Gospel Story Finder

I was baptized on April 6, 2019. Four years later, in 2023, I received a call to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Jamaica Kingston Mission. Before I left my beloved Guyana, my journey took several troubling turns.
How did it begin? I completed my mission recommendation forms and received my call. Everything went smoothly until my parents heard I’d be going to Jamaica. It was so far away! My parents, mostly my mother, decided I shouldn’t go. “No, you’re not going!” she said. “You have to start school and work, and it’s too far away! It could be dangerous. A lot of things can happen.”
I was sad to hear this. I tried explaining that I would be safe and that when I got back, I could continue school. My mother still disagreed and gave me two options: “One, you stay here at home, work, and go to school, or two, you choose to serve this mission and forget you have a family. What’s your pick?”
I was shocked upon hearing this, and the conversation ended that night. I continued to prepare for my mission with the help of my stake president and district members. I was concerned that I would break the commandment to “honour thy father and thy mother” (Exodus 20:12) if I went. I was told to trust God and ask what He would have me do. I remember calling my stake president twice, telling him I don’t want to serve. I wasn’t just troubled by my mother’s words but also by other personal conflicts of feeling inadequate and leaving behind people I loved and things I wanted to do.
Several weeks later, my stake president called and asked if I still wanted to serve. He invited me to pray and ask God if a mission was right for me. After three days of pondering, I decided not to serve, but I hadn’t called the stake president yet. The next day, he called again and asked, “So what’s your answer—do you want to serve?” Without hesitation, I said, “Yes, I want to serve a mission!” Though I had decided not to serve, the Spirit led me to say yes.
I could not fully understand what happened to me in that moment until I was in the mission field. When I left, my mother stopped trying to tell me not to serve and said, “You’re old enough to choose, so go ahead and do as you want.” My father said, “Good luck.”
One week later, I was on a plane to the missionary training center. While I was in the MTC, my mother wouldn’t speak to me on my preparation days, but on the last day, before I left the MTC, my mother called. From then on to the end of my mission, we talked, maybe not every week, but I was grateful that my parents could finally allow and support me in choosing to serve God.
In Doctrine and Covenants 84:88, the Lord Jesus Christ promised to all his faithful servants, “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”
I learned so much on my mission and saw so many miracles. It helped develop my testimony and helped me grow into who I am today, a covenant daughter of God, willing to surrender to Him. The Lord has blessed my relationships and given me wisdom. I know He qualifies those whom He calls to serve. I know that the Lord takes care of those who choose Him over the things of the world. Because of Him, we are blessed to have families that love us. I know this to be true.

Katie decided to bake some cookies and take them to a neighbor who was sick. They had a nice time visiting together.
To be like Jesus, Katie could:
feel good inside, but tell no one else about what she’d done.
brag to her friends about the nice thing she’d done.
tell the bishop that she had visited a neighbor.
Read Matthew 6:3–4. [Matt. 6:3–4]

One night when I was reading my scriptures, I felt overwhelmed with the idea of becoming perfect. I sank back onto my bed and thought, How can I ever become the person I want so much to be?
As I pondered, I glanced around my room reviewing the daily reminders that decorated every shelf. My eyes settled on a small abacus my mother had purchased from a local boutique as a gift for me when I became a Beehive. Seven small wooden beads, each painted a different color representing the Young Women values, were strung on a thin wire arched on top of a small block of wood. On the side was hand painted, “Count on the Values.”
My question was answered. Count on the values to improve each day. How? I asked. More answers poured into my mind. Seven values, seven days—a value a day. I grabbed the nearest pencil to organize my thoughts.
Sunday—Divine Nature I would study the scriptures, listen in church, ponder the things I learned there, and prepare for the coming week by increasing my spirituality.
Monday—Faith I would have the faith to meet the challenges of a new week. I remembered a quotation, “If you believe you can, you can. If you think you can’t, you’re right.” I would have faith that with the Lord’s help I would be able to do all the things that were needful.
Tuesday—Knowledge I would focus on knowledge by scheduling time throughout the week for homework and additional study for upcoming tests.
Wednesday—Choice and Accountability I would hold a midweek evaluation on how I was going. Were the choices I’d made so far in the week helping me become a better person? Were they reflecting my belief in Christ? If I was falling short, there would still be time to renew a commitment to improve. If I was doing all I could, it could be a time of grateful prayer.
Thursday—Good Works I would look for someone in need of my service. It might be a fellow student who needed a study partner or perhaps a cheerful hello in the halls. Maybe it’s my neighbor in need of a ride, a quick errand done, or help with her small children.
Friday—Integrity When I went with my friends, I would remember who I was and what my beliefs are. I would encourage others to make good decisions, particularly when we were together as friends.
Saturday—Individual Worth This was a time to know I had grown in the gospel and come a little closer to the Savior. It was a time to prepare for Sunday and the upcoming week, feeling just a little closer to my eternal goals.
This weekly plan strengthened me as I tried to live one value each day to the fullest extent possible. At first I could only do one or two things to live that particular value, but it became easier. After a while I didn’t even have to plan out each act as I’d had to at first. Soon one day blended into another. I didn’t just serve others on Thursdays, but I thought of things to help others almost without realizing I was even doing it. I discovered myself being accountable daily for the choices I made. Study time became easier because I had taken the time to make a plan to learn new things.
The Lord helped me see that perfection isn’t an immediate accomplishment but an eternal quest as I learned line upon line, precept on precept, each new day.

