Gospel Story Finder

Elder Gong noted that faith and covenant-keeping and rich blessings are very much available for those who choose not to remarry after the loss of a spouse. He tells about one of his family’s progenitors who “was left with five young children when her husband and oldest son both died suddenly just days apart. A widow for 47 years, Gram raised her family with sustaining love from local leaders and members. During those many years, Gram promised the Lord if He would help her, she would never complain. The Lord helped her. She never complained.”

One day last summer, Spencer J. was riding home from a summer vacation with his parents and family when he decided that the time in the car was perfect for planning some of his goals for the upcoming year. He and his family came up with a great list of goals that would help him plan for school, work on getting in better shape, and fulfill his duty to God.
His goals for school included working hard to get straight A’s, befriending people at school who seem lonely, and tutoring a student who is struggling in classes. He also wanted to run for an Arizona State President of Student Government, which he was later elected to. That goal could have been intimidating because he had to give a speech in front of 2,000 people. But, as Spencer says, “It would be an awesome experience to talk to other states about what they are doing with their student governments.”
Spencer wanted to get in better physical shape. He decided to make a goal to ride his bike at least four miles about three days a week to prepare for a mission. Then he listed that he would like to run two miles at least once a week. He also would participate with the track and tennis teams.
As a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, Spencer worked with his quorum leaders to set a goal to help make the sacrament more meaningful by being prepared to bless the sacrament, saying the prayers with more feeling, and inviting others who don’t often participate in the blessing of the sacrament to bless it with him.
Carrying out these personal goals has made Spencer happier, healthier, and more prepared for the challenges and opportunities he will face in the future.

I have such fond memories of the power and blessings of prayer in the mission field. We prayed so many times—at the start of every day and over everything we did. I remember asking my first companion, “How many times can we pray?” His response taught me so much: “We really need His help, so we ‘pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart’.”9 We prayed and prayed and prayed and we were blessed.

Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.

I learned from a mission president recently that one of his young sister missionaries, nearing the end of her very faithful and successful mission, said through her tears that she must return home immediately. When he inquired as to the problem, she told him money had become so difficult for her family that to continue her support, the family had rented their home and were using the rental proceeds to pay her mission expenses. For living accommodations, they had moved into a storage locker. For water, they used a neighbor’s outdoor tap and hose; and for a bathroom they went to a nearby gasoline station. This family, in which the father had recently passed away, was so proud of their missionary and so independent in spirit that they had managed to keep this recent turn of events from most of their friends and virtually all of their Church leaders.

When this situation was discovered, the family was restored to their home immediately. Long-term solutions to their economic circumstances were put in place, and the complete amount of remaining missionary support for their missionary daughter was secured overnight. With her tears dried and fears allayed, this faithful, hardworking young sister finished her mission triumphantly and was recently married in the temple to a wonderful young man.

Think about this next story.
In Thailand in 1955, a nearly 10-foot sculpture of a Buddha was being moved to a new building. Made of plaster and very heavy, it didn’t appear all that remarkable.
But as the statue was being lifted from its pedestal, the ropes broke and the sculpture fell to the ground. The anxious movers quickly checked the statue for damage, and to their dismay they discovered cracks in the plaster. Then a glint of color caught their attention.
Where the plaster was removed, they discovered that the sculpture was really made of gold!
Buddha statue: 9.8 feet tall, weighs 6.1 tons, worth $250 million.
Photograph from Getty Images
Apparently, hundreds of years earlier, the golden statue had been covered in plaster, perhaps to protect it from thieves, and over time the secret was forgotten until the fall revealed its true inner beauty. Today the gold alone is valued at $250 million, and the statue is housed in a building of honor as a beautiful, historic, religious work of art.2
The temple of Wat Traimit, Bangkok, Thailand.
Photograph from Getty Images

