Gospel Story Finder

Every man and woman in this church knows something of the price paid by our forebears for their faith. I am reminded of this when I read the narrative of my wife’s grandmother. She tells of her childhood in Brighton, that delightful city on the south coast of England, where the soft, green hills of Sussex roll down to the sea. It was there that her family was baptized. Their conversion came naturally because the Spirit whispered in their hearts that it was true. But there were critical relatives and neighbors and even mobs to ridicule and arise anger in others against them. It took courage, that rare quality described as moral courage, to state their beliefs and to defend their beliefs, to be baptized and recognized as Mormons.

The family traveled to Liverpool, where with some nine hundred others they boarded the sailing vessel Horizon. As the wind caught the sails, they sang “Farewell, My Native Land, Farewell.”

After six weeks at sea—to cover the distance covered today by a jet plane in six hours—they landed at Boston, Massachusetts, and then traveled by steam train to Iowa City to get the equipment they needed. There they purchased two pairs of oxen, two cows, a wagon, and a tent. They were assigned to travel with and assist one of the handcart companies. At Iowa City, their youngest child, less than two years of age, suffering from exposure, died and was buried in a grave never again visited by a member of the family.

Now let me give you the actual words of this thirteen-year-old girl as I read a few lines from her story:
“We traveled from 24 to 40 kilometers a day … till we got to the Platte River. … We caught up with the handcart companies that day. We watched them cross the river. There were great lumps of ice floating down the river. It was bitter cold. The next morning there were fourteen dead. … We went back to camp and had our prayers, [and] … sang ‘Come, Come Ye Saints, No Toil Nor Labor Fear.’ I wondered what made my mother cry [that night]. … The next morning my little sister was born. It was the 23rd of September. We named her Edith. She lived six weeks and died. … [She was buried at the last crossing of the Sweetwater.]
“[We ran into heavy snow. I became lost in the snow.] My feet and legs were frozen. … The men rubbed me with snow. They put my feet in a bucket of water. The pain was terrible. …
“When we arrived at Devils Gate it was bitter cold. We left many of our things there. … My brother James … was as well as he ever was when he went to bed [that night]. In the morning he was dead. …
“My feet were frozen; also my [brother’s and my sister’s]. … It was nothing but snow [snow everywhere and the bitter Wyoming wind]. We could not drive the pegs in our tents. … We did not what would become of us. [Then] one night a man came to our camp and told us … Brigham Young had sent men and teams to help us. … We sang songs, some danced and some cried. … My mother had never got well. … She died between the Little and Big Mountains. … She 43 years of age. …
“We arrived in Salt lake City nine o’clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of the four that were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. … Early next morning Brigham Young came. … When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks. …
“The doctor amputated my toes … [while] the sisters were dressing mother for her grave. … When my feet were fixed they [carried] … us in to see our mother for the last time. Oh, how did we stand it? That afternoon she was buried. …
“I have thought often of my mother’s words before we left England. ‘Polly, I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ, for I know this is the true church’” (Life of Mary Ann Goble Pay).

Todd and I went to the temple again today. I realize now that there is still a lot I need to learn. I feel peace though, because I know I don’t need to learn everything at once. Todd said, “That’s one reason why you go back over and over again.”

Todd and I are blessed to live near a temple. We have already decided on a day and time to go every week. I can’t think of anything else that will bless our new marriage more.

The peace of Jesus Christ is meant for us personally. Recently a young man earnestly asked, “Elder Gong, can I still go to heaven?” He wondered if he could ever be forgiven. I asked his name, listened carefully, invited him to talk with his bishop, gave him a big hug. He left with hope in Jesus Christ.
I mentioned the young man in another setting. Later I received an unsigned letter that began, “Elder Gong, my wife and I have raised nine kids … and served two missions.” But “I always felt I would not be allowed in the celestial kingdom … because my sins as a youth were so bad!”
The letter continued, “Elder Gong, when you told about the young man gaining hope of forgiveness, I was filled with joy, beginning to realize that maybe I [could be forgiven].” The letter concludes, “I even like myself now!”

