Gospel Story Finder

When Ruby and I left for California in 1930 in our little Model T Ford, we crossed Nevada going a hundred miles an hour on those gravel, washboardy roads—thirty miles straight ahead and seventy miles up and down. We’d never been to California before, so when we finally made it to Lake Tahoe, that large lake looked warm and beautiful. I didn’t know that it was icy cold under the first inch of water. We found a little motel and went in and put on our swimsuits. I wanted to demonstrate to her that she had married a real “he-man.” We went on the pier out in the lake, and I thought it looked so wonderful. The sun was just going down. I dove straight down, to demonstrate to Ruby what a “find” she had made. As I dove through the icy water farther down, I thought I was a goner. I clamored to get out.

“Just look at you, Matthew—you’re growing like a weed,” Uncle Clinton said. “Pretty soon you’ll be as big as I am.”
Giggling, I spread out my fingers. “I’m only six, and I won’t be as big as you are for a long, long time because you must be a hundred.”
Uncle Clinton threw back his head and laughed.
Grandpa laughed too. Uncle Clinton and Grandpa grow the best dry-farm watermelons out on Coal Pitts. Grandpa made a pond out there, but whenever my brother Raymond—he’s four—and I come visiting in the summer, all we ever see in it is dried-up mud. Grandpa promised us that if the pond ever has enough water in it to float a duck, we can take Luckus and Luella with us to Coal Pitts.
Luckus is a he duck, and Luella is a she duck. When Grandpa turns the canal water onto his irrigated farm in LaVerkin, Raymond and I climb right into the ditch with our ducks and have a splashing good time.
One hot afternoon, big clouds appeared from nowhere and got right down to the business of raining. Raymond and I were excited. We watched through the window, and Grandpa recited, “The lightning flashed and the thunder roared and the little pig lay down and snored.”
The storm passed by LaVerkin, and the sky above Coal Pitts got purplish black.
Grandpa said, “It looks like Coal Pitts is getting a regular gully washer. We might get some water in the pond.”
The next day, when Grandpa figured that the dirt road was dry enough, he said, “Let’s take a little run out to Coal Pitts.”
“Oh boy!” I exclaimed. “Can Luckus and Luella go too? Can they?”
“You’re sort of a funny duck yourself,” Grandpa laughed.
“I’m a boy, Grandpa. Luckus and Luella are ducks.”
“Really?” he teased. “OK, let’s round up the boys and the ducks.”
While Grandma packed a lunch, Grandpa put Luckus and Luella into a wooden crate and set it in the back of the pickup. Just then Aunt Lillian drove up and asked Grandpa if we were going to the dry farm. She said that Uncle Clinton had forgotten his lunch bucket and asked us to take it to him. Grandpa put it beside the crate in the pickup. Grandma brought out the picnic basket, and we all got into the truck and went chugging up the hill.
The rainstorm had filled Grandpa’s pond plumb full. We turned Luckus and Luella loose, and they skimmed over to that water as happy as if they were floating right into heaven. Raymond and I started to go after them.
“Hold it, you fellows,” Grandpa said. “Don’t you want to come with me to take Uncle Clinton his lunch bucket? He’ll be wondering where it is.”
“I think I’ll stay and pick us some roasting ears,” Grandma said. “There’s a fine row of corn alongside our own melon patch.”
Uncle Clinton was mighty glad to see his lunch bucket. He was picking a load of melons to take to town. He wasn’t starving, because he was full of melon, but he said that a piece of fried chicken would be mighty tasty too.
Grandpa was just getting back into the pickup when Uncle Clinton said, “Before you go, I’d like you to see my golden honey melons.”
We followed him up the hillside toward the cedars. He took out his pocketknife and speared a dark green watermelon. It popped open to the touch. The inside of that melon wasn’t red like all the rest, but a bright gold—almost an orange color. He cut a slice for each of us. Mmmm! How juicy and sweet it was!
When Grandpa finally left, I talked him into letting Raymond and me walk back.
“Go ahead and explore if you want to,” Grandpa said. “You know the way back to the pond.”
Uncle Clinton sliced off another piece of melon for each of us. We ate until we were as full as toads; then we went exploring. We had barely gone around the first bend, when a jackrabbit ran in front of us and we took off after him up a little gully that twisted and turned. Then we lost sight of him. After that we played hide-and-seek in some tall bushes that were loaded with yellow flowers—rabbit brush, Grandma calls them. We decided to pick some for Grandma and became so interested that we wandered all over the gully. Finally we climbed to the top of it, where we expected to see Grandpa’s pickup and his melon patch. But all we could see were more hills and gullies.
We just stood and stared, trying to decide which way to go. Raymond thought that we should go back. I thought that we should go ahead, so I coaxed him to go over the next little hill with me. When we got there, we saw the same thing—more gullies and hills.
Raymond started to cry. I wanted to cry, too, but I knew that it would only make him cry harder. If I was as big as Uncle Clinton said, I’d better think of something. Raymond was beginning to really howl, and I had to say something. So I said, “Don’t cry, Raymond. Maybe a helicopter will fly over and see us.”
Then a really good idea popped into my head: Heavenly Father knows where we are. He can see us all the time. I looked up, and my voice choked a little when I said, “Heavenly Father, we’re lost. Please help us find the way back to Grandpa’s melon patch.”
At that very minute I heard the sweetest sound. Looking up again, I said, “Thanks a lot, Heavenly Father.” Then I turned and said, “Raymond, quit crying and listen.”
He snuffled a couple of times quieting down; then we both heard it! Prettier than any songbird’s song came “Quack, quack, quack.”
We ran toward the sound. We had to go down one more little dip and over one more rise. But from the top of it, we could see Grandpa in his watermelon patch and Grandma shucking corn next to it. The quacking and splashing became louder and happier, and we ran through the rocks and brush like a couple of lizards.
“It’s about time you two showed up,” Grandma said, pushing back the hair from her face. “Your grandpa and I have about starved waiting for you so that we could unpack the lunch basket.”
Luckus and Luella had waddled out of the pond at the sight of us. I was real hungry, but before I could eat, I just had to hug a couple of ducks.

