Gospel Story Finder

As I entered the rest home, my thoughts were not really on grandma, even though she was dying. I loved her, and it made me sad to realize she would soon be leaving, but she had been waiting so long to be with grandpa again that it seemed like her dying would be a blessing, a long-awaited reward for her faithfulness. My own mind longed for such assurance of what the future would hold. I was wrestling with an important decision and was filled with confusion; I found myself pleading with the Lord for peace of mind. That’s why I was so surprised when such a feeling of calmness came over me when I walked into grandma’s room. She was weeping. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and told me softly that as she looked back at her life, she was overcome with the blessings the Lord had given her. Her quiet reflection and gratitude totally removed me from my earthly worries. I hardly realized I was standing there, listening to her in the darkness. She was radiant, thin and dying, but glowing.
Any unappreciative thought I’d ever had about her was erased from my mind, and I was so humbled that I can’t find words to explain it. Why don’t those times stay with us forever? I put my unwrinkled hand over her wrinkled one and held it. I asked her what she was thinking. She said something I’ve often felt but could never quite express. She shook her head and said, “Oh, dear, if you knew all I think about.” Then she told me I looked different. I told her it was because I had no eye makeup on and she probably couldn’t recognize me. But she hadn’t even looked at me. She’d been looking out the window and then she said, “No, you are different than when you came in. You’re seeing your future laid out in front of you, and you wonder what will happen to you.” Tears came to my eyes. She was right. “Don’t be impatient, my dear. The Lord has many good things in store for you, and he loves you very much. But you are impatient like me. You want to tell the Lord when you’re ready and when you’re not.”
Then she smiled. “I have been a trial to my Lord all my life because of my impatience, and now I see my life closing, and I realize he still loves me—he loves me.” When she had finished, tears fell down her cheeks. I wasn’t crying outwardly, but when I saw her tears, mine came, too. At that moment we were sharing something together as children of God, not as an old lady and her granddaughter. That is how I will remember Grandma Windsor, and when my time comes to join her, I hope she will be proud of me.
I walked down the rest home steps with one more testimony that there really is one greater than ourselves, and that he loves me far more than I can even imagine. He has blessed me so much! Knowing that, I can’t be anything less than my best. When I fail, I punish myself. He is a God of abounding love, not hate or resentment. I do so many things wrong, and yet he still loves me. Looking at grandma’s face that day, I could see that love. I could see wisdom, humility, and peace—an overwhelming peace. I wish I could have written on stone plates that would last forever the feeling I had then.

It was a beautiful day for a walk in California’s San Bernardino Mountains. Our seven children found walking sticks, and my husband, Mark, took the lead. We stopped to marvel at a spider meticulously spinning its web. We looked at the tall pine trees, stretching their branches to heaven. It seemed the birds were singing just for us.
At last we reached the perfect spot for a testimony meeting. We all sat on some old tree stumps forming a circle. Mark started by expressing his love for me and our children and by bearing his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and the blessings of our temple marriage.
After I bore my testimony, each of the children, starting with the oldest, expressed love for us and for each other.
Finally it was time to hear from four-year-old Lynette, who had sat patiently for almost an hour with her thumb in her mouth. I asked, “Lynette, what are you thankful for?”
She looked up at me with her clear blue eyes and confidently answered, “I’m thankful for Jesus, because He loves me.”
We were all taken aback. For an hour we had expressed our love and appreciation for all we had, but we had failed to acknowledge that it is through the love and sacrifice of our Savior that we receive our blessings. Little Lynette, with the directness and innocence of a child, had cut through to the core of our beliefs.
Later I thought of the Savior gathering the little children about Him and saying, “Behold your little ones” (3 Ne. 17:23). How well our little one taught us that day!