When I was young, we had two separate meetings on Sunday: Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the evening. We had to travel to a nearby town for church. When I was about nine years old, the Church members in our town got permission to have a branch Sunday School of our own. We had a little portable organ, and my father, who had helped get the branch Sunday School started, asked me if I would play the music every Sunday. I hadn’t known how to play the organ for very long, and it was hard.
Later, when I was about ten, I was asked to play the music for Primary. My piano teacher, who was also a Primary leader in my ward, encouraged me. I remember being very nervous as I played the Primary songs. But I did it, and I’m glad I did. My parents often expected me to do things that seemed hard at the time, but I think that those things helped me grow up and become more confident.

It was twilight on a cold and rainy October day in 1968, and I was riding my bicycle home from work in Copenhagen, Denmark. My husband was in Canada on an assignment at that time, and I was alone with two children, a boy ten and a girl seven years old.
On my way home I had to cross a very busy four-lane road with a bicycle lane. For safety, I had made it a habit to get off my bike and walk it across the intersection. On this particular day I got halfway across the street and stopped in the middle to let the cars go by. A small car stopped in the lane to my right, and the driver signaled for me to cross. A big truck stopped in the lane beside the small car, and the truck driver also signaled to me, so I continued across the street. Just as I passed the truck I saw a Volkswagen coming toward me, illegally in the bicycle lane, at full speed. There was no time for me to escape, either backward or forward.
In that split second, countless thoughts of my children, my husband, my widowed mother, and my job flashed through my mind, and I prayed more fervently than ever before: “Please, dear Lord, whatever happens—spare my life.”
The car hit the bicycle, slamming the handlebars into the left side of my body. As I lay helpless in the road, I could barely breathe because of the pain, but I didn’t lose consciousness. When I turned my head, I saw the Volkswagen’s tire only an inch away. I looked at my bicycle, which had been thrown several feet by the collision. It now looked half its original size.
I was certain that I had experienced a miracle. The tire couldn’t have been any closer, yet it had not crushed my head. I felt that an invisible hand had stopped it right there. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thanked Heavenly Father for saving my life.
I lay in the road waiting for the ambulance. What would the children think when I didn’t come for them? Would I be in time to call the day-care center from the emergency room before it closed? Who could I contact? I hardly knew my neighbors because of a busy schedule, and members of my ward were some distance away.
At the busy emergency room, the staff wouldn’t let me use the telephone before they had taken an X-ray. The nurses were too busy to make the call for me. It was four hours before the police officers came to make a written report of the accident.
For the five longest hours of my life I was kept in the hospital with a number of people helping me. Still, I felt that only Heavenly Father was able to give me the help I really needed. For the first time in my life I found myself unceasingly praying about my only concern—two small and lonely children.
“Please tell them I’m all right,” I prayed. “Let them have peace of mind so that they won’t panic, and give them patience. Please tell them what to do.” I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost, and an all-embracing peace filled my mind—the same feeling I prayed my children would receive.
Finally, the doctor told me that except for my painfully bruised ribs, I was as good as new, and he let me go. The two policemen offered me a ride home, and we arrived at my apartment building at 10:15 that night.
Two small, tired children walked hand in hand in the dark toward the police car. “Mom, where have you been? What happened to you? How come it’s so late? Why did the police drive you home?” they asked, as soon as we were safely in the apartment.
I explained, and asked, “How did you get home?”
My son said, “We couldn’t understand why you didn’t come to pick us up, but we thought you might be late from work, so we walked home. It started to get dark, but we couldn’t get in because we haven’t got a key.
“I didn’t know what to do, but all of a sudden I thought we should pray about it. So we knelt on the doormat while I said a prayer. We sat without talking for a little while after the prayer, as you taught us to do, and then a nice thing happened to me.
“I felt a big, warm hand touching the top of my head, and I heard a friendly voice saying, ‘Your mother is well, she has been taken care of. It will be a while before she comes home, and it will be all dark outside, but just stay calm. Take your little sister by the hand and stay near the apartment and play peacefully. If you do, the time will go by quickly until your mother is with you again.’
“When I looked up to see who was talking to me, I couldn’t see anybody, and no more was said. I felt calm.”