I really like the Friend magazine. I especially like to listen to it. Every month my dad downloads the magazine and burns it to a CD so that I can listen to it being read to me as I fall asleep at night.

Now to you dear grandmothers, you older widows, and older lonely women. How beautiful you are. I look upon my dear wife, soon to be 92 years of age. Her hair is white; her frame is stooped.

I take one of her hands in mine and look at it. Once it was so beautiful, the flesh firm and clear. Now it is wrinkled and a little bony and not very strong. But it speaks of love and constancy and faith, of hard work through the years. Her memory is not what it once was. She can remember things that happened half a century ago but may not remember what happened half an hour ago. I am like that, too.

But I am so grateful for her. For 66 years we have walked together, hand in hand, with love and encouragement, with appreciation and respect. It cannot be very long before one of us will step through the veil. I hope the other will follow soon. I just would not know how to get along without her, even on the other side, and I would hope that she would not know how to get along without me.

By December 1827 there had been several attempts to steal the plates, so Joseph decided to move with Emma to the home of her parents in Harmony Township, Pennsylvania.

When Joseph and Emma arrived, Joseph allowed Isaac Hale, Emma’s father, to heft the plates in a box. Isaac later stated, “I was allowed to feel the weight of the box, and they gave me to understand, that the book of plates was then in the box.” Yet he was unconvinced and dissatisfied with the situation. He told Joseph to either show him the plates or remove them from his house. Joseph hid the plates in the nearby woods until he and Emma moved into their own home on the Hale property.

I’d like to say thank you to Morgan D. Westerman for the story “It Became Real” (Sept. 91). It reminded me of the time the same thing happened to me. As I was reading the Book of Mormon, I felt as if I were on the boat with Nephi and his family. Then that night, I dreamed I was there while Nephi was being mocked by his brothers. I thought it was a really good article.

When young women of the Swansea First Ward, Merthyr Tydfil Wales Stake, saw pictures of people starving in Romania, they wanted to help.
So they went to local businesses and asked for donations—not just money, but also products and services, for an auction at the ward house. It seemed everyone in town came, and money went to buy much-needed food, medicine, and clothing.

Have you ever gone mountain climbing? You pause now and again to view the valleys below you. As you climb higher you have a good view. As you continue to climb, the good view changes into a greater view. To use the word greater means we are comparing the lower level views to the highest. In the same way, compared to the Bible, the Book of Mormon gives a greater view of Jesus Christ and his atonement. As affirmed by the Lord, “there are many things engraven upon the plates of Nephi which do throw greater views upon my gospel.” (D&C 10:45, italics added.)

In our dispensation, the Prophet Joseph Smith endured all manner of opposition and hardship to bring to pass the desire of our Heavenly Father—the Restoration of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Joseph was harassed and hunted by angry mobs. He patiently endured poverty, humiliating charges, and unkind acts. His people were forcibly driven from town to town, from state to state. He was tarred and feathered. He was falsely charged and jailed.
Imprisoned at Liberty, Missouri, and experiencing deep, emotional temporal feelings that his own hardships and the tests and trials of the Saints would never cease, Joseph prayed: “O God, where art thou? … Yea, O Lord, how long shall they suffer these wrongs and unlawful oppressions, before thine heart shall be softened toward them, and … be moved with compassion toward them?” (D&C 121:1, 3).
Joseph was told, “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).
Joseph knew that if he were to stop going forward with this great work, his earthly trials would probably ease. But he could not stop because he knew who he was, he knew for what purpose he was placed on the earth, and he had the desire to do God’s will.