Our Primary president asked us to think of ways we could be like Jesus Christ. In a family home evening, we read a lot of scriptures to give us ideas. Then we (Addie and Jared) made a list of the ways we could be like Him. Mom wrote our ideas down and decorated our list. We learned that we need to be nice to each other and to all the family and to everyone.
Jared and Addie Wahlquist, ages 11 and 5LaPorte, Indiana

Mark stood up at the podium in the Primary room and opened his scriptures. Rain was pounding the roof, and he knew he’d have to talk loudly to be heard over its noise. He cleared his throat and read:
“‘And the Spirit giveth light to every man that cometh into the world; and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.
“‘And every one that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God, even the Father.’”*
When he finished the scripture, Mark looked up at his mom, who was sitting in the back of the room. She winked at him. They both had a special feeling ever since yesterday’s experience.
Yesterday had been one of those hot and humid summer afternoons so common in Iowa. A storm was brewing when Mark and his mother drove to the local department store.
“Looks like we should have brought our umbrellas,” Mom observed when they got out of the car. “I hope we don’t get wet later.”
Mark looked at the gathering dark clouds and thought he heard thunder in the distance. They hurried into the store.
“This won’t take long,” Mom said as she headed past displays to the middle of the large building. As she stood waiting to pick up some photographs, Mark noticed the store manager moving quickly from department to department giving a brief message to each salesclerk.
The manager spoke softly, but Mark could hear him clearly when he got to the jewelry department nearby. “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The jewelry clerk nodded, and the manager moved on to the next department, delivering the same message: “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The clerk in this department shook his head after the manager left and muttered to himself, “I don’t have time for that nonsense.”
Mark looked at his mom, who had also overheard the message. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “Just stick close to me.”
Mark moved closer and took her hand. Just then there was a loud crack of thunder directly overhead and all the lights went out, plunging the store into darkness. Mark heard a brief startled shriek from a few shoppers, followed by some children crying for their parents. Mark was glad he had stayed close by his mother.
Mom squeezed his hand and whispered, “Stand still and wait.”
When Mark’s eyes got used to the dark, he could see daylight coming in from the windows of the storefront, but the light seemed faint and far away. Sounds of panic died away quickly as, throughout the store, small lights came on and started to move.
One light moved toward Mark, and a voice spoke from above it in the dark. “Follow me, please.” It was a store clerk, holding a flashlight. Together Mark and his mother joined a group of shoppers who were already behind the clerk, and they slowly made their way down the dark aisles. The group grew larger the farther they went, being joined by other shoppers and clerks, including the clerk who thought that taking time to find his flashlight was “nonsense.”
Mark felt relieved when they got to the front of the store and could see sunlight coming in the front windows and doors. They no longer needed the clerks with the flashlights, so the clerks left them and turned back into the darkness to find other shoppers and lead them to the light.
As Mark walked to the car with his mom, he jumped over puddles of water that reflected the clearing sky overhead. The storm had come and gone quickly, and now the day was full of sunshine. Evidence of the storm was still all around them, however, and on the way home, Mark saw fallen tree limbs and broken traffic lights.
When they pulled into their driveway, Mom asked him, “Did you know you have a light inside you a lot like those flashlights in the store?”
“I do?”
“Yes. It is the light of Christ. We are born with the ability to tell right from wrong because we have the light of Christ. Sometimes we call it our conscience. Then later, when we are baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, we have an even brighter light.”
Mark thought about this for a moment. “Do I have to keep my batteries fully charged?”
Mom chuckled. “Yes, indeed. And the scriptures tell you how.”
When they got in the house, Mom showed Mark the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 84:46.
“‘Hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.’ What does that mean?” Mark asked.
“For now, listen to your conscience, and after you are baptized, listen to the still, small voice of the Spirit,” Mom explained. “Do what it tells you to do, and your light will always be fully charged.”
“And ready for any storm!”
“Exactly.”
The rain had stopped pounding the roof of the church, and the sun was starting to filter through the curtains into the Primary room. Mark swallowed hard.
“I know that this scripture is true,” Mark said with a catch in his voice. “And I’m grateful that God has given each of us a light inside us that can lead us safely out of the darkness of any storm.”