My brother gave me his old cell phone. It was red and shiny. A few days later my mom said that my sister who was going to college had just called. She had forgotten to take her cell phone out of her pocket and ran it through the wash. It wasn’t working, and she couldn’t afford a new one. I wrapped up my cell phone and we went to see her. I will never forget her face when she opened it. I know Heavenly Father was happy with me because of the good feeling I had inside.

I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response, “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”

Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

It was December, the season when people’s feelings are tender as they remember the birth of Jesus Christ and what He did for us through His infinite Atonement.
When I arrived home from work, my three children and my beautiful wife shared with me a decision they had made about Christmas: “There won’t be any need to buy presents this year,” they declared.
Surprised, I asked, “And what brought about this decision?” After all, my children would be sacrificing something they had looked forward to all year.
They immediately went and retrieved my two old, frayed suits. “Daddy,” they said, “with the money we were going to use for Christmas presents, we want you to replace these old suits with a new one. We would like to see you go to work in a new suit!”
I realized that this was the true spirit of Christmas. When we sacrifice something for someone else, we come to understand the meaning of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Later, when I put on the new suit I received for Christmas, I felt that I was dressed in love.

Remember names. One youth leader said: “I attended a youth fireside with a guest speaker from outside our stake. I was impressed to see the speaker mingle and visit with the youth before and after the talk. He asked the young people their names and called them by name. He made each individual feel included and important. I decided that if a visiting speaker could make an effort to learn names, I could certainly try harder.”
This youth leader set a goal to learn the name of every young person in his ward and at least a few others he saw regularly at stake functions. “I tried some memory techniques but didn’t find them as helpful as simply writing down names inside the folder I always take to church,” he said. “Then if I forgot a name during the week, a quick glance at my folder would refresh my memory.”

Cindy Shropshal, 18, Perth. For Cindy, fellowship in the Church started with friendship in school. She became good friends with a boy in her English class—Cliff Allen. One night they went out with another classmate, who had a reputation as a drinker. Cliff insisted on an alcohol-free night. When they asked Cliff why he didn’t drink, Cindy recalls, “He started telling me about the Church. I started to feel the Spirit. I thought about it a lot that evening. I had been searching for the true church. That night I knew this was the church I should join.”

As you know, the Brethren used to announce in general conference the names of those who had been called on missions. Not only was this the way friends and neighbors learned of the call, more often than not it was the way the missionary learned of it as well. One such prospect was Eli H. Peirce. A railroad man by trade, he had not been very faithful in Church meetings, “even had my inclinations led in that direction, which I frankly confess they did not,” he admitted. His mind had been given totally to what he demurely calls “temporalities.” He said he had never read more than a few pages of scripture in his life, that he had spoken to only one public gathering (an effort which he says “was no credit to himself” or those who heard him), and he used the vernacular of the railroad and bar room with a finesse born of long practice. He bought cigars wholesale—a thousand at a time—and he regularly lost his paycheck playing pool. Then this classic understatement:
“Nature never endowed me with a superabundance of religious sentiment or veneration; my region of spirituality [was] not high, but below the average.”