I enjoyed the article “We Are His Hands” in the July 2010 New Era. In October 2005 I arrived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, as a humanitarian missionary. One of my assignments was to take the Cambodian LDS Young Adults into the provinces to poor or remote government schools and put on a puppet show to teach the children how to stay well through good hygiene—clean water, clean hands, and clean food. I realized on our first outing that I would have the privilege of seeing what so many thousands of people Churchwide have never seen—the recipients of the hygiene kits, which were distributed at the end of the puppet show.
At one location I noticed that almost all of the children had something in their hands, around their necks, or even on their heads. I asked what they were, and was told, “Those are the hand towels in your church’s hygiene kits.” The kits had been distributed two months earlier. Almost every child there had their towel and used it much like you would a “blankie” or a comforter. It was also used to shield them from the hot sun. I wanted to cry with joy when I understood their appreciation and love for that which was given to them by His helping hands around the world.

I remember an occasion when I was hospitalized for an illness, and it was difficult for me to sleep. When I turned off the lights and the room became dark, I saw a reflective sign on the ceiling in front of me that said, “Call, don’t fall.” To my surprise, the next day I observed the same message repeated in several parts of the room.

Why was that message so important? When I asked the nurse about it, she said, “It is to prevent a blow that might increase the pain you already have.”

Illustration by Emily Jones
I started taking piano lessons when I was seven years old. At first, it was hard to read the music notes and pay attention during my lessons. I just didn’t like to practice the piano.
Then my mom asked me to play “When I Am Baptized” (Children’s Songbook, 103) at my baptism. It was the first time I ever played in church. I was nervous but proud of myself when I did it.
Soon I got busy with school and wanted to quit piano, but my parents encouraged me to continue learning. They said that if I kept playing, I could find joy in serving the Lord.
From then on, I loved playing the piano. I started playing in sacrament meeting, and when I turned 12, I was officially called to be the ward pianist. I was so happy! I played in Primary presentations and accompanied our ward choir during ward conferences and devotionals. I was even called as the stake choir pianist and played during stake conference.
I’m grateful to my parents for encouraging me to do my best. I will be forever grateful to Heavenly Father for the talent He has given me. I know I’ll be able to use my talents on my mission and in other service someday. I truly find joy in serving the Lord.
Jyle S., National Capital Region, Philippines

A selfless husband or wife exercises great caution in avoiding any feelings of entitlement or resentment, both of which "demand much and give little." I remember a period of time during my husband's medical residency when I was feeling bitter about my situation. I felt entitled to a better lifestyle, one with an actual income and days off, and I resented the long hours he was away from our young family and that everyone in our neighborhood and ward thought I was a single mother. Gratefully, I recognized that these feelings were beginning to corrode our marriage, so I took my selfish attitude to the Lord and asked for His help. I received a strong and specific impression that I should offer more thoughtful prayers of gratitude for my husband. I began adding new comments to my standard prayers, especially family prayers with the children. I included things like, "We are thankful for all of Daddy's hard work to support us," and "Thank thee for Daddy's training and opportunity to help other people." The change was remarkable! My heart softened and our marriage was strengthened.

