Gospel Story Finder

Some time ago, while laboring in the Lord’s missionary service, a wonderful missionary came to see me. It was near the end of his mission. He was very depressed. Saddened by his own perception of personal success, he had imposed upon himself a standard from which he had fallen far short. As he spoke, he recounted for me the difficult time he had experienced in the MTC. While he was there, his father had died unexpectedly, and for a brief period of time the elder had considered leaving the mission and returning home. But, encouraged by a loving mother and spurred on by an individual commitment, he continued his training and finally found himself in the beautiful country of Bolivia.

I listened to him as he told me of the initial efforts he had made in his mission to work hard, pray often, follow all the rules, and be a model missionary—expecting, of course, to be rewarded with hundreds of baptisms. But, unfortunately, the baptisms had not come. Gradually he began to slacken his pace. He felt that his prayers were not being heard, so why pray? The mission rules seemed somehow to be burdensome. They were restrictive, silly things, written by the mission president only to goad and irritate him and the other missionaries.

In despair, he said, “And now I’m nobody! What I do won’t make any difference!” Then searchingly, he quickly added, “Will it, President Hammond?”

Now I spoke softly to the young missionary with all the fervor of my soul. I placed my hand on his and said, “Are you ready to go back out into the field of labor? Can you make a difference in the lives of these special Bolivian children of our Heavenly Father? Are you ready to once again ‘take up your cross, follow [him], and feed [his] sheep?’ (D&C 112:14).

It was apparent that his attitude had changed. With a renewed spirit of dedication, tears slipping down his face, he committed himself once again to the work of the Lord. We knelt in prayer together. I blessed him that he would be able to find the way.

Although he had been weak, I felt an inner confidence in him. As I sought to find direction from the Spirit for a new assignment for the elder, I surprised even myself by sending him to one of the most difficult and remote areas of Bolivia—a small community near the Argentine border named Bermejo. The work had gone badly there for some time, with only a few baptisms to reinforce the little handful of Saints who were discouraged and finding it hard to keep the faith.

But the Lord and his ways are wonderful to behold. In his weekly reports to me the missionary told of his diligent efforts to contact the people and preach the gospel to them. He indicated that they were slow to listen, but that he was continuing his faithful stewardship in that part of the Lord’s vineyard. And then it happened!

Overnight a small river running near the village of Bermejo, fed by heavy rains in the mountains, rose to a height never before known in the history of the land. Homes were swept away; and people were drowned. The only bridge connecting the city to the main road was torn from its footings and washed downstream. Communications were destroyed. There was chaos everywhere. Two young missionaries were caught in the turmoil of death and destruction caused by the flooding waters. And one remembered that “a man can make a difference.” He threw himself into the turbulent waters to rescue many who were drowning; he sought for those buried beneath fallen buildings; he gave relief to the injured and succor to the hungry.

And a miracle occurred! He became a hero. He was lauded by the newspapers. His name was spoken over the airwaves. The people mentioned his name with reverence. Those who had previously rejected him and the message he carried now searched him out. Their doors were opened to receive him. They loved him! They accepted his burning testimony of Jesus Christ and the gospel restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. In the few months that remained of his mission he brought scores of wonderful people into the Church. He saw the men receive the holy priesthood and their wives become more lovely in Relief Society activity. Today a beautiful chapel stands in Bermejo. On the Sabbath day it is full of people who still remember one faithful elder who made a difference.

At a nursing home on First South, we might interrupt, as I did a few years ago, a professional football game. There, before the TV, were seated two widows. They were warmly and beautifully dressed—and absorbed in the game. I asked, “Who’s winning?” They responded, “We don’t even know who’s playing, but at least it’s company.” I sat between those two angels and explained the game of football. I enjoyed the best contest I can remember. I may have missed a meeting, but I harvested a memory.