Well, the Lord knew what Eli Peirce was, and he knew something else. He knew what I’m pleading for today. He knew what Eli Peirce could become. When the call came that October 5, 1875, Eli wasn’t even in the Tabernacle. He was out working on one of the railroad lines. A fellow employee, once he recovered from the shock of it all, ran out to telegraph the startling news. Brother Peirce writes, “At the very moment this intelligence was being flashed over the wires, I was sitting lazily thrown back in an office rocking chair, my feet on the desk, reading a novel and simultaneously sucking an old Dutch pipe, … just to vary the monotony of cigar smoking.” (To my friends in the English department, I would just hasten to add that the novel reading was probably a more serious transgression than the pipe smoking.)
He goes on: “As soon as I had been informed of what had taken place, I threw the novel in the waste basket, the pipe in a corner and started up town to buy [scripture]. Have never read a novel nor smoked a pipe from that hour. Sent in my resignation … to take effect at once, in order that I might have time for study and preparation.”
Then these stirring words: “Remarkable as it may seem, and has since appeared to me, a thought of disregarding the call, or of refusing to comply with the requirement, never once entered my mind. The only question I asked myself a thousand times … was: ‘How can I accomplish this mission? How can I, who am so shamefully ignorant and untaught in doctrine, do honor to God and justice to the souls of men, and merit the trust reposed in me by the Priesthood?’”

With such genuine humility fostering resolution rather than defeating it, Eli Peirce fulfilled a remarkable mission. His journal could appropriately close on a completely renovated life with this one line: “Throughout our entire mission we were greatly blessed.” But I add one experience to make the point.
During the course of his missionary service, Brother Peirce was called in to administer to the infant child of a branch president whom he knew and loved. Unfortunately the wife of the branch president had become embittered and now seriously objected to any religious activity within the home, including a blessing for this dying child. With the mother refusing to leave the bedside and the child too ill to move, this humble branch president with his missionary friend retired to a small upper room in the house to pray for the baby’s life. The mother, suspecting just such an act, sent one of the older children to observe and report back.
There in that secluded chamber, the two men knelt and prayed fervently until, in Brother Peirce’s own words, “we felt that the child would live and knew that our prayers had been heard.” Arising from their knees, they turned slowly only to see the young girl standing in the partially open doorway gazing intently into the room. She seemed, however, quite oblivious to the movements of the two men. She stood entranced for some seconds, her eyes immovable.
Then she said, “Papa, who was that … man in there?”
Her father said, “Brother Peirce.”
“No,” she said matter-of-factly, “I mean that other man.”
“There was no other, darling, except Brother Peirce and myself; we were praying for baby.”
“Oh, yes, there was;” the child insisted, “I saw him standing [above] you and Brother Pierce and he was all dressed in white.”

Now if God in his heavens will do that for a repentant, old, cigar-smoking, inactive, stern, swearing pool player, don’t you think he’ll do it for you? He will if your resolve is as deep and permanent as Eli Peirce’s. In this Church we ask for faith, not infallibility. (Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow, 1884, pp. 407–13.)

He never sought Church positions, however, or felt that calls ought to come to him. When Elder Mark E. Petersen of the Council of the Twelve came to Palo Alto to reorganize the stake presidency in 1951, David Haight had served as a bishop’s counselor and was the junior high counselor. He felt sure he did not have the qualities the Lord required in a member of the stake presidency. But the next day he was sustained as stake president.

“He really did a great work while he was Palo Alto Stake president. He could see the growth coming,” says Ruby Haight. He oversaw the construction of a stake center and several chapels and acquired the pieces of land where all but one of the present chapels in the area have been built.

But more important, perhaps, he loved the people and gained their love in return. Richard Sonne, who served as a counselor in the stake presidency (he succeeded President Haight as stake president and later was president of the Oakland Temple), said President Haight “always complimented people. He went out of his way to get acquainted.”

President Haight’s leadership skills were steady. “He would explain to people, ‘This is what we should do,’ and expect them to carry out their responsibility.”

Today, he is known and appreciated throughout the Church for his focus on and ability to train priesthood leaders in the organization and effective use of priesthood councils and quorums.

