosanne pulled out a book and sat down on the steps that led to the back door of the bus. She smiled when she turned to the first page. There was a picture of a letter carrier beside a white jeep with red and blue stripes. A picture on another page showed where the letter carrier got the mail.
Then Rebecca Rosanne found a bigger book about trucks. She was so busy looking at this book that she didn’t notice the other people leave the bus. She didn’t hear the driver close the front door and start the engine. Before Rebecca Rosanne knew what was happening, the bus full of books was gently swaying as it drove out of the parking lot.
When it stops at the next apartment building, I’ll get off, thought Rebecca Rosanne.
But the bus didn’t stop at the next apartment building. Instead, it drove onto the main highway and headed downtown. Rebecca Rosanne was scared. She had never followed anything that far before. Her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a bowlful of cold, wiggly worms.
Finally the bus pulled into a driveway behind a red brick building and stopped. Rebecca Rosanne heard the driver walking toward the back of the bus. When the driver saw her, he said in a kind voice, “Well, it looks like somebody hitched a ride on the bookmobile.” He bent down and asked, “What’s your name?”
Rebecca Rosanne was still scared, but she told the driver her name.
“Well, Rebecca Rosanne, climb off the bookmobile while I lock up. Then we’ll go into the library and call your mother.”
While she waited, Rebecca Rosanne said to herself several times the word bookmobile. She thought that a bus full of books was even better than a garbage truck.
And when Rebecca Rosanne saw what was inside the red brick building the driver had called the library, she was even more pleased. Books were everywhere!
A woman behind a high counter smiled kindly, then said softly, “This must be Rebecca Rosanne. Your mother just called. A neighbor told her that she’d seen you climbing into the bookmobile. I’ll call your mother and tell her that you’re here.”
The driver led Rebecca Rosanne to a room with tables and chairs just her size. “You can wait for your mother here,” he said.
Rebecca Rosanne looked at a book about trains until her mother came. “Hey, Mom,” she shouted, “a book on the bookmobile showed me where letter carriers get their mail. And this one is about trains!”
When Rebecca Rosanne’s mother saw how excited her daughter was about the books, she helped Rebecca Rosanne borrow some from the library.
One day when they were looking at a book, Rebecca Rosanne said, “I haven’t gotten lost for a long time, have I, Mom?”
“No, not since you stopped following everything that moves and started following books,” she said, giving Rebecca Rosanne a big hug.

The youth of the Pleasant View Seventh Ward, Pleasant View Utah Stake, wanted to prepare a special slide presentation on the life of Christ for the ward Christmas program. They started working on the project in June so that the scenes would have the spring look of Jerusalem instead of snow-covered Utah.
The group searched for locations that would suggest an inn, a manger, a tomb, and a large rock well. The foyer of a local Mexican restaurant had a rough stone wall, an iron gate, and a garden that served as the setting for the story of Zacharias and Elizabeth. Finding a tame donkey proved to be the most difficult task, but through an unexpected conversation, one was located.
Mothers were responsible for their children’s costumes. Creativity was encouraged. A large number of young people were in the cast because every family in the ward was given the opportunity to participate.
Christine Lee portrayed Mary; Aaron Barker represented Joseph; and Chris Casey had the challenge of taking the part of Jesus. They were often required to spend extra time in the filming because of the many scenes they were required to be in. Chris Casey showed great reverence as he took the part of Christ. The filming of Christ and the children seemed so realistic that both adults and children found themselves talking quietly.
As the group worked, they were pleased with the results. A simple background in a home appeared as a background for a temple room, and a small trail on a hill loomed large and sad for Jesus to labor with his heavy cross.
The finished slides were shown while a cassette tape related the drama of the story. Those involved in the filming were touched by the power of the scriptures and the significance that the Christmas story has in their lives.