Daniel knows that he can be a missionary now, too, by being a good example at school. He is the only member of the Church at his school. For reading time at school, he read his Book of Mormon. Being curious, his teacher asked him about the book. He was very happy to tell her all about it. Later, at a parent-teacher conference, the teacher told his parents how impressed she was with their son and his willingness to read the scriptures at school.

I share a final example that mortality works.
My mother did not have an easy journey through mortality. She received no accolades or worldly honors and did not have educational opportunities beyond high school. She contracted polio as a child, resulting in a lifetime of pain and discomfort in her left leg. As an adult, she experienced many difficult and challenging physical and financial circumstances but was faithful to her covenants and loved the Lord.
When my mother was 55, my next older sister passed away, leaving an eight-month-old baby daughter, my niece, motherless. For various reasons, Mom ended up largely raising my niece for the next 17 years, often under very trying circumstances. Yet, notwithstanding these experiences, she happily and willingly served her family, neighbors, and ward members and served as an ordinance worker in the temple for many years. During the last several years of her life, Mom suffered from a form of dementia, was often confused, and was confined to a nursing facility. Regrettably, she was alone when she passed away unexpectedly.
Several months after her passing, I had a dream I have never forgotten. In my dream, I was sitting in my office at the Church Administration Building. Mom entered the office. I knew she had come from the spirit world. I will always remember the feelings I had. She did not say anything, but she radiated a spiritual beauty that I had never before experienced and which I have difficulty describing.
Her countenance and being were truly stunning! I remember saying to her, “Mother, you are so beautiful!,” referencing her spiritual power and beauty. She acknowledged me—again without speaking. I felt her love for me, and I knew then that she is happy and healed from her worldly cares and challenges and eagerly awaits “a glorious resurrection.” I know that for Mom, mortality worked—and that it works for us too.

The story is told of a man named Jack who had a beloved bird-hunting dog named Cassie. Jack was so proud of Cassie and often bragged about what a skilled dog she was. To prove this, Jack invited some friends to watch Cassie perform. After arriving at the hunting club, Jack let Cassie out to run around while he went inside to check in.
When it was time to begin, Jack was anxious to show off Cassie’s amazing skills. However, Cassie was acting strangely. She wouldn’t obey any of Jack’s commands as she usually did so willingly. All she wanted to do was remain by his side.
Jack was frustrated and embarrassed and angry with Cassie; soon he suggested they leave. Cassie wouldn’t even jump into the back of the truck, so Jack impatiently picked her up and shoved her in the kennel. He fumed as those with him made fun of his dog’s behavior all the way home. Jack couldn’t understand why Cassie was misbehaving. She had been trained well, and her whole desire in the past had been to please and serve him.
After arriving home, Jack began examining Cassie for injuries, burrs, or ticks, as he usually did. As he put his hand on her chest, he felt something wet and found his hand covered with blood. To his shame and horror, he found that Cassie had a long, wide gash right to her chest bone. He found another on her right front leg, also to the bone.
Jack took Cassie into his arms and began to cry. His shame at how he had misjudged and treated her was overwhelming. Cassie had been acting uncharacteristically earlier in the day because she was hurt. Her behavior had been influenced by her pain, her suffering, and her wounds. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire to obey Jack or a lack of love for him.