History provides us a vivid example of the importance of the Lord’s servants being in tune with the Spirit. The young Prophet Joseph Smith could not translate when he was angry or upset.
David Whitmer recalled: “One morning when he was getting ready to continue the translation, something went wrong about the house and he was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went up stairs, and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation, but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went down stairs, out into the orchard and made supplication to the Lord; was gone about an hour—came back to the house, asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came up stairs where we were and the translation went on all right. He could do nothing save he was humble and faithful.”1

“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to Ephraim, Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put the child aboard the train that would take her to her destination. What an experience for an eight-year-old girl! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”

Just a few years later, Leander’s mother, who had been living with them, died of tuberculosis. In 1917, Leander also died of tuberculosis, leaving Lena Sofia a widow and pregnant with their 10th child. That child—my father—was born two months after Leander’s death. Lena Sofia eventually buried 7 of her 10 children. It was a very difficult struggle for her, an impoverished peasant woman, to keep intact what remained of her family.
For nearly two decades she did not get a good night’s rest. She hustled at odd jobs during the day to scrape together enough food to eat. At night she nursed dying family members. Death literally hung over their heads. In those days timber was split and often put in the roof rafters to dry. Those timbers were then used to make coffins for those who died. It is hard to imagine how Lena Sofia felt.
On the day I met her in 1963, I had just turned 11 and she was 87. She was stooped from a lifetime of hard labor. She was so bowed over that when she stood from her chair, her height did not change. The skin of her face and hands was weather-beaten—as tough and textured as worn leather.
She stood as best as she could, pointed to a photo of Leander on the wall, and said to me in Swedish, “Det här är min gubbe” (This is my hubby).
I had enrolled in a Swedish-speaking school earlier that fall and was just relearning Swedish. I thought my grandmother had incorrectly used the present tense of the verb when she said, “This is my hubby,” because Leander had been dead for 46 years. I pointed out to my mother that Lena Sofia should have said, “This was my hubby.” My mother simply told me, “You don’t understand.”
She was right. I didn’t understand—not as I do now. Since then, I have reflected many times on the meaning of that experience and what my grandmother had taught me.