Daniel Schlegel looks at the reflection of the Detroit Michigan Temple in the stake center window. The window is dirty, covered with water stains, and dimly mirrors the temple just across the parking lot. He sprays the window with cleaner, and the image disappears in streaks of blue liquid. As his hand moves in circular motions, the image slowly reappears. When he’s finished, the reflection of the temple is bright, and he moves on. There are plenty of windows to clean and not much time.
Before Mutual starts and before anyone signs up for specific cleaning responsibilities, Bishop Kunz asks the youth to especially make sure the windows and doors are washed. He says the glass doors are the first thing people notice when they walk into the building, and nothing is worse than water stains and fingerprints on glass.
Daniel, a teacher, is one of many who help fill the bishop’s request. Like the other youth, he wants the building to look good for Sunday. Even though the windows become spotted and require plenty of polishing, Daniel is up for the task. The crisp reflection of the temple in the spotless window is the reward he gets from his work.

Gioele and Michele stared at the construction site across the street. They could see lots of metal beams and layers of cement.
“It doesn’t look much like a temple yet,” Gioele said.
“But it will someday,” Michele answered.
This was the first time the brothers had seen the place where the Rome Italy Temple was being built. Right now their family had to go all the way to Switzerland to visit the temple. But this new temple was only 30 minutes away from their home!
Michele and Gioele watched the big yellow trucks move piles of dirt.
“I think that’s where one of the spires will be,” Michele said, pointing to a spot near the front of the building.
Gioele nodded. “Look! Papà is coming,” he said. Their father was wearing his usual work outfit—church clothes with a white construction hat. He worked as an electrical engineer in the temple. They loved hearing about what he worked on each day. For example, one day he told them that the statue of Christ had arrived. Another time he told them about the baptismal font.
That night, Michele made sure to say his prayers and thank Heavenly Father for the temple. He felt warm inside whenever he prayed about it.
Weeks went by. The curved temple walls were covered with strong stone, and two tall spires grew toward the sky. A small visitors’ center was built nearby. Every once in a while, Gioele and Michele would go there to press their faces against the window and see what had changed.
Then one day they got a happy surprise.
“How would you like to see the angel Moroni statue put on top of the temple?” Mom asked. The families of the construction workers had all been invited to watch.
Gioele and Michele could hardly believe it. They were so excited!
The next morning they put on white shirts and ties. They walked around the temple with the other families. They even got to take a picture with the golden angel Moroni. It was huge!
Then the workers started moving the statue. Gioele watched the giant crane carefully raise angel Moroni to the top of one of the spires. A drone buzzed around taking a video. It was so cool!
Gioele thought about all the people who would learn about the Church by visiting the temple grounds. He thought about how lots of people were going to get married there and how people were going to get baptized for people who had died.
“Now it looks like a temple,” he told his brother. Michele smiled and nodded.
The brothers felt happy. They were excited to go inside the temple soon! Their testimony was growing right along with the building.

When I was in kindergarten, I had a friend who wasn’t like everybody else. She was mentally disabled, and the other kids made fun of her. I played with this girl, but some of the other kids were mean. Sometimes they even hit her.
One morning I was looking for her and couldn’t find her in the classroom, so I went outside. When I found her, she was eating grass. Some kids had told her it was salad and she should eat it. I was so mad I began to cry. I took the grass out of her mouth and made her feel better. We were good friends after that. Now she goes to a special school and I don’t see her anymore, but I will always remember her.

The chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat atop, in perfect form, his spurs above the point of the shoulders, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild horse.
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 8–12-year-old cowboys, but since he was underage, he was only allowed to ride exhibition. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs, and climbed aboard a cranky calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground and a clown was standing over him fanning him with a giant fly swatter. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the whistle 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 accumulated 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 Wyoming, Zane’s exercise routine included 80 sit-ups, 20 pull-ups, and 400 push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping 10 to 20 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 do drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is because he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo he drew a bull that had thrown all the college kids off who had tried to ride it. But Zane, at only 13, got on the bull and rode him 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 a little 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. He had colleges all over the nation soliciting him, and 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 recently wrote from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three head of stock 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 Davis has ridden a thousand wild horses, roped a thousand more calves. Rodeo became easy to him, second nature. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father. Shawn was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
A mission in Brazil has not been as easy. There have been problems learning the language and culture. But Zane is improving daily. And, best of all, his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

