Gospel Story Finder

Richard Rancie, 14, Melbourne. Richard runs. Right now it’s competitive running (track), and his own neighborhood car wash business. Later, it may be in a political race. He wants to be Australia’s prime minister.
Richard doesn’t train or compete on Sunday. He gave up a place in the national cross-country championships because they were held on the Sabbath. He also took himself out of competition in the Victoria state championships in his best event, the 1,500 meter. Instead, he settled for competing in the 800 meter. “I didn’t expect to make the final,” he says, “but I won a bronze medal.” The great thing is, he doesn’t sound disappointed about missing out on the 1,500. He just feels blessed and compensated.

A new mission president, Elvon W. Orme, had to struggle for the duration of the war to administer the sprawling mission. A young Melbourne elder, Frederick E. Hurst, was called to help. Many smaller branches had to be closed. Dedicated sisters spent long hours typing copies of Church materials, scarce because shipping space was reserved for military uses, to be mailed to the branches. With growing talk of invasion, President Orme organized the evacuation of Latter-day Saint children from Sydney. Weeks later, suburbs adjacent to Sydney Harbour were shelled by warships off-shore. Some thirty children stayed at Grenfell, 400 kilometers west, until the threat of invasion had passed.

It happened in September, the end of summer. Typhoon number 13 was coming toward the Japanese islands, and radio and television announcers were reporting that it would possibly land near where I lived. I remembered what happened two years earlier when another typhoon hit Japan. Trees outside were buffeted terribly, and the strong wind crashed against my windows. It was terrifying. Now here we were again. The radio warned that this typhoon was just as strong as that earlier one.
I held my young child in my arms, put a helmet on my head, and started collecting our emergency bags. We had prepared the bags a long time ago, but they had been stored in several different places. Expecting the typhoon to hit about 3:00 A.M., I spent the whole day locating, then rechecking, the contents of the bags.
I went to a department store to buy medicine that I did not have in my bag, and I also put our family history and other records in it. In case the running water stopped, I filled the bathtub with water. I prepared everything I could think of, then waited nervously for my husband to come home.
Sensing my fear, my three-year-old daughter said, “I will pray to Heavenly Father for you,” and she prayed. As I listened to her prayer, a peaceful feeling came over me, and I felt assured that the Lord would protect us. When my husband arrived, I finally felt prepared physically and emotionally.
Time passed, and midnight drew close. I put our helmets, shoes, and emergency bags where I could grab them quickly, and we went to bed.
Luckily, the typhoon passed by without causing much damage. When I awoke in the morning, I gave thanks to God. I had been completely prepared because I had heard on the radio and television that a strong typhoon was coming, and I took action.

President Joseph F. Smith explained how this pattern of revelation occurred in his life: “As a boy … I would frequently … ask the Lord to show me some marvelous thing, in order that I might receive a testimony. But the Lord withheld marvels from me, and showed me the truth, line upon line, … until He made me to know the truth from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and until doubt and fear had been absolutely purged from me. He did not have to send an angel from the heavens to do this, nor did He have to speak with the trump of an archangel. By the whisperings of the still small voice of the spirit of the living God, He gave to me the testimony I possess. And by this principle and power He will give to all the children of men a knowledge of the truth that will stay with them, and it will make them to know the truth, as God knows it, and to do the will of the Father as Christ does it. And no amount of marvelous manifestations will ever accomplish this” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1900, 40–41).