Gary and Jennifer Tucker had a dream. They both wanted an eternal family. But Jennifer had almost lost hope. The path to achieving that dream leads through the temple, something for which Gary wasn’t ready.
In the past few years, 22 members of the Three Forks Ward have taken the temple-preparation class, and 14 of them began attending the temple regularly to perform baptisms for the dead. Then, upon finishing the class, 13 of those 14 received their own endowments. Some of them were single or widowed, but others, like Gary and Jennifer Tucker, were sealed as a family.
Gary joined the Church in 1992, a couple of months before he and Jennifer were married. She was already a member. But working long hours and associating with the wrong friends made it hard for Gary to stay active in the Church, even with his wife’s support. He says he spent many years “chewin’ and cussin.’”
When their daughter, Cody, was born, Sister Tucker tried to raise her in the gospel by taking her to church, even though Brother Tucker didn’t want any Church materials at home. Although he encouraged his family to attend church, he didn’t attend. When Cody turned eight, she was baptized by a missionary, not by her father. Brother Tucker says, “I’m very happy I was there, but that’s a huge regret—watching instead of participating in it.”
In the following years, fellowshipping helped Gary return to Church activity. Jennifer would invite ward members or the missionaries over for dinner, knowing that would give them a chance to talk with Gary. He is grateful to those members and missionaries for being a good influence on him.
Dale Price, for example, home taught Jennifer’s mother and got to know Gary and Jennifer that way. When Brother Price visited with Brother Tucker, they didn’t talk about the gospel at first. They talked about a common interest: hunting. The Prices also sat with the Tuckers at ward activities, brought them food from their food storage when Brother Tucker was out of work, and gave them honey produced by their own honeybees. Honey is the Tuckers’ favorite topping on toast. That little gift, as Brother Price describes it, was “to sweeten the relationship.”
Counsel from their stake president also helped the Tuckers. President David Heap asked stake members to do “seven small and simple things”: (1) Read the scriptures personally every day; (2) read the scriptures at least five days a week as a family; (3) have personal prayer every morning and night; (4) have family prayer every morning and night; (5) attend church every Sunday as a family; (6) hold family home evening every Monday night; and (7) attend the temple every month.
Gary could see that these things would help his family be closer—something he very much desired—so the Tuckers began having family prayer, scripture study, and home evening. These efforts helped prepare Gary to be receptive to his bishop’s invitation to prepare to go to the temple.
In January 2006 the Tuckers were attending a fireside at the bishop’s home. Bishop Baczuk pulled Gary aside and talked to him about the temple. Right there, Gary gave the bishop his can of chewing tobacco so it wouldn’t continue to be a temptation to him. He had many questions for the bishop then and in subsequent interviews. The bishop emphasized living the covenants that Gary had made at baptism so he could be worthy of the Spirit.
The Tuckers began taking the temple-preparation class, and Jennifer began attending the temple with her ward each month to perform baptisms for the dead. Gary was working on becoming worthy to go. Their daughter, Cody, who was 11 then, was excited to be able to go to the temple soon to perform baptisms. By the time she turned 12, Gary was able to go to the temple with her. It was the first time either of them had been in the temple.
Cody says, “It was wonderful. It’s very peaceful there. My dad went, so that was even a bigger deal.” Gary says he felt “unbelievable peace and joy that first time.”
The next Sunday in the temple-preparation class, Gary was a different person. “A light had gone on,” says Sister Elna Scoffield, who has taught the class for several years. Gary stayed after class to ask questions. He had felt the Spirit at the temple and wanted to return—not just to perform baptisms but to receive his endowment and to have his family sealed to him.
The next month the Tuckers again attended the temple with the bishop and other ward members.
In the weeks before Brother and Sister Tucker received their endowments and were sealed, they felt the adversary’s opposition. Gary was making progress, but he still had doubts about his worthiness to be in the temple. Their dream of an eternal family was close, but it felt just out of reach. The Tuckers knew they had to pray together more often, asking for strength. “We always received it in the form of calming peace and reassurance that all things are in the Lord’s hands,” says Sister Tucker. “Even up to the time we walked inside the temple, His calming Spirit was with our whole family.”
After Gary and Jennifer received their endowments, they knelt in the sealing room with their children, Cody and Garrett, dressed in white. When six-year-old Garrett saw his mom crying, he reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Gary and Cody were crying for joy too. Even the sealer was emotional.
The Tuckers say their family now enjoys stronger relationships and better communication. Gary says, “We are happier. My wife and I are closer, and our children see that.” Gary feels like he’s a better example to his family members who are not members of the Church, and he hopes that other families in his ward will want the same blessings that the Lord has given the Tuckers through the temple.