“Just right,” Andi thought as she quickly looked in the mirror. She was wearing her favorite red dress. She always wanted to look her best on Sundays. She ran down to breakfast.
Andi was just finishing her last piece of toast when the Reeders’ car horn honked from the driveway. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” Andi said, kissing them as she ran out the door.
Even though Mom and Dad were not members of the Church, they encouraged Andi to go to church each week. The Reeder family had given her a ride almost every Sunday since she had been baptized and confirmed. Andi liked how they always made her feel so welcome and loved.
After sacrament meeting it was time for Primary. Andi loved being in Brother and Sister Long’s Valiant class. They were kind, and their lessons were always the best.
“Today we’re going to talk about temples,” Sister Long said. “What are some things we know about temples?”
Andi knew one answer: “We can do temple baptisms.” She was excited about that because every year the young women in her ward made a trip to the temple to do baptisms. Soon Andi could go too!
“Great, Andi. What else do we know?”
“You can be married in the temple,” said Andi’s friend Allison.
“Very good,” said Sister Long. “Anything else?”
“Families can be together forever when they’re sealed in the temple,” Allison added.
“But not my family,” thought Andi. “Mom and Dad haven’t been sealed in the temple!” Suddenly her face felt hot, and her eyes began to sting with tears.
“Are you OK, Andi?” asked Sister Long.
“Yes,” Andi sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. But she could feel her heart pounding all through the rest of the lesson.
When class was over, Sister Long sat by Andi and put an arm around her. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I won’t be with my mom and dad forever,” Andi said. “They haven’t been married in the temple. Who will I belong to after I die? Does Heavenly Father still love me even if my parents aren’t members?”
Sister Long looked directly into Andi’s eyes. “No matter who you are and no matter if your family has been to the temple or not, you are still part of Heavenly Father’s family. You can stay close to Him and be an example to others. He will always love, guide, and protect you, no matter what. He wants to bless you and your family. You are a child of God, Andi.”
Just then Andi’s heart seemed to skip a beat, and the pounding stopped. Now a warm feeling filled her heart instead. She knew what her teacher had said was true.

After the Dortmund conference, while most of the group returned to the United States, President Kimball, President Tanner, and their wives, and a few others traveled to Bern, Switzerland. Here the two members of the First Presidency were busy for an additional day and a half in the Swiss Temple. They had been traveling now for 14 days while participating in the five area conferences. They had been going unceasingly when we boarded a bus at Bern to go to Zurich where we were to catch our flight to New York and then on to Salt Lake. I saw President Kimball’s exceptional enthusiasm in action again.
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead, there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus, most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially, there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. _____. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. _____, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?

My friend of many years spent his life as a rancher, doing the hard work of raising cattle and sheep in the rugged Rocky Mountains. He once shared with me the challenges and hazards associated with raising sheep. He described that in early spring, when snow on the expansive mountain range had mostly melted, he placed the family herd of approximately 2,000 sheep in the mountains for the summer. There, he watched over the sheep until late fall, when they were moved from the summer range to a winter range in the desert. He described how tending a large flock of sheep was difficult, requiring early days and late nights—waking well before sunrise and finishing long after dark. He could not possibly do it alone.

Others helped tend the flock, including a mix of experienced ranch hands assisted by younger hands who were benefiting from the wisdom of their companions. He also relied on two old horses, two colts in training, two old sheepdogs, and two or three sheepdog pups. Over the course of the summer, my friend and his sheep faced wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, drought, and just about every other hardship one can imagine. Some years they had to haul water all summer just to keep the sheep alive. Then, every year in late fall, when winter weather threatened and the sheep were taken off the mountain and counted, there were usually more than 200 that were lost.