1. Notice that Rachel describes specifics from before the priesthood blessing; this will be important to show the contrast of the healing after the blessing.
“When I was young, I had an expander (an orthodontic appliance) in the top of my mouth. One day I developed an infection and my gums swelled up around it. I was in terrible pain, and neither the dentist nor the orthodontist knew what was wrong or how to fix it. All they could do while they tried to figure it out was to give me pain medicine. I stayed home sick from school and spent most of the time sleeping. Every time the medicine wore off, I woke up in pain and cried until the next dose of medicine kicked in.1
2. If you were speaking with nonmembers, you’d want to tell a little more about what priesthood and home teacher mean.
“My mom asked my dad (a priesthood holder) to call one of our home teachers.2 He came over and helped my father give me a healing blessing. After the blessing, the pain never woke me up from sleep again. The swelling went down and I was able to stop taking the pain medicine. When I went back to the dentist, he was astonished and still couldn’t understand what had been wrong or how it healed. He was a member of our stake, so my mom told him I’d had a priesthood blessing, and then he understood why I was better.3
3. She shares how she was healed by priesthood power. Notice how she explains that her recovery puzzled the dentist. This demonstrates that her healing was a result of the blessing and a gift from our Heavenly Father.
“Ever since that experience, I’ve had a strong testimony of the true power of the priesthood. Whenever my testimony gets a little shaky, I can look back on this experience and remember what a real miracle it was. I know the Lord loves me and that it was His power that made me better.”4
4. She concludes her story by sharing a simple but powerful testimony.
Rachel M., Utah, USA

My name is Orlando José Macho Núñez, and I was born in Caracas, Venezuela, on December 16, 1970. From a young age, I have seen the miracles of the Lord and felt His help in every challenge I faced. One of those miracles happened in 1986 when I learned about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A neighbor introduced my mother to the Church, and she was baptized. She promised the Lord that she would also teach me about the Church. I felt the importance of her promise and went with her to a meeting the following Sunday. Two weeks later, I was baptized. My mother was the Lord’s instrument in making this happen.

But his middle son, 10-year-old Joseph Jr., was a different matter. Four years earlier, Joseph Jr. had undergone an operation to remove an infection in his leg. Since then he had walked with a crutch. Although his leg was starting to feel sturdy again, Joseph Jr. had a painful limp, and Joseph Sr. did not know if he would grow up to be as strong as Alvin and Hyrum.7
If he had been bigger, Joseph probably would have tried to stand up to Mr. Howard himself. His hurt leg had kept him from work and play, but his strong will made up for his weak body. Before the doctors had cut into his leg and chipped away infected pieces of bone, they had wanted to tie him down or give him brandy to dull the pain. But Joseph had asked only that his father hold him.
He had stayed awake and alert the whole time, his face pale and dripping with sweat. His mother, who was usually so strong, had nearly fallen apart when she heard his screams. After that, she probably felt that she could bear anything.11