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.

Let me begin with a simple story of a pioneer girl named Agnes Caldwell. Agnes told of her experience in the Willie Handcart Company in 1856. At the time, she was only nine years of age. She related:

Although only tender years of age, I can yet close my eyes and see everything in panoramic precision before me—the ceaseless walking, walking, ever to remain in my memory. Many times I would become so tired and, childlike, would hang on the cart, only to be gently pushed away. Then I would throw myself by the side of the road and cry. Then realizing they were all passing me by, I would jump to my feet and make an extra run to catch up.

She goes on to share:

Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride. After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver . . . called to me, “Say, sissy, would you like a ride?” I answered in my very best manner, “Yes sir.” At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived. . . . Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.3

Agnes Caldwell and her family arrived safely in the Great Salt Lake Valley November 9, 1856. They settled in Brigham City, Utah, where Agnes met and married Chester Southworth. They became the parents of thirteen children [and] helped settle an LDS colony in Cardston, Alberta, Canada.4

Had the driver of that wagon taken Agnes into the wagon without making her run, she would have surely succumbed to the bitter cold. And had Agnes chosen to give up and fall behind, her story may have ended much differently. However, for Agnes this became her defining moment, and though the decision to run did not make perfect sense at the time, she ran anyway.

When they talked to their parents about going on missions, the two young men expected sterner opposition. Perhaps the elder Moreiras did not withhold their permission because they were grateful for the Church’s influence on their sons. Nevertheless, the parents—particularly Tino and Quim’s mother—resisted the idea of changing religions themselves.
But the influence of the gospel continued to work in the lives of Quim and Tino’s family. Shortly after Tino entered the mission field, their father was ready for baptism. Tino, who was working nearby, had the privilege of baptizing him. Their mother declined at first even to read her sons’ letters from the mission field. Quim sent one letter home, however, with a special prayer that she would read it and be touched. His prayer was answered, and it was not long until she was baptized by her husband.

I had the unique experience of serving three months of my mission in Connecticut during January, February, and March. We tracted for miles in freezing weather, made phone calls in the evening when it was too dark to be on the street, and rejoiced when we were able to teach a first discussion or present a family home evening. That didn't happen very often even though we were prayerful and worked hard. In April my mission assignment was changed to the Philippines. After being in the Philippines only a week I had taught more first discussions than I ever had in Connecticut in three months. One day one of the Assistants to the mission president asked me how I liked the Philippines. I waxed on about what a joy it was to be able to teach so many people and that it was certainly different than trying to find people in the United States. The Elder then said in a very confidential tone, "well, you know, they send the weak missionaries to the States and all the strong missionaries go foreign." Let me just say I took advantage of the opportunity to share my perspectives and experiences about the error of his judgement. Imagine measuring one's faith, devotion, courage, or intelligence by the geography of their mission call?

George T. Johannesen, Sr., of the Kalamazoo Ward, Lansing Michigan Stake, tells about his college classmate, Pete Cavallo, who wanted nothing more than to become an athlete even though he was barely 1.5 meters and weighed scarcely more than 45 kilograms. Cavallo (the name means “Horse”) decided to try cross-country running.
The first year, Pete finished the race, but only long after the stadium was empty. The next year he did a little better, and by the third year he had improved enough to finish while spectators were still left in the stands. By the fourth year, people were saying, “we sure do wish those little Cavallo legs could win this year!” But nobody thought they would.
Still, there was a feeling of expectancy. Everyone was watching the hill leading to the stadium, hoping to see Pete Cavallo at the front of the pack of runners as they made the final dash to the stadium. Then one of those big, long-legged runners charged into view, and a sigh of disappointment was heard. Fans started leaving.
But suddenly there was little Pete running over the hill. The stadium became very noisy, everyone shouting, “Run, Pete! Run, Little Horse!” The winner was forgotten as if Pete had come in first. And perhaps in a way he did, because people still remember today his example of working to do the best he could.

