Gospel Story Finder

Thomas Giles, a Welsh convert who joined the Church in 1844, suffered much in his lifetime. He was a miner, and while he was digging coal in the mine, a large piece of coal hit him on the head and made a wound nine inches (23 cm) long. The doctor who examined him said the injured man would not live longer than 24 hours. But then the elders came and blessed him. He was promised that he would get well and that “even if he would never see again, he would live to do much good in the Church.” Brother Giles did indeed live but was blind the rest of his life.
In 1856 Brother Giles and his family moved to Utah, but before he left his homeland, the Welsh Saints presented him with a harp, which he learned to play well. At Council Bluffs, Iowa, he joined a handcart company and headed west. “Though blind he pulled a handcart from Council Bluffs to Salt Lake City.” While crossing the plains his wife and two children died. “His sorrow was great and his heart almost broken, but his faith did not fail him.” When Brother Giles arrived in Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young, who had heard his story, loaned Brother Giles a valuable harp until his own arrived from Wales. Brother Giles “traveled from settlement to settlement in Utah, … gladdening the hearts of the people with his sweet music.”1

Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.”

Let me mention one personal experience that stays with me, an experience with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, which I first heard when I was 13 years old. I visited Salt Lake City then with my mother, who was a good musician and who wanted to hear that great organ and the choir. The memory of that sound has stayed with me; it was overwhelming.

I had the great opportunity, through the kindness of the choir itself, to lead it once, on June 27, 2007. They were at the Ravinia music center in Highland Park, Illinois, outside of Chicago. A few days prior to the concert, I received a call from the choir’s music director, Dr. Craig Jessop, who asked whether I would consider assuming the conductor’s podium at the end of the performance and lead the choir in an encore number. Never had I been asked to do something like that! I seized the occasion, and, after a brief lesson from Craig at the dress rehearsal, I got up and faced the choir with a tremendous feeling of awe and power and great satisfaction. There was silence as this marvelous choir was looking at and waiting for me. If that doesn’t give you something of an ego trip, I don’t know what would! I paused for a moment, and then I gave the downbeat, according to Craig’s instruction. All of a sudden, that vacuum of expectant silence was filled with this magnificent, overpowering sound, all in unison, all in harmony. I thought to myself, “I’m doing better with the Mormons than I am with the Catholics!” I have a lot harder time getting them to sing together!

Our school baseball team has had a wonderful season. I am pitching for the team, and we are undefeated. I am the only Mormon on the team, and I have several of the boys plus the coach interested in the Church. They often ask me questions about the Church, and I do my best to answer them. Because of the number of playoffs, the final game determining the league championship will be held this Sunday. The winner of the game is sent to the state championship. We have been working all season for this next meet, and I found out too late that this one game is to be played on the Sabbath, so there is no replacement for me in the pitching position. I don’t know what to do because if I don’t play the team will not only lose the game and hence the state championship, but they will also lose all interest in the Church!
“A few years ago, BYU was playing in a basketball tournament on the east coast. Because of bad weather, games had to be cancelled and rescheduled on a Sunday. The team wired Salt Lake City to ask for counsel on whether or not they should play on Sunday. The counsel from the General Authorities was no.
“The boy in the situation said that many members of the baseball team were interested in the Church. It would be best for them to see someone who puts the Lord first. We must remember that the Lord cannot bless us if we don’t keep the commandments. What the Lord thinks should guide our decisions, not what others think. Keep the commandments and don’t play.”
Elder Ric WilcoxGeorgia-South Carolina Mission
“What this young man should ask himself is how interested his teammates would be in the Church if he did play on Sunday and thus proved that the principles in which he claims to believe are not important to him. Would his friends be interested in a church that could not, in a real test, hold up as this young man’s guiding standard?”
Teresa D. BickleyTacoma, Washington
“In this situation I would feel a need to kneel and discuss with my Heavenly Father his solution to my problem.
“First Nephi 3:7 states: ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ (1 Ne. 3:7) The Lord has given us the commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy by partaking of the sacrament and thus renewing our covenants with him.
“I’ve discovered that nonmember friends are influenced most by example. If you allow yourself to break one of your Heavenly Father’s commandments, just this once, you may never be able to convince those interested in the Church that the gospel is true.
“Be a ruler of circumstances; don’t let circumstances rule you.”
Joanne StephensonRiverside, California
“We’ve been put on this earth to be tested and prove ourselves worthy to return to our Heavenly Father. Many times it is difficult to know exactly which way to turn, and which way will be best for others as well as ourselves. However, we’ve been told many times never to compromise and never to give in to the things of the world. So I think the boy should stand up for what our church believes and not play that game on Sunday. And when his teammates see him do that, they will admire him and our church. They’ll get the idea that our church really has something to it, and most likely they’ll investigate it.
“At the time the boy tells the team, they may hate him and make fun of him, but he should take it well, and in time his reward will come. Remember what the Lord promised Joseph Smith in his difficult times: ‘And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“‘The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?
“‘Therefore, hold on thy way, and the priesthood shall remain with thee; for their bounds are set, they cannot pass. Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.’ (D&C 122: 7–9.)
“And that is quite a promise, so the boy should make his stand and do what’s best for the Church, his teammates, and especially for himself.”
Darrell BackSalt Lake City, Utah
“If he does play the Sunday game, his teammates may not lose interest in the Church, but is he going to explain to them that the principles of the Church are the most important things in members’ lives except for the commandment about keeping the Sabbath?
“If this boy could get together with his teammates and explain his principles to them and get the whole team on his side, then they could probably get the game rescheduled. This way the team’s interest in the Church might be increased, and they would have greater respect for the principles of the gospel.”
Corey Christensen, Kay Adamson, Tonya Allen, Lisa Poulsen, Marva Ashton, Dennis Huggard, Lisa Hartshorn, LoRee Johnson, Steve Broadbent, Dave DortonLehi, Utah