I gained my testimony of the power of prayer when I was about 12 years old. I had worked hard to earn some money and had managed to save five dollars. This was during the Great Depression, when five dollars was a substantial sum of money—especially for a boy of 12. I gave all my coins, which totaled five dollars, to my father, and he gave me in return a five-dollar bill. I know there was something specific I planned to purchase with the five dollars, although all these years later I can’t recall what it was. I just remember how important that money was to me.
At the time, we did not own a washing machine, so my mother would send to the laundry each week our clothes which needed to be washed. After a couple of days, a load of what we called “wet wash” would be returned to us, and Mother would hang the items on our clothesline out back to dry.
I had tucked my five-dollar bill in the pocket of my jeans. As you can probably guess, my jeans were sent to the laundry with the money still in the pocket. When I realized what had happened, I was sick with worry. I knew that pockets were routinely checked at the laundry prior to washing. If my money was not discovered and taken during that process, I knew it was almost certain the money would be dislodged during washing and would be claimed by a laundry worker who would have no idea to whom the money should be returned, even if he had the inclination to do so. The chances of getting back my five dollars were extremely remote—a fact which my dear mother confirmed when I told her I had left the money in my pocket.
I wanted that money; I needed that money; I had worked very hard to earn that money. I realized there was only one thing I could do. In my extremity I turned to my Father in Heaven and pleaded with Him to keep my money safe in that pocket somehow until our wet wash came back.
Two very long days later, when I knew it was about time for the delivery truck to bring our wash, I sat by the window, waiting. As the truck pulled up to the curb, my heart was pounding. As soon as the wet clothes were in the house, I grabbed my jeans and ran to my bedroom. I reached into the pocket with trembling hands. When I didn’t find anything immediately, I thought all was lost. And then my fingers touched that wet five-dollar bill. As I pulled it from the pocket, relief flooded over me. I offered a heartfelt prayer of gratitude to my Father in Heaven, for I knew that He had answered my prayer.

One afternoon my father taught me a powerful lesson through a hymn. I was playing the piano as I often did to unwind after a day of high school. My father, always watching for a little one-on-one time, came in and joined me. It was a routine I was familiar with: he would page ahead in a songbook, find a song, and then have me play it while he sang.
On this particular day, Dad pulled out the hymnbook and turned to a hymn.
“This is a great song. One of my favorites,” he said, placing the book on the piano. It was “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” Dad told me it was a favorite hymn of the Prophet Joseph Smith and that Joseph had asked John Taylor to sing the song at Carthage a short time before Joseph and Hyrum were martyred.
Then Dad sang all seven verses while I accompanied him. In that moment, two amazing things happened. The first was that my father sang the whole song without missing a note. His A flats were actually A flats! Dad’s voice was unpretentious and simple, and to me it sounded beautiful. The second amazing thing was less surprising but much more important. As my father sang, I knew that he loved Joseph Smith and had a testimony of his prophetic call. The Spirit bore witness to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
My father passed away a few years later, and I often think of that day and the impact it had on me. An important part of my testimony of the gospel is held firmly in place because a father who “couldn’t sing” chose to sing with all of his heart.

My father passed away in April 2013. As I prepared to speak at his funeral, I realized how blessed I was to know and love his favorite scriptures. He shared them in family gatherings, and he read them with me when I needed counsel, guidance, or strengthening of my faith. I heard him share them in talks and assignments. I not only knew them, but I can still remember the sound of his voice and the spiritual feelings I had as he shared them. Through sharing scriptures and feelings, my father helped me to establish a firm foundation of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

