Gospel Story Finder

The temple is the literal house of God for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is the place where sacred ordinances are performed. It is a place all Latter-day Saints strive to attend on a regular basis. Unfortunately for some, a temple may not be walking distance away or even driving distance. In fact, for some, temples are not even in their country. This is the situation for Jamaicans. The closest temple to Jamaica is the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple. With the view and the goal to attend the temple, 152 members from the different congregations across Jamaica went to the Santo Domingo Temple on July 20th–25th, 2015. Making that trip was one of great effort and tremendous sacrifice for those who attended.
The flight heading to the Dominican Republic left Jamaica at 11:00 in the morning on July 20, 2015. The 152 members were all aboard the flight. For some it would be their first time attending the temple. The flight’s departure from the Jamaican shores represented a moment of great joy as they knew that they would be just hours away from entering the house of the Lord—a place where they could make sacred covenants and receive personal revelation.
The feedback from those that attended proved that the sacrifices made so that they could attend the temple were indeed worth it.
When asked to give an account of his experience, Michael Robinson from the Boulevard Ward stated, “It’s the most beautiful experience I’ve ever had.” Michael was baptized on October 6, 2013. He said that having the opportunity to attend the temple helped him see that he can do more to serve the Lord. He also stated, referring to God that, “His love for us is more than we can have here in this life.”
Similarly, Christine Collins from the Boulevard Ward felt equally as blessed with her temple trip experience. She had the opportunity to attend with some of her family members. Her response when asked about her trip was, “It was absolutely amazing!”
Her brother Carlton Collins, from the Junction Branch, one of the few youth who went on the trip, explained that a week before he knew that he was attending, he faced a lot of discouragement from friends. Carlton explained that he realized that the devil wanted to rob him of the experience he would have at the temple. He said that at the end of the trip, his testimony and resolve to serve the Lord had been strengthened.
The question that can be asked to the members who attended is: “What is your story?” For Rohan and Tracy Francis from the Ocho Rios Branch, their story began with Elder Beck and Elder Martin, two missionaries who introduced the gospel to them. Elder Martin, who is from Alberta, Canada, and now home from his mission, along with Elder Beck, who is also off his mission, were able to join the members on the trip. It was a quite a privilege for them to be able to meet up with their converts at the temple.
The story of Rohan and Tracy Francis did not stop there. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is well-known for promoting traditional families as the fundamental unit of all societies. The Church promotes families, and family history is a major drive for its members. At the temple, Tracy Francis was able to meet Ruth-Ann and Shirlette Brown, two members of the Portmore Ward, who she found out are her great-great-grand-aunt’s children. It was an absolutely wonderful experience for the Brown sisters, who did not know that there were other members of their family who were members of the Church.
The story of Antoinette and Christopher Peart, members of the Constant Spring Ward, and Sister Norma Grant from the Kingston Branch is something to be featured. Being able to attend the temple was a great blessing as their previous attendance at the temple was in 1999. Antoinette explained that it was quite an emotional time for her.
We cannot record all the stories and everything that happened, however, the story of Calvin Dodd from the Hopeton Branch is worth the mention. Calvin Dodd was the oldest member to attend. He is 87 years old and had been baptized on June 15, 1994. Due to health difficulties, previous recent attempts to attend the temple were unfruitful. This trip was indeed a significant milestone for Calvin.
For President Piper, a Church leader for the Mandeville area, his experience was just as significant. He was able to see two sisters from the Negril congregation, whom he had baptized when he was a missionary.
Overall, the trip can be seen as a success. The members were able to perform over 2,000 ordinances during the week they were there. To sum up the whole temple experience for those who attended, in the words of Lacey-Ann Dennis, one of the members, “it was just a reminder that God is real.”

I learned a little about being fair dinkum and being committed by playing rugby. I learned that when I played my hardest, when I gave my all, my enjoyment of the game was greatest.
My favorite year of rugby was the year after high school. The team of which I was a member was both talented and committed. We were the champion team that year. However, one day we were to play a lowly ranked team, and after the game we all had dates to take to the big, annual college dance. I thought that because this would be an easy game, I should try to protect myself from injury so I would be able to enjoy the dance fully. In that game, we were not as committed in the hard contacts as we might have been, and we lost. To make things worse, I ended the match with a very swollen, fat lip that did not enhance my appearance for my big date. Perhaps I needed to learn something.
Lessons were learned from this parable of the fat lip and the broken jaw. Despite my memories of unsatisfied cravings for solid food during the six weeks when I could ingest only liquids, I feel no regrets about my broken jaw because it resulted from my giving my all. But I do have regrets about the fat lip because it symbolized my holding back.

One of the lessons all the boys were taught in Primary in those days was about Creed Haymond, a young Latter-day Saint who was captain of the University of Pennsylvania track team. The night before a championship meet, his coach had told him to drink a glass of wine to avoid becoming “stale” from overtraining. Brother Haymond refused. He had long ago promised his mother that he would never disobey the Word of Wisdom. The coach insisted, but Creed Haymond stood firm. The rest of the team drank the wine and became violently ill, but Creed went on to win three events, setting a new world record in one of them.

