Gospel Story Finder

The Book of Mormon promises that those who read its pages will find peace and healing. I’d like to end by sharing the story of someone who found exactly that. This message came to me as the result of my first missionary experience, just 4 weeks ago in the MTC, when I posted a missionary message on Facebook as directed by my trainer. Within hours I received a surprising reply from a student in a high school French class more than 35 years ago.

He said, “I was just thinking of you, and here you popped up on Facebook. I want you to know I’ve been sober for 30 years and have been married in the temple.” Of course, I messaged him back, and (with his permission) here is his story.

After years of alcohol and drug abuse, he hit bottom. His parents put him in rehab, and he was able to stay sober, but mentally and emotionally he struggled even more.

He was deeply paranoid and diagnosed with schizophrenia. He was sure he had acquired AIDS from a tattoo needle and that the police were coming for him for some unknown crime, so he insisted on sleeping in his neighbor’s yard.

In desperation to grab hold of any truth, he read many religious books, including the Koran. He then decided to become a Buddhist. He found that nothing brought him peace. Then one day, his girlfriend said, “Why don’t you try the Book of Mormon?” I will share his words for what happened next:

“I was resistant. But then what did I have to lose. So, I got a book and started reading. I just got small tastes of something real, something I couldn’t explain. Something I hadn’t felt before. Don’t get me wrong. My life was still in shambles, but something kept urging me, and I had to follow. It wasn’t a particular verse or story. But I started to come alive. I am convinced that my dedication showed God I was serious by literally never letting the book leave my side.

My life got better, although I was not officially “happy,” so to speak, until even years later. The Book of Mormon gave me my life back. I have not worried about AIDS or the police in many years.

Something about the book made me feel safe.

Today, I still try to read what I have found every day – it opens a literal portal to the spirit world and makes the impossible happen. I still have a lot of struggles and am still learning how to live by faith. If I was with your students in Hawaii, I could tell them that this book is about safety.

Safety in the spiritual sense as well as the physical. Tell your students modern life is about spiritual war, and this book is literal shield. Life can be terrifying, but we have help. "Thanks for listening. I’m honored you would want to share my story.”

I have also had to repent. Before I repented, my friends all knew what was going on, and I felt like I was letting everyone down. My family relationships were bad too. It helped to talk to my parents. They were upset, but they supported my decision to change. I lost a lot of friends, but the ones I have now love me even though I made some bad choices. It helps to pray to Heavenly Father. He knew what I was going through and helped me through the trial. He will help anyone who asks for help.
Allisyn G., 16, Utah, USA

For my whole life I prayed that my father would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Even as a young girl, I knew how many blessings he could receive. Our family could receive the blessings of being sealed for eternity. My family, friends, and I prayed often for him, but he didn’t join the Church. Heavenly Father does not force anyone to make a choice. He can send us answers to our prayers in other ways.

When I was old enough, I received my patriarchal blessing. In the blessing, the patriarch told me the best thing I could do to help my family be together in heaven was to be an example of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s what I could do!

My father lived to be 86. Five days after he died, I received a sacred feeling of joy. Heavenly Father let me know through His Spirit that my father wanted to receive the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ! I will never forget the day I knelt around the altar in the temple with my sister and brothers to be sealed to my parents. I had started praying for this blessing when I was in Primary, and I received it when I was a grandmother.

In Salt Lake City, a stake missionary, while eating lunch at a counter, met a young tourist. He asked him what he knew about the Mormon church and whether he would like to know more; the young tourist said he would like to know more. During the next few days the stake missionaries gave him the discussions. At a later time, he was baptized as a result of this. And incidentally, the Utah Mission is one of the leading missions of the Church insofar as convert baptisms per missionary is concerned.

The enduring note in Heidi’s life is the gospel. In a class taught by a favorite teacher, Heidi and her classmates were asked if anyone was a member of another church besides the Norwegian state church. Heidi and another boy were the only ones who raised their hands. She was then asked if she would take class time to answer questions. She talked about the Church and answered questions for a solid hour. Then the class requested a second hour. Heidi had lived and learned in such a way that she was prepared for this opportunity, just as she was prepared for the other opportunities that have come to her.

My uncle agreed but on the condition that I return to the university. Soon, however, our relationship deteriorated because he did not want me to go to church or to help the missionaries. Finally, he prohibited me from leaving the house for the district conference where I was to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Once more I had to choose between a tranquil life and the gospel. For me there was no question. That Saturday I arose early, packed my clothes, and left.
It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.
As a family we have had difficult experiences, but these experiences have strengthened our testimonies. The Lord has blessed us greatly, and He has used our trials and difficulties to guide and bless our lives. Of this there is no question.

