Gospel Story Finder

We need more such attitudes in the world. There is the story of the husband and wife who had saved and saved for a new car. After taking delivery, the husband told his wife that all the necessary legal documents and insurance information were in a packet in the glove compartment. On her first day out in the new car, she was involved in an accident, which demolished the front end of the car. Unhurt, in tears, and near panic, she opened the packet to show the police officer her papers. There she found a handwritten note from her husband which read: “Now that you have had an accident, remember I can always replace the car, but not you. Please know how much I love you!”

“What do you want to play next?” Tyler asked Jonathan. “I don’t know. What other toys do you have?” Even though they were best friends in the second grade, this was the first time Jonathan had come over to play at Tyler’s house.
“Let’s see,” Tyler said. “We already jumped on the trampoline. We played digging for dinosaurs. We put the space shuttle set together three times. Those are all my favorites.”
“Do you have any new games?” Jonathan asked.
“No, but I just had an idea. I have something to show you that I bet you’ve never seen.” Jonathan followed Tyler into the family room. Tyler got out an envelope and a big square board covered with fuzzy flannel.
“Look at this,” Tyler said. He turned the envelope upside down and a bunch of pictures fell out onto the floor. “I’ve been practicing my lesson for family home evening tonight. I’m going to tell the story of Joseph Smith just like the missionaries do. Want to hear it?”
“Hold on,” Jonathan said. “What’s family home evening, and who’s Joseph Smith?”
“Family home evening is when our family gets together every Monday night. We do lessons, play games, sing songs, and stuff like that. And we always have treats at the end. Anyway, it’s my turn to give the lesson. It’s all about Joseph Smith. Want to hear it?”
Jonathan shrugged. “OK.”
“Good. It starts off when Joseph was a teenager.” Tyler put a picture on the flannel board of a boy dressed in old-fashioned clothes. “He wanted to know which church was true. He was reading in the Bible where it says that if you have a question, you should ask God. Joseph Smith decided to pray and ask God which church he should join.”
“Is this a Bible story?” Jonathan asked.
“Well, not really.” Tyler took the boy’s picture off the flannel board and put on a picture of some trees. Then he got out another picture of the boy, only this time the boy was kneeling. “This is the good part. Joseph Smith went into the woods where he could be alone to pray. When he prayed, he asked God his question about which church was true.”
Tyler put another picture above the Joseph picture on the flannel board. This one showed Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, all dressed in white. “God and Jesus came down and told Joseph Smith not to join any of the churches. They told him that the true church was not on the earth. Later, when Joseph Smith was older, he was able to help bring the true Church back to the earth. He was a true prophet.”
Tyler stopped and looked at Jonathan. Jonathan was staring at the pictures but not saying much. Finally Tyler asked, “What do you think?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “The only prophets I’ve ever heard about are from Bible stories. Are you sure Joseph Smith was a prophet?”
“Sure, I’m sure.”
“But how do you know? I mean, if it’s not in the Bible, how do you know?”
Tyler hesitated. He knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but how could he explain it to Jonathan? “I just know,” he said.
Jonathan still had a frown on his face, and Tyler had a feeling that there was something else he should say. Then he knew what it was. “I know because I have a testimony.”
“Oh,” was all Jonathan said.
Tyler began putting the pictures back into the envelope.
Just then, Tyler’s mom poked her head around the corner. “How about a snack?” she said. “There are cookies in the kitchen.”
Tyler and Jonathan told each other jokes while they licked the frosting from the middle of their cookies. By the time they munched down the chocolate outside parts of the cookies, Jonathan’s mom had come to pick him up. He went outside to look for his shoes next to the trampoline. Tyler went with him.
While Jonathan was tying his shoes, he looked up at Tyler. “You know that story you told me? It was good. I mean, it’s good about your testimony and all.”
Before Tyler could answer, Jonathan had jumped up and was running through the gate out to the car. “See you tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Tyler called back.