Scott first saw Nicole play in the film adaptation of Rob Gardner’s musical production, Lamb of God, where, through her cello, she stunningly represented the voice of Christ. Following a prompting that spoke to his heart, Scott reached out to her via social media.

“I feel that Heavenly Father truly opened a door for me through Nicole’s incredible talent, generosity and connections,” Scott recalls. “I am so grateful that she had the heart to be willing to listen to my music.”

Nicole introduced Scott to Casey Elliot, and Scott reached out to Savannah Stevenson, also via social media, after seeing her perform on a Brigham Young University programme. Savannah sang the solo for, “Bring on Tomorrow,’ and in the duet, ‘I See the Christ’ with Casey.

When filming for the demo video was complete, shortly after returning to Australia, Scott suffered a brain aneurysm and extensive bleed in the frontal lobe of his brain. An emergency surgery preserved his life and thankfully—miraculously—he was able to continue with his music.
That same year in May, he remotely directed the recordings of two more of his songs, connecting by Zoom in to Salt Lake City’s Funk Studios.

“I am eternally grateful to Heavenly Father and the amazing surgeons for saving my life, and for my wife, Jo, for gently pushing me on this musical journey for nearly 15 years,” says Scott.

He is equally grateful for his parents, Nanette and Frank, who nurtured his musical talent from childhood. Shortly before Scott’s mother passed away in 2020, he promised her he would continue writing music, and so he has.

“Having a close call with death causes one to refocus one’s priorities in life. For me they are faith and family, and of course more faith-promoting music,” says Scott.

He is now orchestrating and preparing for the launch of his long-awaited musical, One Spring Morn. With a premiere expected in 2025—exactly 205 years since the First Vision of Joseph Smith—its story will explore the experiences of Joseph and Emma Smith, their feelings of faith and devotion to their Saviour, Jesus Christ, and their gratitude for His tender mercies.
Look out for a preview concert based on this musical in Melbourne, Australia, in June.

Eric Wade, a deacon in the Driggs First Ward, Driggs Idaho Stake, has won the right, two years in a row, to participate in the National Spelling Bee. This year he took sixth place nationally. He was defeated by the word circumforaneous. He prepared for the event by studying words from 1 1/2 to 2 hours a day.
When not brushing up on spelling words, Eric enjoys sports. He plays football, basketball, baseball, and participates in wrestling. He has won a local junior championship in racquetball.

“Alex, it’s time to go to speech therapy,” Miss Jenkins said.
Alex ducked his head. Speech therapy was a special class he went to. He had trouble saying some words and sounds. So he had to practice them in speech class a few times a week. Every time he left his regular class, he felt so embarrassed!
He looked up at his teacher. “Could I skip it?” he whispered. “Just for today?”
Today, Mr. Timmons was coming to Alex’s class to talk about dinosaurs. Mr. Timmons worked at a museum with lots of cool dinosaur bones. He was even going to bring a bone that was thousands of years old! Alex didn’t want to miss out.
Miss Jenkins smiled. “You still need to go to your speech class. But you might get back in time for the last part of Mr. Timmons’s talk.”
Alex tried to smile back, but he couldn’t. He slowly walked to the speech therapy classroom. In class they practiced saying the same sound over and over. Learning about dinosaurs would have been more fun.
“I hate saying these stupid sounds,” he told his speech therapy teacher. “I feel like such a baby.”
“You’re not a baby at all,” she said. “We all need a little extra help sometimes. Did you know that I went to speech therapy when I was your age?”
That made Alex feel a little better. He worked hard for the rest of the class to practice his sounds.
When Alex got back to Miss Jenkins’s classroom, he saw his friend Courtney leaving.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Courtney looked down. “I’m having trouble with reading. I have to go to a special reading class.” Courtney looked embarrassed.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Alex said. “I just got back from my speech class. I spent the whole time making the same sound over and over.” He scrunched up his nose.
“You did?”
He nodded. “I’ve been going to speech therapy for the last two years.”
“How come I didn’t know?” she asked.
Alex shrugged. “I never told anyone. I was afraid they would make fun of me.”
“I would never make fun of you,” Courtney said. “I’m glad you made it back in time to see the dinosaur bone. It’s really cool!” She waved. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”
Soon Alex found out that he and Courtney weren’t the only ones who went to other classes. Tommy went to a class to help him learn better social skills. And Bekah worked with a special teacher to help her arm get stronger after she hurt it.
Now Alex didn’t feel so bad about his speech class. He wanted to help the other kids feel better too. He practiced reading with Courtney and talked to Tommy at lunch. Everyone needed a little extra help sometimes, and that was OK!
This story took place in the USA.