It was here at BYU, in a devotional such as this, that it all began for me. I had been dating a young man. One night he began talking about marriage, and he was very persistent! I didn’t sleep well that night because of the things he said, and I knew I had to make a decision. I prayed that the Lord would help me know what to do, but I received no instant answer. The next morning we attended a devotional together. While sitting in that devotional, I listened in amazement as the speaker, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle, stood and began to speak about the process of making important decisions. It was as if he were speaking directly to me. He knew my heart, and his words went deep into my soul. He outlined the process of decision making by referring to Doctrine and Covenants section 9. Everyone else seemed to be very familiar with this section of the scriptures except me. You are all familiar with it too, but for me, that day, it was pure revelation and provided a pattern for me to receive an answer to my prayers. He read:

Behold, you have not understood; you have supposed that I would give it unto you, when you took no thought save it was to ask me.
But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.
But if it be not right you shall have no such feelings, but you shall have a stupor of thought that shall cause you to forget the thing which is wrong. [D&C 9:7–9]

Though this passage was originally directed to Oliver Cowdery, in that moment it became personal for me and was a direct answer to the question I had asked the night before in prayer. Elder Tuttle also outlined a process of listing positives and negatives, making a tentative decision, and then taking that decision back to the Lord in prayer.2

I knew that I had to act! I couldn’t just keep doing what I was doing. I had to decide to decide. I knew it, and I knew God knew that I knew it. After I made a tentative decision to move forward, I can’t say that my answer came as a burning in my bosom. But it did feel right and comfortable and good. I was no longer perplexed or troubled. I felt peace. I knew what to do, and I was happy. And so I went forward, and that persistent young man is here with me tonight. I am grateful for his goodness, his insistence, and his patience.

Was it always easy after that answer came? No. My husband says, to this day, that he can show you the heel marks in the sidewalk outside the door of the Salt Lake Temple where I got a little scared and thought that I wanted to wait. But this is what I learned: As you exercise your faith through prayer, the Lord will help you make defining decisions in defining moments. He will hear and answer your prayers through the whisperings of the Holy Ghost. You will not be left alone.

In that paper Carl wrote about his grandfather’s many miracles as he preached the gospel in Samoa. One of those places that he was sent to was Manu’a. Carl wrote, his grandfather had a dream, and in his dream he saw two palagi faifeau (Caucasian missionaries) foreign missionaries came to his village and walked right into his house and sat down. That was the end of his dream. But later on, when two Mormon missionaries entered into their village and came up to their house and walked in, he not only recognized the two as the men in his dream, but by his own account the spirit told him that the gospel message was true. It was then the stage was set for this simple man to do great work for the church.

Carl continued,
Opapo Fonoimoana and his longtime friend Elisala and two white missionaries were sent to Manu’a. When they arrived, they found that their arrival has been forewarned and that the king Tuimanu’a had given strict instructions forbidding anyone from receiving, housing, feeding, clothing or assisting the Mormon missionaries in any way. It was a difficult situation for all concerned. Even though some people may have wanted to accept the missionaries and care for them, as is the normal custom to care and assist the ministers, the fear of reprisals from this dominant king his harsh edit was too much for anyone to go against.

The consequence of accepting these missionaries would be an immediate stoning of that individual or individuals. The prospects of any conversion was hopeless. Nevertheless, the missionaries were very determined and stayed two months on Manu’a. Without other food to eat, they relied heavily on fallen coconuts on the beaches and small staples. Without a fale or house for shelter and sleeping, they had to dig holes on the beach. They would enter the deep holes and the last one would cover their heads with leaves as to protect them from mosquitos, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from mosquitos bites the rest of the night.

After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through human or divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu’a. A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to tuimanu’a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one-the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries. It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving.