Returning to college to begin my sophomore year, I found myself the only active member of the Church at my school. In my freshman year of college, there were two of us who were. The summer after my freshman year, the other LDS student left on a mission, and that fall no new LDS students showed up in the incoming freshman class. I was alone.
With no other LDS students near me and my family thousands of miles away, feelings of loneliness and uncertainty crept into my life. I began to doubt and question the Church and myself. I still knew that the Church was true, but I was full of questions. If Heavenly Father really loved His children, why was I the only one out of so many to have the gift of the Book of Mormon? Why did only one person out of an entire college believe in the restored gospel?
I still went to church every week. I read the Book of Mormon every night and prayed every morning and night. That’s what made it so hard. I was trying to do everything right, yet I still felt like Heavenly Father was not answering my prayers, and I still felt fear and doubt. All I needed was a spiritual boost. I wasn’t looking for a huge sign or miracle. I just wanted to feel the Spirit in the same strong way that I had previously felt it.
So many times in my past I had answers to prayers, experiences in the temple, or moments reading the scriptures when I had felt the Spirit so strongly—moments when my testimony of the Church was confirmed. All I needed was to feel that same Spirit again. I prayed frequently, pleading with my Heavenly Father to let me know again, let me feel again, let me have a reason to throw away all my doubts.
I never did have an “aha!” moment. I was not brought to tears with convincing feelings of the Spirit. There wasn’t just one clear answer to my prayers. It took time, but over the next weeks and months, as I continued to try to do what was right, I found small answers. A verse in the scriptures, a speaker at a singles conference, and President Hinckley’s words at general conference all helped me to slowly shove out my doubts.
Throughout that semester I learned that I did not always feel the Spirit in the same way. Sometimes I had a strong, warm feeling; sometimes I felt overwhelming joy; but sometimes I just felt okay. I realized that there is strength in remembering previous spiritual experiences. I did not need to have another strong spiritual confirmation of the truthfulness of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I just had to trust in the feelings I had previously.
Hebrews 10:32 says, “Call to remembrance the former days, in which, after ye were illuminated, ye endured a great fight of afflictions.”
I had been “illuminated” by the Spirit before, and with the help of the Spirit I had endured trials before. I had to remember those previous experiences. Satan would like me to forget my earlier testimony-building feelings and experiences, but I can fight his efforts by having faith in myself, in the Church, and in the Spirit that I had felt before.
“Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering” (Heb. 10:23). I now know that even when we do have doubts and fears and it seems like Heavenly Father isn’t answering our prayers, we have to just keep praying. He is always there and always listening.

Your great-grandfather Frederick Michael Wilhelm Meurs was born in Holland in 1926. He was one of 12 children. His mother was a devout Catholic who took her children to mass each Sunday. Fred attended Catholic schools and developed deep faith in Jesus Christ and a love for the scriptures.
Your great-grandmother Lois Ellen Meurs was also born in 1926 in Warrnambool. She had two brothers, Ralph and David, and was raised in a faithful Methodist home. She admired her parents’ charitable service and developed a strong Christian faith.
Fred and Lois were married in Warrnambool in January 1954. Julie was born later that year, and Peter (me) in December 1956.
In their early marriage, Fred and Lois wanted unity in their faith. They attended both the Catholic and Methodist churches and studied the New Testament together. As they read, they wrote down many questions—about the nature of the Godhead, resurrection, priesthood authority, the Church’s structure, and baptism by immersion.
They sought answers from local religious leaders, but most said those matters were “mysteries” or struggled to respond. Their search for truth led them to visit several Christian churches in Warrnambool. Still unsatisfied, they turned to God in prayer, asking Him to send them answers.
Eventually, a letter arrived from President Bingham. After prayerful consideration, he wrote, he had the strongest impression that there were people in Warrnambool ready to receive the restored Church. He encouraged them to go back to work and to visit places they had not been before.
The elders received the letter around the same time that Fred and Lois were praying for answers. A few days later, they knocked on the Meurs family’s front door at 68 Jamieson Street, Warrnambool. Lois answered, and the elders said they had a special message about Jesus Christ and His Church to share.
Lois replied, “We have been praying for you to come—but you can’t come in just now. Our children (two-year-old Julie and six-month-old Peter) have chickenpox, and they might infect you.” She asked them to return in a week.
Lois told Fred about the visit, and they continued to pray that the missionaries wouldn’t forget to come back. They didn’t know who they were dealing with!
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson returned the following week and began teaching Lois and Fred. As they taught, they answered every question on Fred and Lois’s long list. They explained the nature of God, priesthood authority, the Resurrection and life after death, the purpose of life, developing faith, and the ordinances of baptism and the sacrament.
Fred and Lois opened their scriptures—already marked from their earlier study—and found confirmation for everything the missionaries were teaching.
Lois and Fred were baptized and confirmed on 5 July 1957—just three weeks after meeting the missionaries. Soon other families joined the Church, and the new branch began holding meetings in the Meurs home on Jamieson Street.