The flock of 2,000 sheep placed in the mountains in early spring was reduced to less than 1,800. Most of the missing sheep were not lost to sickness or natural death but to predators such as mountain lions or coyotes. These predators usually found the lambs that had strayed from the safety of the flock, withdrawing themselves from the protection of their shepherd. Would you consider for a moment what I have just described in a spiritual context? Who is the shepherd? Who is the flock? Who are those who assist the shepherd?

The Lord Jesus Christ Himself said, “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, … and I lay down my life for the sheep.”7
The prophet Nephi likewise taught that Jesus “shall feed his sheep, and in him they shall find pasture.”8 I find abiding peace in knowing that “the Lord is my shepherd”9 and that each of us is known by Him and under His care. When we confront life’s wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, and drought, the Lord—our Shepherd—will minister to us. He will restore our souls.

In the same way that my friend tended his sheep with the assistance of young and old ranch hands, horses, and sheepdogs, the Lord also requires assistance in the challenging labor of caring for the sheep in His flock.

As children of a loving Heavenly Father and as sheep in His flock, we enjoy the blessing of being individually ministered to by Jesus Christ. Simultaneously, we have a responsibility to provide ministering assistance to others around us as shepherds ourselves. We heed the words of the Lord to “serve me and go forth in my name, and … gather together my sheep.”10
Who is a shepherd? Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom of God is a shepherd. No calling is required. From the moment we emerge from the waters of baptism, we are commissioned to this work. We reach out in love to others because it is what our Savior commanded us to do. Alma emphasized: “For what shepherd … having many sheep doth not watch over them, that the wolves enter not and devour his flock? … Doth he not drive him out?”11 Whenever our neighbors are in distress temporally or spiritually, we run to their aid. We bear one another’s burdens that they may be light. We mourn with those who mourn. We comfort those who stand in need of comfort.12 The Lord lovingly expects this of us. And the day will come when we will be held accountable for the care we take in ministering to His flock.13

My shepherd friend shared another important element in the watchcare of sheep on the range. He described that lost sheep were particularly vulnerable to the dangers of predators. In fact, up to 15 percent of his and his team’s total time was devoted to finding lost sheep. The sooner they found lost sheep, before the sheep drifted too far from the flock, the less likely the sheep were to be harmed. Recovering lost sheep required much patience and discipline.

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.”14 This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