Growing up, I was always inclined to perfectionism. So when I received my patriarchal blessing, one admonition in particular seemed natural: to complete the tasks I was given “to the best of [my] ability, to perfection.” Only later would I start to realize how little I understood perfection—or the role of grace.
In 1998 I returned home early from a mission due to health problems. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt because I felt I had not completed my mission “to perfection.” Added to this sense of failure was uncertainty about my illness. So far, doctors had been unable to diagnose it.
In spite of my health challenges, I knew I needed to move forward, so I enrolled in a university to continue my education. After only two quarters, however, I returned home again, in pain, for urgent surgery. It was at this point that doctors discovered I had an autoimmune disease.
While I was recovering from surgery, I began working part-time at the chocolate store where I had been employed as a teenager. Even though I was doing what I could, I didn’t feel that I was pursuing anything worthwhile, much less completing it “to perfection.” I began to compare myself to others, especially to my friends who were completing their college degrees, serving missions, or starting families. I felt left behind.
Then I met Stephanie. She came into the candy store one day wearing a black scarf around her head. As I pointed out to her my favorite chocolate, I felt impressed to inquire about her situation. She smiled, removed her scarf, and, pointing to her bald head, told me she was going through chemotherapy. That exchange was the start of a special and candid friendship.
Stephanie came by the store regularly to enjoy a treat and talk about life. I learned that she was a member of the Church and that she had struggled spiritually as well as physically. She told me about some rebellious choices she had made and about her efforts to repent. She was working toward being sealed to her husband in the temple.
One day I shared some of my own challenges. I confided in her how discouraged I was by my circumstances. “I am scooping the same ice cream I scooped in high school,” I explained. “I didn’t complete my mission or college, and I don’t know what to do now.”
Stephanie responded, “Why do you have to finish the race of life in a set time? Why not just run the race?”
For the first time, I realized that the efforts I was making were my best, and my best was enough. The Savior loved me, and His grace, through His Atonement, was sufficient for me, for my deficiencies. Although I felt I had been looking to Him all along, until Stephanie shared her insight with me, I had somehow missed an important lesson about His role in my life.
Ether 12:27 says, “My grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” As I have been able to humble myself and have faith in the Lord, I have seen over and over again that He does indeed make weak things become strong. My increased testimony of this truth has helped me face my challenges with greater faith and hope.
A few months after that conversation, I left my hometown to start a new job and lost contact with my friend. One day my mom called to tell me that she had seen Stephanie’s obituary in the newspaper. I came home to attend her funeral and learned she had been sealed to her husband just three weeks before her death.
My heart sighed with gratitude for having had Stephanie in my life and for what she taught me about running a perfect race. I don’t always need to sprint. Occasionally, it will be all I can do to simply face the finish line. Doing our best to move forward—no matter what speed “our best” is—is OK. Our efforts can be made perfect because the Lord’s grace is sufficient for us all (see Moroni 10:32).

Another example: One’s life can be swallowed up in the will of the Father at any time. One need not be middle aged. Sometimes the sacrifice is keener when one is young.

While presiding in the mission field I interviewed a missionary who was somewhat shy and very homesick. He had been in the mission field for less than two months. I asked how things were going, and he began to weep. He said, “I don’t like the people here, I don’t like the heat and the humidity, and most of all, I don’t like my companion or his cooking.”

I said, “What are you going to do?”

He looked up at me through tears and with surprise, and responded, “I am going to complete this mission. I have been called by a prophet of God, and I will serve, but I don’t want to.” The will of the son swallowed up in the will of the Father. I am certain that he did not think that he had made a life-changing decision during those days of difficulty. Time will pass and eternity will unfold before the blessings of that decision are fully received. Twenty-two months later, a powerful teacher of righteousness returned to his home and, I am sure, to a lifetime of service. He kept his covenants by sacrifice, and, as a result, the Lord blessed him with “much precious fruit.”

Other outgoing teenagers find they are not isolated because of their religious beliefs. Fourteen-year-old Geraldine Hall of Exeter Ward in Devon attends a Church of England school. She finds schoolmates accepting her beliefs without prejudice. She even manages to share her testimony.

“After a home economics lesson one week,” Geraldine says, “the teacher asked, ‘Who would like a cup of tea?’ Of course they all said ‘yes please’—except me. When someone asked, ‘Why don’t you drink tea?’ one friend answered, ‘Because she’s a Moron.’ ‘Not Moron—Mormon,’ I replied. Then, whilst they all sat round, I explained what we were really called and why. After that no one’s ever tried to belittle my faith.”

When our daughter Margie was in the second grade, she invited her best friend to go with her to Primary. Both were assigned parts for the sacrament meeting presentation. Her friend’s father had rejected the missionaries in the past, but when Margie showed up in his house with a handful of Church pamphlets, he listened carefully to her simple explanations and testimony of Joseph Smith and the First Vision. He not only allowed his daughter to continue going to Primary but also gave her permission to receive the lessons from the missionaries and be baptized. He and his wife attended the baptismal service.