When I returned home to the southern Philippines in 2016 after serving an honorable mission in the northern Philippines, I was looking forward to attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii and experiencing all the other adventures awaiting young adults.
Suddenly, however, I started losing weight. My doctor diagnosed hyperthyroidism. She scared me with the implications if the disease went untreated.
Despite treatment, my body began to change. My eyes started to bulge, and I became very skinny. I avoided having my picture taken and even looking in the mirror because of my appearance.
Medication slowly began to help. But three years later, I was diagnosed with a second malady—a depressive disorder. These two sicknesses robbed me of self-confidence. I struggled to get out of bed to attend school, and I felt incapable of serving in the Church.
I was angry that God had allowed this to happen. I wondered why I should serve with all my heart and soul if doing so just brought trials? I took comfort, however, from these words by President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Broken minds can be healed just the way broken bones and broken hearts are healed.” I cried when I heard those words. I had a broken mind that needed healing.
I was raised in a faithful home, and my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ remained intact despite the pain and uncertainty. Gradually, I accepted and adapted to my new circumstances.
Now, eight years later, I am no longer slowed by my maladies. I accept them as a part of life. I feel whole. I can serve and live life fully, though health challenges may continue my whole life. I’ve learned that patiently enduring is part of mortality (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8). I’m learning to drink my bitter cup and remain strong.
I now work in the personnel department of an artificial intelligence company and take online classes at night from Brigham Young University–Pathway Worldwide. I’ve stopped asking “Why me?” and have started asking “What I can learn? How can I benefit from this experience?”
Looking back, I see that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were with me all the way. Going forward, I know in whom I can trust (see Proverbs 3:5–6; 2 Nephi 4:34).

I teach an undergraduate ethics class. Last fall I shared with my students a story based on a study conducted in 1970 at Princeton University. On the morning of the final exam, a class of students showed up to the scheduled classroom only to find a sign on the board telling them that the room had changed and the correct room was across campus. Imagine how you might feel in that circumstance. These students had to quickly get from one end of campus to the other in order to make it in time for the final exam.

The students rushed across campus to find their professor waiting for them. The professor then told them that they had just completed their final exam.

The students were quite perplexed. The professor explained that he had set up several “situations” across campus that provided opportunities for them to show their ethical behavior. For example, one person had dropped an armful of books on the sidewalk. One was seen being verbally abused by another. A third person had fallen off their bike right in the students’ path, while a fourth was frantically looking for a small child.

The professor asked the students, “Did you stop to help pick up the books? Did you check to see if those who were hurt or in danger were okay? Did you join in the search for the lost child?”

This professor was trying to tell his students that the important learning is in real-life application. You see, this life is not just about writing papers and passing tests. It is not even about working hard at your job. It is all about how we treat others.

Four months ago, thanks to BYU’s Arabic study abroad program, I had the opportunity to return to the Hagia Sophia. This visit came at the conclusion of my most discouraging year at BYU. After being rejected from 55 internships the previous summer, I also was denied admission to my dream graduate program. Truthfully, I was angry with God. I felt that I had worked hard, was qualified, and yet was facing refusal at every turn.

As I entered the Hagia Sophia, the memories from my previous visit flooded over me. In an instant I realized that I had forgotten the key element of my pledge: In my efforts to seek intellect, I had forgotten to seek God. In my focus on accomplishment, I saw the utility of my intellect as a tool to receive personal praise, not as a means to praise the Father.

As my focus returned to constructing a life glorifying God, following Him in faith became a joy despite the uncertainty. That is what makes a BYU education so unique. When we are sincerely dedicated to developing humility, our lives are one continuous song of praise, and those around us perceive not our status or accomplishments but rather the goodness and glory of God.

I am reminded of the well-worn and often-told story of

a little crippled boy who ran a small newsstand in a crowded railroad ­station. He must have been about twelve years old. Every day he would sell papers, candy, gum, and magazines to the thousands of commuters passing through the terminal.

One night two men were rushing through the crowded station to catch a train. One was fifteen or twenty yards in front of the other. It was Christmas Eve. Their train was scheduled to depart in a matter of minutes.

The first man turned a corner and in his haste . . . plowed right into the little crippled boy. He knocked him off his stool, and candy, newspapers, and gum were scattered everywhere. Without so much as stopping, he cursed the little fellow for being there and rushed on to catch the train. . . .

It was only a matter of seconds before the second commuter arrived on the scene. He stopped, knelt, and gently picked up the boy. After making sure the child was unhurt, the man gathered up the scattered newspapers, sweets, and magazines. Then he took out his wallet and gave the boy a five-dollar bill. “Son,” he said, “I think this will take care of what was lost or soiled. Merry Christmas!”

Without waiting for a reply the commuter now picked up his briefcase and started to hurry away. As he did, the little crippled boy cupped his hands together and called out: “Mister, Mister!”

The man stopped as the boy asked, “Are you Jesus Christ?”

By the look on his face, it was obvious the commuter was embarrassed by the question. But he smiled and said, “No, son, I am not Jesus Christ, but I am trying hard to do what He would do if He were here.”12