Jan peered into the room. All neutral tones and silence. She stepped across the threshold. Suddenly the walls turned to soft, warm yellow, and the modular arrangement at the far end of the “hospitality sector” blinked on with patterns of fairy tale-like whimsy. Some tinkling, teasing music played softly all around.
Jan was delighted. “How lovely to think that this is me!”
Paul entered the room. The walls now turned slightly rust. Panels opened to reveal textured symmetrical patterns. The music took on a low, slower melody.
Paul smiled playfully at Jan. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Aha! My personality is overshadowing yours.”
There were quick flashes of red all around the room. Loud percussion came and went.
Paul showed surprise. Bright patterns appeared on all sides of the couple. A classical selection with bursting crescendos boomed forth.
“Why, Jan! I’m sorry that stupid comment made you angry.”
Jan was gazing again with wonder at the marvelous constructions around them. She almost expected to hear breathing or feel beating.
Isn’t it eerie Paul? Eerie and exciting!” She paused, deciding which words to choose. “I … wasn’t really mad. But I guess there was a second of resentment or something …” She stopped, glancing to each side, then upward. “And this house picks up those just-barely-there vibrations!”
“Well, you knew I was just kidding, didn’t you?” Paul put his arm around Jan and squeezed her shoulder.
A sudden change around them: pastel flurries, a heavy scent of spring, a Strauss waltz.
Paul jerked his hand off of Jan’s shoulder. It was a reflex movement, as if his fingers had been burned. Both Jan and Paul burst out laughing and the house seemed to laugh with them.
When the comfortable rust-and-gold decor returned, Jan and Paul sat on one of the two stabiles in the sector. Paul leafed through the pamphlet. The two of them discussed the pending decision. The real estate agent was waiting outside. He had told them to take as much time as they wanted. It wasn’t more time they needed, it was more money. The budget would be strained to the breaking point, no question about it. But, oh, the house, this marvelous house! Mirrormood Estates meant not only upper-crust living, it meant lifetime insurance against the deterioration of human relationships through misunderstanding. Jan and Paul, newly married and wonderfully in love, were determined to maintain their open communication, thus fortifying their lives against unhappiness. This house would be a tender touchstone if the going ever did get rough.
“Listen!” Jan pulled at Paul’s arm “What are we doing sitting here? We should be looking around.”
So Jan and Paul explored.
In each “living sector” (as the pamphlet was wont to call the room arrangements), Jan and Paul had fun trying to toss out a variety of feelings and to watch the bouncings. But the newlyweds soon found that the house did not react as readily and as dramatically to conjured emotions. Still, it was so much fun to shout or grimace—or whatever—and to see, hear, and sometimes feel and smell echoes that were more clearly understood than had been the original outputs. Time passed too quickly.
“We’d better get on with it,” Paul noted just as Jan was turning to again review the possibilities of the food preparation sector. “That real estate man will be coming in here to pry us out before long.”
Jan and Paul returned again to the hospitality sector and sat on the stabile closest to the front entrance. They hated to leave the house. Together they looked through the pamphlet. On the last pages of the pamphlet were more explicit descriptions, in quasi-technical terms, of the equipment built into the house: computers to record and decipher even a slight odor of perspiration, a sudden tightening of a muscle, a quick flutter of an eyelid. Diagrams attempted to show the intricate networks of sensors and reactors built into various walls and arrangements. Mathematical data followed.
Jan lost interest. She didn’t care that much about explanations and proof. She knew only that she loved the house. The real estate agent had shown wisdom in simply unlocking the door and telling them to wander through the model home at their leisure. The house was its own best sales agent.
“I love it,” Jan enthused.
“Well, I do too. But we have to look at this from the practical standpoint, you know.”
The house went bland. Too much black and white. There was some kind of clean and crisp electronic music playing. The temperature in the room cooled.
Jan stuck out her tongue. “Ugh!” And there was a waver of greenness, a few droning notes.
Then Jan and Paul found themselves giggling. And surrounded by merry pulsations and wild colors, they decided that, oh, yes, they had to live in the house.
Jan was awake. Her eyes were still closed. It had become a game. Guess what’s out there. Then, bang! Open the eyes! See how close you came.
It was difficult to win in this game. The many computers in the house that worked separately and together made countless environmental expressions possible. And the waking scene was a mixture of the blurring dreams of two people and the crystallizing thoughts of the waker. Jan could inventory her own fading dream glow—whether or not she was able to remember having dreamed. She could note her bent for the day. But how unlikely to be able to wild-guess the dream of someone else. That was the mystery factor: Paul’s dream. But that’s what made the game intriguing.
Hmmm. A trailing melancholy … anticipation of a busy day. And maybe Paul had had a scrapbook-type dream last night.