Just eight weeks ago I was holding a mission district conference on the island of Chiloe, an interior location in the south of Chile that gets few visitors. Imagine the responsibility I felt in addressing these beautiful people when it was pointed out to me that a very elderly man seated near the front of the chapel had set out on foot at five o’clock that morning, walking for four hours to be in his seat by nine o’clock, for a meeting that was not scheduled to begin until eleven o’clock. He said he wanted to get a good seat. I looked into his eyes, thought of times in my life when I had been either too casual or too late, and thought of Jesus’ phrase, “I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.”

Another Saint who sacrificed much during this period was John Rowe Moyle, an excellent stonemason from England. It was Brother Moyle’s custom to work on his farm in Alpine, Utah, only on Friday night and all day Saturday. Then each Monday morning he walked from home back to Salt Lake City to work until Friday on the temple. Following an accident, Brother Moyle’s leg was removed in an excruciating operation. While recovering, he made himself a wooden peg leg and walked around his farm on the stump until he was able to stand the pain. Eventually, he walked to Salt Lake City—a distance of more than thirty-two kilometers—to begin his labors at the temple again.

According to a story told by his family, John Moyle “climbed up the scaffolding on the east side of the Temple and carved ‘Holiness to the Lord,’ as his contribution to the Temple building.”

When Meliton arrived in Salt Lake, he ran into a problem. He could read English but had never spoken it. He couldn’t communicate with anyone! But he decided that if he couldn’t talk to people, he would get their attention another way. Meliton put on his Spanish Army uniform and marched up and down the city streets. Just as he hoped, many people noticed him! Finally he was spotted by a member of the Church named Brother Blanchard, a university professor who spoke Spanish. Brother Blanchard helped Meliton get settled in Salt Lake and taught him the gospel. Soon Meliton was baptized.

After talks by all three members of the First Presidency, President Wilford Woodruff knelt on a “plush, covered stool” and offered the dedicatory prayer. “He offered the prayer seemingly with [the] strength of a man fifty years old,” wrote David John of the 86-year-old prophet, who read the 35-minute dedicatory prayer “unhesitatingly without glasses.” Nearly fifty years earlier, President Woodruff had dreamed that Brigham Young gave him the keys of the temple and told him to go and dedicate it. This event was the fulfillment of that dream.

Amanda had a dog named Peewee. She liked to throw things to Peewee. And Peewee liked to catch things. One day Amanda threw her blue ball to Peewee. He caught it and brought it back to her. Next, she threw a brown stick, and he caught it and brought it back to her. Then she threw his rubber bone that squeaked. Peewee caught it and squeaked it when he brought it back to her.
Amanda had two fancy cookies. She ate one and threw the other one to Peewee. He caught it, but he didn’t bring it back to her!

When Brigham was a youngster, all his friends wore hats, whether they were working, playing, fishing, or going to church. Brigham also wanted a hat, but he knew that his family had no money for one.
So Brigham learned how to braid straw and make his own hats! He wore his homemade hats during the summer when it was hot.
When it got colder, he wore a warmer hat that his sisters made for him. They called it a “Jo Jackson cap.”