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some help to those who feel insignificant, forgotten, or alone.
Many years ago I attended pilot training in the United States Air Force. I was far away from my home, a young West German soldier, born in Czechoslovakia, who had grown up in East Germany and spoke English only with great difficulty. I clearly remember my journey to our training base in Texas. I was on a plane, sitting next to a passenger who spoke with a heavy Southern accent. I could scarcely understand a word he said. I actually wondered if I had been taught the wrong language all along. I was terrified by the thought that I had to compete for the coveted top spots in pilot training against students who were native English speakers.
When I arrived on the air base in the small town of Big Spring, Texas, I looked for and found the Latter-day Saint branch, which consisted of a handful of wonderful members who were meeting in rented rooms on the air base itself. The members were in the process of building a small meetinghouse that would serve as a permanent place for the Church. Back in those days members provided much of the labor on new buildings.
Day after day I attended my pilot training and studied as hard as I could and then spent most of my spare time working on the new meetinghouse. There I learned that a two-by-four is not a dance step but a piece of wood. I also learned the important survival skill of missing my thumb when pounding a nail.
I spent so much time working on the meetinghouse that the branch president—who also happened to be one of our flight instructors—expressed concern that I perhaps should spend more time studying.
My friends and fellow student pilots engaged themselves in free-time activities as well, although I think it’s safe to say that some of those activities would not have been in alignment with today’s For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. For my part, I enjoyed being an active part of this tiny west Texas branch, practicing my newly acquired carpentry skills, and improving my English as I fulfilled my callings to teach in the elders quorum and in Sunday School.
At the time, Big Spring, despite its name, was a small, insignificant, and unknown place. And I often felt exactly the same way about myself—insignificant, unknown, and quite alone. Even so, I never once wondered if the Lord had forgotten me or if He would ever be able to find me there. I knew that it didn’t matter to Heavenly Father where I was, where I ranked with others in my pilot training class, or what my calling in the Church was. What mattered to Him was that I was doing the best I could, that my heart was inclined toward Him, and that I was willing to help those around me. I knew if I did the best I could, all would be well.
And all was well.15

Here's an example you may relate to. Years ago I was called away from my home ward to serve on this campus. A week or so after being set apart, a sister came in for an interview and expressed some concern about a calling she had received at the beginning of the semester. As I recall, she said something like this: "I came here to Ricks College and was excited to participate and serve. When the bishop called me into his office, I knew he had a calling for me, and I secretly hoped that it would be something that stretched me and helped me to get to know people. As it turned out, my calling was to be the centerpiece coordinator in Relief Society. I've been doing it, but I know it's not important and no one really cares. What do I do?" First of all, I had no idea what a centerpiece coordinator did. It wasn't in the handbook, and there was no manual I could give her. She explained that she was to call the teacher each week, find out what the lesson topic for that Sunday was, and then create a centerpiece befitting the lesson. We don't do this in priesthood meeting because if it's on the table and it's not edible, the brethren don't care. (Although I did Google "LDS centerpieces" the other day, just for fun, and saw an orange Powerade bottle that said, "Orange you blessed to have the priesthood "Power" to "Ade" you in your life?")

Anyway, regardless of how you feel about the need for centerpieces in our meetings, this good sister felt underwhelmed, and questioned how much she was worth to the Lord. I can't remember exactly what I said to her then, but I have some counsel for any of you, students and faculty alike, who may be struggling with similar feelings now.

Rebecca Swanston, a 12-year-old member of the Mt. Zion Baptist Church, had a speaking part in this year’s program. She participated with two LDS boys, Jean Gonzalez and Jason Godwin. Rebecca’s lines were about the lives of prominent African Americans and their contributions to society. Rebecca will remember those important facts, but she will also remember her new friends.

“I probably wouldn’t know Jason and Jean if we hadn’t done this program,” she says. “We’ve had a great time. I can’t wait for next year’s Black history program.”