In the New Testament, we find a parable and instruction from the Savior that provide further insight pertaining to our responsibility as shepherds, ministering sisters and brothers, of lost sheep:
“What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
“And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”15
As we summarize the lesson taught in the parable, we find this valuable counsel:
We are to identify the lost sheep.
We search after them until they are found.
When they are found, we may have to lay them on our shoulders to bring them home.
We surround them with friends upon their return.
Brothers and sisters, our greatest challenges and our greatest rewards may come as we minister to lost sheep. The members of the Church in the Book of Mormon “watch[ed] over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness.”16 We can follow their examples and remember that ministering is to be “led by the Spirit, … flexible, and … customized to the needs of each member.” It is also critical that we “seek to help individuals and families prepare for their next ordinance, keep [their] covenants … , and become self-reliant.”17
Every soul is precious to our Heavenly Father. His personal invitation to minister is of greatest value and importance to Him, for it is His work and glory. It is quite literally the work of eternity. Each one of His children has immeasurable potential in His sight. He loves you with a love you cannot even begin to comprehend. Like the devoted sheepdog, the Lord will stay on the mountain to protect you through the wind, rainstorms, snow, and more.
President Russell M. Nelson taught us last conference: “Our message to the world [and, may I add, “to our ministering flock”] is simple and sincere: we invite all of God’s children on both sides of the veil to come unto their Savior, receive the blessings of the holy temple, have enduring joy, and qualify for eternal life.”18
May we raise our sights to this prophetic vision so we can shepherd souls to the temple and ultimately to our Savior, Jesus Christ. He does not expect us to perform miracles. He asks only that we bring our brothers and sisters unto Him, for He has the power to redeem souls. As we do so, we can and will secure this promise: “And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away.”19 Of this I testify—and of Jesus Christ as our Savior and our Redeemer—in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When President Nelson spoke about using the correct name of the Church in the October 2018 general conference, his message was very clear to me: “It is the command of the Lord. …
“… To remove the Lord’s name from the Lord’s Church is a major victory for Satan” (“The Correct Name of the Church,” Liahona, Nov. 2018, 87, 88).
I realized that I needed to rethink how I approached my conversations with those around me, including certain clients at my work who had gotten used to calling me a “Mormon” and a member of the “Mormon Church.”
Committed to using the Church’s full name, I waited for the next opportunity to claim my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Sure enough, that opportunity came, again in a business context. “You Mormons are such kind people,” a potential client told me. “Well, thank you,” I answered. “As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe we’re all brothers and sisters.” Then the conversation continued with him and everyone else talking about the kindness of “Mormons.”
Although I had done my part in saying the full name of the Church, I still felt something was off. My friends and associates still viewed me as part of the “Mormon Church” and not necessarily as a follower of Christ, let alone as a member of Christ’s restored Church.
Over the next several interactions about my faith, I found myself beat back because of the awkwardness of saying the full, lengthy name of the Church multiple times in the same conversation. Everyone I spoke to seemed to give me odd expressions. And the conversation still always focused on “Mormons.”
I tried to make my interactions feel somewhat more natural. But this turned out to be much more difficult than I expected, particularly with individuals I didn’t want to offend. I didn’t want to be sheepish or complacent about living my faith, but I also didn’t want to come across as harsh, since many of these people had previously called me “Mormon,” with me accepting it. I also heard many members of the Church still calling themselves and other members of the Church “Mormons” at various meetings and other contexts.
I found myself asking whether using the full name of the Church was really that important in the grand scheme of things. The “Mormon” brand, after all, is quite positive in the minds of many people—being a “Mormon” had often been an asset to me. But in revisiting President Nelson’s talk, I was impressed that this really is that important, even if it did cause some awkwardness in conversation. So I recommitted myself.
The next time I had to use the Church’s full name, I was visiting a friend at a church of another faith. Someone came up to me and with a bright smile asked if I was a Mormon. “I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, yes,” I said. He started asking me several questions, each beginning with: “Does the Mormon Church believe … ?” And each time, I began my answer with the phrase: “In the restored Church of Christ, we believe …”
This banter went back and forth four or five times. When he noticed that I wasn’t accepting the title “Mormon,” he asked me point-blank, “Are you not Mormon?”
So I asked him if he knew who Mormon was—he didn’t. I told him that Mormon was a prophet, a historian, a military general, and a political figure in the ancient Americas. I am honored to be associated with a man who was so dedicated to the service of God and others.
“But,” I continued, “Mormon didn’t die for my sins. Mormon didn’t shed his blood for me or suffer in Gethsemane or die on the cross. Mormon isn’t my God. Jesus Christ is my God and my Savior. He is my Redeemer. And it is by His name that I want to be known at the last day, and it’s by His name that I hope to be known today.”
I felt the assurance of the Spirit supporting me in this short testimony to my new acquaintance. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “So, you are a Christian?”
“Yes, I am a Christian,” I responded, “and a member of Christ’s restored Church.”
Seeking to follow the instruction of the prophet seemed simple, but it turned out to take more effort than I expected. I’m still not perfect at following everything I’m asked to do. But in every case, I now make sure to use the full name of the Church.
I’m grateful for the Spirit that I feel when I get to testify to others about my Savior and my membership in His Church. And now I have a great way to naturally testify of Him and His restored Church whenever I’m asked about being “Mormon.”