When I think about everything that led me to that moment, I’m amazed. I felt the Savior’s love and direction when I felt prompted to get my patriarchal blessing, and I continue to feel it. There were certainly moments in between getting my patriarchal blessing and now when I wondered to myself, “What am I even doing?” I struggled to trust the timing of the Lord and to feel like I was good enough for whatever lay ahead.
During one of those times, a friend gave me this advice:
“When you’re not feeling good enough, there are really only two options.
“Option one: You tell yourself you can do it. You say, I’m going to be great, and it’s going to go well. But in that moment, you’re not letting Christ in. You’re convincing yourself that you can do it alone. But you’re never going to be able to do it alone.
“Hence option two: It is Christ who helps you through all things. It is Christ whose strength helps you live and stand and do. Especially in our brokenness. Because it’s in the brokenness that we turn to Christ and He in turn lifts you and carries you.”
“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,” said Paul to the Philippians (Philippians 4:13). This verse reminds me of what my friend taught me that day and helps me keep in mind my dependence on Christ and His Atonement.

During World War II, the Latter-day Saints in Princeton met for church in our house. I learned then that the Church is not a building; the Church isn’t even a lot of people. I felt close to Heavenly Father and knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His Church; it didn’t matter that our little branch met in our dining room. It was fun because when I came downstairs on Sunday, I was in church.
The branch members were my father, the branch president; my mother, who played the piano; my two brothers and me, the only youth in the branch; a few graduate students or servicemen; and a few older women who were converts to the Church and whose husbands were not members. Rarely would there be more than 10 or 15 people attending.
The sacrament was prepared on the dining room table, which also served as the pulpit. During fast and testimony meeting, I always wondered why the older women cried. I later realized that they cried because they were so happy and grateful to be with the Latter-day Saints in that little branch.

I saw again the power of keeping covenants through a chance conversation with a man I sat down next to on a trip. I had never met him before, but apparently he had seen me in the crowd because his first words after I introduced myself were, “I’ve been watching you.” He told me about his work. I told him about mine. He asked about my family, and then he told me something about his. He said that his wife was a member of the Church and that he was not.

After he came to trust me, he said something like this: “You know, there is something in your church you should fix. You need to tell your people when to quit.” He explained that he and his wife had been married for 25 years. She had been a member of the Church since childhood. In their years of marriage she had only once stepped into a building of the Church, and that was to tour a temple before its dedication, and then only because her parents had arranged it.

Then he told me why he thought we ought to make a change. He said that in those 25 years of married life, in which his wife showed no interest in the Church, visiting teachers and home teachers had never stopped coming to their home. He told of one evening when he went out to walk his dog alone only to find the home teacher happening by with his dog, eager to visit with him.

He told, with a touch of exasperation, of another night when he came home from a long business trip, put his car in the garage, and then came out to find his home teachers standing there, smiling. He said to me something like, “And there they were, right in my face with another plate of cookies.”

I think I understood his feelings. And then I tried, as best I could, to tell him how hard it would be to teach such teachers to quit. I told him that the love that he had felt from those many visitors and their constancy over the years in the face of little response came from a covenant they had made with God. I told him about the baptismal covenant as Alma described it in the Book of Mormon. I didn’t quote these words, but you will remember them as Alma asked those he had taught whether they wished to be baptized:

“And it came to pass that he said unto them: Behold, here are the waters of Mormon (for thus were they called) and now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;

“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life” (Mosiah 18:8–9).

Those home teachers and visiting teachers understood and believed that the covenant to be witnesses and to love were intertwined and that they reinforced each other. There is no other way to explain what had happened. My new friend recognized that the visitors had genuine concern for him and for his wife. And he knew their caring sprang from a belief that impelled them to come back. He seemed, at least to me, to understand that those visitors were driven from within by a covenant they would not break. As we parted I think he knew why he could expect that there would be more visits, more evidence of caring, and more patient waiting for the opportunity to bear testimony of the restored gospel. As we parted, I realized that I had learned something too. I will never again see home teaching or visiting teaching as only programs of the Church. Those faithful teachers saw what they were doing for what it really was. Such work is an opportunity, not a burden. Every member has made the covenant in the waters of baptism to be a witness for God. Every member has made a covenant to do works of kindness as the Savior would do. So any call to bear witness and to care for others is not a request for extra service; it is a blessing designed by a loving Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ. They have provided such calls as well as other settings, sometimes without a formal call, all for the same purpose. Each is a chance to prove what blessings flow from being a covenant people, and each is an opportunity for which you agreed to be accountable. Each is a sacred responsibility for others accepted in the waters of baptism but too often not met because it may not be recognized for what it is.