In 1998 my father was suffering from a serious illness. A year earlier his leg had been amputated just above the knee. This resulted in various circulatory problems and a great deal of pain and infection. Finally the doctors determined that a portion of his femur—the thighbone—would also have to be amputated. We spent many days in deep concern and sadness.
Since my hometown is small and did not have the resources to treat such a serious health problem, my father went to a hospital in Marília, Brazil, where my sister lives, to be tested and receive aggressive treatment. Nothing seemed to help, however, and many days passed. I went to Marília to be with my parents, and we all sought to strengthen and comfort each other.
My parents were members of the Church, but I wasn’t. At times I had even acted against the Church and had denied the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. But every time I went to visit my father in the hospital, he spoke to me about only one thing: “Luisinho, find the missionaries for me! I need a blessing.” I had searched for the missionaries, but I couldn’t find them. Now time was getting short.
The day before he was to have surgery, I went to visit him again. That day we were particularly apprehensive. We knew the treatment had not been effective, and the next morning my father would have an X-ray to determine how high the doctor would have to amputate.
That day my father asked something different. He was sitting on his bed, putting on his prosthesis so he could go for a walk with my mom through the corridors of the hospital, checking on his friends who had had surgery that morning. As he stood up, he said, “Luisinho, go buy me some water please.”
I immediately went down the stairs and outside to search for a bottle of water. While I walked I saw a group of missionaries down the street. I forgot about the water. I started running after them, and the only word I could get out was “Elder!” They stopped, and I managed to explain my father’s situation.
When my mother and I left the hospital later that day, we saw Elder Alves and his companion enter to visit my father. And that night we received a telephone call from my father. He told us that the mission president had also been there, and my dad had finally received the blessing he wanted so much.
We spent the night wondering what would be the result of the X-ray the following morning. Nonetheless, something comforted us.
The next morning we awoke to the sound of the telephone. It was my father. “Come and get me,” he said. “I am free to go.” Joy overcame us as he explained that the nurse and doctor who examined him couldn’t understand what had happened. “What did you do during the night that caused your X-ray to come out so clean and your bone so perfect?” they asked.
When I remember that day, I feel more and more that the priesthood is real and that it is on the earth once again. Within three months, I had received a testimony and was baptized. Later I served in the Brazil Rio de Janeiro North Mission, sharing my testimony and my love for the things that I know are true.

I recall a story of a Latter-day Saint boy in military service. He was the only Latter-day Saint in his barracks, and he soon wearied of the jibes of his associates. One day when the going was particularly rough, he finally agreed to go into town with the crowd. But as they entered the town, there came before his mind’s eye a picture. He saw the kitchen of his home. It was supper time. There was his family, kneeling at the kitchen chairs—his father, mother, two sisters, and a small brother. The little brother was praying, and he was asking our Heavenly Father to look after his brother in the military.
That mental picture did it. The young man turned away from the crowd. The prayer of that little brother, of that family, brought clarity of mind and courage to that Latter-day Saint youth.

Brother Stoneman from up in the north area had been a member of the United Church of Canada. He’d been employed by the United Church of Canada. He was their printer. He lost his job. He found another, better one. He and his wife would go to the investigator who has been a member of the United Church of Canada and bear their testimony. He said, “I lost my job. I lost many of my friends, but I found a wealth of new friends, and I found the truth. You will not regret it.”

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

A recently returned missionary who had just joined the Ricks College 42nd Ward approached me, the bishop at the time, and said that he had just read Elder Dallin H. Oaks' talk, "Bishop Help," where Elder Oaks invites members to help the bishop. "Bishop," he said, "what can I do to help you?" Without hesitation I returned, "Date every sister in the ward." He chuckled and then quit smiling when he saw that I was serious. He hesitated, and then said, "I'll do my best."
Each Sunday, I knew which sister had gone out with him on Saturday because she wore a huge smile and constantly watched the door for his arrival. He was handsome, spiritual, kind, intellectual, and talented. In fact, each week, most of the sisters turned when he walked into the Kirkham Auditorium, where we held Sacrament Meeting.
I had a sister in that ward who was often discouraged. We visited most Sundays and together we would review her week and her frustrations. I was not sure how to help her. She was discouraged that she had been at Ricks College for three years without a single date. I would strive to buoy her up each week, but I couldn't find long-term solutions until one Sunday morning when she walked in with a huge smile on her face. She cornered me after Sacrament Meeting and described how one of the brothers in the ward had asked her on a date for the previous Saturday. They had gone horseback riding down on the Henry's Fork property, leaving early in the morning and not returning until evening. The young man had prepared a wonderful picnic and had treated her like a queen. "Bishop," she said, "I know that he is not pursuing me romantically. In fact, I know that you assigned him to date every sister in the ward, but he treated me like a daughter of God."
At the end of the semester, the young man found me one Sunday after meetings and asked if he could give an accounting of his assignment. We sat down in the bishop's office and he began. "I'm here to ask for forgiveness. I haven't even dated half of the sisters in the ward." I assured him that he had been inspired in his choices. He interrupted and said,
"Bishop, I don't think that I blessed the lives of these sisters; they blessed mine. I was dating the wrong kind of girl. I was looking mostly at their physical bodies and not at who they are spiritually. I now know what kind of woman I want to marry, and physical appearance is hardly a consideration. I learned so much from the sisters in our ward."
His faithful action helped others and taught him much.