Like scarlet-robed noblemen and silken-gowned ladies-in-waiting, we paraded up the stone staircase to the turrets of the castle ramparts. There, we gazed out on a meadow where, in our minds at least, armor-clad knights awaited our signal to begin a joust.
Actually, as the Young Men and Young Women of the North Shields Ward, Sunderland England Stake, gathered inside the portcullis of Warkworth Castle, we had many such images in our minds. Swallowed in the immensity of the building, now mostly a rocky skeleton of the once regal residence, we wondered what it would have been like to roam the corridors, feast in the cavernous banquet hall, or dwell in the cold, stone chambers. It was one of the best history lessons I’ve ever received.
But then, in northeastern England, you could say history’s on the doorstep. A short ride in a minibus had taken us from our homes to the banks of the River Coquet, over which Warkworth’s turrets preside. Across the stream, the hermitage also offered a lesson in history, a lesson of a different sort. We had to row across the current to visit what had been used as a chapel and as living quarters for monks supported by the locals of the town. On rock face ruins, carved markings indicated the river level during the floods of 1831 and 1900, marks well over the head of an average person. Inside, the altar, vaulted roof, and wall decorations were all hewn from the same rock that formed the shell of the hermitage. It must have taken years to carve all that detail!
Even in Tyne and Wear (our home shire, or “county”), however, history lessons don’t last forever. We had to wait at one point for the next boat to cross the river, so we played rounders (which somewhat resembles baseball) and quoits (which resembles horseshoes), and some of the group walked an “invisible dog” to a nearby shop. Sister Ann Wilkinson, first counselor in the Young Women presidency, went strolling and found an unexpected mishap when she slipped on the riverbank. “The funniest part of the day was when my mam fell in the mud!” joked her 15-year-old daughter Linda.
Besides those adventures, we also had to take time for photos, and for lunch, and to admire the remarkable trees, ancient and mangled as they intertwined. After a full day of peering at fantasy armies through castle windows and storming up steps despite the worst foes our imaginations could muster, we reluctantly piled in the bus again to head for home, thinking that the weeks of gardening, stripping wallpaper, and doing odd jobs to pay for the excursion had been worthwhile. We had grown closer to each other as brothers and sisters in the gospel. We had taken an opportunity to explore and get to know the part of the world where we live and serve our Heavenly Father. And we had learned a little about history and geography as well.
On the way home, we paused at Druridge Bay to collect shells we intended to make into gifts for our Autumn Fayre. Kevin Murphy and Helen Loynes couldn’t resist the lure of the cold North Sea, and even persuaded a few of the hardier souls, who had been jumping in the sand banks, to join them, fully clothed, for a dip in the waves. Some shivered and others smiled as we rushed, teeth chattering, back to shore, and collapsed in the rocks and sand. We knew we had to get warm, and we knew we had to get back in the bus and head for home, and we knew we had to stop giggling and laughing. But the moment seemed to last forever, and we knew that the memories formed in one day would last us until the next time we got together for a Latter-day Saint weekend in the land that is our home.

First, let me tell you an experience related by Emma Rae McKay, wife of President David O. McKay:
“Last summer on reaching Los Angeles, we decided to have our car washed by one of those ‘Quickies’ on Wilshire Boulevard.
“As I was watching the last part of the operation from a bench, to my surprise a tiny voice at my elbow said, ‘I guess that man over there loves you.’
“I turned and saw a beautiful little curly-haired child with great brown eyes who looked to be about seven years of age.
“‘What did you say?’ I asked.
“‘I said, I guess that man over there loves you.’
“‘Oh, yes, he loves me; he is my husband. But why do you ask?’
“A tender smile lighted up his face and his voice softened as he said, ‘Cuz, the way he smiled at you. Do you know I’d give anything in this world if my pop would smile at my mom that way.’
“‘Oh, I’m sorry if he doesn’t.’
“‘I guess you’re not going to get a divorce,’ he [questioned me].
“‘No, of course not; we’ve been married over fifty years. Why do you ask that?’
“‘Cuz everybody gets a divorce around here. My pop is getting a divorce from my mom, and I love my pop and I love my mom. …
“His voice broke and tears welled up in his eyes, but he was too much of a little man to let them fall.
“‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that!’
“And then he came very close and whispered confidentially into my ear, ‘You’d better hurry out of this place or you’ll be getting a divorce too!’” (The Savior the Priesthood and You, Melchizedek Priesthood Manual, 1973–74, p. 207.)

My father died last year, and now he is getting more of the education that he always wanted when he was a little boy. And me? Well, my wife and I have children of our own in school. And when they say, “But I don’t want to go to school,” I say, “Then I’ll go in your place. Do you think the teacher would mind? I wonder if I can fit into the seat at your desk?” And when they say, “My teacher makes me work too hard,” I just smile and mess up their hair and say, “I doubt it.”

I shall never forget one night almost four decades ago. My bride, Patricia, and I had been married for two years. We lived in a small duplex on Oahu’s north shore. I was an army infantry officer assigned to a unit at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Our brigade had been ordered to war in Vietnam. My plane was scheduled for departure after midnight, and a good Latter-day Saint friend had agreed to take me to the airfield at 11:00 p.m.
All through that long evening, Pat and I sat on the sofa in our tiny living room with our fingers intertwined, watching the hands of the clock approach the fateful hour and listening to the soft lapping of the surf against the shore. The ticking of the clock seemed a metronome of mortality in painful contrast to the muffled rushing of the eternal sea. At last the hour of parting arrived. Inside the doorway to our little home, I clutched my bride to my bosom and kissed her one last time, and then I was gone. As I closed the door, I wondered if I had seen my sweetheart for the last time in mortality. It was truly night.
My friend and I drove silently in the darkness through the sugar cane and pineapple fields of Oahu. My heart felt as though it would break. Then as we passed Schofield, an unseen infantry unit on night maneuvers fired a flare. Its brilliance momentarily lit the inky darkness and seemed to ignite a spiritual flame in the blackness that invested my soul. My thoughts were drawn away from this saddest of days to the very happiest: back to that beautiful December day when Pat and I had entered the holy temple and there were sealed to each other, not just for this life only but for all eternity. I thought of the eternal covenants we had made. Like the sunrise, it dawned on me that no matter what happened in the uncertain future just ahead, Pat would always be mine. When I reached the air base, I telephoned her. In the spirit of a renewed hope and peace born of faith and understanding, we talked and laughed softly before once more bidding each other good-bye. It was only midnight, but for me the sun was already rising.