John lingered in the hall before deciding to get it over with. He was sorry he had even come. His mother had talked him into it, saying, “After all he is the bishop, and if he wants to see you the least you can do is go.”
He’s going to say he hasn’t seen me at church lately, John thought as he idly gazed at the bulletin board in the hall, and they’d like me to help on some project, and I’ll tell him I’m too busy right now, and he’ll say they really need me and then I’ll leave, and it’ll be over for another six months.
He knocked on the door and Bishop Warren invited him in.
Now some small talk to loosen me up, John thought.
The bishop asked about his schooling to become an auto mechanic. John answered in two words. Then the bishop asked about his mother and dad, but John curtly reminded him that the man with his mother was his stepfather, not his real father.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you here,” the bishop said.
Here it comes, John thought.
“God has called you on a mission.”
The silence roared through his ears.
“I don’t want to go on a mission,” John said.
“That’s between you and God. My job is to tell you that you’ve been called.”
He didn’t tell me how much they need me, John thought, stunned and off balance.
“I’m not going.”
“It doesn’t matter that much to me personally if you go or not,” the bishop said, “but I want you to realize that God has called you on a mission.”
“This is just a gimmick to get me to shape up, isn’t it?” John said.
“Is it?” the bishop asked.
“Sure, that’s what it is.”
“Why don’t you pray and ask if it’s a gimmick?”
“I don’t need to pray because I’m not going.”
“Tell that to God then, but not to me. Before you decide though, I have some scriptures on this card I want you to read. Will you do that?”
John avoided the question and took the card. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
As he drove from the church, his mind boiled with anger at the bishop. He wants me to go on a mission so it’ll look good on his report, he thought as he slammed the car into second gear, so he makes up a story about God calling me. Well, he’s not fooling me.
He had his life planned, and it didn’t include a mission. First he’d get a job as a mechanic, then marry Jill and settle down. That’s what he wanted in life, and a mission didn’t fit in. Besides, he wasn’t even going to church or living the way the Church taught. Ever since his father had died and his mother remarried a nonmember, none of them had gone to church.
A few minutes later he parked his car in front of the truck stop cafe where Jill worked and went inside. As he sat down at the empty counter, she brought him a cup of coffee, and then poured herself one.
“Well?” she asked with a grin.
“Well what?”
“What did the bishop say?”
“He said God’s called me on a mission.”
She barely got her coffee swallowed before bursting out with laughter.
“You—on a mission? Boy, that’s a laugh.”
“I’m not going.”
“Did you tell him you were going to marry me?” she asked.
“I don’t have to tell him anything. I just said I wasn’t going.”
“But you are going to marry me in June—right? I mean you’re not inventing this story about a mission just to get out of it, are you?”
“I said I’d marry you,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to say it?”
“You’re so romantic,” she said sarcastically.
Another customer came in, and she left to get the order. In a few minutes she was back again.
“This coffee tastes rotten,” he complained. “What’d you do, make it with dishwater?”
She took a sip. “It tastes okay.”
“It’s not okay—it’s terrible.”
“Don’t drink it then. See if I care.”
Another customer drifted in. While he waited for her to come back, he tried to doctor up his coffee by pouring cream and sugar in it, but no matter what he did, it always tasted like burnt rags soaked in dishwater. Finally he put so much cream in that it ended up a chalky white lukewarm disaster. He reached over and dumped it down the drain.
A few minutes later it was quitting time for Jill. As they walked to the car, he asked, “How about going with me to the Longhorn for a beer?”
“On a Tuesday? What’s the occasion?”
“I just feel like it. Besides they have that western band playing there this week.”
“You never drink on weekdays, so why do you want to now? Trying to prove how bad you are so God will let you off the hook about a mission?”
“Quit talking about that. It’s over and done with.”
“I don’t see why you’re so uptight. They’d never send anyone like you on a mission.”
“What about going with me to the Longhorn?”
“Count me out. If you start drinking on Tuesdays, you’re going to end up an alcoholic.”
“Forget it then. I’ll go without you.”
“Suits me fine. You’re in a bad mood, and I don’t want to be around you anyway.”
He took her home and went to the Longhorn, a small place on the highway that served beer mainly to the just-out-of-high-school crowd.
While he was there, two guys came in. For one of them it was his 18th birthday, and they were celebrating by drinking one beer after another as fast as they could until one got sick and the manager made them clean it up, which made the other sick.
John walked out, saying to the one huddled on his knees pushing a towel over the floor, “That’s so clever the way you did that.”
At home in his bedroom he took off his shirt and found the three-by-five card in the pocket with a large handwritten message, “God has called you on a mission. Pray about it.”
He threw the card into the wastepaper basket, turned off the light, and went to bed.
He couldn’t sleep. After two hours of tossing, he sat up in bed and said out loud, “God, I’m not going. So just forget it. Amen.”
On Friday night there was a party for a group of mechanics and instructors involved in the training program. They met at a place called Al’s Oasis.
About 11 that night, one of the instructors, a man named Wayne, got into a fight with his wife. As it heated up, they said things to each other that shouldn’t have been heard by the group. His wife got mad and called a taxi. Wayne got drunker and more obnoxious. A while later he came and asked Jill to dance, but she said no and that made him furious. John told him to get away from her. Wayne tried to hit him, but he ducked and planted his fist solidly in Wayne’s stomach, causing him to double over and fall down.
Two of Wayne’s friends started to make noises about getting even with John. He thought he could handle them but was worried about Jill’s safety if there was a brawl. He grabbed her hand, and they ran out the back door to the car. As they drove away, John saw another car pull out after them, and he knew there might be trouble.
He had done enough deer hunting in the area to know the back roads, so after a few shortcuts, he lost the car behind them, but he kept going for several miles to make sure they wouldn’t find him.
Half an hour later they ran out of gas on a little-used country road. He knew they would have to walk into town.
It was a beautiful clear night with the stars filling the night sky. It had been a long time since John had looked at the stars.
He didn’t say much for the first few minutes of walking, until she finally asked what he was thinking about.
“Them,” he answered.
“Who?”
“Wayne and his wife—the way they were yelling at each other, the way he was drinking.”
“What about it?”
“That’s the way we’ll be in a few years.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Sure—we argue now, don’t we? And I drink too much. Sure, we’ll be just like them—if we stay married. But maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll get a divorce.”
“You are getting cold feet about marrying me, aren’t you?”
“I’m getting cold feet about ending up like them. There must be more to life than that.”
“What do you want, you know, in life?”
“I want to be the best mechanic in town. I’m good at it, and I like it. And I want some sons to take fishing and hunting. And I want a house and a pickup truck.”
“Anything else?”
“If we marry, I want it to last.”
“Me too,” she said. “If we’re married, I want you to be faithful to me. I don’t want my life to run like a soap opera.”
They walked a ways in silence, both of them feeling awkward at being so serious.
“John,” she asked, “suppose we have sons. Will you let them go to Primary?”
“Why not? It can’t hurt’em—at least while they’re small.”
“How about Sunday School?”
“If it doesn’t interfere with me taking them fishing and hunting.”
“You can fish on Saturdays.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said.
She waited several seconds before getting courage to ask, “What’d be wrong if we started going to church?”
“What for?”
“For our future sons and daughters, so we can learn. Mormons know how to raise good families, and that’s what we want, isn’t it?”
“I’m not going,” he said bitterly. “If you start, the first thing you know they ask you to do something, and before you know it, your whole life is spent at church. I don’t want to get into that.”
“Can we go for a few times just to see if it’s as bad as we think it is?”
He looked at her, shook his head, and gave in.
“All right, we’ll try it for a couple weeks, but that’s all.”
On Sunday they went to church, and even John had to admit it was okay. While they were there, he studied the missionaries sitting with one of the families they were teaching.
No way, he thought to himself.
On Wednesday he asked Jill if she would go drinking with him on Saturday night.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
“I thought we were going back to church,” she said.
“What’s going to church have to do with enjoying a beer now and then?”
“You’re the one who’s always saying people who go to church are hypocrites, so now you want to be one too. Is that the way it is?”
“I agreed to go to church, but that’s all. I’ll drink when I want, and nobody’s going to tell me to stop!”
“I will, John. You better stop drinking.”
On Saturday night he went without her. A little past midnight he got into an argument about religion with the guy next to him, who was an atheist. John tried to convince him about God.
“There’s a God,” John said.
“Prove it.”
“Look at the flowers. You think that just happened?”
“Yeah, that’s what I think.”
“You’re crazy, you know that. Flowers don’t just happen,” John said, slamming down his mug for emphasis.
“What do you know about God anyway? What’s he to you?”
John stared at the empty mug, it’s promise of happiness gone, leaving only an empty froth, full of air with no substance. That’s when he became very depressed.
“What’s wrong with you?” the guy next to him asked.