Two years ago we took our dog, Jake, with us to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for Christmas. Jake ran off right before a really bad snowstorm. My dad drove around looking for him for a couple of hours, but could not find him.
My dad called our family together and told us that Jake was lost and that we needed Heavenly Father’s help to find him. We knelt together, and my dad asked me to say the prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to let some nice people find him and take care of him and help him come home to us because we loved him.
My prayer was answered. Some nice people found him in a cow pasture. They cleaned him up and fed him. The next morning they called us, and we picked him up. Heavenly Father helped Jake stay safe as he crossed a busy road, and He led nice people to help him. I know Heavenly Father answers prayers because He answered mine.Dwight P., age 6, with help from his mom, Utah

Of course, when he* became Explorer adviser in the Orlando First Ward, the young men were interested in diving and so together they earned the tuition and attended scuba classes. Seventeen young men (including Bishop George Parkhurst) finished the certification course. To celebrate their success they went diving off Singer Island near Palm Beach, Florida. They made two dives on Friday and two on Saturday, each about 35 minutes apiece in water 60 to 80 feet deep.
The beautiful underwater world that each person on the trip got to see seemed like another universe. Once the young men slid into the water, they merged into a world of brightly colored coral, sponges, sea anemones, sea fans, and hosts of small tropical fish. They also got to meet many marine creatures including the small, harmless nurse sharks, the more dangerous moray eels, and barracuda, grouper, snapper, and other larger fish.
Brian Solomon, 17, found it hard to believe even after he had seen it. “The part of the trip that sticks out in my mind is how beautiful ocean life is. No matter how many pictures you see, it doesn’t compare with what you can see in person. Observing some of the sea life close up was something I’ll never forget. Imagine swimming along and then looking down and spotting a four foot barracuda making eyes at you!”
Dale Strange said, “As we descended to the bottom we began to see the coral and the animal life. Time seemed to fly so fast in that world that an hour could seem like just a few minutes. It was all new and unreal to me even though I have always been interested in the ocean.”
Besides giving the boys something to learn and master together, the classes also gave them greater appreciation for their leaders. Brian Solomon summed up the feelings of the group: “The classes and the trip were great, but our experiences with our leaders were even greater. Each one of them did his part and more. I wish everyone could meet them and feel their spirit.”

President Hinckley himself is not intimidated by a difficult task. As newlyweds, the Hinckleys moved into the Hinckley farmhouse—a summer home with no furnace. Kathy says, “Dad approached this problem the way we would see him solve many others—head-on. He ordered a furnace and began reading the installation instructions. The furnace worked perfectly. He’s wanted us to take on challenges using the same approach—decide on what you want, follow the instructions carefully, and work at it.”