She was a convert of three years—a recently returned missionary who was never as happy as when she was firing up others with the story of her conversion. When I read the neatly typed version of her story, written at the request of her mission president’s wife, I was awed. And a little envious. Her testimony had developed intensively as she had studied the Book of Mormon, taught the gospel, and sought spiritual confirmation of truth. She hadn’t seen angels, but she had seen quiet miracles. The Lord had touched her life. She, in turn, had touched mine through sharing her story. I was raised in the Church; I admire the enthusiasm of converts.
Such experiences, I told her, ought to be reciprocal. “And so I ought to give you something of equal value in return,” I said. “But I don’t know what.” She tactfully declined my offer to let her read my poetry. (“I never touch the stuff,” she said.) “Why don’t you write your conversion story?” she suggested.
“But I’m not a convert.”
“So? Aren’t you converted?”
I sat down that night to start, dubiously. I reread her story and despaired of ever piecing together a conversion story from my lifetime of attending meetings and teaching Sunday School lessons. The pattern of my conversion wasn’t obvious, but the material was certainly handy—I had kept diaries and journals for years. But a conversion story? A look back through the journals showed that I had always been aware of the Church in my life. My ancestors were baptized in England and New England in the early decades of the Restoration and later crossed the plains. I remembered always being a Mormon.
Which was how I decided to start my story: I remember always being a Mormon. I told of growing up in the Church, of going to corn-feeds and Primary, of singing solos and telling my school friends about the Church. I told how no one needed to tell me when my grandmother died because I knew in my eight-year-old heart that it had happened. I told how all the relatives and seemingly half the town gathered for her funeral in the Rexburg, Idaho, Fourth Ward chapel.
As I reminisced, a theme began to emerge: as a child, I had learned the gospel by living it. Family and teachers had taught me to look to the Lord for strength. I had prayed since I was a child. This seemed ironic, because during my adolescence I had wondered if my prayers were correct and effective. Other people told of dramatic answers to prayers and of lengthy sessions of pleading with the Lord. My prayers, in contrast, were simple, short, and sometimes quite demanding and to the point. Yet I saw, by looking back through journals and memory, that I had always prayed, and that my prayers had always been heartfelt. When grandma died, I prayed. When I lost control of a horse I was riding, I prayed. When I was scared no one would dance with me, I prayed. When I was too terrified to play a piano solo in public, I prayed. Though not every prayer was answered immediately, all were answered.
I realized that looking to the Lord was a pattern of my life, part of me since I was a toddler. I recognized a strength I had questioned before, and I recognized the Lord’s hand in my life as never before.
As I wrote of my intense involvement in Church while I was in high school, I recalled that many of my friends had wanted to know what made my life different from theirs. Why did I spend so much time at church? Why were the Mormon kids so close? What was our 6:30 A.M. religion class about, anyway? I had told some friends about the gospel. One girl friend and her family were baptized a few weeks after I had timidly asked them, “What do you know about the Mormon church?” one night as we sat around their kitchen table after an orchestra excursion. Another friend gained a testimony of the Book of Mormon but did not have the faith at 15 to be baptized. Other friends went to Young Women meetings and to Church dances with me. A young man I met at a high school journalism conference joined the Church after we corresponded philosophically for three years. I had not converted him, but I had introduced him to the truth, and he had recognized it.
Before reviewing these incidents in my journals and writing them out for my conversion story, I had wondered if I were capable of being an effective member-missionary. “Every member a missionary” had rung guilty notes in my ears for years. Now I realized that I was a missionary—in my own way, with my own friends. Now, that knowledge gives me confidence in continuing to share the gospel gladly and openly.
I wrote next of times I had sought help from the Lord through his servants. I wrote of my high regard for one bishop in particular, of the blessing of knowing worthy men who regarded themselves as “the servant of all” (D&C 50:26). I had forgotten those men and the impact of their leadership. I had forgotten that from them came my first motivation to study the scriptures until the Lord’s words became a pattern for my thoughts.
I wrote how one morning while I was attending Brigham Young University I awoke feeling a need to know that my life had purpose. I prayed that as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve spoke at a devotional assembly that morning, his words would give me direction and motivation. The prayer was undeniably answered only hours later. That incident, too, I had not thought of for some time.
Throughout those events, I know the Lord was involved in my life. But, curiously, I had underestimated my ability to successfully live my religion. Writing my conversion story out—all eight typed pages of it—made me more appreciative of me. By reading my journal and writing my story, I understood myself better, and I saw my growth more clearly. I saw that even when I did not yet understand or accept all the principles of the gospel, I accepted the Lord. I wrote: Because I learned to pray as a child—taught by my grandmother, my mother, and uncounted teachers at church—I had a faith in prayer that carried me through periods of doubt. It was my prayers as a youngster that I recalled in my greatest need.
An even greater benefit has come since writing out my own Church history. “And when thou art converted,” Luke wrote, “strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32). I gave a copy of my story to the friend who first shared her conversion story with me. (“It was pretty good,” she said. “You didn’t know you had it in you, did you?”) I have judiciously given it to a few other friends since, as we have shared experiences and encouragement. I share it with nonmember friends who want to learn more about the gospel. I wouldn’t give it to just anybody—too much in it is too private. The friends I share it with are strengthened, and that strengthens me. And now, with my conversion story written, signed, and dated, I am more than strengthened; I am a convert.