“My parents were not active in the Church, but they were wonderful people. I remember my mother teaching me over and over the principle of obedience. When I received my first pair of roller skates, Mother cautioned me, ‘Now, don’t go down the hill, because it will be difficult for you. The hard, level surface on the east side of the house will be much easier for you.’
“But I wanted the thrill of going down the hill, and it was probably only five minutes later that I came in crying, with both knees badly scraped. Mother pointed out that if I had been obedient, I would not have been hurt. I’ve thought about that a lot of times since then, and I think that if we obey our parents and learn to call on our Heavenly Father and obey His prompting, we will avoid many difficulties.

I experienced this recently when I returned home to NZ, to complete my PhD thesis for examination. I knew that some changes needed to be made with regards to my research, but when I got home I realized it was an extensive revision of my previously drafted chapters. Rather than try and come up with a plan of how to be diligent and hardworking on my own, I felt the Lord intervene in my life in a very real way. I actually tried to come up with a daily working plan of how to take on this challenge, but I never quite felt like I had done enough. The Lord's intervention was real because it came in such a manner that I knew that if I did not follow it, then I would most likely not conquer this challenge. The Lord worked through my PhD supervisor who was someone who that I followed with exactness. My supervisor put a very stringent plan with restrictions on how my daily time was to be spent. My supervisor insisted that I dedicate 10 hours a day to writing and revision and that those 10 hours needed to be done on campus with someone signing me in and someone signing me out each day. Because school was some distance from where I was living at the time, this meant I needed to catch a ferry to and from the city and walk an additional 40 mins to and from the ferry to campus.

Let me just share with you my daily schedule: • 5am Wake up and shower (It was winter time in New Zealand, so it was still dark.)• 5:30 scripture study and prayer • 6:00 Breakfast and make my lunch • 6:30 I would pack my bag and make my way to catch the ferry• 7:00 I would catch the ferry and I would go early to the ferry to ensure a seat inside especially in the middle of the NZ winter • 7:35 I would arrive and make my walk up to campus • 7:55 I would get there and find someone to sign me in for the day and began writing and revising by 8am. • Throughout the day I would take three 15 min breaks, one half hour break for lunch (when you think about it, a half hour break is very short for a Maori in New Zealand) and then I would pack up at 6pm and have someone sign me out. • 6:00 pm I would walk to catch the 6:30 ferry• I would get off the ferry at 7:10 pm and arrive home by 7:20pm. The only people I saw during the day was my cousin who would say goodbye to me in the morning, the two other PhD students I was studying with, and my ferry friends. My wonderful cousin Cindy blessed me each night with a delicious dinner to finish off a hardworking day. I would fall into bed absolutely exhausted no later than 9 pm every night. Now let me reiterate here that this is not a daily schedule of consistent hard work that I would have chosen for myself, yet, it was the exact one that was needed to conquer my challenge.

I think Heavenly Father knew that. He knew that I wouldn't choose such a rigorous schedule and so He intervened for me, which I am so grateful for. Upon reflection, I recognize the Lord’s pivotal hand in making sure this schedule of hard work and diligence was put in place in such a manner that I would have to adhere to it with exactness. When we are struggling to be consistently hardworking in conquering our challenges, sometimes we need to ask for added help. When in doubt ask the Lord to help you and see him reply appropriately to your plea for help. I experienced that on several occasions back in New Zealand, and I have such a firm testimony of that.

Shortly after his victory as a middleweight champion, Martin was again injured in a life-changing automobile accident. Because of his injuries, he felt like he could not continue with his boxing career. He was discouraged and felt a loss in life. By this time, Martin and Nae were the parents of two young boys, Marvin, and Julius.
He continued to stay fit and to work, providing for his family. One day in 1995, the humbled Martin was assigned to deliver a copy machine to a local church. It was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. While making the delivery, he met missionaries who introduced him to the restored gospel and the Book of Mormon. They gave Martin a copy of the Book of Mormon and started teaching him.
Martin enjoyed reading the Book of Mormon and recognized the Spirit and direction it provided in his life. A few months later, after receiving a personal testimony, Martin Biney was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. As a new member of the Church, Martin attended every week, but for many years, his wife and children stayed home. Brother Biney states, “After I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt blessed. I had more confidence and felt impressed to go back to boxing.”
The Lord blessed Martin and, in 1997, at the age of 34, Martin Biney again became the middleweight boxing champion in Japan.
Martin’s wife, Nae, later decided to learn more about the Church, and in 2008 she was baptized. She and Martin were sealed in the Sapporo Japan Temple in 2021. They love the gospel and enjoy doing things together.
From the example of Martin Biney and his wife, Nae, we gain spiritual eyes to see that people everywhere, even in countries that are not predominantly Christian, there are those who hear the Savior’s voice and follow Him.
Martin and Nae serve as faithful members of the Urawa Ward in the Tokyo Japan Stake. The Bineys love serving in the Primary organization and find great joy in teaching the gospel to the children in the ward. He continues his passion for the sport of boxing as a referee and as a judge and shares his testimony of the gospel by his example to those he associates with, both in and out of the boxing ring!
His story helps us to see that we all are children of a loving Heavenly Father and that He is working to gather us together before the Savior’s return.