Although his acting career is just starting, Tracey is already receiving praise for his ability. He is also drawing attention to his way of life. Wherever he has worked, he has influenced other members of the casts and crews. On one occasion a cast member told him, "Everybody on this set is searching for what you already have." A cast member of Joe Panther wouldn’t even drink coffee when Tracey was on the set. "I’ve taken up drinking orange juice because that is what you drink," he said.

When I had been in Taiwan a little over two months, I was assigned to be the companion of a Chinese sister. As we were introduced, Sister Chen said, “I know you will teach me many gospel principles I can apply and learn.” I remember feeling overwhelmed by her expectation of me.
At first, the language and cultural barriers separating us seemed formidable. But with time, Sister Chen and I developed a communion of hearts far greater than my elementary Mandarin and her almost nonexistent English could express. Finally one day Sister Chen said, “You are no longer an American, Sister Myres, and I am not Chinese. We are sisters.”
I was at her side when she received her endowment in the Tokyo Temple. Sister Chen had thought that I would be her teacher. But she is the one who taught me the meaning of oneness, as explained by Paul: “God that made the world and all things therein … and hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth.” (Acts 17:24, 26.)

Changing habits of nineteen or twenty years’ standing requires a careful persuasion of spirit, a restructured schedule of activities, and a conviction that the new habits will prove more valuable and effective than the old ones. A missionary, newly called, faces the necessity of revising his more worldly tendencies and arranging his life on a spiritual plane. His spirit is willing, and he knows that the main thing is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ; but how does he make daily preparation to accomplish that goal?
The answers are provided in a five-day program of transition at the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City, Utah. Under the supervision of President and Sister J. Murray Rawson, elders and sisters exchange their individual touches of hesitance, reluctance, and fear, for conviction and confidence. They begin on
Registration is from 9:00 A.M. to 12:00 noon. A sister missionary walks bravely into the room marked “Missionaries—Register Here.” She reports her name, pays a fee to cover meals, and is given a short briefing by a member of the mission presidency as well as written instructions relative to her future for the next eighteen months and instructions to attend her first meeting at 2:00 P.M. Now she somehow wrestles her suitcases upstairs—“Missionaries Only” territory. In her room are seven bunk beds with pink bedspreads, several closets, some mirrors, and another sister lying on one of the beds. She sits up.
“Is that all you brought? Oh no! I’ve overpacked!”
Downstairs two mothers wait, watching missionaries form small groups, shake hands, and ask, “Where are you going?”
Both mothers are smiling; they’re also keeping score.
“Look! There’s another lady missionary there.”
“That’s two we’ve seen.”
By the wall map of mission divisions a father points for his two children.
“Do you want to see where Richard is going?”
Then it’s two o’clock and time for the first meeting and the first rule of missionary life: Missionary time is five minutes early.
The hunt for assigned seats causes some confusion, but soon the missionaries get themselves properly distributed. Seated in front of the sisters are the missionary couples going into the field. One woman confides to the sister next to her, “Look at these clean looking kids. I call them kids. My husband says I will have to get used to calling them elders. You know, it’s exciting to watch them change.”
The meeting begins. “Elders and sisters …” Each meeting is opened and concluded with a song and a prayer. Today’s meeting begins with a welcome from the mission presidency. The group learns that the present group of missionaries represents twenty-seven states of the United States plus Australia and Canada.
Next, Sister Rawson speaks on housekeeping, personal habits, and grooming. Little-known facts of ministerial grooming emerge. The missionaries learn that they can remove grass stains with rubbing alcohol and ballpoint pen marks with hair spray. Then there are talks from the counselors in the mission presidency, President Rees and President Broberg.
After dinner the group is introduced to the missionary discussions, and then President Rawson talks to them about spirituality.
The missionaries then spend a half hour in temple preparation. A more serious mood settles upon them with a deeper realization of their relationship as missionaries to the plan of salvation.
Next comes an introduction to discussion memorization by the teaching director. A few mumbles follow his announcement of the “easy way” to do it.
“I think I have a congenital memorization inadequacy.”
“How about me? I almost failed Primary because I couldn’t memorize the Articles of Faith.”
But then the teaching director concludes his remarks with the fact that sixty percent of the previous group memorized all discussions while still in the Missionary Home and adds his testimony.
“Looks like it’s not impossible after all, doesn’t it?”
Ten-thirty is bedtime. There is a long line of sinks in the women’s dormitory, each equipped with a sister missionary.
“… because the Lord wants me here, that’s why.”
“My goal is to go through every temple in the world.”
“Everyone told me I’d probably be called to some place close, and now just think, Southern Italy. Wow!”
“If someone could just take my make-up case, it would take care of my six excess pounds of luggage.”
“My boyfriend said he’d wait for me, but …”
Back in their bedrooms the sisters kneel together in prayer and know the comfort of feeling their spirits united in a mutual goal: to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. An exchange of good-nights closes the day, except for a whispered, “The top bunk? I’ve never slept in a bunk bed before.” The light goes out, because in a shorter time than could be possible it’s
“Elders and sisters, it’s 6:15. All hands on deck!” President Rawson’s voice comes through the intercom, and missionaries in various stages of alertness arise and turn to make their beds.
Breakfast is at 6:30 in the new Church Office Building, where all meals are served during the five-day stay in the Missionary Home. The elders extend the sisters the courtesy of allowing them to be first in line at the cafeteria.