Last Thanksgiving we went up to Bear Lake. We have a little farm home there. My wife and I began a tickling contest. I am a world-class tickler. I am one of the greatest ticklers that has ever lived. Well, as we were laughing and giggling, in came the children. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Soon they joined in and we had a great time. A microscopic bit of sadness attended that experience last Thanksgiving because I thought to myself, “Why haven’t I introduced that type of joy into our home more often?” I hope that our home has been more joy filled since then.

When I was about five years old, while my parents built our home, we lived in Salt Lake City, Utah, in an apartment owned by my Aunt Elizabeth. We had heavy snows that winter and then a quick thaw, which caused a tremendous flood to sweep through the area where we lived, bringing rocks and sand with it.
When the flood waters were finally gone, my aunt gave me the task of shoveling the dirt it left behind into a little red wagon and unloading it onto a big mound, which was later hauled away. She paid me one or two cents a wagonload. That was how I earned a large part of the money to buy myself a Red Flyer wagon. What a great thing that was! I thought it was a privilege to have a job. My aunt could have had somebody else do it a lot more quickly and easily, but the experience helped me learn the value of working hard. This lesson has helped me at school, in the mission field, at work, and in other areas of my life.

At times, the Lord needs a little help to assist some as to the validity of this truth. I recall when I served as chairman of the Church Missionary Committee that I received a telephone call from a member of the presidency of the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah. He advised that a particular young man called to a Spanish-speaking mission was having difficulty applying himself to his language study and had declared, “I never can learn Spanish!” The leader asked, “What do you recommend we do?”

I thought for a moment, then suggested, “Place him tomorrow as an observer in a class of missionaries struggling to learn Japanese, and then advise me of his reaction.”

My caller responded within 24 hours with the report, “The missionary was only in the Japanese language class one-half day when he called me and excitedly said, ‘Place me back in the Spanish class! I know I can learn that language.’” And he did.

President Dallin H. Oaks relates a time in his life when his faith to serve God was tested. He learned that there are tipping points in our lives that affect our determination to let God prevail in our lives. He was a young law clerk, so his job demanded long hours. He often returned home after 9 pm. You may find yourself in similar situations - school, family, jobs, and of course church callings. He was called as a stake missionary and counselor in the stake mission presidency. This calling required forty hours of proselyting per month, gospel study and at least three to four evenings per week. Accepting the calling would mean significant adjustments to his schedule. He exercised faith and accepted the call, which became a tipping point in his life. He immediately reduced his time at work so that he could fulfill his church assignment. During the two years of his stake missionary service, he suffered no reduction in his accomplishments and advancements in his employment. He knew the Lord magnified his abilities as he put the Lord first in his life. He said, “I learned that I could do more professionally in part of my time with His help, than in all of my time without it.” [10] President Monson has said, “When we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help.” [11] Serving the Lord allows you to come to know Him as you become dependent on Him.