Success story number four has to do with the lion-hearted King Richard, who ruled England during the latter part of the twelfth century. Richard organized a crusade to the Holy Land to dispossess the Turks of the sepulcher. But the expedition was unsuccessful and Richard himself was captured and confined to a foreign prison. During his absence from home, traitors took over the government, and when Richard finally effected his escape and returned to England, it was necessary for reasons of his own personal security that he come disguised in plain, unmarked armor. When back in England, he quietly gathered around him a few of his faithful followers with the idea of putting England back in the hands of its rightful rulers. One of the first things he did after this little group had been assembled was to attack the castle at Torquilstone. Torquilstone was the stronghold of the enemy in which Ivanhoe, the faithful friend and follower of the King, was wounded and imprisoned.

When Ivanhoe heard the noises of assault beginning to take place outside the castle, and since he was unable to raise himself from his couch because of wounds and loss of blood, he asked his nurse, Rebecca, to stand by the window and tell him what was taking place. The first thing he wanted to know was who the leader was. And that is the most important thing that anyone needs to know about any undertaking. So he asked Rebecca to describe for him the insignia or other marks of identification on the armor of the leader and then he would know who he was and what their chances for rescue were.

But Rebecca reported back that the leader fought in plain, unmarked armor and that he had no insignia or marks of identification. Ivanhoe said, “Then tell me how he fights and I’ll know who he is.” That is, everyone has a set of traits about as characteristic as his fingerprints, and the best key to his identity is what he does. So Rebecca tried to describe this great knight clad in plain black armor as he swung his ponderous ax with thunderous blows assaulting this castle stronghold almost single-handed. And here are some of the things that she said about him. “Stones and beams are hurled down from the castle walls upon him, but he regards them no more than if they were thistledown or feathers.” Again, she said, “He fights as if there were twenty men’s strength in his single arm.” Again, she said, “It is fearful yet magnificent to behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over hundreds.”

I suppose that Richard’s arm wasn’t much stronger than any other warrior’s arm, but that is not where strength comes from. Rebecca had said, “The arm and heart of one man.” Richard was fighting with his heart; he was fighting for England. And when one begins to put his heart in what he is doing, then things really begin to happen.

Ivanhoe did not know who this man was. He knew that Richard fought like this, but no one fought like the King, and he believed Richard to be a prisoner in an Austrian dungeon. And then he paid this great tribute to an unknown leader. He didn’t know what this man’s name was, but he knew the traits that characterized greatness, and he said to Rebecca, “I swear by the honor of my house, I would endure ten years of captivity to fight a single day by that great man’s side in such a quarrel as this.” Captivity would have been the greatest punishment to which Ivanhoe could have been subjected, and yet he said, “I would gladly languish ten years in a dungeon cell for the privilege of fighting by the side and under the banner of a great man in a great cause.”

I experienced this when I received my missionary calling. At the time, I was studying on a scholarship and working part-time at the university. When I informed the director that I would be leaving, she surprised me by telling me she had just submitted a request to hire me full-time. If I left, I would lose both the scholarship and the job, and there was no guarantee I would be able to get them back.
It was emotionally hard. That opportunity meant stability for me and my family. But I had already decided to serve the Lord. I did it out of love and faith. And during the mission, as I came to know Him more deeply, I knew I had made the right choice.
When I returned, without expecting it, I got my scholarship and job back. A year later, I was hired full-time. The Lord gave everything back to me—and even more.

One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.