“God wants me to be a Mormon missionary.”
The guy laughed so hard he fell off the chair.
At three in the morning, John drove to the church parking lot and stumbled onto the lawn in front of the chapel.
“Hey, are you there?” he yelled, looking up at the steeple. “Look at me! I’m drunk! Do you see that? Isn’t that disgusting? That’s why I can’t go on a mission—so quit bugging me about it! Look, I’d like to help you out, but you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not a good person. I’m rotten—rotten to the core.”
He sat down on the lawn and started to cry again. Among the sobs he pleaded, “All I want you to do is tell the bishop you were wrong about a mission for me. Then just let me be me—no good rotten John.”
After that he must have crawled into the car and fallen asleep, because the next thing he remembered was the slamming of a car door next to him. He woke up and looked around. It was early morning. Standing next to him looking into the car was Bishop Warren.
“You’re here early this morning for church,” the bishop said.
John’s mouth felt as if somebody had driven a cattle truck through it all night, and his head ached.
“Bishop, last night I was drinking, and I came here to get a message to God that he made a mistake about calling me on a mission. I’m not good enough to do anything in this church.”
“Do you believe now that God wants you to go on a mission?”
He looked up and said quietly, “I guess I do, but it’s too late. I’ve made too many mistakes.”
“John, you’ve got to learn to repent now. Let’s go to my office, and I’ll give you a thorough interview.”
He was too tired to argue. As he opened the car door, two empty cans rolled onto the parking lot, making a loud noise. He stepped gingerly from the car, picked up the cans, tossed them in the front seat, and stumbled after the bishop.
In the office, he sat rigidly in his chair, feeling that the room was leaning over to one side. The bishop asked him question after question, and it was embarrassing to answer them truthfully, but he wanted the bishop to know everything about himself.
After the last question, the bishop was silent for a moment and then said, “John, you’ve disappointed the Lord.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Before you were born, he called you to serve a mission, and you agreed. But now, unless you repent in a major way, you’ll lose that opportunity. We don’t send young men on missions unless they’re clean.
“The time to start repenting is now. Let me write down the things you need to work on. If you can turn your life around, you can still serve a mission, but it’ll take a while to demonstrate your obedience.”
“How long?” he asked.
“Maybe a year.”
“That’s a long time, bishop.”
“A year’s a year, whether you repent or not. And if you don’t repent, where will you be after a year?” The bishop’s list filled two pages.
“I’ll see you next week at this same time, and we’ll see how you’re doing. Priesthood meeting starts in an hour, so you better get home and change.”
He hurried home and got ready, making it back just in time. After Sunday School, he talked to Jill.
“I was surprised to see you here this morning,” she said.
“Jill, I’m going on a mission.”
“Sure you are,” she laughed.
“No, I mean it.”
She looked at him as if for the first time. “Why?”
“God wants me to go.”
She looked at him for a long time before saying, “I think I’m seeing a part of you I never knew existed—the part you tried to hide from everyone.”
She pursed her lips, closed her eyes for a second, and then tried to smile. “Well, so much for a June wedding—right?”
“It’s just a year and a half, and when we get married, it’ll be in the temple.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “You and me—regular church people. Who’d ever have thought it?”
“What will you do while I’m gone?” he asked.
It took courage for her to even say it. “You know what? Nobody in my family ever went to college. What if I went to Ricks College, maybe just for a year, you know, just to say I’ve gone? I think I’d like to do that.”
“Jill, have you talked to the bishop?”
“No, why?”
“You ought to and when you do, ask him for the thorough interview. He writes down a list of things to work on, and you go back in a week to report how you’ve done.”
So for the next few months, they both repented.
Six months later on a Sunday he watched a guy in faded Levi’s and western shirt burst from the bishop’s office laughing as he headed toward the door. John asked him what was so funny and was told that the bishop had said that God had called him on a mission.
“Isn’t that stupid?” the guy howled. “I don’t even go to church.”
So it was a gimmick after all, John angrily thought as he stormed into the bishop’s office.
“How many others have you told God called them on a mission?” he snapped.
“All of them between the ages of 18 and 25.”
“I believed you when you told me! I didn’t know it was just hype to drum up more missionaries!”
“Let’s talk about it, John,” the bishop said in an even tone.
“I’m tired of talking to you!” he said, whirling toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get drunk!” he yelled, heading outside with the bishop right behind him.
“You can’t go back to the way you were.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because now you have a testimony. Don’t you?”
He stopped just before reaching his car and thought about the past six months.
The bishop was right. He had a testimony that the Church was true. He couldn’t go back to the way he had been.
Inside the office, the bishop pulled out a worn copy of the New Era and read parts of a talk by President Kimball: “‘Should every young man … fill a mission?’ … The answer the Lord has given [is] ‘Yes, every worthy young man should fill a mission.’ The Lord expects it of him. And if he is not now worthy to fill a mission, then he should start at once to qualify himself.”
The bishop put down the magazine.
“But I thought you meant God wanted me personally to serve a mission.”
“John, I’ve fasted and prayed about what I told you. God does want you to serve a mission. If you doubt it, fast and pray about it too.”
He did pray and fast, and that helped him feel more assured the bishop was right, but the complete answer didn’t come until three months later.
He had continued to drop by the cafe near Jill’s quitting time, where he had his nightly cup of hot chocolate. One night she said, “Why don’t you come with Cindy and me next Saturday? We’re going to get a patriarchal blessing.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Cindy’s more says it’s personal revelation to help a person live his life. Will you take us? We have to go out of town to where the patriarch lives, and we were hoping you’d drive us. You could get a blessing too, but first you’ll have to get an interview from the bishop.”
“That’s no problem,” he smiled. “It seems like the past year has been one continuous interview.”
When he went for his interview, he brought the worn pages of repentance goals the bishop gave him on his first thorough interview. One by one, day by day over the months since then, he had checked each item.
After the interview, the bishop gave him a recommend for his patriarchal blessing and said, “John, you’re clean now.”
On Saturday the three of them drove to the stake center, where they met the patriarch who talked with them for a few minutes before giving each of them a blessing.
As the patriarch laid his hands on John’s head and began, it was like a cleansing shower of light and joy washing away the bad opinions he’d had about himself. As a child he was the boy who believed himself to be a bad boy, a mischievous boy, an average boy, a low achiever, a trouble-maker, a bad example. He found out that if you believe that about yourself then your life matches what you believe. Even at first when he tried to repent, underneath it seemed artificial, as if he were only putting on an act of goodness but deep down was still rotten and would be forever. But now as the patriarch gave him a blessing, he felt strongly that God was his Father in Heaven and that as a son in the premortal existence he had once been greatly loved and trusted.
He knew he was crying and that tears were rolling in small rivers down his face, and he knew Jill and Cindy knew it too; but he didn’t care because, for the first time in his life, he knew his true relationship to God.
The patriarch told him that Father in Heaven had called him to serve a mission, which was what the bishop had said, except this time, John knew it was true.
After the blessing, he sat in the chair, wiped his eyes, and, a little embarrassed, asked Jill for a tissue.
That’s how John came to go on a mission, and why Jill saved some money and quit the cafe and went to Ricks. Sometimes she’d be listening to a lecture when she would suddenly realize where she was and she’d think, Look at me! I’m in college and I never thought I’d be, and I’m smart enough to understand what the professor is saying, and I bet there’s a hundred other things I can do that once seemed impossible. I’m going to stay active and live the commandments and be married in the temple. Nobody around here, no bishop or other priesthood leader, has ever said my past mistakes were too great or that it’s too late for me to repent. All that’s important is that we start today and repent and live the commandments, and the Savior will take care of the rest.
John worked harder on his mission than ever before in his life. When he first started out, he thought what a great sacrifice it was to take 18 months to serve the Lord. But as his mission progressed he learned you can’t really sacrifice to the Lord because the more you give, the more he blesses you, and when you finish, you are more indebted to him than ever before.
Sometimes on his mission he and his companion would see an auto repair shop and stop. Inside John always looked for the meanest-looking mechanic there who was about his age, and he would walk up to him and say, “God sent me here to talk to you.” The guy usually swore and went back to his work on a car. John would lean over the other side of the hood, peering into the engine to watch him work, and little by little he would explain the message God had for that mechanic.
During his mission it only happened once that the mechanic ended up joining the Church, but John thought it was great that one did because, as he used to say, Father in Heaven needs all the mechanics he can get.
“Otherwise,” he’d say with a broad grin, “in heaven, who’s going to service all those chariots?”