Illustration by Allen Garns
Several years ago, I received a voice mail on my phone: “Is this Dan Hobbs who lived in Idaho Falls and served a mission in Washington in 1974? This is Tom Janaky. I think you taught my mom and dad.”
I was surprised. I had served in Texas, USA, not Washington, but I recognized the name. I immediately thought of the book on my dresser—a 1948 edition of the Book of Mormon. I opened it to a handwritten message on the cover page: “May God be with you. God bless you! Frank and Virginia Janaky, 1974.” Suddenly my mind went back 35 years.
I was 21 and close to the end of my mission in Houston, Texas. My companion and I were tracting without much success when we knocked on a door that was answered by a man who warmly invited us in. He introduced himself as Frank Janaky and introduced us to his wife, Virginia. We visited with them briefly.
On subsequent visits, we taught them the gospel. They weren’t interested in baptism, but they were always friendly. During one discussion, I noticed an old copy of the Book of Mormon on a bookshelf. I can’t remember how it came to be in their possession, but I do remember mentioning how much I admired it.
Shortly before I returned home, my companion and I stopped by to say goodbye. Before we left, Frank signed the old Book of Mormon and gave it to me as a parting gift. He asked if I would sign his family Bible with my name and address. That was the last time I saw the Janakys, but I have always treasured their gift.
I returned the phone call that evening. Tom asked again if I had served a mission in Washington in 1974. I told him I had served in Texas and asked if his parents were Frank and Virginia.
He told me his parents had moved from Texas to Washington. He had assumed the missionaries who visited his parents were in Washington. He said he had found my name and address in the family Bible.
“I am calling you to tell you that my brother and I have both been baptized, partly because of how nice the missionaries were to our parents,” he said. “They were so fond of all the missionaries who contacted them through the years.”
Tom then informed me that they had both passed away.
“But we are now completing their temple work,” he said.
With tears in my eyes, I thanked Tom for his call.
For years I felt that my mission wasn’t much of a success. Sometimes I wondered if I had touched anyone’s life while serving. Tom’s phone call was a tender mercy from the Lord. I am grateful for my mission and the small part I played in bringing the gospel to the Janaky family.

In August 1978 I received an assignment to attend a stake conference in Seoul, South Korea. After priesthood leadership meeting, I was in the hallway when a sister about 60 years old whispered in my ear in Japanese, “I don’t like Japanese people.”
I was shocked and surprised. I turned around and responded in Japanese, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I wondered what she had experienced in her life that caused her to feel that way. What damage had my people done to her people?
In my talk during the evening session of stake conference, I spoke of the Savior’s Atonement and His great sacrifice. I shared with stake members the story of Nephi and how the Spirit of the Lord took him to a high mountain. There he saw the tree of life, which his father, Lehi, had seen, and there he saw the baby Jesus (see 1 Nephi 11:1–20). Then an angel asked him if he knew the meaning of the tree his father had seen in vision.
Nephi answered, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.” The angel added, “Yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).
The love of God can help us overcome all prejudice and misunderstanding. We are truly God’s children, and we can take His love into our souls if we will.
Savior, may I learn to love thee,
Walk the path that thou hast shown,
Pause to help and lift another,
Finding strength beyond my own. 1
Without planning to, I began to share my connection with the Korean people. I told the congregation that I had grown up with nine Korean cousins. They came to our home, and my siblings and I often went to their homes. I ate Korean food and learned Korean songs. My aunt married a wonderful Korean man. They raised their children in Japan, in the same town where I grew up.
In the middle of my talk, I asked someone to play the piano as I sang a Korean folk song with President Ho Nam Rhee, the first stake president in South Korea. Then I asked President Rhee to help me sing the Korean national anthem, though I hadn’t sung it since my boyhood. It had been a long time since I had learned it from my Korean uncle, but the words came back to me. I then asked the congregation to sing it with me. They all stood and sang their beautiful national anthem. Many tears were shed, and it was hard for me to sing. A wonderful and sweet spirit prevailed.
I told the members of the stake that just as I loved my Korean cousins, I also loved them—because we are all God’s children, because we are all brothers and sisters in the gospel, and because of the love of God (see 1 Nephi 11:22, 25). We all felt that eternal love, and almost everyone in the congregation wept. I told them, “I love you as my brothers and sisters in the gospel.”
After the evening session had ended, stake members made a long line to greet me. The last person in line was the 60-year-old Korean sister, who came to me with tears in her eyes and apologized. The Spirit of the Lord was strong. The Savior’s healing wings carried all of us, and the spirit of peace spoke to the congregation. I felt as one with them.