One missionary, for example, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about the idea that God was an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Her views, which she held to faithfully, caused her and her family much discomfort during the time she went to private religious schools. Anyone she spoke to about religion was asked to satisfy her question, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” She often asked her friends at school, which was why she was troublesome to them and to her teachers. After a while, getting no satisfaction, she tired of asking.
Years later at work. when she was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. These talks continued until the woman asked her to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” she said. She asked the woman, and for the first time in her life received an answer that satisfied her. The woman answered, “Yes, my church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Missionaries were found, the young woman was taught the gospel, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day of class when her MTC teacher walked in, she recognized her as the missionary who had taught her the gospel months earlier in a place far away from the Missionary Training Center.

Recently I heard of an excommunicated man who left his Church court angry and unrepentant. Many of us, if we had participated in that court, might have said, “Well, good. He’ll have time to make things better”; and others might even have thought, “It’s good he’s gone.” But one of the high councilors present spent three evening a week for the next several years visiting this man until, repentant, and reactivated, he was reinstated in the Church.

Sometimes we are faced with keeping our covenants when there seems to be no logical reason to do so. I listened to a single sister tell of her experience of “coming to trust the Lord completely.” Her life had not worked out as she had expected. Sound familiar? This period of soul-searching was marked by changing jobs, new financial pressures, tugs from worldly philosophies. Now listen to what she did. She sat down with other sisters in her ward and found that they too were searching to find the peace the gospel brings. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She valiantly carried forward in her calling. She studied and tried to more fully commit her love, appreciation, and conviction to Jesus. She prayed. “I cried to the Lord,” she said, “and told Him I would do whatever He would ask of me.” She did all this despite those difficulties. And do you know what happened? No, her eternal companion did not appear on her doorstep. But peace made its way into her heart, and life got better.

After graduation, he took a position with a company in Idaho. Just as he was trying to learn a new job and get his family settled, he was called to be second counselor in the bishopric. His first reaction was to decline—and feel justified about it. But previous training proved stronger than any excuses he could think of, and he agreed to serve.
That decision proved to be an important one for his spiritual growth. It furthered his secular education as well, for it taught him organization and management that could also be applied in business assignments. His successful career in retailing took the Perrys to the states of Idaho, Washington, California, New York, and Massachusetts. Each time business opportunities required a move, he responded willingly to new Church callings. Along the way he taught early-morning seminary and served in two bishoprics, a high council, and two stake presidencies. He was a stake president in Boston, Massachusetts, at the time of his call as a General Authority.

Three days after Elder Harold B. Lee arrived in the mission field, he met a sister missionary, Sister Fern Tanner.
Mission companion: Elder Lee, this is Sister Tanner. Wish her happy birthday!
Harold: Pleased to meet you, Sister Tanner. And happy birthday to you!
Later, when he was released from his mission, he had an operation in Salt Lake City. Instead of making an uncomfortable trip back to Idaho, he stayed with Sister Tanner and her family to recover.
Fern: Can I bring you anything else, Harold? I hope you’re feeling all right.
Harold: Thank you, Fern. I’m feeling much better.
Sister Fern Tanner and Elder Harold B. Lee were married in the Salt Lake Temple on November 14, 1923. It was Fern’s birthday—exactly three years from the day they met.

During the month-long open house, when the temple could be toured by the general public, organists were needed to play hymns to set a reverent mood in the temple. Kevin Clark, 13, of the Orem Utah Hillcrest Stake, was asked to play.
“A counselor in my bishopric found out I was taking organ lessons,” said Kevin. “He asked my mom, then asked me, if I would play in the temple. I thought it sounded pretty neat.”
Kevin has quite a repertoire of hymns. He selected the quietest ones that he thought would sound the best in the chapel of the temple. And the day was even more memorable because he was assigned to play on his birthday.
“The temple makes you feel really good. It’s the best place you can be. I liked it that the people on the tours were surprised to see me playing. My mom told me about that afterward. One man who came in looked at me, then turned to my mom and said, ‘Very impressive.’”
Kevin enjoyed using his developing talent. And he learned something new about the temple. “I never realized how nice temples were inside. The best part about it was that I knew that later I would be coming here to do baptisms.”