The rodeo chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat on the horse in perfect form, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild animal.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.
Now Zane is serving a mission in Brazil and teaching the gospel to people in Portuguese. And he says, “I wouldn’t trade this mission experience for anything—even a national professional rodeo championship.”
It was in June of 1990 that Zane Davis secured the award as the national collegiate all-around cowboy of the year in the College National Finals Rodeo in Bozeman, Montana. Although only a freshman at the College of Southern Idaho, Zane didn’t get to the number-one spot by simply riding a few wild horses and winning a few competitions. Zane’s training started before he could walk, when his father, Shawn Davis (a three-time National Finals Rodeo saddle bronc world champion), took him along to rodeos across North America.
At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the eight- to twelve-year-old cowboys. But since he was too young to compete, he was only allowed to demonstrate his riding skill. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs and climbed aboard a rather angry calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the time limit before falling off.
He entered his next rodeo when he was only five, and this time a pony bucked him off. But he still walked away with third-place honors. Hundreds of rodeos later, Zane had earned an impressive array of saddles, belt buckles, trophies, and cash prizes. The success came as a result of hard work.
Each day at his parents’ ranch in Idaho, Zane exercised by doing eighty sit-ups, twenty pull-ups, and four hundred push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping ten to twenty calves and practicing once a week for each riding event. Also, before each rodeo, Zane asked his father for a father’s blessing. Zane says, “I feel that these blessings kept me from getting injured on many occasions; and when I was injured, I recovered remarkably fast.”
Zane adds that obeying the Word of Wisdom has been a great blessing in his life. “Other cowboys who drink and take drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is that he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo, he had to ride a bull that had thrown off all the college-age riders who had tried to ride it. But Zane, only thirteen years old, got on the bull and rode him in three out of five attempts. “I don’t remember ever being really frightened at a rodeo,” said Zane. “A little fear is always good for you, but too much fear is not good. If you have a little fear, you plan better. If you have too much fear, you may get out of control.”
One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. Colleges all over the United States were recruiting him. Although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane wrote home from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three times at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”
In his life, Zane has ridden a thousand wild horses and roped a thousand calves. Rodeo became easy to him. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father—who was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
Zane’s mission in Brazil was not easy. He underwent the shock of learning a new language and living in a different culture. But Zane improved daily. And on his mission he learned firsthand that his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