“I’m glad the Church doesn’t practice women’s lib!”
“Is there a rule against perfume?”
During breakfast the sisters make the acquaintance of a sister missionary whose family is all grown and married and whose husband is dead. She has been called to the Alabama-Florida Mission and speaks proudly of her children, all of whom graduated from college and were married in the temple.
“The Lord has been so good to me; I could not possibly refuse this call.”
Following breakfast the missionaries meet in the Visitor’s Center for a tour. The Tabernacle Choir broadcast then provides a half hour of enjoyment and relaxation prior to the first classes.
At 10:15 the sisters meet with the wives of the mission presidency for orientation and a question and answer session. The rest of the morning is spent discussing goals, self-improvement, and how to get organized.
After lunch it’s discussion study again. All the teachers are returned missionaries who have been called and set apart to this position. Each has completed a three-month training course.
Sunday morning the teaching staff for the sister missionaries gathers in the dormitory study area for a meeting to review the results of the previous week, check weak points, and assign study groups of six to ten sisters. The supervisor encourages her staff to maintain their enthusiasm and love for the sisters and to stimulate them to strive to reach the goals they have set. A member of the teaching staff reflects on her appreciation for this special calling with the comment:
“Sunday is the best day of the week!”
Sacrament meeting concludes with the testimonies of recent converts and Lamanite missionaries. A convert of one year bears his testimony to a congregation quiet in contemplation and reverence.
There are a few minutes between dinner and the evening classes, so the sisters use the dormitory to discuss mission rules, passports, bicycles, the language, hometowns, and expected conduct.
“We should exercise for a few minutes every day.”
“Let’s run in place; it’s good for your heart.”
“You mean all that walking isn’t going to do anything for our hearts?”
Then it’s back to the discussions again. The sisters approach memorization of the discussions with a concept of key-wording to establish a broad outline of thought patterns and content rather than the mechanical memorization of words, phrases, and sentences.
The legendary Mr. Brown becomes Sister Brown as the sisters pair off to tackle the first discussion.
“I think I make a better Mr. Brown than Elder Jones.” They memorize the first two discussions on Sunday.
Then, after straining their memories for two hours on the discussions, the missionaries strain them again with a class on how to remember names. Finally, it’s time for family prayer, and the day closes in the same peace of spirit with which the missionaries plan to meet
The temple session begins at 6:45, so the sisters get up at 6:15. The automatic protests at the early hour are brief and overshadowed by a low-voiced exchange of reasons for wanting to be part of this aspect of the Lord’s work.
“Every time I open my eyes it hurts.”
“… share something beautiful …”
“… an overwhelming desire to serve the Lord.”
“… feeling of peace as I signed the final papers in the bishop’s office.”
Between the two temple sessions that they attend, the missionaries meet with President Lee in the temple, where he answers any questions they may have about the endowment ceremony and the temple.
A late lunch is followed by a return to the classrooms, where the elders and sisters learn about door approaches and the use of the Book of Mormon in proselyting.
After dinner they memorize discussions three and four.
Two and a half days after their first apprehensive and impatient hours in the Missionary Home, the missionaries begin to feel a sense of purpose and belonging caused by tangible actions as well as their strong desires and aspirations. With this positive assurance they face
The day begins for the sisters with a morning prayer and song, and then a trip to the mailbox. A disconsolate elder stares at his empty box.
“I guess nobody loves me.”
“Sure they do. They were just glad to get rid of you.”
“Yeah! My brother was wearing my clothes even before I left.”
Most of the day Tuesday is spent learning about some important practical matters such as companion relationships, investigator relationships, health problems, auto safety, mission organization, and the daily work schedule.
Sandwiched in between these subjects is a unique little class taught by a member of the mission presidency. It is called “Listening.” In it the missionaries are taught how to listen perceptively and compassionately to others.
After dinner the missionaries memorize discussions five, six, and seven. Actually they have spent every spare minute all day long in concentrated study of the discussions. The time is only a few minutes snatched here and there, but it’s enough for most to get the job done.
It’s been a long day, but time seems to go faster each day. Lights out at 10:30, and more quickly than ever it’s
Today is the last day in the Missionary Home. This evening many of the elders and sisters will leave in buses for the language training missions at Ricks College and BYU. Others will leave on Thursday morning flights for their mission fields.
Everyone looks forward to Wednesday morning, not because it’s their last but because that’s the day the General Authorities speak to them. These leaders bear moving witness of the divine mission of Joseph Smith, of the importance of modern apostles and prophets, of the truth of the gospel, and of the divinity of Christ. They also explain the order of Church government in priesthood correlation, and advise the missionaries regarding their personal conduct. The morning passes far too quickly.
After lunch there is a testimony meeting. It ends with the elders and sisters singing “God Be with You” with some tears but mostly a sense of hope and enthusiasm and minds and hearts filled with words to remember.
“Smile, elders and sisters! These are glad tidings!”
“If you want to have a certain quality, act as if you already had that quality.”
“I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts than by any other book.”—Joseph Smith
“The gospel makes bad men good and good men better; it changes human nature.”—David O. McKay
Each missionary takes from the Missionary Home his suitcases, packages, “mission library,” and two special gifts: the gospel and the chance to share it, and the knowledge that he is prepared to succeed.