I first heard about Sharon when my bishop requested that I go to our local hospital to administer to a woman who had been hurt in an automobile accident. I had just returned from visiting another sister in the same hospital, which was some distance from my office. Because I had not been able to get much done that day, I really didn’t want to make that trip again and was feeling somewhat annoyed at the inconvenience. As I drove toward the hospital, my thoughts were not very positive.
Sharon and her family had been on their way home from a vacation when their vehicle had collided straight into a large truck.
Sharon was seriously injured in the collision, with a deep cut over her eyes, a fractured arm, a broken nose, internal injuries, and a badly crushed skull. One of Sharon’s sons was killed in the accident. Another son had a broken leg. Her husband and the two remaining children were slightly injured.
In the hospital emergency room the doctor had examined her briefly and had told the staff he had no hope of saving her life. Sharon had asked for a priesthood blessing.
When I arrived at the hospital, another member of my ward was waiting for me, ready to help me administer the blessing.
My companion searched Sharon’s head for a place to apply the consecrated oil—a difficult task, because her skull was so severely injured. He finally located a small, clear area to one side of her head.
I searched my mind for the words for her blessing. I had never administered to anyone who was dying before, and I didn’t know what to say. I let the Spirit guide my words. I remember assuring her that she would live to raise her children, that her earthly mission was not yet over, that her family still needed her, and that her injuries would heal quickly.
This was startling to the hospital’s emergency room staff, which consisted of nurses and nuns. They were expecting last rites, and they were stunned to hear us tell a woman who was mortally injured that she would be all right.
One of the nuns who spoke with us after the blessing was excited to think that Sharon had a chance for recovery. The same nun called me the next day to say that Sharon wanted to see me.
She was sitting up in her hospital bed when I arrived. She had a bright smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. She thanked me for the blessing and asked me to read from the scriptures. As I was preparing to leave, she asked me to adjust her oxygen mask, which kept slipping off her face. As I reached for the head strap, I noticed that there was no sign of her skull injury. Her head was whole, with no evidence of bleeding or broken bone.
Two weeks later, Sharon walked out of the hospital with only her arm in a sling and a small bandage on her forehead. The incident had provided a rare opportunity for both of us. For Sharon it was a chance to demonstrate her extraordinary faith in the priesthood; for me, it was a time to renew my commitment to give priesthood service readily whenever it is needed.

I used to have nightmares about volcanoes. The nightmares were really awful.
They started after I watched a television special with pictures of different volcanoes erupting and spitting lava all over the place. I thought it was really neat—until the middle of the night! That’s when I had this horrible dream that a volcano was shooting off in my bedroom. I let out a yell, and Mom rushed in and turned on the light. Even though she was very tired, she patiently listened to me tell about my dream, then assured me that there aren’t any volcanoes in upstate New York.
After that I had nightmares every few nights. I’m much too old to wake up in the middle of the night screaming, but by the time I was awake enough to remember that, Mom would be in my room, telling me that everything was OK.
I haven’t had those nightmares for a while now. I’ll tell you why they stopped, but it’s sort of complicated. It started with the Barretts down the street. They have a bunch of kids, and the whole family’s really nice. One day they called Mom and asked if we’d like to go with them to a big show their church puts on every year, called the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Mom had read in the newspaper that it was supposed to be really spectacular, so she said we’d love to go.
The play is held outside, on a hill. Randi Barrett, who is my age, tried to fill me in on what was going to happen, but mostly all I remembered was that there were good guys and bad guys. When we got there, some of the actors were walking around in their costumes and we got to meet them, which was fun. There were even kids in it. I asked one kid if he was in movies, too, but he said no, he just lived in New Jersey the rest of the year.
When it began to get dark, the show started. I liked this guy called Nephi and how he built a ship. I also liked how he had these things called visions, where he saw Jesus Christ even before He was born. I got a little confused after that, but it was still fun to watch.
When they started telling about when Jesus died, we heard rumbling, like thunder, and my mom started to open her umbrella. Suddenly there was all this noise. It was so loud that it felt like the ground was shaking. And then, right in front of us, a volcano appeared out of the darkness and started to erupt. That was it! I yelped and put my jacket over my head so that I wouldn’t have to see it.
Randi told me that it was just part of the show, and Mr. Barrett tried to explain how they made it look like a real volcano. Mom told Mrs. Barrett about my nightmares, and Mrs. Barrett began apologizing for not warning me. Then everything stopped. It just stopped—all the noise, the lightning flashes, even the talking around me. It was suddenly very dark and very quiet.
I thought that maybe the world had ended, and I took my jacket off my head just to check. Then I looked up and saw a light, and in the light was a man. I thought for a minute that maybe I was having a vision, but all the people on the stage could see him, too, and they were looking up and waiting for him.
He came down out of the sky until he was right down among the people. He told them that He was Jesus Christ and that He had been killed but that it was all right now—more than all right, because He was alive again, and they would also live again after they died. He taught them lots more things, and then He blessed all the little children before He went back up into heaven.
I was really quiet all the way home, and Mom was worried because she was sure I would have nightmares that night. But I didn’t. I thought about Jesus coming and blessing all the little kids, and I figured that He would bless me too. I went a whole week without any nightmares. When I did have another one, I asked Mom to tell me about Jesus coming down from Heaven. She told me what she could remember, and I went right back to sleep.
Mom hadn’t remembered the story very well, so the next day I asked Randi about it. She said that the pageant was based on a book called the Book of Mormon, and she offered to let me borrow her copy, if I would return it by Sunday. She helped me find the right part, and I read it every night. The story was more complicated in the book, but there was also lots of good stuff that they’d left out—like when Jesus promised the people that if they’d listen to Him, He’d gather them the way a hen gathers her chickens under her wing.* I liked that, and from then on, when I went to bed, I imagined that I was a little chick snuggled under Jesus’ wing, and I stopped having nightmares.
When I took Randi’s book back, Mrs. Barrett asked if I wanted a copy for myself. She arranged for two people called missionaries to bring it to the house. They wanted to start by telling about somebody named Joseph Smith, but I told them I wanted the part about Jesus coming out of heaven. My mother gave me one of those “be polite” looks, but the missionaries said that it was their favorite part, too, so they didn’t mind talking about it first.
They left a Book of Mormon, and I started reading a little bit every night. Mom got in the habit of coming in my room after I fell asleep and borrowing it so that she could read it. Elder Sutherland, one of the missionaries, gave us another copy, so now I keep mine under my pillow. If I do have a bad dream, I know I have it right there.
But I don’t have nightmares anymore—after all, we don’t have volcanoes in upstate New York, except in the pageant. Besides, I have other stuff to think about. I just found out that the people in the pageant aren’t movie stars at all. They’re just ordinary people. I’m already planning that after Mom and I are baptized, I’ll be in next year’s pageant. Then, when Jesus comes down out of heaven, I’ll be waiting there to meet Him.