Some years ago my business partner and I needed to terminate an employee. After some discussions we reached a settlement to compensate him for his services. I felt that the settlement was more than fair, but some strained relationships resulted from the negotiations nonetheless. That night I felt a gloom come over me. I tried to dispel it by reasoning within myself that I had been fair, but the feeling would not leave. Then this impression came: “It’s not enough to be fair; you must also strive to be Christlike.” Adherence to the highest moral code is a hallmark of a man or a woman of integrity.

The friendship that Michelle and I had was one of those “one of a kind” things. It was a friendship that changed my life.
In the early stages of our friendship all that I knew about her was that her morals and values were much stronger than any of my other friends. It wasn’t until I was invited over to her house for a family home evening that I found out she was a Mormon.
It was at this family home evening that I was introduced to the gospel by two wonderful missionaries, Elder Stinchcombe and Elder Archibald. When they asked if I wanted to hear the discussions, I was filled with an unfamiliar but comfortable feeling. I accepted.
After having the discussions and resolving many of my concerns, we set a date for baptism. But, even though I felt good about my decision, I wanted some kind of confirmation that I was doing the right thing. I started to search desperately for the answer to my question, “Is the Church true?” I prayed morning, noon, and night, but I didn’t seem to be getting an answer.
It wasn’t until I met Davie Wilden, a Church member, that my hopes became a reality. After many hours of talking and reading with him, we decided it was time to pray. As we knelt and Davie began to pray, the room grew silent. He ended his prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me; then it was my turn to pray.
I had just begun my prayer when I heard a voice. It said, “Say sorry, just say sorry.”
I prayed with all my heart for Heavenly Father to forgive my sins. I felt a warm, tingly feeling come right down through my arms and seem to pierce me to the very center. Five days later I was baptized.
Since then, my testimony of the gospel has grown stronger and stronger, and I know it came about through the prayers of myself and those who helped teach me the gospel. Exactly one year and two days after I was baptized, I entered the New Zealand MTC, being called on a mission to Perth, Australia. I now have a chance to experience the same joy as the people who taught me the gospel by sharing my testimony with others.

Another element of trust: trust in your leaders. There are many ways to illustrate this, but a story comes to my mind that I’m particularly close to. It appeals to me because it involves my dear wife’s father. Brother Walser was one of the Mormon colonists in Mexico when this incident happened, and afterwards he was one of the witnesses, having spoken with one of the men who was with Pancho Villa at the time this little miracle occurred. Pancho was very much incensed at the intervention of the United States in internal Mexican political affairs. I’ll not go into all of the details, but in retaliation he took his army across the border into Texas and proceeded to harass and burn and murder and so on. And then on returning into Mexico, he found the Mormon colonies directly in his path. He was angry; he was going to cause more trouble. The Mormon colonists knew that his army was approaching them, and they sensed the threat of danger, and so they met together. The bishop who was there with this particular group called all of the priesthood leaders together, and they discussed what they should do. Some said, “Well, we have our deer rifles and our shotguns. Let’s defend ourselves.” Another said, “No, let’s take our wives and families and flee to the mountains.” Another said, “Well, let’s set up an ambush for them,” or “Let’s put dynamite in certain places” or let’s do this, or let’s do the other. There were different options. The bishop, a wise, humble man, facing several options that he felt he really was not competent to decide among, finally said, “I think we ought to go home, have prayers, turn out the lights, go to bed, and leave it in the hands of the Lord.” Immediately there were some other discussions: “No, let’s do this,” and “No, let’s do the other,” and so on. Then one of the brethren stood up and said, “I’m going to follow the example of the bishop.” Then another one did the same thing, and pretty soon they all went home, had prayers, turned out their lanterns, went to bed, and left it in the hands of the Lord.