As a Seventy, Elder Stevenson was assigned as a counselor in the Area Presidency and then as president of the Asia North Area.
In March 2011, an earthquake and tsunami devastated Japan. The 9.0-magnitude temblor generated a seismic sea wave that left 20,000 dead, displaced thousands, and destroyed 550,000 homes.
He visited the disaster zone many times. “As we met with people, our emotions ran from one end of the spectrum to the other,” he recalls. “We simultaneously observed tragedy and loss mixed with hope and restoration. Over and over again our hearts were touched as we witnessed the healing balm of our Savior’s love.”
In addition, he witnessed firsthand how the Church helps those in need: “To be able to react to a calamity and to help shape a response—that was a manifestation of the Church of Jesus Christ filling one of its divinely appointed responsibilities of caring for the poor and needy.” He described it as a sacred privilege to minister to those in need and see others do the same: “We learned about the goodness of humanity.”

If an obnoxious weed tucked deep in a flower bed seems to heave a smug sigh of relief when the local teenager shows up to mow the grass—because, hey, a teenager coming to do a quick job is no big threat to its existence, right?—then that moment of satisfaction is going to be short-lived if 13-year-old Nathan D. is the one behind the mower.
Nathan started mowing lawns for his neighbors in 2012. He knows how to keep customers happy, in part because he believes in not merely doing the job right but also in doing a bit more than is required.
Once he turns off the mower at a job, he double-checks the lawn. “Make sure everything is done right and that you haven’t missed any spots,” he advises to others interested in lawn care.
After that, it’s time for the little something extra. “Before leaving the job you’ve done,” Nathan says, “look for some extra things that wouldn’t take much time to do.” Pulling stray weeds is one of his favorites.
As a result of his income, Nathan has also learned great budgeting skills. Now in his second year of mowing lawns, Nathan has been able to buy school clothes and save for a mission.

When I was young I loved playing sports, and I have many fond memories of those days. But not all of them are pleasant. I remember one day after my football team lost a tough game, I came home feeling discouraged. My mother was there. She listened to my sad story. She taught her children to trust in themselves and each other, not blame others for their misfortunes, and give their best effort in everything they attempted.
When we fell down, she expected us to pick ourselves up and get going again. So the advice my mother gave to me then wasn’t altogether unexpected. It has stayed with me all my life.
“Joseph,” she said, “come what may, and love it.”

While I was on my mission, I traveled for a few days with Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I was his temporary driver and companion. It was the first time I had been so close to an Apostle of the Lord. I heard him pray and testify. I saw what he focused on, what he talked about, and what he was like when he was not in public. I saw how he treated other people and how thoughtful he was of their needs. I decided that this was the kind of man I wanted to become.

In school, if the children had been well-behaved, the teacher might reward them by having a railroad spelling bee after the afternoon activity time. All the children lined up next to the wall. One day little Mary was at the front of the line, so she could spell any word that she wanted to. She correctly spelled cat. Then Charles, who was next in line, had to spell a word beginning with t, the last letter in Mary’s word. He spelled tail. Laura was next, and she had to spell a word beginning with l. She slowly spelled, “l-i-v-e-l-e-e.” Then, because she had misspelled lively, she had to sit down. The game continued as Henry correctly spelled a word beginning with y.
All too soon the railroad spelling bee ended—it was time for the children to go home. But the next day they would return to the one-room schoolhouse to study and play again.