It was the evening of pay day at Eighth Army Headquarters in Seoul, Korea. I had been on the day shift in the adjutant general’s message center, so I had a free Friday evening to read, write letters, and enjoy some time to myself.
Pay day was great, except that the extra cash available to the soldiers was used unwisely by some of them at the club. About bedtime that particular evening, three G.I.’s were in the barracks in high spirits under the influence of too much liquid refreshment.
The tranquility of our bare army barracks built by the Japanese occupational army before World War II was shattered when these soldiers entered the room. I turned my head away from the noisy intruders on the otherwise peaceful scene and continued reading, determined to ignore the change in mood.
Despite these efforts to remain peacefully alone and anonymous, one tall, handsome young man seemed determined to bring me into the party. He staggered over to my bunk. “What are you reading?” he said. “The biography of John Stuart Mill,” I replied. Looking up, I instantly recognized Alma Anderson (fictitious name) of our small but close-knit Seoul Korea church group. I could tell that Alma also recognized me.
Alma, deeply embarrassed and distressed, wheeled about and started to leave, then fell to my bunk. “I recognize you from our group meeting a few months ago, Alma,” I said.
“Yes, I remember you,” he replied without pleasure. By now Alma was in deep anguish. “Do you know the Doctrine and Covenants? Would you read me the Word of Wisdom?”
I pulled out the Doctrine and Covenants, opened to section 89, and slowly read aloud every word of the revelation known as the Word of Wisdom, including the phrase “strong drinks are not for the belly” (D&C 89:7).
“This isn’t the worst thing I have done. You know, my mother thinks I am going on a mission. I can’t go now.”
At this point I interjected: “Alma, you can still go on a mission. Would you like to know how to do it?”
“Do you really think I could go in spite of what I’ve done? I have done just about everything. I think it’s too late for a mission.”
I knew what he meant when he said he had done everything. I watched as many of my army buddies failed to show up during the night. His pattern was all too typical, but our church group was exceptionally free from these nocturnal diversions.
Alma was going home next week. But, nevertheless, knowing of the probable sins he had committed and also knowing the gospel plan of salvation, without which we are all lost, I stated confidently, “Yes, you can go, but it isn’t going to be easy.”
We opened to Doctrine and Covenants 58:42–43 [D&C 58:42–43] and read about repentance. We talked of the need to confess these serious sins to his line priesthood leader. I suggested he go immediately to his bishop in California when he arrived home. There he could continue the repentance process we had started that evening. I also urged that he commit right then and there to forsake the grave sins of sexual transgression and never again repeat them. I urged that he be patient because time would be required. I suggested that he read Alma 39 to understand how serious his sins were in the eyes of the Lord. Finally, I explained that as a part of his repentance he must plan to serve his fellowmen the balance of his life. We talked of the Savior, his mercy, and his atonement. I helped Alma understand that, though his sins were serious, he was not lost. “We have all sinned and are lost without the great mission of the Savior,” were my words of comfort. “But we must repent of those sins to be cleansed by the blood of Christ.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday, Alma. Let’s spend the evening together. Then if you would like to go to church services with me, be here about 8 A.M. He promised he would be there both days and he was. On Sunday he did not open his mouth but followed me around all day. We enjoyed a spiritual feast, and Alma began to exhibit signs that hope was returning. As our beautiful day of respite from army life came to an end, he returned to his unit.
On Monday, he came to say good-bye. Then he proceeded to the Inchon Harbor and the waiting troop ship, which took him back across the Pacific Ocean to the United States and his proud family. I wondered many times about Alma. Then one day, this letter arrived:
“Dear John:
“Perhaps you will remember me. Although our associations were short, they will have and have had a lasting effect on my life. I have often wondered what impelled me to go over to your bed that night, but I was very grateful that I did. Our conversation that night was a turning point in my life. From then on I was a pretty good boy.
“I learned the hard way which was the best way to live and am at present very happy with the LDS life. Upon my return I had my talk with the bishop. Several months later I was interviewed for a mission. I was interviewed by Hugh B. Brown and he raked me over the coals quite thoroughly and I ended up with a positive decision. I received my call Saturday and enter the mission home the 19th of September. I’m not even going out of the state, but I am very pleased with it.
“I am very thankful to you for your encouragement and advice given that night. Although I was under the weather that night I remember your words very well. Perhaps the meeting was meant to be. I think so. At any rate I send you deepest appreciation for your help and wish you the best of luck throughout your life.
“Please write and tell me somewhat of yourself and surroundings. I will be very happy to hear from you.
“With love,“A brother in the gospel.”
As I read these words, I realized that I had been in precisely the right place at the right time to help Alma begin the process of repentance. The Lord’s work is always accomplished through men and women—his sons and daughters. A moment of pure joy was my reward.
The next (and last) time I saw Alma was on a day in the Los Angeles Temple when I was awaiting the start of an endowment session. Alma came into the waiting room, and we embraced as army buddies and, more importantly, as eternal friends. He reported his great mission ever so briefly. It hadn’t been easy, but he felt a sense of pride and joy in having completed his full-time missionary service. Indeed, although he had thought it was too late for a mission, it was not too late.