Recently I learned of two valiant young women who, as they lived the commandments and radiated the joy of the gospel, stood as witnesses of God. This is the story as told by a senior missionary at the MTC.
She said that years earlier she was at home one day ironing, watching a soap opera, and smoking a cigarette when there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, there were two men in white shirts and ties, and one of them introduced himself as her bishop. He said that as he was praying, he had felt inspired to ask her to teach Young Women. She told him that she had been baptized at age 10 but had never been active. He seemed undeterred as he showed her the manual and explained where they met on Wednesday night. Then she emphatically said, “I can’t teach 16-year-olds; I’m inactive, and besides I smoke.” Then he said, “You won’t be inactive anymore, and you have until Wednesday to quit smoking.” Then he left.
She said, “I remember shouting in the air in anger, but then I couldn’t resist the urge to read the manual. In fact, I was so curious, I read it from cover to cover and then memorized every word of that lesson.
“By Wednesday I was still not going to go, but I found myself driving to church, scared to death. I had never been scared of anything before. I had grown up in the slums, been in detention once myself, and rescued my father from the ‘drunk tank.’ And all of a sudden there I was at Mutual being introduced as the new Laurel adviser. I sat before two Laurels and gave the lesson word for word, even the parts that said ‘Now ask them …’ I left immediately after the lesson and cried all the way home.
“A few days later there was another knock at the door, and I thought, ‘Good. It’s the bishop here to retrieve his manual.’ I opened the door, and standing there were those two lovely Laurels, one with flowers, the other with cookies. They invited me to go to church with them on Sunday, which I did. I liked those girls. They began by teaching me about the Church, the ward, the class. They taught me how to sew, read scriptures, and smile.
“Together we started teaching the other girls in the class who weren’t coming. We taught them wherever we could find them—in cars, in bowling alleys, and on porches. Within six months, 14 of them were coming, and in a year all 16 girls on the roll were active. We laughed and cried together. We learned to pray, study the gospel, and serve others.”
These two valiant young women stood as witnesses for truth and righteousness, for goodness and the joy of the gospel.

After graduating from high school, I got a good job as a secretary at the university and was able to help Papa support the family. He had been the only one in the family working, and it had been hard for him to support four of us in school. We had sometimes gone without necessities.
Then when I was 18, my father died unexpectedly. My mother could not work because she was ill, and as the oldest I would have to support the family.
One day when I was upset because I hadn’t made enough money to cover all our expenses, I remembered the promise in Malachi. I prayed to Heavenly Father, reminding Him that I was paying a full tithe, even when I lacked money for food. Later that day the bishop came to visit, bringing food and help. Never in all the time I was supporting my family did the Lord fail me.
When my brother became old enough to serve a mission, he wanted to stay home and work to help pay for household expenses. But we felt he should go, so he quit his job and left for a mission. The following month, my salary was raised. The whole time he was on his mission, my family never lacked for anything. I received a scholarship and was able to study to become a commercial engineer. During this time our shoes lasted longer, our clothes didn’t wear out as quickly, and we didn’t get sick as often.
After supporting my family for six years, I married a wonderful man in the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple. Our goal was always to pay tithing, and we always did. Every month we took our tithing out first. We didn’t have everything, but we didn’t suffer either.
Two years after we married, my husband died in a traffic accident. Now once again I support my own family. But I have a good job, and I know that if I continue to live the law of tithing, my young son and I will have what we need. With all my heart I know that the Lord will never forsake me and that He will continue to pour out blessings—not only temporal but also spiritual.
Karina Vanegas Barcia, Monay Branch, Cuenca Ecuador Stake

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

But not all women give birth to those they mother.

President Joseph F. Smith was left an orphan at the early age of 13. He was later sent on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands. On the island of Molokai he contracted a severe fever and was seriously ill for three months. A wonderful Hawaiian sister took him into her home and tended him as lovingly as though he were her own son.

Many years later President Smith visited the islands as President of the Church. Charles Nibley tenderly described the experience:
“It was a beautiful sight to see the deep-seated love, the even tearful affection, that these people had for him. In the midst of it all I noticed a poor, old, blind woman, tottering under the weight of about ninety years, being led in. She had a few choice bananas in her hand. It was her all—her offering. She was calling, ‘Iosepa, Iosepa.’ Instantly, when he saw her, he ran to her and clasped her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed her, … patting her on the head saying, ‘Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama.’
“And with tears streaming down his cheeks he turned to me and said, ‘Charlie, she nursed me when I was a boy, sick and without anyone to care for me. She took me in and was a mother to me’” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph F. Smith [1998], xvi, 192).