A queer-looking bed wagon, with a woman comfortably settled in it, stopped at the toll bridge. The keeper smiled in amusement. Then he saw the anxious look on the face of the boy who was driving, and he hid his smile. The boy explained that his father had helped him make a special wagon for his ailing mother.
“Any boy who is that good to his mother can drive over the bridge without paying,” said the toll-keeper. He bowed low and waved the wagon on.
The boy was Brigham Young, who had been born in Whittingham, Vermont. His family moved to Smyrna, New York, a few years afterward, but today, 170 years later, he is still remembered in Whittingham. Opposite a store on Route 8, many visitors stop to see the marker that has been placed there in his honor. It reads:
“Brigham Young’s birthplace. Founder of Utah born here. Southward up the steep hill was the birthplace of Brigham Young, June 1, 1801. Three years later the family moved to New York state where he became a Mormon. He led the people from Illinois to Utah and founded Salt Lake City in 1847.”

“You win.”
I had just come out of the hotel’s elevator with my date. It was my high school senior prom—the day I had been looking forward to for months. The dinner and accompanying dance were held on the top floor of a local hotel in my hometown in upstate New York. Balloon arches and a long, red carpet led the way into the ballroom where the dance was being held.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking around for the source of the voice. It was my science teacher, Mr. Keenan.
“You win,” he repeated.
Laughing, I asked him what it was I had won.
“You have the most beautiful dress I have ever seen,” he responded. “I want that dress for my daughters when they go to prom.”
“Oh, I’m sure he tells every girl that,” I thought, smiling.
Continuing, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but not many of the dresses I’ve seen so far tonight cover very much.”
I was a little taken aback by his comment. It was obvious that my dress was modest, but I didn’t think that others would care. I thanked him and continued into the dance.
Later in the evening, my date and I went to the photographer for pictures. When it was our turn to pose, the photographer looked at me and said, “Wow, what a gorgeous dress.”
“I’m sure you tell every girl that her dress is gorgeous,” I said, voicing my earlier thoughts.
“Oh no,” his voice was serious. “I rarely tell a girl her dress is gorgeous.”
Rewind eight months to the previous fall. I knew my senior prom was going to be at the end of that school year, and in my excitement I started searching for a prom dress in September.
My friends and I spent several Saturdays shopping at local stores and trying on their selection of formal dresses. But in my hometown, finding a formal dress that went to at least the knees, wasn’t cut too low in the front or back, had sleeves, and was cute was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
I could have rationalized wearing an immodest dress—it was just one night, only immodest dresses were available, and all of my friends would be wearing them. But I felt uncomfortable just trying them on, and I knew I would be uncomfortable the whole night of prom if I did wear one.
I started looking harder. I knew it would be difficult to find something in local stores, so I turned to the Internet. It took a bit of searching, but after a while, I found the dress of my dreams.
It was a little more expensive than the immodest dresses I had tried on, and I had to get a job to pay for it. But when I received it in the mail and tried it on, it fit perfectly and I felt comfortable. I knew I had made the right decision.
When I walked into prom that night, I never once felt uncomfortable. And I was grateful that I had chosen to stay modest. As my teacher said, I had won.

Someday Torrance, California, will boast a 12-acre park with landscaped picnic areas, sports fields, and a playground for children; and the 10,000 residents who live within a square mile will be able to thank some active LDS youths for helping to bring it about.
The huge stacks of tumbleweeds and trash collected by the young people of the Torrance California South Stake helped the city move closer to beginning work on the park. For the youths, the cleanup campaign followed President Kimball’s advice that Americans devote 24 service hours to their communities this year. The project was also part of a three-day Bicentennial youth conference.
Choosing the theme, “Join the Freedom Train—Share Your Gospel Heritage,” the young people began the conference with a flag ceremony and color guard presentation. Then the 400 members and nonmembers were treated to a banquet served by their adult advisers. Of course, the decorations were all patriotic red, white, and blue. Song, dance, comedy, and a touch of dramatics were provided by the “Sounds of Zion,” a 50-member, touring Utah State University performing group. The college students reviewed the early days of movies, radio, television, and popular music. Also included were Church hymns and patriotic songs.
The next day the young people went to work at Torrance’s del Thorne Park. There are currently no park facilities available for nearby residents. The area will welcome the park when completed, and the young people will enjoy its features, knowing they contributed to its success.
The cleanup project was followed by the Rio Hondo Institute’s three-act musical-drama, Moroni’s Promise. The play centers on a young man’s uncertainty about accepting a mission call until he prays for guidance. After the play the Torrance young people danced to the music of “Pacifica,” though no one could believe they were still able to stand on their feet after the day’s work.
On Sunday evening the youth gathered for a sacrament and testimony meeting conducted by Stake President Eldon H. Morgan. President Morgan spoke on liberty, the true meaning of freedom, and why we should live within the law. Many youths bore their testimonies and expressed deep feelings for their families, Church, and country.
When the conference came to an end, the young people recognized that they had helped serve their community, made new friends, shared testimonies, and strengthened their commitment to do the Lord’s work. These were goals they had determined themselves. They knew that if they made up their minds to get something done, they probably would.