During the first two weeks after they had moved into the house, Jan and Paul had alternated their waking and sleeping times in order to experience the dream flicker excitement spoken of by so many Mirrormood residents. A couple of those times when Paul had been asleep and she had been awake, Jan had watched with interest very homey and nostalgic happenings in the room. So she would choose a scrapbook-type dream for last night. A vague supposition, but at least something to work with. Jan mixed the ingredients together and decided: A warm plaid on the folio-panel, coordinated wide stripes on the overhead and …
No music!
Jan’s eyes snapped open. All was neutral. She listened carefully. Sometimes the morning audios were very soft. Funny she hadn’t noticed. She usually allowed herself the audio clues. Nothing. A fear was rising from Jan, was rising and dispersing. No reinforcements wrapping all around. The wavers of dismay weren’t being caught and labeled and hung out for display. Jan heard herself emit a strange wail. She reached for Paul.
“Paul! Wake up, wake up! The house is broken!”
The week had been a waiting time—long and blandly tedious. Technicians had come, had checked, had consulted. Nothing was resolved. Nothing was fixed. Jan had had a bothersome feeling of uneasiness with her for most of the weary week. At least, she had supposed it was uneasiness. She couldn’t be sure. It was hard to decide how she really felt. She and Paul had lived in Mirrormood for six months. She had not had occasion for some time to concern herself with careful introspection and then to arrive at conclusions without aid of “outside corroboration”.
The passive house did not now demand attention. Jan was free to look elsewhere. Several times she had caught herself watching Paul surreptitiously. Jan supposed that Paul was equally suspicious of her actions, unsure of motivation and intent. Paul had been quieter this week, had seemed to be spending more time thinking. Jan decided that she felt very uneasy. If only those people would get the house fixed.
Drab. It was so drab. The magic was gone. Too bad there wasn’t a nice yard outside with living plants, a place where she could go for some deep breathing and smiling. Mirrormood houses had only small, hard courtyards. The Mirrormood Development Corporation didn’t concern itself with outdoor life-styles. Geode living, Jan decided. That’s what it was like. All the glory was sealed inside. And now there was no glory. The geode looked like it had been sacked and scoured. The magic was gone.
Jan knew, of course, that not even the intensifiers were working; yet, it seemed that with each succeeding day of house inactivity the house became gloomier. It was as if more and more layers of grayness were being stretched tautly and uncomfortably over the whole. Jan could almost feel a cloudy film hardening on her very skin. She rubbed her arms. Maybe it was just a damp chilliness she felt. The heat, humidity, and ion regulators weren’t working either.
Jan bit her lower lip in thought. How ironic! Now she was reacting to the house instead of the house reacting to her. And it was getting worse and worse. Maybe if she had a good cry she would feel better.
A defiance welled inside her. She let the defiance come out in a glare of her eyes. She wanted to direct the glare toward the very heart or brain or core of this pompous house! But Jan had never been interested enough in the systems of the house to find out if there was a central something-or-other control unit. So she had to be content with pressing the glare up one wall, across the ceiling, and down another wall.
“I’ll decide my own mood,” she threatened to the gray hollowness about her. Jan went to the sleeping sector, grabbed her purse, and left the house.
Jan stood rearranging and reconsidering, moving an orange marigold closer to a purple columbine, adding a few more sprays of baby’s breath. She stood to admire the bouquet, then glanced toward the walls to consider the effect of the two wall hangings. Jan would never have imagined that she, who professed to have quality taste, would have purchased such garish items. But they had been cheap; and, she did like the way they worried the grayness. She hoped Paul would approve. Jan paced back and forth, stopping twice to touch the warmth of the flowers.
She was startled when the door burst open. Paul was not one for bursting into rooms. But there he was, standing too still now. There was an unusual gleam in his eyes.
Jan gestured toward the spots of colors in the room. “I hope you like it. I used money from the food budget, but …”
“It’s beautiful! It’s beautiful! You’re beautiful!” Paul grabbed Jan and danced her around the room.
She certainly hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic reaction. They stopped the twirling in front of the bouquet.
“I wished I could have bought basketful of flowers and bright, plastic doodads to scatter and hang in every room. But I knew we couldn’t afford it.”
“Speaking-of-affording-things.” Paul pranced the statement out. Jan, who had been pushing the flowers into a tighter arrangement, turned to devote her full attention to Paul.
No careful parade of phrases now. Paul let the words tumble happily. The tone was pure joy.
“Do you know that the guarantee contract has been violated? We weren’t repaired within six days. I got a solemn phone call at work today. Do you know we have the option to take possession of a new Mirrormood or to terminate the mortgage agreement? We’re free!”
It was the moment to toss something into the air. But Jan and Paul merely stood looking at one another, smiles of satisfaction on their faces. The smiles stretched to laughter, which propelled them into one another’s arms.
Oh, life was a parade! They could both feel the tingle of confetti-and-balloon time with booming drums and banners unfurling.
Paul kissed Jan. The happy glow Jan felt seemed to light up the gray room. The magic wasn’t gone, Jan realized. It had been inside her, waiting.
“Let’s find a nice, drab, cheap apartment to rent.”
Jan nodded. “Yes. And, oh, please, let’s go looking right now.”
They hurried out of the house, taking the magic with them.