The end of a semester can be a tired time, full of work and worry. Near the end of a challenging semester in graduate school, I met one of my classmates who, in contrast to most of us, was striding along with a radiant look on his face. He told me he had been for a swim to “refresh his ideas.” A little recreation turned his day around, and his original description of his swim “refreshing his ideas,” cheered me up. I am not going to suggest we all get up and go swimming right now, although it did occur to me that it would be a good idea. But, instead, I want to talk about some ways of refreshing our ideas without going all the way to the beach.

Elder Devere Harris’s great-grandfather was once a prizefighter in England. One night his great-grandfather went to a meeting to chase Wilford Woodruff out of town because Elder Woodruff had converted the prizefighter’s wife to the Church. However, instead of chasing Wilford Woodruff out of town, Great-Grandfather Harris liked what he heard, and he, too, joined the Church. Elder Harris’s great-grandparents came to America, crossed the plains with the Saints, and were among the early settlers of the town of Portage in northern Utah. According to Elder Harris, “Great-Grandfather taught his family the gospel, and his son, my grandfather, became a bishop. My grandfather taught the gospel to his family, and my father served in a bishopric and as a ward clerk for many years. Religion was always a natural and important part of our lives as we were growing up.
“My dad stressed the importance of honesty to all his children. He was one of the most honest and fair men I have ever known. When I was a young boy, a neighbor widow’s chickens used to come over to the back of our lot and lay eggs in the high grass and bushes. Even though I used to take eggs to the store to trade (we didn’t have much money in those days), I never took any of those eggs to the store, because they weren’t mine. I took them to the widow, their rightful owner.
“My father ran a grain elevator, and as a young boy, I used to have to shovel wheat. Dad taught us to work for our own money. He paid us three cents a sack to stack and load wheat, and I thought that that was pretty generous of him. We could load a thousand bushels into a boxcar in about three or four hours. My two brothers and I could make as high as nine dollars a day loading wheat. And that was back in the days when earning two dollars a day was good wages. My father encouraged us to be frugal and to put the money away for our education.
“Mother was a great lady. I remember sitting by her and having her read to me from a little white Bible. She loved the scriptures. She also loved poetry and prose and history; she was a deep reader and a deep thinker. She helped instill in her children an appreciation for good books.
“When I was about thirteen years old, my mother had prepared a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Before she could get the table set, an emergency call came, and my mother and father had to go to be with my brother, who was very ill. After my parents left, I went to a friend who didn’t have a mother and whose father wasn’t well. I knew that he wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited him to our home for dinner. I got out Mother’s best linen, crystal, and silverware, and I set a table that was fit for a king. After our dinner together, I sent some food home for my friend’s father. I was trying to follow my parents’ example to serve others.
“I have a great respect for nature, and I have always loved animals and birds and have tried to protect them. Once when we were youngsters, a friend of mine and I were riding double on a horse along the railroad track. Suddenly I spied an owl that had a broken wing and couldn’t do anything but run along the ground. I slid off the horse, caught the owl, and got back on the horse behind my friend. I remember that it was a beautiful white horse with a long mane. We started galloping along the railroad track, and the owl started to wiggle. It stuck its claws into that horse, causing it to jump straight into the air and make a big kick. I rolled off backward, but somehow I kept my hold on the owl, and it never got away. We took the owl home, put splints on its broken wing, and turned it loose.
“My wife and I have had a wonderful experience in the Pacific Islands. One day we went to a little Tahitian island on a boat, and as the boat pulled up to the dock, twenty-seven children were standing on it, singing, ‘I Am A Child of God.’ I thought, What a beautiful, beautiful thing to know that children all over the world are singing the hymns of the Church and beautiful Primary songs.
“Heavenly Father loves all children. Jesus loves them, too—children of all countries, colors, and creeds.
“Live the principles of the gospel so that you can live again with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Listen to the counsel of the prophets. Stay pure and clean after your baptism. Your parents and Primary teachers will teach you the things that you should do. Listen to them and do what they tell you.”