Then their bishop was inspired with an idea that would help the Tuckers—as well as many others in the Three Forks Ward, Bozeman Montana Stake—achieve the dream of an eternal family. A few years ago Bishop Aaron Baczuk was in a meeting for bishops and new converts in the stake. The Area Seventy who was presiding asked a new member, “Have you been to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead?” He had.
Bishop Baczuk had never considered taking unendowed adults to the temple. The following week he made an appointment with the Billings Montana Temple for adults in his ward to perform baptisms for the dead. The visit to the temple was a success, and in the months that followed, elders and high priests in the ward accompanied more unendowed adults to the temple. “It proved to be a very spiritual experience for them, compounding their desire and commitment to receive their endowments,” says Bishop Baczuk.
To prepare, adult members work with the bishop to become worthy to attend the temple. Then they take the temple-preparation class. Their interest in the class really peaks after they perform baptisms for the dead. They find that talking about the temple in class is one thing, but actually feeling the Lord’s Spirit in the temple is another.
“Having the option to take someone to the temple who may not be prepared for additional covenants but can still have an experience participating in ordinances is huge,” says Bishop Baczuk. “I think it fits with the sentiment the Church is trying to convey in its temple-preparation booklet: ‘Come to the temple!’”1

Twenty years ago, a beloved family member stepped away from the Church. He had many unanswered questions. His wife, a convert, stayed true to her faith. They worked hard to preserve their marriage in the differences that arose.

Last year he wrote down three questions about the Church that were difficult for him to reconcile and sent them to two couples who had been his friends for several years. He invited them to reflect on those questions and come to dinner to share their thoughts.

Following this visit with friends, he went to his room and started working on a project. The evening conversation and the love shown to him by his friends came to the forefront of his mind. He later wrote that he was compelled to stop his work. He said: “A bright light filled my soul. … I was familiar with this deep feeling of enlightenment, but in this case it continued to grow stronger than ever before and lasted for several minutes. I sat quietly with the feeling, which I came to understand as a manifestation of the love of God for me. … I felt a spiritual impression that told me I could return to church and express this love of God in what I do there.”

He then wondered about his questions. The feeling he received was that God honored his questions and that not having clear answers should not stop him from moving forward. He should share God’s love with all while he continued to contemplate. As he acted on that impression, he felt a kinship with Joseph Smith, who remarked after his First Vision, “My soul was filled with love, and for many days I could rejoice with great joy.”

Remarkably, a few short months later, this family member received the same calling he had held 20 years before. The first time he held the calling, he performed his responsibilities as a dutiful member of the Church. Now the question for him became not “How can I fulfill this calling?” but “How can I show God’s love through my service?” With this new approach, he felt joy, meaning, and purpose in all aspects of his calling.