By way of illustration of that point-and the beauties that are out there for our enjoyment if we will but pause to do so-I share with you this piece that appeared a few years ago in the Washington Post

"A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that 1,100 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

"Three minutes went by, and a middle-aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace, and stopped for a few seconds, and then hurried up to meet his schedule. A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping, and continued to walk. A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

"The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tugged him along, hurried, but the [lad] stopped to look at the violinist. Finally, the mother pushed hard, and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

"In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money, but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

"No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the most talented musicians in the world. He had just played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, on a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100."

Recently I received a letter from Jeremy Chatelain. I first met Jeremy some years ago in the Philippines as he served a full-time mission for the Church. Following his honorable release, he married and about three years ago was appointed to a teaching post in the Church Educational System. Jeremy and his wife, Connie, looked forward to their new life together and his working full-time with seminary students in Idaho. Just before he started his new career, Jeremy, Connie, and their families went swimming at a favorite location. Everyone was enjoying a wonderful time swimming and having fun together. When Jeremy dived into the water for the last time that day, little did he realize it would change his life on earth forever.

He writes:
It’s hard for me to believe that it has been a little more than three years since my accident. . . . We have been greatly blessed in our lives. I left the hospital in October of 1998 and returned to Ogden to acclimate to life as a quadriplegic outside of the hospital. . . . We have now been living in a home in Blackfoot, Idaho, for nearly three years. The Lord must surely see the future and can mercifully guide us accordingly. We found the house before the accident and curiously noted, among other things, that many of the doors were extra wide, thus wheelchair friendly. We have had to make very few changes to accommodate my needs, which has spared our finances for other necessities and wants.

He continues:
Another tremendous blessing in our lives is the Church Educational System. When many other employers would have counted my disabilities too great to continue employment, CES has maintained a very warm, caring, and accommodating relationship with us. . . . We have been included in all of the functions as if my accident had not happened. Our seminary building has been set up so that with near complete independence I can access my office and the classroom well enough to volunteer teach one period daily each trimester.

Despite the many challenges he faces as a quadriplegic, Jeremy writes about his future plans this way: “I am currently pursuing my master of education and hope to complete it within another year or so. My next goal is then to try to come back and teach full-time.”

I am pleased to report that Jeremy, his wife, and students are watching this broadcast in Blackfoot, Idaho, tonight.

Speaking of Connie, his bride of just a few years, he says:
My wife has been unfailingly supportive in all I’ve done and has made great personal sacrifices to maintain our marriage. We even returned to the Philippines, wheelchair and all, last fall at the conclusion of my brother’s mission in Baguio. It brought me great joy to introduce my wife to the Filipinos, for whom I have tremendous love.

He concluded his letter by telling me of yet another challenge they faced:
Nearly a year ago Connie was involved in a serious car accident on the Malad pass. Her car lost traction on a snowy overpass and rolled down into the median. It crushed the car and broke seven of her ribs, as well as a number of bones in her back. I nearly lost her that day. She spent about a week in the hospital and a few more months before the pain somewhat subsided. She is doing well now and is working as a medical assistant at a clinic here in town.

When many others would have wallowed in self-pity and doubt, Jeremy described his setbacks this way: “Life yet continues to provide us with learning experiences. We have been truly blessed.”

I share part of that humbling letter with you to illustrate that regardless of the challenges, the Lord can bring peace into the lives of those who are distressed.