Many North Americans cannot imagine Thanksgiving without a large turkey, roasted, ready for carving, and proudly displayed in the center of the dining table.In our family the turkey must not only taste deliciously like American turkey, but must look the part as well. This has at times become a concerning issue, as we have celebrated Thanksgiving in different parts of the world.

In the meat markets in France, after plucking all the feathers from all types of poultry, the butchers display the birds by hanging them upside down from the ceiling. You can pick out the bird you prefer. In our first year in France where we were serving a mission, my wife, Kathy approached the French butcher, and said in her best French, "J'ai besoin d'une dinde," ("I need a turkey"). He pointed to a bird hanging from the ceiling, "voila, une dinde," ("there's a turkey"). She looked puzzled. It did not look like an American turkey. Its neck was much too long; it's body much too small. It took a few visits, but after much effort from my industrious wife and the butcher, she found a bird that looked quite like an American turkey. Our local French grocer found one for us each year we lived there.

Meet Amy Richardson and Amy Richardson.
That’s right, these girls are the same age and have the same name. They were introduced when they were both just a few hours old and fighting to stay alive in the University of Utah’s Newborn Intensive Care Center. (Both were born prematurely and suffered complications because of it.) The “Amys” got well and went their separate ways, one Amy living in Woods Cross, Utah, and the other in Murray, Utah.
But they doubled up again for a brief moment last year. It seems they share more than a name. They also share a vision for sharing the gospel and were reunited at the MTC, where they met by accident the night before Amy from Murray left to serve her mission in Latvia. Amy from Woods Cross left a few days later to serve in Dallas, Texas.

There are other ways the Lord uses miracles to answer our prayers. Sometimes, for instance, he seems to manipulate our temporal world to our benefit, as one sister related in testimony meeting:
“We knew when we were preparing to send Roger on his mission that we would have to change our lifestyle to afford it. But when we sat down and figured out exactly what our new budget would be—to the penny—we discovered that we wouldn’t have enough even for must items. We worried and prayed about it; we were going to trust the Lord and send Roger anyway, but we didn’t know how we were going to do it.
“Then, the day before Roger left, my husband’s boss called him into his office and said they were giving him a raise effective immediately. He then wrote the amount of the raise on a slip of paper and handed it to my husband. It was the exact amount—to the penny—that it was going to cost to support Roger on his mission.”

I have a very funny kitten. She followed my grandpa home one day, and she has stayed with us since then. We call her Shadow because she is black.
Shadow always looks up. She jumps into the empty bathtub, looks up at the towels, then jumps up to pull one down. When she is outside and wants to come in, she looks up at the window in the door and jumps up and holds on to the window frame with her paws and looks in at us.
Sometimes I think Shadow believes she is a dog. She jumps out of a hiding place and lands on my dog; then they roll around on the ground and playfully chew on each other. When my dog grabs a stick, Shadow runs around, trying to catch it. They even eat out of the same bowl.
Shadow really loves to look up at my grandpa. He picks her up and pets her and tells her what a good kitty she is. I think she loves him in a special way because he found her. She was very tiny and sick when she followed him home. He took her to the animal doctor to get her some medicine. Grandpa made her a nice, warm bed in our house too.