When my oldest daughter Debanie was in fourth grade, she had a big field trip scheduled for her Idaho History studies. She invited me to go with her. She was excited for me to ride the bus with her for the hour-long ride to Massacre Rocks. When we boarded, we walked to the middle of the bus and sat down. I noticed a young man in the seat in front of us. He was by himself and even asked a few passing students if they wanted to sit with him. No one was mean, but they all politely declined and found other seats. It was like a sad scene from a movie--the lonely boy that no one would sit by. I could tell that he was sad and felt a little awkward all alone. I said to Debanie, "Hey would it be ok if I sat with Brian for a bit of the trip?" Her answer surprised me. She didn't say yes, she said, "I will sit with him." She moved up a seat and sat with Brian. What I saw was amazing. Not only did she sit with him, but she started to visit with him, they started giggling and laughing and having fun. I saw this lonely, sad boy change. His eyes shined, he had a smile on his face. I was taught by my ten year old daughter. She, just like the Savior, loved someone in need. She did not hesitate or make excuses of why she couldn't. She just automatically did the right thing and was truly an example of our faith.

When Tomás got home from school, everyone seemed busy.
“Shut the door,” Diego said when Tomás came in their room. “I can’t do my homework with so much noise!”
Tomás went into the living room. His younger sisters both wanted the same toy at the same time. “Give it to me!” Luiza said, trying to grab a doll away from Stella. “I had it first!”
Tomás went into the kitchen. Mom was holding the baby in one arm while she stirred the soup. “Dad is going to be late tonight. Will you set the table for me?” she asked.
When everyone had finished eating, Dad came home. He looked tired.
What can I do to help everyone be happier? Tomás wondered. Then he remembered what day it was—Monday! Family home evening would make things better!
But when he mentioned family home evening to Mom, she sighed. “I don’t know if we have time for it tonight,” she said.
Tomás thought about how the prophets said that family home evening was very important and that it would bless their lives.
“But, Mom,” Tomás said, “we really need family night!”
Mom thought for a minute. “You know what? I think you’re right,” she said. “Let’s clean up so we can get started.”
At the end of family home evening, Tomás knelt to pray with his family. He felt good inside. His brother still had a project due, his mom was still busy, and his dad was still tired. But everyone seemed a little happier, and his home felt more peaceful.
Tomás smiled. Following the prophets always made things better.

I remember vividly an experience I had as a small boy. One day while playing with my friends, I accidentally broke a window in a store near our home. As the glass shattered and the security alarm blared, a paralyzing fear filled my heart and mind. I realized immediately I was doomed to spend the remainder of my life in prison. My parents eventually coaxed me out from a hiding place under my bed and helped me to make amends with the store owner. Fortunately, my jail sentence was commuted.

One of the wonderful experiences a young husband can anticipate is that of watching his bride learn how to cook. While some young women enter marriage already skilled in the art of cooking, many do not. For some the learning curve can be very steep.

My wife, Sister Ball, is a wonderful cook. Over the years she has polished and refined her culinary skills to the point that now I am confident she could walk into a strange kitchen and prepare a delicious and nutritious meal out of whatever she found in the pantry and refrigerator. Still, some of the early meals she prepared for us as a young couple were real gastronomical adventures. But to this day I consider one of her early successes a true miracle in the kitchen. Somehow she managed to transform broccoli into something edible. The rave reviews I gave the dish encouraged her to make the recipe a regular part of our menu.

At that time we were living in a small town in southeastern Arizona, where I had my first assignment as a seminary teacher. The town had two major roads, appropriately named Poverty Flats and Hog Holler. We lived at the end of Hog Holler Road in a small home sandwiched between a chili field and the desert. The nearest full-service grocery store was more than 30 miles away. Consequently, kitchen commodities often ran short between trips to the store. To compensate, Sister Ball got in the habit of experimenting with substitutes for ingredients that were temporarily unavailable.