I’m from Nigeria, an English-speaking country, so when I was called to serve in the Benin Cotonou Mission and realized I would be speaking French, I became nervous. How was I going to teach the gospel? As I expected, I struggled to learn French while in the missionary training center in Ghana. Many times I felt almost hopeless.
Then, in my first area, I was asked to bear my testimony to the branch in French! Everyone sat in silence as I slowly walked to the pulpit. I reached into my pocket for the short testimony I had written down. But I could not find it! Fear gripped me instantly!
When I looked out at the beautiful faces before me, my eyes filled with tears. I had so much I wanted to share, but I didn’t know how to say it. I said the only thing I could in French: “I know that God lives.”
I sat back down and during the rest of the meeting, I prayed in my heart. I told Heavenly Father that I really wanted to speak French, and that if He would help me, I would serve Him with all my heart.
Three months later a new missionary couple from the United States visited the branch. They were also asked to bear their testimonies. The sister walked to the pulpit, said a few words in French, and then stopped. Tears fell down her face. The chapel was silent. I walked up to her and asked if I could interpret for her.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, Elder,” she said. I felt the Spirit as she spoke English, and I interpreted her testimony, word for word, in French.
After the meeting the branch president’s wife said to me, “I remember how long it took you to say, ‘I know that God lives’ when you first arrived. Yes, God really lives and He has touched your tongue.”
I know that God understands every language and every problem we face. He is there to help us if we put our trust in Him, and He blesses our efforts when we try. Because He answered my prayer, I have been able to teach the gospel in French and my life has been blessed.

I am grateful that I was privileged to raise my hand to the square and covenant in my mind and in my soul this day, as the Spirit of the Lord was poured out upon this great congregation, that I would sustain and uphold and take the counsel of these great men whom God has called to preside over his kingdom, the First Presidency of the Church—President Harold B. Lee, a seer, a man filled with the spirit of revelation and of wisdom who is on intimate terms with that Lord whose we are; President N. Eldon Tanner, the embodiment of integrity and the basic Christian virtues, who loves the Lord and keeps his commandments; President Marion G. Romney, a spiritual giant, a preacher of righteousness, who knows the Lord and teaches his doctrine. President Romney and I are members of the same family. After I had been told of my call, he said to me, “I think Granddad Redd [Lemuel Hardison Redd] will be glad to receive us.” I said, “I am going to live so I will be worthy to go where he is.” He said, “So am I.”

Tragedy continued to follow Joseph F. in his childhood. Before his sixth birthday his father Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were martyred in Carthage Jail. After his father’s death, Joseph F. helped his mother prepare for the trek west. Not yet ten years old, the boy drove two yoke of oxen from Winter Quarters to the Salt Lake Valley in the summer of 1848, a distance of over 1,000 miles. The journey was made even more difficult for the family since the captain of the train disapproved of Mary traveling without a husband, fearing that she would be a burden. But Mary was determined to ask for no special favors and promised that she would make the trip without his help and be the first to arrive in the valley. With fervent prayer and with the help of her young son, she kept that promise.

I know a woman with several small children whose husband served in a time-consuming Church calling. He often came home late from work—just long enough to say hello—then off he went to perform his Church duties. The children sometimes had to be reassured, and sometimes the mother had to reassure herself, by saying, “Aren’t we glad that Daddy is worthy to serve Heavenly Father so we can receive so many blessings?” A support instead of a murmur brought results that had a lasting influence on that home and family.