World population: six billion. Population of Duchesne, Utah: 1,500.
If you looked at a map of the world, you would need a strong magnifying glass to see this tiny mountain town tucked into the southern end of the Uintah Basin. Despite its high-desert beauty, most people just drive through Duchesne on their way to somewhere else.
But this small Utah town is important—so important it could change the world. And if those people driving through stopped for a while and really looked, they would see what’s so special about what they thought was just a dot on their map.
The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Going to the conference was easier for some than for others. “I thought I had better things to do,” said Jeff Foster of the First ward. But he decided to go anyway. By Saturday afternoon he had changed his tune. “My parents are going to say, ‘I told you so!’” Jeff says. “There are people who don’t want to go on missions because they don’t want to leave their stuff behind—like their jobs and their music or whatever—but it’s worth it!”
“Those are all things you have to give up if you want to go on a mission,” agrees Eric Peatross, who was just called to the England Leeds Mission. Eric has many scholarship offers that won’t wait for him to come back in two years. He’s also leaving behind a job he loves, as well as his band. He says, “It involves a lot of prayer. You really have to know the gospel is true before you can turn all of those things down.” A testimony won’t come all at once, Eric says. His didn’t. He says his testimony, and his determination to go on a mission, came to him bit by bit as he did the things he knew he should be doing to be obedient. In other words, he prepared.
The conference was added preparation for Eric. “These two days have been like spiritual boot camp,” he says.
The levels of preparation at the conference varied from young man to young man. In one class, only one of eight knew how to sort laundry.
Housekeeping details aside, these young men know spiritual preparation is the most important aspect of getting ready for missionary work. Brian Bleazard says, “If I’ve learned anything at this conference it’s that I’m not the greatest teacher. You need the Spirit. It’s the Spirit that teaches.”
“It all comes down to your personal worthiness,” says Eric. Being worthy and obedient means you qualify for the companionship of the Spirit. All the young men were interviewed by their bishops before they went to the conference. The interview gave them a good idea of the things they need to be doing to be worthy to go to the temple and ready to go on a mission.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
“When we went to teach the first discussion I was really nervous, but it was fun,” says Roy Poulsen of the Fourth ward.
Courtney Moon, who was just called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission says, “I’ve always known the gospel is true in my mind, but trying to explain it to someone else really opens your eyes.”
“You’re nervous,” says Cris Hoopes, “but it is a good experience. It’s hard to teach investigators. You have to rely on the Spirit.”
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”
So what exactly is so important about Duchesne? For one thing, it is the future missionaries preparing to serve the Lord. Their faith and missionary service will change the world one person at a time. And the person each missionary is planning to start with is himself.
“I throw out a challenge to every young man. … Prepare yourself now to be worthy to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. He has said, ‘If ye are prepared ye shall not fear’ (D&C 38:30). Prepare to consecrate two years of your lives to this sacred service. That will in effect constitute a tithe on the first twenty years of your lives. Think of all that you have that is good—life itself, health, strength, food to eat and clothing to wear, parents, brothers and sisters, and friends. All are gifts from the Lord.
“Of course your time is precious, and you may feel you cannot afford two years. But I promise you that the time you spend in the mission field, if those years are spent in dedicated service, will yield a greater return on investment than any other two years of your lives. …
“And above and beyond all of this will come that sweet peace in your heart that you have served your Lord faithfully and well. …
“And so, my dear young brethren, resolve within your hearts today to include in the program of your lives service in the harvest field of the Lord as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Ensign, Nov. 1995, 52).—President Gordon B. Hinckley
“Young men and women who serve missions are never the same. They return home with qualities and strengths that seem to come from no other experience. They know, as they never knew before, that this work is true and that it is the most important work on the face of the earth” (Ensign, Dec. 1986, 4).—President Gordon B. Hinckley

One Saturday afternoon my little sister, my mom, and I decided to make cookies. My mom suggested we make a double batch and give them away.
While the cookies were baking, we talked about listening to the Spirit and serving others. My mom told us how grateful she was for inspired sisters around her that had recently brightened her day with a phone call or nice card. She then suggested that we give the cookies to someone Heavenly Father would like us to serve. We all went into different rooms and said our own personal prayer about who should receive the cookies. My mom and I had two of the same names, and my mom and little sister had also agreed on a family. The names we came up with were not even people that we typically interacted with.
From this experience, my testimony of prayer has been strengthened so much! Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and guided us to the people we should serve.
I will always remember that special day when we delivered the cookies to those who the Lord wanted us to. I am so grateful to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in my life. I am glad that I can pray for direction and help. I love the Church and my family. I am so blessed to have Young Women leaders to teach me about our gospel.