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

On a pier in Copenhagen, Denmark, is a bronze statue of a young woman named Kristina. Kristina stands looking out to sea toward her goal to join the Saints in Zion. The wind is blowing against her fiercely, but she does not look back. She is steadfast as she presses forward doing a very hard thing, but one she knows to be right. I love that statue, for to me Kristina represents my own Danish great-great-grandmother who chose to join the Church amid great resistance. I am grateful for her courage and testimony. On her choice that day rested not only my eternal destiny but also the destiny of generations.

One young man wrote this of his experience in exercising this power:
“At one time I attended a ward which had almost no Melchizedek Priesthood holders in it. But it was not in any way dulled in spirituality. On the contrary, many of its members witnessed the greatest display of priesthood power they had ever known.
“The power was centered in the priests. For the first time in their lives they were called upon to perform all the duties of the priests and administer to the needs of their fellow ward members. They were seriously called to home teach—not just to be a yawning appendage to an elder making a social call but to bless their brothers and sisters.
“Previous to this time I had been with four of these priests in a different situation. … They drove away every seminary teacher after two or three months. They spread havoc over the countryside on Scouting trips. But when they were needed—when they were trusted with a vital mission—they were among those who shone the most brilliantly in priesthood service.
“The secret was that the bishop called upon his Aaronic Priesthood to rise to the stature of men to whom angels might well appear; and they rose to that stature, administering relief to those who might be in want and strengthening those who needed strengthening. Not only were the other ward members built up but so were the members of the quorum themselves. A great unity spread throughout the ward and every member began to have a taste of what it is for a people to be of one mind and one heart. There was nothing inexplicable in all of this; it was just the proper exercise of the Aaronic Priesthood.”

One Saturday afternoon, my father and my brother set out from our ranch to gather a load of wood. My father told my younger sister Elaine and me to look after the ranch and to do our chores during his absence.
He instructed me to go down to our lower field and bring in the milk cows so that they would be in the barn ready for milking when he returned.
I had intended to ride my horse to bring in the cows, but I discovered it had left the barn and was with the cows in the lower field. The only other horse was a big black one that my father had told me not to ride. But, being lazy and not wanting to walk all the way out to the field and back, I decided I’d ride the horse “just this once.” I saddled him up, climbed on, and then tried to pull Elaine up behind me. But the Lord must have been watching over her, and we couldn’t get the horse to stand still long enough for her to climb on.
Promising her a ride on my horse when I returned, I went to get the cows. On the return trip the horse got its legs tangled in some wire farmers use to bale hay for storage and, in its panic to get loose, threw me off.
I was knocked unconscious by the fall, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on my brother’s bed. Somehow I had walked back to the house, crossing through a number of fields and climbing over several fences. I had blood streaming down my face from a deep wound on the side of my head, and my left hand was bent back against my arm. I also had many scratches and cuts.
As I slowly realized the state I was in, Elaine came into the room crying. I asked her where she had been and she said, “I’ve been praying to Heavenly Father to tell Daddy to come home and take you to the doctor.”
My father said that at the same time this was happening, he was in the middle of cutting a piece of wood when he sensed that there was trouble at home. He stopped what he was doing and said to my brother, “Let’s go home. Something is wrong.” He arrived shortly after I regained consciousness.
I have always been so thankful for my sister and for her trusting and humble faith.