Now, with a wonderful and talented family of 11 children, Sister Groberg reflected on times Brother Groberg served as a Regional Representative of the Quorum of the Twelve to the Pacific Islands and was frequently gone great distances three weeks at a time. On one occasion a call from the prophet to Elder Groberg conveyed this message: “Tell your wife you won’t be gone over six months on this special assignment (it turned out to be only two months), but we’re not sure how long it will be.” Of these times she spoke tenderly: “When your husband is giving his all, it doesn’t separate you even while he is away. It really doesn’t separate you. You are a part of it with him,” she explained. “It was his letters,” she said. And she had already developed a deep appreciation for his sensitive writing. “He would write such inspiring letters. His letters to us as a family had a profound influence on everything we did. They always have been such a strengthening influence,” she emphasized. “He would share what he could of his experiences and then he would come home and the girls would look forward to their daddy coming back and telling them really special and inspiring things that had happened on his trip.”

It is important for each deacon to be guided to a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling. In one ward, the lesson was effectively taught pertaining to the collection of fast offerings.

On fast day, the ward members were visited by deacons and teachers so that each family could make a contribution. The deacons were a bit disgruntled, having to arise earlier than usual to fulfill this assignment.
The inspiration came for the bishopric to take a busload of the deacons and teachers to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City. Here they saw needy children receiving new shoes and other items of clothing. Here they witnessed empty baskets being filled with groceries. There was no money exchanged. One brief comment was made: “Young men, this is what the money you collect on fast day provides—even food, clothing, and shelter for those who are in need.” The Aaronic Priesthood young men smiled more, stepped higher, and served more willingly in filling their assignments.