The results of her experiments were very unpredictable. On one occasion she began preparing the remarkable broccoli dish, only to discover that she did not have the cream of mushroom soup the recipe required. She decided to make her own “white sauce” from a little flour and water to substitute for the soup. (What she called “white sauce” I would call “paste.”) She reasoned that the soup was white and lumpy, and so was her flour and water concoction. The result of the substitution was a disaster. Without the proper ingredients, the true nature of broccoli was left exposed—it was no longer palatable. Sister Ball learned from that experience that color and texture are no substitutes for taste.

Following that failure, Sister Ball removed the broccoli dish from her repertoire. She no longer trusted the recipe. However, if you were to ask her about it today, she would confess that the fault was not with the dish but with her, for she had failed to hearken unto the commandments of the recipe. She thought that she could change it or twist it to her own will without consequence.

In truth, her initial confidence in the recipe was not misplaced, but that confidence could only be confirmed if she diligently abided by the recipe’s instructions. So it is with your testimony and understanding of the restored gospel: It will be best confirmed and informed by your education if you diligently follow the recipe by keeping the commandments of God.

During a recent trip, Julie and I attended church and saw this verse in action. A young man, soon to leave for his mission, spoke in sacrament meeting.

He said, “You all think my dad is such a good man at church, but …” He paused, and I anxiously wondered what he might say next. He continued and said, “He’s a better man at home.”

I thanked this young man afterward for the inspiring tribute he had paid his father. I then found out that his father was the bishop of the ward. Even though this bishop was serving his ward faithfully, his son felt that his best work was done at home.20

I have another story that is not unlike that one. A man had moved from Ohio to Brigham City and was working for Morton Thiokol, the company that manufactures so much of what goes into space. He had dated several young women and had noticed a beautiful young lady working there. He asked her for a date and she consented. They went out, and he began to do things that she did not want to do. There was a tussle, but she succeeded and arrived home almost as safe as she had left.

The following Monday the man was telling of the conquest he had attempted but failed and was making fun of her. A fine young man stood nearby, a returned missionary—he hadn’t been home long. After the people had dispersed, he walked over and asked for the name of that young woman. He was told and they dated for about three months before I had the privilege of performing their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple. They had decided what they wanted, and their righteous actions were rewarded.

Now, while some of these decisions loom large, others may seem microscopic; yet what happens is exciting. Elder Thomas S. Monson reported an experience he had at a stake conference with a projectionist, a man with the surname of Hales. He was showing a movie that was the featured part of a training meeting when suddenly film started spewing everywhere. Elder Monson stood up and asked what was wrong. The young man said, “Elder Monson, I did something really stupid.” He didn’t blame the machine. He didn’t blame the projectionist who had shown the film on an earlier occasion. He didn’t blame the film itself. He blamed himself, and Elder Monson reported how he appreciated that type of courage. That young man was not in a blaming posture. He had decided to take responsibility. Just a little teeny experience, but it affected the thinking of an apostle.