Late that night Pancho Villa and his army arrived at the border of that little farming valley. He held up his hand, stopped the troops, and said, “Wait, there’s an ambush. I can see the faint glimmers of fires all throughout the valley. The other army must have arrived here before we did.” Others who were with him said, “No, we can’t see anything.” He disagreed strenuously with them and instructed the army to go around the valley and off in another direction. One of his guides was known to my father-in-law, who happened also to have been a guide for some of Pancho Villa’s army in another case in which he was taken as a hostage and threatened with his life unless he led them through a pass which he knew because of his deer hunting experiences. He was one of several witnesses to that incident where the men around Pancho Villa said, “We can’t see anything.” The colonists had done nothing but Pancho Villa himself could see remains of fires in the valley, and he was certain there was an ambush there threatening him.

Let us trust in our leaders.

In my own life I reached a point where I was totally worn out, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. For two years I served as a counselor in the Young Women general presidency. They were difficult and demanding years. They were years in which I tried to be a full-time mother to my children, and a full-time wife to an extremely busy husband. And I tried to be as much of a full-time counselor to the Young Women general president as I could.
Toward the end of the two-year period, my health was poor. I was losing weight steadily and couldn’t seem to do anything to stop the loss, and I wasn’t sleeping well. And yet, I kept wondering what I might do to manage all my affairs better. The General Authorities, always compassionate, were watching over me and as my second year in the presidency came to an end they extended a loving release from the calling.
Two weeks later my husband had a Church assignment to go to Jerusalem. I was asked to go with him.
On a beautifully clear and bright day, I sat overlooking the sea of Galilee. I opened my Bible and turned to the account in Luke of Martha, a woman like me “troubled about many things.” But instead of the words printed on the page before me, I thought I saw with my mind and heard with my heart these words: “Pat, Pat, thou are careful and troubled about many things.” Then the power of pure and personal revelation took hold of me as I read, “But one thing, [only one thing] is truly needful.” (See Luke 10:38–42.)
In Israel in May the sun is so bright you feel as though you are sitting on top of the world. I had just visited the valley of Ajalon where the “sun stood still” for Joshua, and indeed on that day it seemed to do so for me as well. As I sat pondering my problems I felt the same sun’s healing rays like warm liquid pouring into my heart—relaxing, calming, and comforting my troubled soul. I found myself lifted into a higher view of my life.
Spirit to spirit, our loving Father in heaven seemed to be whispering to me, “You don’t have to worry over so many things. The one thing that is needful—the only thing that is truly needful—is to keep your eyes toward my Son.”
“Learn of me,” he seemed to say, “and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me.” (D&C 19:23.) Suddenly I did feel peace, and I knew that my life had always been in his hands—from the very beginning. And so are the lives of all of you, of every woman who wants to do right and to grow in faith, giving all she can.