For a long time I thought that enthusiasm for the gospel was for new converts and recently returned missionaries. The gospel was true but not alive to me. It took me several years to learn that making the gospel live involves second mile service—reaching out to others and losing myself.
For five years I was inactive in the Church. When I decided to become active again, I plunged wholeheartedly into living the gospel.
But as time passed, I became disillusioned. Some Church members I knew were not ideal models of Christian life. Others were slothful in their work. I began to feel that pure, Christlike living was an unrealistic goal.
After I went to college, I was still active in the Church, but my thoughts began to be centered on my career. Going to church seemed more and more like a ritual. The gospel was not the source of my deepest fulfillment.
One day the thought occurred to me: I was not living up to what I knew was true!
I began to put more effort into keeping the Sabbath Day holy. I tried to magnify my calling, read conference talks in the Church magazines, and attended ward choir practice. As a home teacher, I helped out my families where I could between visits. But even with all my efforts, I didn’t feel any more spiritual. I wondered if I ever would.
Then I did something else.
An announcement was made in priesthood meeting that a couple needed help moving their possessions from one house to another. I usually ignored such announcements, thinking that I didn’t know the people and that their close friends and relatives would be there to help them. I also had a very difficult school schedule that required a lot of studying. But this time I decided to help.
On the appointed day, I rode my bicycle over to their house. I felt awkward, not wanting them to think I was trying to show what a “good guy” I was. As I walked inside their house and saw all the stacks of boxes that needed to be carried out to the truck, I almost lost my enthusiasm. “I’ll stay for an hour,” I told myself. “That’s doing my duty.”
Still feeling silly about helping people who were practically strangers, I started carrying boxes out to the truck.
Then a small miracle happened. I began to enjoy the work. I “lost myself” in giving and stayed the whole afternoon—until the entire truck was packed.
I rode home feeling sweaty but wonderful.
At four o’clock the next morning, I awoke feeling very excited. Why? Because I had done something I didn’t have to do. And it felt good!
“I wish I could feel that way all the time,” I thought. I had once heard a General Authority say that he had “ups and downs” like everyone else—only he had learned to take advantage of his “ups.” I decided to take advantage of mine. I got up, knelt, and poured out my heart to my Heavenly Father. I felt a warmth come over me, and my tears flowed freely. At last I was tasting the fruits of my efforts to better live the gospel.
The world’s rewards seemed shallow in comparison with the peace and happiness I felt, knowing I was living in harmony with the Lord’s will. I had learned what the gospel is all about: loving and serving others. Nothing fills us with such lasting satisfaction as the living water of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

We have a dear friend who was a train engineer. One day while he was driving a train on his route, he spotted a car stopped on the track ahead of him. He quickly realized that the car was stuck and unable to cross the track. He immediately put the train in emergency mode, which engaged the brakes on each boxcar that extended three-quarters of a mile (1.2 km) behind the engine, carrying a load of 6,500 tons (5,900 metric tons). There was no physical chance that the train would be able to stop before it hit the car, which it did. Fortunately for the people in the car, they heard the warning of the train whistle and escaped from the car before the impact. As the engineer spoke with the investigating police officer, an angry woman approached them. She shouted that she had seen the whole incident and then testified that the engineer did not even try to swerve out of the way to miss the car!
Obviously, if the engineer had been able to swerve and leave the tracks to avoid an accident, he and his entire train would have been lost in a derailment and the train’s forward progress would have come to an abrupt stop. Fortunately for him, the rails of the tracks on which his train ran kept the wheels of the train snugly moving toward its destination regardless of the obstacle in his way. Fortunately for us, we too are on a track, a covenant path we committed to when we were baptized as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although we may encounter occasional obstacles along the way, this path will keep us moving toward our prized eternal destination if we stay firmly on it.

Recently I sat by a man on an airplane. We began to converse and he asked what I did. I told him I was a Mormon missionary. He quickly retorted that he didn’t have much use for missionaries or others who went around “trying to get people to change their minds.”
I said, “Well, you’re a missionary!” He emphatically denied this and asked why I said he was. I told him that everything he did and said influenced others in some way, so he was a missionary for his way of life.
“For example?” he queried.
“Well,” I replied, “I see by the packet of cigarettes in your pocket that you believe in smoking. Your children see you smoking and are influenced to smoke also when they are able. You are thus doing missionary work for the tobacco people.”
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I don’t believe in smoking, and I’m certainly not going to let any of my children smoke. It’s a nasty habit that causes death.”
Needless to say we had a very interesting discussion the rest of the trip. But the point here is: we are all missionaries. All of our words and actions have eternal consequences—for they influence not only ourselves, but others as well.