I was born on March 7, 1998, in Congo Town, near Monrovia. Growing up, I attended church regularly with my grandmother in another church. Unfortunately, when she died in 2009 from pressure (hypertension), my church attendance stopped because there was no one around to encourage me about going to church and how to gain salvation.
As I grew older, I became curious about spirituality—how to get salvation and one day go to heaven. That became my goal and wish because my grandmother always told me that heaven is way better than the great America that I wished to visit.
However, I did not attend church again. I later relocated to Brewerville with no involvement in church activities. A big tree had fallen from the family—there was no more support, and everyone had to fight for themselves. I started looking for opportunities to gain an education since my grandmother was no longer around.
My life took many turns, as it does for most people, and through all these experiences, I found myself at a crossroads—searching for something more meaningful.
Later, a young man moved into our community from Nigeria. I found out that he had recently completed his mission and relocated to my community. I enjoyed coming around him because of his strange accent and his stories about the development happening in Nigeria—the beautiful streets and cities.
One day, while we were arguing, one of my colleagues, Amos Bangura, made a statement: “Liberia is a hell, and if you are born and die in Liberia and go to hell, it is a double punishment. Then God is not fair because things are so tough in Liberia.”
The returned missionary, Brother James Kolue, quickly used that statement as an opportunity to teach us about Heavenly Father’s love for all His children—no matter their location, family background, or country. He taught us that God’s love extends beyond our imagination.
After his teaching, I quickly asked him: “Which church are you attending?”
He replied, “I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you heard about this church before?”
I quickly said, “Yes, I sometimes see their missionaries passing by.”
He asked if I would like to learn from the missionaries, and I accepted the invitation. I started meeting with the missionaries. They were friendly and kind, and their message about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation felt different from anything I had ever heard before.
I spent several weeks learning more about their beliefs and reading the Book of Mormon. There was something about the teachings that resonated deeply with me. I remember the day I prayed for the first time to know if the Church was true, and I felt an overwhelming peace—something I had never felt before.
That was when I knew I had to take the next step.
However, life became tough, and I moved to Logan Town in search of opportunities. There, I met different missionaries and stopped them to explain that I had been learning with missionaries in Brewerville. They contacted the other missionaries and continued my teaching.
The missionaries introduced me to the bishop, who was then Bishop Paul Wrotto. He guided and helped me as I took this new step. Soon after, I was baptized. The moment I emerged from the water, I felt like a new person. My heart was full, my mind clearer, and I was ready to follow the path that Heavenly Father had set for me.
The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

Three days after Sally arrived home from Mexico, she was crowned Miss Utah. A short time later a special letter for Sally came in the mail. It was one she had written to herself several weeks before as part of an assignment in an M Men and Gleaner class.
“Write something which will help you later in your life,” the teacher said. “And then, when the time is right, I’ll mail you your letter.” Appropriately, the letter came:
Hi Sally …
By the time you receive this letter, you will have been to Mexico and probably will have made some important decisions.
Just remember, the Lord loves you and he has a very special responsibility for you in the near future. Strive each and every day to draw close unto him and to let him guide and influence your life.
You have a very special talent that you should work at diligently. If you do, you will bring joy and happiness to those around you and will please the Lord.
Always keep your ideals high and be the kind of girl that a wonderful young Latter-day Saint man will love and cherish as his wife.
Honor your parents, and though there may be problems sometimes, remember to love and understand them and to be as patient and tolerant as you would want them to be with you.
People are aware of your example. Remember always to walk in the ways of the Lord and he will bless you beyond measure. You will have many opportunities to be in the public eye, so do nothing that would be contrary to Christ’s example.
Work hard. Use discipline. Have courage, faith, and pray always.
As you love yourself, you will love others.
Smile,
Sally
“Sally,” I exclaimed when she shared the letter with me, “you were positively prophetic when you wrote that!”
“Not really,” she replied thoughtfully. “It is the kind of letter any young Latter-day Saint person could have written to himself.
“Every one of us has important decisions to make,” she continued, “little decisions like whether to attend a bull fight or a Sabbath day meeting and larger ones like whether or not to attend college, go on a mission, marry in the temple—the list goes on …
“Each of us has special responsibilities, talents—and parents to love and to honor.
“Others look to our example. Each of us is ‘that Mormon girl or boy’ from someplace or other. Wherever we go, we represent ourselves, our parents, and the Lord.
“And each one is preparing himself (or herself) to be the eternal companion of someone special who is also preparing. Then when both are ready, we will find one another.
“But for right now, each of us has 24 hours every day in which to work, pray, practice discipline, and cause the wonderful experiences of life to happen.”