Neil raced down the front steps, his boots crunching on the snow. Wow! he thought, tucking his sled under his arm. What a great day for sledding. If he hurried to Andover Park, he’d be there before anybody else.
He rushed down the street, pulling his woolen hat so tightly over his ears that he almost didn’t hear Mr. Hoffman calling to him. Oh no! Not now, Neil thought, reluctantly turning back.
Old Mr. Hoffman stood by his door, a sweater thrown over his shoulders. Mrs. Hoffman is probably sick again, Neil decided. Mr. Hoffman didn’t like to leave her alone when she was ill, so sometimes Neil went to the store for him. He liked helping out, but did it have to be today?
“Neil, could you please get me a loaf of bread and some strawberry jam?” Mr. Hoffman smiled wanly and held out some dollar bills.
Neil was about to object, but when he saw the old man’s face, he just said, “Sure. Isn’t Mrs. Hoffman any better today?”
“No,” said Mr. Hoffman. “She won’t get much better, I guess. She’s old and worn-out.”
Neil propped his sled against the fence. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He hurried to the grocery store, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. All the way there he wondered, How can Mr. Hoffman live like that? He’s healthy. Why doesn’t he put Mrs. Hoffman in a nursing home where other people can take care of her?
At the grocery store, Neil picked up a loaf of bread and a jar of jam, plunked the money down, put the change in the grocery bag, and went back out into the snow. By now everyone will be at the park, he thought miserably.
When he got to the Hoffmans’ house, Mr. Hoffman opened the door immediately. “Thank you, Neil,” he said. “Come in and have some hot chocolate.”
“No, thank you,” Neil said. “I’m sort of in—“
“Henry,” a high, thin voice called from a back room.
“Coming, Eleanor,” Mr. Hoffman answered. As he hurried off, he said to Neil, “Just put the bread and jam on the table.”
“There’s change, too,” Neil called after him. Neil stamped the snow off his boots and stepped inside. He’d never actually been in Mr. Hoffman’s house before. He saw that the furniture was old, with doilies on the arms of the chairs. Magazines were stacked neatly on a side table. When he set the grocery bag down, he noticed an unfinished model ship next to the magazines. Small pieces of the ship lay on an open newspaper, but the ship already had masts, a flag, and intricate webs of thread for ropes. And on shelves around the room were many ships, all different types and sizes!
“Thank you again, Neil,” said Mr. Hoffman, coming back into the room.
“Mr. Hoffman,” said Neil, forgetting about sledding, “did you make all these?”
Mr. Hoffman chuckled. “Yes, I did. Not quite like their real counterparts, but I like them.”
“Have you been on any of the real ships?”
“Not on old sailing vessels like this one, of course,”—Mr. Hoffman pointed at the unfinished model—“but I was a navy submarine captain in World War II, and I’ve been on a few ships in my life.”
“Submarines! Wow!” Neil exclaimed. “I’ve only been in my dad’s rowboat.” Then he wondered, How does a submarine captain feel about being stuck in a house, nursing someone?
Mr. Hoffman looked out the window and noticed Neil’s sled. “Going sledding?” he asked. “It’s a good day for it.”
“Yes,” said Neil. “At Andover Park.”
“That’s where I used to go,” said Mr. Hoffman. His eyes became misty. “I grew up in this town. Many a snowy day I spent in Andover Park—Eleanor too.” He nodded his head toward the bedroom where his wife was. He chuckled. “I remember once I threw Eleanor’s hat up into a tree.” He added, winking, “But then I got it down for her.”
Neil looked up, surprised. He had never thought of Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman being children together.
Mr. Hoffman scratched his head, still smiling at the memories. “Neil,” he said, “if you’d like, you can come back sometime, and I’ll show you how to build these.” He pointed to the ships.
“Thanks,” said Neil. “I’d like that.”
Approaching the hill in Andover Park, Neil saw children laughing and pelting each other with snow. His eyes shifted to a tree atop the hill, and for a moment he imagined Mrs. Hoffman’s hat dangling from a branch. Mr. Hoffman’s not stuck, he thought. As long as Mrs. Hoffman is alive, he wants to be with her because he loves her. So he’s exactly where he wants to be.

There was an architect in that first company, William Weeks, who had designed the Nauvoo Temple. But the hopeless desolation was too much for him. When President Young went east in 1848, Brother Weeks left, saying, “They will never build the temple without me.”

Truman O. Angell, a carpenter, was appointed to replace him. He said: “If the President and my brethren feel to sustain a poor worm of the dust like me to be Architect of the Church, let me … serve them and not disgrace myself. … May the Lord help me so to do.”