Another White House gift became a matter of life and death to young Tad Lincoln. A friend of President Lincoln’s, a successful turkey grower, sent one of his best gobblers to be served for a White House Christmas dinner. Tad quickly made friends with the handsome bird and named him Jack. The two of them spent many hours racing around the White House grounds. Finally, when it came time for the turkey to be readied for the holiday feast, Tad would not hear of such a thing.
“Father, you can’t let anyone kill Jack,” the boy pleaded. “He’s my friend!”
“But if we do not serve him for Christmas dinner, I might offend the man who gave us the turkey.”
“Then I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him Jack is my friend and that I want him to live.”
President Lincoln nodded, gently resting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then Jack will be spared,” his father agreed. “A good friend is worth far more than a good dinner.”

I was going to Arkansas to do one particular story. Period. But the flight schedules left me just enough time to do an additional story. So I asked Monty, my local contact, if he had any suggestions.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “since you asked—how about Rochelle Abram up in Bentonville?”
I had never worked with Monty before. Did he really know what kind of story I was looking for? I wasn’t completely sure myself.
What I didn’t want was to put some super-gifted super-achiever on a pedestal and make everybody else feel inadequate. Maybe I was just looking for an ordinary kid who has some qualities worth writing about.
I grabbed pencil and paper. “So tell me about Rochelle, Monty.”
He began, and mentally I responded to each point. “… multi-talented …” (The Church has lots of multi-talented kids.) “… state championships in gymnastics …” (We’ve done gymnast stories.) “… has done very well scholastically …” (That’s better, but—) “… a fine influence among the youth here …” (Okay. Now I’m listening.)
On the map, the road between Ft. Smith, Arkansas, and Bentonville looks fairly straight. In reality, it has more twists and turns than a soap opera plot, more bad grades than my fifth-grade report card. But since it winds among beautiful green hills, past some delightful little towns and villages, you don’t mind too much.
With Monty as guide, we found the Abram home, nestled among tall trees on Trail’s End Road, the driveway full of cars. This was Rochelle’s graduation night. Family and friends had started to gather, and it promised to be a little hectic.
Jerry Abram, Rochelle’s dad, greeted us warmly, pulled us into the house with a car salesman’s handshake, and introduced me to some of the family as we moved through the living room. A young woman approached from a hallway and he announced, “This is Rochelle.”
I doubted that boys had to be bribed to take her to the prom. Light blue-green eyes, warm smile and perfect white teeth, reddish-blond hair framing an oval face and fair complexion—Jed, my photographer, was going to have an easy time of it. But my anxiety about trying to do a story on a too-perfect girl had increased.
We discussed a few details, like what she would wear for the photographer and how much time we had before she had to go to commencement exercises. Then we went out onto the deck at the back of the house and sat down at a wrought iron table. It was after 5:00 P.M., and the tall trees that surround the house cast lacy shadows over us. I turned on my tape recorder, and we began to talk while Jed circled about, taking picture after picture.
First, just to break the ice, we talked about school and friends. I learned that Rochelle’s circle of friends includes LDS youth in the larger town of Fayetteville, 30 minutes away. “We just get together on weekends and do stuff and have a lot of fun.” Like what? “Just about everything. We like to hike and camp and fish and do all the tomboyish things,” she laughs. “We’ve also had dinner parties with the guys.” Pretty normal so far.
Before coming to Arkansas, I had talked some more to Monty and others about Rochelle, and everybody mentioned gymnastics. So I asked, and learned that she started in the sixth grade and began competing in seventh grade. “And you took state honors—first place,” I prompted.
“Yes, I got first place in uneven bars in the state high school competitions last year and this year.” She paused. “And I got first place in floor exercises in the USGF (U.S. Gymnastics Federation) competition this year.” Another slight pause. “I enjoy it; it’s a lot of fun.”
Fun? The closest I’ve come to a back flip was on an icy morning a few winters ago. But I know that even for the talented, gymnastics training is punishingly difficult. “What has it done for you?”
“It’s taken up a lot of my time, and it’s a lot of hard work, but it teaches you patience and endurance. It’s kind of hard sometimes because you want to learn a trick and be good, but you have to work at it. And it’s really discouraging sometimes. But it’s given me more confidence in myself because when you do well you feel better about yourself.”
As Rochelle talked, I studied her face and listened to the inflections in her voice. No hint of false modesty. Others confirmed that she doesn’t talk freely about her accomplishments, even to her parents. You get the impression that she does things for the joy of doing—not for the trophies and certificates, but for the satisfaction of tackling something tough and doing it as well as she possibly can.
She treats school the same way, taking the challenging advanced placement courses instead of going for the easy A. I commented on the fact that she would be attending BYU on a four-year academic scholarship instead of going to some college on a gymnastics scholarship. She just laughed. Gymnastics may be fun and challenging, but it isn’t her life. Rochelle will be studying things like biology and chemistry. “I want to pursue a career in a health-related field, probably in some area of research,” she said.