Justin hunted through the raspberry canes for a ripe, unblemished specimen. By passing inferior fruit and deceptive berries that had flawless fronts with bird-pecked backs, he suddenly found a beauty. It looked almost too perfect, hanging there among the gentle swish of green. Almost a mean thing to pluck such perfection, almost a crime to crush that splendour between teeth so the tangy juice could satisfy his stomach.
He plucked it from the bush, and his mouth was watering in anticipation when he saw the bug. There it was, hidden deep in the dark hollow of his prize, crawling swiftly from the snug depths to discover the cause of the disturbance.
Justin flung the raspberry to the ground in disgust, squashing it underfoot with sharp jabs. Typical, he thought, feeling a familiar rebellion rising through his system. Everything’s fake these days—family, friends, Church, life, and above all, missions. As that word filtered through his brain, it oozed in and out of his thoughts like the red stain spreading between the cracks of the old paving slabs.
His lean, tanned features drooped in sulky lines. “Mission, mission,” he muttered, “hadn’t I known it would come one day?” He punched the nearest leaves in frustration. “All my life’s been preparing for this time, and now it’s here I feel cheated. Two years of my life thrown away. And for what? To serve here in England—not even in foreign parts—but here, in my own country.”
Justin stuffed his clenched fists into his jeans pockets, angrily scuffing the dead berry with the toe of his shoe. Friends can have jobs, cars, girls, and I’ll miss the best time of life because I’m serving, keeping rules, suffering hardships, and for what?
A terribly honest thought struck Justin—I’m not sure I believe the Church is worth all this sacrifice. Panic replaced his anger.
He could see his mother heading for the fruit garden. Oh, no, not again, he thought in frustration. I can’t stand another motherly chat. But there was no escape. Mum’s cheery smile did nothing for his bad mood.
“I’m so glad you’re down here, Justin. I really am pushed for time. If you can help me pick these gooseberries, I’d be so grateful.”
“Okay, okay,” Justin sighed, steeling himself for the advice he was sure would come.
Mother began filling her earthenware bowl, fingers moving carefully between the greenery, uncovering plump, hairy fruit. Justin scowled at the bushes. He parted leaves with half-hearted movements. “Not worth the effort,” he muttered. “There’s hardly anything here.”
“It takes careful searching, dear. See, I’m finding loads by looking deeper.”
Justin gritted his teeth, waiting for the next words. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Like missionaries,” she said. “You know, never giving up.”
How is it, Justin thought, that Mother has such a knack for finding analogies to missionary work in everything we do? He thrust rebellious fingers deep into the bush, then, with a furious cry, jumped back, nursing a bleeding finger.
“That bush kills!” he yelled. “That’s stupid, that bush is. Fancy having murderous thorns lying in wait like that. I’ve gone off fruit picking. You seem to be doing all right without me. Do you mind if I go for a bandage?”
Ignoring the pleading in her son’s voice, his mother calmly handed him the bowl. “We’ll only be a few more minutes if you hold this.” She dropped a particularly fine, tawny gooseberry into the bowl. “It’s strange, Justin, but special people can be a lot like that too, you know. They’ll hide behind prickly exteriors, but with a little questioning and love, they’ll come into the fold. You’ll be able to find those people on your mission.”
“I don’t think I want to talk about this,” muttered Justin, but his mother had already taken the bowl and was on her way to the house.
“What’s that dear?” his mother asked.
“Oh, nothing,” said Justin. He plodded on, trying to turn his mind away from the gloomy rut it kept travelling. It always seemed like he was moving down a continual motorway in the dark with lights snaking off into the distance, but he could never see where they were headed or where they ended.
By his farewell sacrament meeting, he still wasn’t sure he was happy about this “sacrifice.”
“This fine young man, Elder Justin Barnes,” the bishop was saying, “is about to exchange two years of his life for something out of this world.”
Justin’s head was spinning as he sat on the stand, dreading his turn to speak. Why me? kept echoing inside. I don’t want to be out of this world. Why not Andy and Phil down there? They’re 19 and refused to go. Why don’t I stop all this and say no too? He looked down at his family, sitting on the front row, smiling at him—Mum and Dad looking proud; Adam, Sam, and John, eyes big with hero worship; and little Suzy and Pam, the twins, open-mouthed in awe of the occasion.
Justin moved to the rostrum, amazed his feet moved him. With dry mouth, perspiring hands, and trembling knees, he stumbled through his talk. “And although I’m not too sure why I’m going,” Justin concluded, “I suppose … er, I mean, … no, I am going because the prophet has said all young men should serve and because my family and I follow the prophet.”
Justin sat down in a dazed state, wondering where those words came from, wondering if he had really said them.
Two weeks later at the Missionary Training Center, his dad said, “First time I’ve felt like crying for many a year.” With his dad’s arm around his shoulders, Justin stood gazing up at the London Temple. Two hours later Justin wished he could have those minutes back, so he could say all the things he hadn’t been able to put into words. Things like, “I love you, Dad. You’re the greatest. Thanks for everything, Dad. I promise I’ll work hard.”
In the whirl of the MTC, however, it was hard to be lonely. It was study all the time, and soon Justin began to feel a sprinkling of testimony that quickly turned into a shower and then a downpour of spiritual experiences as new friends became brothers and sisters, sharing knowledge and insights. Those three weeks became an oasis, and Justin could see the clear road of the motorway until his first assignment in his mission field came along.
Justin stared at his new companion. This must be a joke, he thought. He looks like a boxer—a heavyweight. Talk about muscles. And that huge, flattened nose. No one will open the door to us!
“I’m glad to meet you, Elder Barnes. I’m Elder Warriner from Texas.” His voice was warmly encouraging, his smile transforming grim features to genial humour. But the handshake! Justin imagined his fingers would never return to normal.
Oh, wow! he thought. How do I cope with this one?
He soon found out. Elder Warriner never stopped. His energy and enthusiasm were exhausting, or catching, depending on Justin’s mood that day. But Justin gained an appreciation for his companion’s beefy shape the day they knocked on one particular door.
“Yeah?” snarled the sloppily dressed man, thrusting wide his front door. He was massive. A soggy cigarette dangled from half-closed lips, and a beer can looked ready to make a fast exit from his fist in the direction of the pair.
“Good morning.” Elder Warriner’s smile clipped corners off the man’s invisible barrier. At least that’s what Justin tried to tell himself as the beer can lowered and the man’s eyes narrowed.
“We’re from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we wondered if we could share a message with you for a few moments?”
The man’s eyes widened. He sniffed hard, wiping ash off his stubbled chin with the back of his hand.
“Um … yeah. Thought you were the TV license spies. What you want then? You a boxer or something?” he asked, staring at Elder Warriner’s craggy features. “Used to go in for boxing myself,” he went on, not waiting for a reply. “Well, come in then. Could do with a change from telly.”
Following him down the dark hallway, Justin noticed peeling wallpaper, tatty carpet, and the smell of damp chips.
This is not worth the effort, Justin thought. Poking Elder Warriner in the back, he pulled a waste-of-time face. A Texan eye winked back.
“My name’s Charlie,” their host announced. Then pointing to a frail woman hunched by the gas fire, he said. “This is my missus, Elspeth, and them’s my kids—Jimmy, Jane, Sally, and Thelma.” Four pairs of eyes flicked from TV to the elders, then back to TV.
“He actually sounds proud of them,” mused Justin, looking with astonishment at the thin, little foursome. “Wouldn’t Mum love to fatten them up,” he thought.
Charlie continued the introductions. “This here man’s a boxer, kid. Take a look at this face now. Your Uncle Bert looked like that when he went to Canada. Where you been boxing then lad?” This last question was flung at Elder Warriner from a sparring position. Charlie’s frame blocked the light as his weight shifted to his toes, his hands held in loose fists.
“Er … Charlie?” Elder Warriner sounded unusually solemn. “We have something more important than boxing to discuss. I used to box every day in the boys’ clubs back home, and I was pretty good, but I gave that up to come here and share this message with you.”
Charlie looked puzzled, then skeptical. “You a wimp or something?” He began moving towards the door, his face surly again. “No time for wimps.”
Justin scrambled to his feet, giving a let’s-move-it eyebrow signal to his companion. But before he could step forward, he heard his own voice speaking, “By the way, Charlie, is your mother important to you?”
The words quivered in silence. Justin’s mind did a swift action replay. For a brief second he was back in his own garden picking gooseberries. His Mum’s voice was saying, “They’ll hide behind a prickly exterior, but with gentle questioning and love they’ll come into the fold. You’ll be able to find those people on your mission.”
Justin jumped as Charlie took a step in his direction. “What do you know about my Ma?” With neck pushed forward, his head looked even more aggressive. But his tone softened as he began pacing the floor. “My little Ma, oh she was right lovely was my Ma.” His face took on a gentle sadness the more he reminisced.
Justin glanced at the children whose gaze had at last left the flickering screen. Tears dribbled down Charlie’s cheeks when he spoke of his mother’s death during his tenth year. Little Thelma jumped up and ran towards her Dad. She hugged him as far around as her thin arms could reach.
The effect was startling. Tenderly scooping her into his arms, he held her close, patting her back. “I still think of my Ma every night before going to sleep, I do. She had a tough life, but she loved every hair of my head.”
Charlie brought his focus back to the elders. He squinted closely at Justin’s face. “Young man, if you can tell me anything at all about Ma, then you’re welcome to stop and chat.” He motioned to his wife. “Let’s see a bit of that fire, Elspeth. How about a cup of tea for these boys. And you kids hitch up on that sofa. Give the lads a seat.”
While Elder Warriner began explaining their taste in drinks, which didn’t include tea, Justin recognized the familiar feeling creeping out of his heart, only this time it was different. He felt like he could catch a glimpse of their destination as he felt them moving together down the road. He thought back to his reluctance to go on a mission and his feeling of travelling a dark motorway. For all the trials and sacrifices, the Church was still worth more. Justin wanted Charlie to know that too.
Charlie and his family were baptized six weeks later. Baptism day produced a radiant family, washed, mended, and full of smiles.
Charlie’s big hand squeezed Justin’s shoulder when the service ended. “Lad, I can’t find words to thank you and your mate for all you’ve taught us. Your finding us has brought out feelings I never knew existed.” He sniffed. “You’re a cracking bit of inspiration from the eternities, you missionaries. There’s no more important work, is there, than getting this message across. Thanks, lad, a million thanks.”
Justin shook his hand. He felt a mixture of warmth and love for this big brother, and at the same time he envisioned a brightly lit motorway where he could see forever. As Justin caught another Texan wink from his companion, he had the warmest assurance that they were on the right path. His silent prayer of gratitude moved heavenward.
“Like Charlie says,” he whispered, “there’s no more important work.”