Elder David Rawls and his companion, Elder Rahrick, stood at the door of the small LDS meetinghouse in Tokyo, Japan, and waited.
“What if he doesn’t come?” Elder Rahrick asked.
“He’ll come.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then he won’t.”
“You’re not much help, you know.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll come,” David said.
“I already wrote my folks and told them we were going to have a baptism, so if he doesn’t come, what’ll I do?”
“Tell them he didn’t come.”
“You don’t know my dad. He wants results.”
“Go see how close to being full the font is, okay? That’ll give you something to do.”
Elder Rahrick started off and then stopped and turned around. “He’d better come, that’s all I can say. I wrote my girlfriend about the baptism too.”
“Go check the font, will you?”
“All right, but if he doesn’t come, it won’t matter if the font is full or not, will it?”
David watched as Elder Rahrick went down the hall of the church to the baptismal font. They were about as different as two people could be. David couldn’t understand how some guy just off the plane thought he knew more about missionary work than he did.
It was a tough mission with long hours, a difficult language to learn, and few converts, and no California beach boy was going to change it in a day. Don’t let him get to you, he thought. This is a day of celebration, because today the hurt will go away.
Ever since he was a little boy, he had in his mind the image of being on his mission, standing in the water, baptizing someone. But somehow the reality had been that, even though he’d worked hard, he’d had no baptisms. Of course there had been people he’d taught who eventually were baptized, but always just after he was transferred.
His parents had always told him not to worry, that he should just do his best. And he had. He worked hard and lived mission rules and prayed, but still no baptisms came.
As time slipped by, he thought about what it would be like, after his mission, talking with his friends from high school, guys he’d played basketball with, guys who thrived on competition. He knew they’d ask how many baptisms he’d had on his mission. From letters they’d written, he already knew one of his friends had 30 baptisms.
And he had none.
“Don’t let it get you down,” his father had written. “The important thing is that you are serving with all your heart, mind, and strength. We couldn’t be more proud of you than we are.”
David knew his father was right, but still, he wanted at least once on his mission, to stand in the baptismal font with someone he’d taught, and raise his right arm to the square, and actually perform the baptismal ordinance. If for no other reason, just to make his boyhood dream come true.
Just when it seemed that it would never happen, four weeks before his release from the mission field, they met Katsutoshi Tanaka, a white-haired retired gardener, a gentle man, a widower, who lived in a small apartment in the city. He seemed to have been waiting for them. Each time they came to give him a missionary lesson, he was there, well prepared, having read the pamphlets they’d given him. When he attended church, the members seemed drawn to him and they welcomed him openly.
Of course Elder Rahrick, David’s companion, with the confidence that comes from not knowing very much, had attributed their success to his having come into the mission field. “You see what happens when you plan your work and work your plan?” he told David once after an especially good discussion with Brother Tanaka. That really grated on David’s nerves. You have so much to learn, Elder, he thought.
When it became apparent that Brother Tanaka was actually going to be baptized, Elder Rahrick asked, “How about if I baptize him?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he had said. In David’s mind though there wasn’t much to talk about. He was the senior companion, about to go home, having gone his mission never having fulfilled his dream of baptizing someone in the mission field. Elder Rahrick would have plenty of chances later on.
Elder Rahrick returned from down the hall. “The font’s almost full, but I don’t know where to turn off the water, and the custodian’s gone. Would you do it for me?”
David nodded his head and went back to the baptismal font. He looked at the font now full of water. It looked so beautiful. He was so grateful that Brother Tanaka had accepted the gospel. It had been so hard to go on without any apparent success, with mission newsletters telling of the baptisms of others when he was always two weeks too late or one week too early.
At first he had thought it was punishment from God, that for some reason he wasn’t good enough to have baptisms. He talked to his mission president about it, who said, “Elder, you’re one of the best missionaries I’ve got. We’re not out here to have a contest with numbers. I’m sorry that transfers have caused you to miss out on some baptisms, but wherever you’ve served, people’s lives have been blessed. Do you know how many converts sing your praises for having contacted them?”
Even so, it had been difficult to take. Sometimes at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he knelt beside his bed and poured out his heart in prayer, and from those silent vigils strength and commitment had come—but no baptisms.