What does she see herself doing ten years down the road? “Hopefully a mission, marriage, and a family.”
We took a break for a few minutes. Jed needed photos in a different setting, and I wanted to talk to Rochelle’s parents.
Jerry Abram came out and sat down. “Rochelle is not a spectator; she is a participant,” he said when I asked him to sum up his daughter. “I don’t know what she’ll contribute to the Church—whether she’ll ever be a Relief Society or Young Women president—but I know what she’ll contribute to other people. She always has time for others.”
For example? “In our stake there was a young man, a ninth grader, who was not participating. So Rochelle went to his house every morning, woke him up if necessary, and took him to early-morning seminary. It wasn’t an assignment; she just did it. I asked her about it, and she said, ‘It’s there to do.’”
When Jerry Abram talks about his daughter, there is both pride and some wonder in his voice as he discusses her skills and accomplishments. But it was when we talked about her qualities that his eyes became moist, his voice slightly husky. Asked about Rochelle’s spiritual gifts, he said, “She excels in the same way. She craves spiritual knowledge.”
I asked Rochelle’s mother, Mary, what her daughter’s best quality is. Her first thought was, “She is a true, sincere friend.” Then, as she continued to speak about Rochelle’s relationships with others: “It’s her commitment to Christ and to gospel standards.”
Commitment to Christ. I thought back on something that everyone but Rochelle had talked about so far—the death of Rochelle’s fraternal twin sister, Rhonda, in an auto accident just 11 months earlier.
When Rhonda was killed, two other girls also died in the one-car rollover. Both of them, Kathryn and Michele, were also LDS and close friends of both of the Abram sisters. The tragedy shook the town. Yet the Christ-centered faith of Rochelle and her family not only carried them through, but became a blessing to many others.
Hundreds of townspeople attended the joint funeral for Rhonda and Kathryn that was held in the LDS chapel. Michele’s funeral was two days later. Many commented afterward that they had always been taught that Mormons are not Christians. Now they knew otherwise. And a dozen or so have since come into the Church after being fellowshipped by Rochelle and her family.
A little later in the evening Rochelle and I talked again. The shadows had lengthened further and a light breeze toyed idly with the leaves. Through the closed glass doors you could faintly hear the growing crowd of friends talking and laughing. But out where we were it was quiet enough to hear the calls of insects and birds.
“Do you mind if we talk about Rhonda for a minute?”
Her gaze was direct and open as she said that was fine.
I asked her how her sister’s death had affected her.
“It makes me want to be a better person. She was such a great example—almost perfect.”
Like many of her answers it was short and to the point. I guess I could have followed up, tried to draw her out. But her parents had commented on how deeply she has felt the loss of her sister and how private she is about her grief. What would be the point in prying further? Instead, after a short silence, for some reason I changed the subject and asked, “What do you fear most?”
This time she paused. Her soft voice took on a slightly different quality as she answered. “Not being accepted, I guess.”
The surprise must have registered on my face. She laughed at herself and at her answer, as though she realized how silly it might sound to someone else, someone aware of her accomplishments.
I sat back and looked at this young woman from a small town in the northwest corner of Arkansas. Rochelle Abram—who wins titles in gymnastics. Loves to swim in the creek with family and friends. Is graduating with high honors. Recently shot a hole in her brother’s bedroom window with a BB gun while trying to hit a slow-flying bug. Eats peanut butter and jelly for Thanksgiving dinner because she doesn’t like meat and vegetables. Needed two full days to clean her room before company came.
It was time for Rochelle to go into the house and finish getting ready for her graduation. I looked down at my tape recorder and notebook and thought about the story contained on tape, on paper, and in my memory. Monty was right. She is worth writing about. Hooray for anybody who has gifts, develops them as well as possible, and is modest about them. Three cheers for those who accomplish things for the sheer joy of doing.
But far more importantly, I decided Rochelle was worth writing about because she excels in some ways that everyone can excel in: commitment to Jesus Christ and his gospel, putting aside our own fears and tragedies and reaching out to others. Even a Rochelle Abram sometimes worries about acceptance. It’s a natural fear most of us have. But instead of holding back, afraid to stand out, she goes ahead and does when “it’s there to be done.”
Next time Monty recommends a story, I’m ready to listen.

Adina N., from Switzerland, learned how family members can help one another develop talents as they enjoy wholesome recreational activities together.2 Her family plans a monthly family outing where they learn more about each other’s hobbies. “We have the opportunity to give our siblings a deeper insight into our life and our passions,” she says. One time, her father taught the family about dog training (below). “It was nice to see his enthusiasm and how happy he was to share an important part of his life and hobby with us,” Adina remembers.
Through these family activities, Adina has developed many skills. She has also noticed more peace in her life: “The family is a place where I can rest from the stress of everyday life and breathe peacefully, as well as gain strength and know that I don’t have to stand alone in this life. I am thankful for this because the world today is so fast and loud. I am glad I have a place to regenerate and rest.”