María Isabel Parra de Uribe of the Villas de La Hacienda Ward, México City México Tepalcapa Stake, tells of an experience common to many who have sought blessings of healing. Five months pregnant, she was suffering intense pain. Tests showed she needed surgery immediately, and she was told she might lose her baby.
“My husband and I were confused,” she says. “We didn’t know whether to have the surgery or not. We decided to ask God if surgery was the right choice. After our prayer, we felt peaceful and calm.
“While I was waiting to be taken to the operating room, my husband gave me a priesthood blessing. When it was over, we felt not only calm but certain our baby would survive.
“After I came out of surgery, a nurse said, ‘Everything is all right. Your baby is fine.’ I smiled to myself, realizing, I already knew.”
The power of godliness had been manifest in her life.

September 23, 1846—on the western bank of the Mississippi RiverTremendous thundershower today. The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything. We have only a tent to shelter us. We left Nauvoo in haste a few days ago. Our carefully packed belongings were scattered by the mobs looking for firearms. We have little left. It was not hard to leave the deserted city, but it breaks my heart to see our beloved temple just across the river—so near, yet unreachable. Papa is still grieving. As Brother Joseph’s bodyguard, he feels he should have somehow prevented the martyrdom. If he would just make music again on his fife, I am sure my heart would not be so heavy.