One Thursday evening at branch meeting at the Provo Missionary Training Center, a large group of Primary children filed into the chapel. The children gathered on the stand, facing the missionaries, and sang about being in the army of Helaman and hoping to be called on missions.
When the children finished singing, they remained standing. The elders and sisters arose, hearing the piano introduction to “Called to Serve,” the hymn which has become a missionary anthem. The missionaries had been so moved by the children’s songs that many were on the brink of tears. Starting their own song was not easy. As they sang I noticed the children. They were not looking at the floor or at each other. They were gazing intently into the faces of the missionaries whose song bore testimony of faith. The children believed the words they heard, and they knew the missionaries believed them too.
Both missionaries and children were witnesses to a demonstration of faith that borders on the miraculous, and both accepted it matter-of-factly as they would a more routine event. Yet, in that group of missionaries were individuals who had saved for years to serve a mission. All of them were willing to go where and when they were asked. Most had received a letter from someone they had never met which informed them they were going to a place they had never been, to meet people they had never seen and learn languages and discussions they did not know. Most were going at their own expense or were helped by other equally faithful people who made contributions.
As a branch president at the MTC, I was able to watch several hundred young men and women begin their missions. The power in their devotion and faith impressed me greatly. I never found an end to what seemed a tremendous willingness to give, learn, teach, and serve. If tired or less productive on one day, they arose the next filled with more resolve. Some had minor complaints. Collectively they had their immaturities and weaknesses. Some worked faster, some slower. Some were more prepared than others. Some worked hard to learn; others gave less effort. A few were unprepared. Overall, however, it was evident that a strong sense of purpose was driving them.
There is one part of missionary life, however, I am certain that all have in common. When faced with the work involved, possible hardship, new and strange places, the missionaries all spent time thinking, talking, and probably praying about their reasons for serving a mission.
I noticed many group discussions on the subject. I learned that companions often discussed with each other their reasons for serving missions. The search for reasons to serve a mission was also a major part of talks given in church meetings. Many speakers related conversion stories about how they had been prepared through spiritual means at a very young age. Some told of vivid dreams that were confirmed when they later heard about the gospel.
One missionary, for example, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about the idea that God was an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Her views, which she held to faithfully, caused her and her family much discomfort during the time she went to private religious schools. Anyone she spoke to about religion was asked to satisfy her question, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” She often asked her friends at school, which was why she was troublesome to them and to her teachers. After a while, getting no satisfaction, she tired of asking.
Years later at work. when she was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. These talks continued until the woman asked her to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” she said. She asked the woman, and for the first time in her life received an answer that satisfied her. The woman answered, “Yes, my church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Missionaries were found, the young woman was taught the gospel, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day of class when her MTC teacher walked in, she recognized her as the missionary who had taught her the gospel months earlier in a place far away from the Missionary Training Center.
There were many ideas presented as reasons for serving missions. Some missionaries wondered if they were going just to please their parents, to satisfy a girlfriend or boyfriend, or because their family and ward expected them to go. Others considered the possibility that they were part of a cultural tradition where the importance of missionary work had been taught through song and lesson from the time they were young. Many had other more individual reasons such as gratitude for miraculously surviving accidents, or seeking forgiveness for something they were ashamed of.
Faced with being away from home and family and the difficult parts of missionary life, they searched for “real” reasons. They did not want to undergo the challenges and hardship confronting them unless they had good, inspiring reasons for doing so. Straining to learn a difficult language, for example, might not seem worth doing if a missionary were only trying to please his or her parents.
I was interested in their conversations. I wanted to learn what they concluded. As I watched them from the day they arrived, I could tell they were progressing and beginning to sense and understand some things they could not verbalize. It appeared in their faces, in the diminishing number of pranks, in the gospel focus of their language, and in what they did in their private moments. Most quickened their scripture study and increased their attention to learning language and discussions. Watching all this, I finally recognized it for what it was—the real reason missionaries serve.
They were like salmon. They had originated in one place but had gone to live in another. After spending time away from their origins there was a pull, unyielding, subtle, but very dramatic in its persistence. It beckoned them to return or find a way to commune with what they had once known. I remembered the scripture:
“For what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? even so the things of God knoweth no man, except he has the Spirit of God.
“Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the spirit which is of God; that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God” (JST, 1 Cor. 2:11–12).
I noticed that most of the missionaries were unaware of what was truly taking place. As they received this Spirit they were separated from the world and educated in the communication of spiritual things. They comprehended it at a level of understanding beyond words. It was clear they could feel it, were fed by it, and wanted more.
I learned then that a mission is a joining between a mortal soul who prepares and embraces the things of God, and God’s Spirit. When this happens, every missionary learns he or she is part of something greater and more important than self. Missionaries have an important part to play for themselves and for others. It is not the same as a ball game or a date. It involves being entrusted with the most essential ideas and ordinances of all. As they feel the Spirit and share his work, they come to know and love his Son—and to understand why they serve.