We need to make our homes a place of refuge from the storm, which is increasing in intensity all about us. Even if the smallest openings are left unattended, negative influences can penetrate the very walls of our homes. Let me cite an example.

Several years ago I was having dinner with my daughter and her family. The scene is all too common in most homes with small children. My daughter was trying to encourage her young, three-year-old son to eat a balanced meal. He had eaten all the food on his plate that he liked. A small serving of green beans remained, which he was not fond of. In desperation, the mother picked up a fork and tried to encourage him to eat his beans. He tolerated it just about as long as he could. Then he exclaimed, “Look, Mom, don’t foul up a good friendship!”

Those were the exact words he heard on a television commercial a few days earlier. Oh, what impact advertising, television programs, the Internet, and the other media are having on our family units!

In an exemplary way President Hinckley also openly shares from his own personal and family histories. Scores of discouraged new missionaries have been comforted to learn that early in his own mission, President Hinckley was also discouraged and admitted as much to his father. He even courageously shared his father’s brief response: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.” Over 70 years later, we are all witnesses to how earnestly President Hinckley took that counsel to heart. His sterling character and prophetic wisdom provide persuasive proof for the benefits of remembering the Church’s history as well as our own.

Let’s hurry along to Redwood Road. There is a much larger home here where many widows reside. Most are seated in the well-lighted living room. But in her bedroom, alone, is one on whom I must call. She hasn’t spoken a word since a devastating stroke some years ago. But then, who knows what she hears, so I speak of good times together. There isn’t a flicker of recognition, not a word spoken. In fact, an attendant asks if I am aware that this patient hasn’t uttered a word for years. It makes no difference. Not only have I enjoyed my one-sided conversation with her—I have communed with God.

“Am I ever bored,” Natalie said on Monday morning as she and her sister and brothers sat under the maple tree in their backyard, drinking lemonade. “School’s only been out two weeks, and I’ve already run out of things to do.”
“Me, too,” Travis agreed. “Later we’ll have swimming lessons and summer camp, but right now, what?” He was the oldest Carter child. They ranged in age from Johnny, who was six, to Travis, fourteen; with nine-year-old Natalie, ten-year-old Roger, and twelve-year-old Susan in between.
“I’ve been thinking,” Susan said slowly.
“Hooray!” Roger teased.
“Seriously,” Susan went on, making a face at Roger, “why don’t we form a club?”
“We’ve already had lots of clubs,” Johnny groaned. “And I never got to be president of any of them.”
“Not a regular club—a special one, one that isn’t just for fun, but to help people too.”
“Sure!” Travis exclaimed. “We could have a good-deed club, or something like that. We could secretly do nice things for people.”
“We’ll need a name and a general plan,” Natalie pointed out.
“Why don’t we each think of a different good deed. That way we’ll do one for each day of the week,” Roger put in.
“Let’s call ourselves the Sunshine Club,” Natalie suggested.
“OK!” the others chimed in.
“Let’s pick ideas from oldest to youngest,” said Susan.

This same message of hope for early-returned missionaries is echoed today. Marshall, who returned early due to physical and mental health challenges, at times felt regret for both health obstacles and personal inadequacies that kept him from being a fully functional missionary. Nevertheless, he feels that his service was absolutely worthwhile.

“As missionaries, we’re not perfect,” Marshall says. “We’re still subject to temptation; we can still sin. But your imperfections are probably what Satan wants you to focus on—to feel like your offering isn’t accepted by the Lord because of those times when you weren’t the best missionary.”

Marshall believes that the Lord wants missionaries to know He is pleased with the service they offer, even when that service was imperfectly rendered by either choice or circumstance.

Marshall has learned to cope and heal by doing all he can to stay close to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

“Give them space,” Marshall says. “But make sure you’re close by, because it can be a little depressing. Be their friend.” By listening to the Spirit, we can gauge their needs and know when to reach out and when to respect their privacy.

I learned a valuable lesson once long ago from a sweet lady, Sister Lucy Grant Cannon, who became violently ill while visiting her daughter in Arizona. We elders were promptly called, and we administered to her. The next day she was asked if she wished to be administered to again and her reply was, “No, I have been anointed and administered to. The ordinance has been performed. It is up to me now to claim my blessing through my faith.”