Fortunately, there are seldom-reported but marvelous-to-consider stories of great patience. Recently I attended the funeral of a lifelong friend. His son told a beautiful story of parental patience. When the son was in his youth, his dad owned a motorcycle dealership. One day they received a shipment of shiny new motorcycles, and they lined them all up in the store. The boy did what every boy would like to do, and he climbed up on the closest one. He even started it up. Then, when he figured he had pushed his luck far enough, he jumped off. To his dismay, his dismount knocked the first bike down. Then, like a string of dominoes, they all went down, one after another. His dad heard the commotion and looked out from behind the partition where he was working. Slowly, smiling, he said, “Well, son, we had better fix one up and sell it, so we can pay for the rest of them.”
I think my friend’s response personifies parental patience.

But I often felt out of place at church because I was learning so many new things. I bought some new long skirts to replace my short ones. When I wore them to church, I found out they were still too short to meet Church standards. I didn’t understand what my friends meant when they used Church-related abbreviations. I was too nervous and shy to ask them the meanings of things.
What helped was the teens befriending me and taking time to include me. They seemed to have a natural way of caring for new members. Another thing that helped was visualizing my family in the next life. I never wanted them to be disappointed in me for not living the gospel when I knew it to be true. Even though times were difficult when I was a teenager, I tried to think of the future and my responsibility to my family. If I did not live the gospel, how would my family ever have a chance of accepting it?

Dad spooned peas onto Abby’s plate. “Do you remember why we do service each November?”
Mark remembered how sad they all felt when Ellen, his baby sister, died two years before. He still felt sad about it sometimes, especially during special family times or when Mom cried.
“I remember,” Mark said. “When it was almost Ellen’s first birthday, we were sad, so we made up ‘Ellen Projects’ to help people. Mom said serving helps us feel thankful for what we have.”
“And when we feel thankful, we feel happy,” Mom said. “Even when we are missing our baby.”

Christopher stared out the window as the car zipped along the highway. The family was returning from a weekend of visiting relatives. The sun had gone down, and the view of the countryside was quickly disappearing.
“Are you warm enough?” Dad asked. “Do you want me to turn up the heat?”
“I’m OK. I have my blanket and my pillow back here.”
“Did you have a good time with your cousins?”
“Yeah!” Christopher answered. “That was an awesome snowman we built yesterday. I bet it won’t melt until spring!”
“You might be right,” Dad laughed.
“It was fun going to Primary with Joey today too. I asked his class my favorite article of faith question.”
Dad adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could see Christopher in the back seat. “What’s the question?”
“Do you know which article of faith you can see at the circus?”
“Which one?”
“The thirteenth. It says we believe in being honest, true, and chased by an elephant.”
Dad chuckled. “Who taught you that?”
“Sister Egbert. She finds good ways to help us memorize the articles of faith. The thirteenth is really long, so she asked us that question to help us learn it. And now I can say the whole thing.”
“Good for you! Do you know what it means?”
“Well, she explained all the big words. Mostly it just means that we believe in being nice to people and in doing good things.”
“That’s a pretty good explanation.” Dad glanced at Mom, asleep in the seat next to him. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, too, Son. We won’t be home for about an hour.”
Christopher rested his cheek on the pillow against the side of the car, and pulled his blanket up to his chin. He was almost asleep when the car swerved sharply.
“What happened?” Mom asked, awakened by the jolt.
“A car just cut in front of us and went off the road,” Dad said, breathing deeply. “They barely missed us.”
“We should go back and see if they’re all right,” Christopher said.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Dad told him. “I saw them come to a safe stop.” “We’ll call the highway patrol when we get to town,” Mom added.
“But what if they’re not all right?” Christopher asked. “What if they need help? We should help them.”
Dad looked at Mom. “He’s right—we should see if we can help.” At the next opportunity he headed back in the other direction.
Christopher pressed his face against the cool window, searching for the car. “There it is!” he shouted when it came into view.
Dad carefully pulled off the road behind it. “You two stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Christopher felt uneasy as he watched his father disappear into the darkness. But after just a few minutes, he saw Dad returning with a big smile on his face.
Mom rolled down her window. “What happened?”
“Would you believe it—it’s Brother and Sister Egbert!”
“My Primary teacher?” Christopher shouted. “Is she all right?”
“They’re both fine,” Dad continued, “just a little shaken up. One of their tires blew, and they lost control of the car.” He asked Mom, “Would you move our car up so that the lights shine on their car better?”
Mom slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the car up so that the headlights shone on the flat tire that Dad and Brother Egbert were getting ready to change. Sister Egbert came back and climbed into the seat next to Christopher.
“Thank you so much for stopping,” she said with a shiver.
Christopher handed her his blanket.
“Christopher is the one you should thank,” Mom said. “He insisted that we make sure whoever it was, was all right.”
Sister Egbert turned to Christopher. “Thank you,” she said. “You were the answer to a prayer.”
“You’re the one who taught me that we believe in being nice to people and in doing good things. We were just following the thirteenth article of faith—‘being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and doing good to all men.’ “
“I’m proud of you for learning to say that article of faith,” Sister Egbert said. “But I’m more impressed that you know how to live it.”