While serving as Secretary of Agriculture in the Cabinet of President Dwight D. Eisenhower, I was invited to give the keynote address at the annual convention of the World Food and Agriculture Organization at Rome, Italy. Between sixty and seventy nations were represented at the great international conference.
Following the morning session, which included the address, an impressive luncheon was given in my honor in the International Banquet Hall, which was decorated with flags of many nations.
The customary cocktail hour preceded the luncheon. I noticed as the men held glasses in their hands that there was apparently no liquor being served but only soft drinks and fruit juices. I mentioned this to my host, Dr. Sen of India, and said, “Surely many of these men are used to their liquor, which is customary during the cocktail hour.” He said, “No, Mr. Secretary, today we honor you and respect your standards.”
Following the period of fellowship, we took our places at the banquet table. Here I was even more surprised to find that there was no coffee being served but again only soft drinks and fruit juices. I said to Dr. Sen, “Surely the men attending the luncheon expect to have their usual hot drink.” He smiled very graciously and said, “No, Mr. Secretary, I am the host. You are the honored guest, and at this luncheon we honor you and respect your standards.”
And so it was at a luncheon attended by distinguished leaders from many nations. No member of the Church will ever have cause to be embarrassed by real men or women because of his or her standards. Again, it pays to maintain the standards of the Church.

I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

Not far from the Salt Lake Tabernacle lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then a husband. Friends visited, words brought a measure of comfort, but grief continued unrelieved.
The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world that surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the voice of the Lord, which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each commenced a ministry in the holy temple. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

Two young couples from the Northwest came, bowed in sorrow. The husband of one and the wife of the other had lost themselves in frustration arising out of disloyally finding comfort where no association should have been tolerated. Their problems reached the maximum, and sorrow resulted.
It is generally the same. The two young people, unfaithful to their spouses, had conversed and confided too much; then secret meetings followed, then disloyal disclosures concerning the spouse of each. And finally, that which surely could not have been dreamed of—the transgression.
Both couples had reduced their activity, become casual in their church-going. They had joined a social group who were also turning to spiritual casualness like themselves. Their new way of living was beyond their means, and debts crowded out tithing.
Too busy they were for home evenings and too rushed for family prayer, and when the great temptations came, they were not prepared. Their grass had been consumed, and with it the poles had been burned off and the dangling charred stubs were hanging to the sagging wires.
Sin comes when communication lines are down—it always does, sooner or later.

During a recent virtual mission reunion. Stuart and Sheryl McReynolds invited their returned missionaries to continue one of their mission traditions—their annual ‘EMM-athon’. During their time presiding over the England Manchester Mission, the McReynolds had established this custom when they challenged their missionaries to get up on time for the three days over Christmas, getting out of their accommodation each day to run or walk for exercise. They also invited them to record and share a short video greeting for the other missionaries while they were out.
The McReynolds thought it would be fun to continue the EMM-athon tradition in some form with returned-missionary colleagues from around the world. This year’s invitation was to get out sometime over the Christmas period to run, walk or cycle and share a photo or short video on their mission alumni Facebook group, thereby hoping to connect with missionaries during this special time of year. They also issued a challenge to donate for every mile covered to Barnabus, a Manchester Charity caring for the city’s homeless. They thought this was a good way for them to stay connected to their mission area and continue giving in some small way.
They established a fundraising page with Barnabus and pushed ahead with the challenge. More than seventy returned missionaries, young and senior, from 13 countries covered 562 miles during the Christmas week, including one young returned missionary running 27 miles on Christmas Eve! Their combined fundraising efforts resulted in a £879 donation for the charity, providing much-needed help and support to Manchester’s homeless.
Alex Simpson, a representative of the Barnabus Charity contacted the McReynolds to thank them and all who were involved with the fundraising efforts, and in recognition of those efforts a certificate of thanks was sent by the charity. Alex added that the charity was grateful for the money that had been raised to help change the lives of people experiencing homelessness.
This was a wonderful idea and act by Stuart and Sheryl McReynolds and their returned-missionary colleagues. They plan to do the same thing annually as they look to identify other charities within the England Manchester Mission boundary that they could support.