A couple of years ago my family and I moved. The first few weeks that I attended church and Mutual, I felt alone. But I prayed every day that I would be able to make new friends and feel a part of my new ward. Little by little I have come to love and appreciate this ward. I had to be the one to initiate friendships. I had to start the conversation. I had to fully participate in classes and listen to what others said. With Heavenly Father’s help, I now have close friendships with people I never pictured being friends with.
Leah V., age 16, Colorado, USA

Finally, may I tell you of a nine-year-old Spanish-American girl I interviewed one evening in Texas for baptism. I asked her if she knew who Jesus was. Her answer was, “Yes.” “Who is He?” I asked. Sweeping her hand over her head and gesturing at everything in sight, she said, “He owns all of this!” Could any nine-year-old, or perhaps any of us, have summed it up any better? In only five words she had described the Savior with simple clarity: “He owns all of this!” When the interview was over, she told her mother she did not want to leave the chapel but wanted to stay and sleep that night in “Jesus’ house.” “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”

To illustrate, may I share with you an experience which took place several years ago when Sister Monson had been hospitalized because of a fall. She asked me to go to the supermarket and purchase a few items. This was something I had not done before. I had a shopping list which included potatoes. I promptly found a grocery cart and placed a number of potatoes in it. I knew nothing of the plastic bags in which purchases are normally placed. As I moved the cart along, the potatoes fell out and onto the floor, exiting through two rather small openings in the back of the cart. A dutiful clerk hurried to my aid and called out, “Let me help you!” I tried to explain to her that my cart was defective. It was only then that I was told that all the carts had those two holes in the back and that they were meant for the legs of children.
Next the clerk took my list and helped me find each item. Then she said, “You are Bishop Monson, aren’t you?”
I answered that many years earlier I had indeed been a bishop. She continued: “At that time I lived on Gale Street in your ward and was not a member of the Church. You made certain the girls who were members contacted me each week and took me with them to Mutual and other activities. They were fine young women whose friendship and kindness touched my heart. I want to let you know that the fellowshipping you arranged for me led to my being baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. What a blessing this has been in my life,” she said, “and I thank you for your kindness.”