David knew he was stronger than he would have been if it had been easy. He had learned not to give up and had mastered the ability to work hard even when he was discouraged.
Eventually there came a time in his mission, when he knew he could take whatever happened and it wouldn’t affect how hard he worked, or how committed he was, or how much faith he had in Father in Heaven.
Shortly after that, they found Brother Tanaka.
He sat down to gaze at the now nearly full font. It was beautiful to see. My mission is just about over, he thought with a rush of sadness. I’ve come to the end of things.
He’d been reading the book of John in the New Testament, and this morning he’d read the words of the Savior to his Apostles given his last few days upon the earth. David sensed a reluctance on the part of the Savior to leave these men to themselves, a concern that they may have not learned enough to carry on, and a genuine affection for those who had stood by him during those past three years of his ministry.
The Savior knew their weaknesses, David thought, and yet he still loved them. And he encouraged them to have love for each other. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:35).
And now I go and leave Elder Rahrick here to carry on. Have I shown him the same kind of love the Savior did his Apostles? It hasn’t been easy for me with Elder Rahrick. Maybe because I’m about to leave and he’s just come. We seem worlds apart at times. He’s so caught up with himself; whatever good he does, he does it with the idea in mind of how impressed the people back home will be when they hear about it.
If I can show love to Elder Rahrick, he thought, I can show love to anybody. Getting along with a wife will be a breeze compared to this.
David got up and turned off the water, and suddenly it struck him that in one week he would be back home in Arizona, getting ready to start college again, concerned mainly about himself again. For an instant, more than anything in the world, he wanted to stay where he was and not go home. It had taken so long to get where he was now, willing and able to devote his entire self to the work, and now they were going to tell him they didn’t need him anymore. It didn’t make sense.
Oh, Father in Heaven, he thought, please help me get through these changes in my life.
Elder Rahrick came back to see him. “No sign of Brother Tanaka yet. He’d better come, that’s all I can say.”
David stared at Elder Rahrick, who looked to be about 17 years old. “Elder,” David said, “we haven’t always gotten along, have we?”
“Oh, it hasn’t been that bad.”
“I just want you to know I love you.”
Elder Rahrick got red in the face. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I know we’re supposed to say that, but still, it really seems weird to me.”
“I know, but you’ll get used to it. Jesus loved the men who served with him. We should do the same.”
“I suppose. I’ll go back and see if Brother Tanaka is coming.”
David watched him go. He’s so young, David thought, so inexperienced. What if he goes his mission without any baptisms? Will he be able to stand it?
David suddenly realized he really did love Elder Rahrick. Beyond his bluster was a scared young man, as he himself had once been, in a strange country with a strange language and customs. Have I taught him enough? Is he ready to carry on as a senior companion after I leave?
What was it like for the Savior, he thought, to leave the men he loved, his beloved Apostles? Impetuous Peter, always quick to act. John, gentle, sensitive. Each one with their flaws and strengths.
My gift to this mission is Elder Rahrick, he thought. I’ve got to do all I can to help him.
Elder Rahrick, he thought, you’ve complained about the way we live as if it’s my fault we sleep on floor mats and eat raw fish. You’ve told me that if I were only closer to the Spirit, people would come to us and ask to be baptized. But none of that matters. I think I thought the same things too.
I love you, Elder Rahrick. Carry on the work when I’m gone. You will carry a part of me with you always, like it or not. I am a part of you, and you of me. And after our missions we will someday meet and shake hands and introduce our families and talk about the good times.
David returned to where Elder Rahrick was waiting at the door. “Elder Rahrick, I’ve been thinking. How would you like to baptize Brother Tanaka?”
Elder Rahrick got a big grin on his face. “That’d be great! Do you suppose we could get some pictures of me and Brother Tanaka in our baptismal clothes? I want to send them back home to my parents and my girlfriend.”
“We can take pictures before, but not during the service itself.”
“Great. This is going to be terrific! How about if I go find some baptismal clothes that’ll fit me?”
“Sure, fine.”
David watched him go. He was a little disappointed in Elder Rahrick for not realizing what a sacrifice it was for him to give up his last chance to fulfill his boyhood dream of performing a baptism in the mission field. Sometime, Elder, he thought, when you come to the end of your mission, you’ll understand how much I cared for you.
Just then the thought flashed into his mind, as if the Savior were saying that perhaps someday David would understand how much the Savior loved him.
This is a gospel of love, David thought.
Just then Brother Tanaka turned up the walk to the chapel.
Thank you, Father in Heaven, David thought. This will be a day I will always remember.
And it was.