Gospel Story Finder

As the youth learned, family history is a lot more than just looking at pedigree charts. They found out that part of genealogy is keeping journals and working on personal histories. Mandy Smith, of the Cumberland Gap Branch, is just 15, but she was the expert invited to speak about keeping scrapbooks for a personal history. As she puts clippings, certificates, and snapshots in her book, she also writes captions under each item, explaining a little about what she was feeling. Mandy pointed out, “Personal history is not just for your children someday. It can also be good for you. Lots of times when I’m feeling down or in a bad mood, I look back at the good times I have had. It helps me remember the things that are important to me.”

One bishop taught his new deacons quorum presidency these duties. So the young presidency began to talk about what that might look like in their quorum and in their ward. They decided they should start visiting elderly ward members to see what they needed and then do that.

Among those they served was Alan, a rough, often profane, and sometimes hostile neighbor. Alan’s wife, Wanda, became a member of the Church, but Alan was, as we say, something of a piece of work.

Still, the deacons went to work, comically ignoring his insults, while they shoveled snow and took out trash. Deacons can be hard to hate, and Alan eventually began to love them. At some point they invited him to church.

“I don’t like church,” he responded.

“Well, you like us,” they said. “So come with us. You can just come to our quorum meeting if you want.”

And with the bishop’s approval, he came—and he kept coming.

The deacons became teachers, and as they continued to serve him, he taught them to work on cars and to build things. By the time these deacons-turned-teachers became priests, Alan was calling them “my boys.”

They were earnestly preparing for missions and asked him if they could practice missionary lessons with him. He swore that he would never listen and never believe, but, yeah, they could practice at his house.

And then Alan got sick. And he softened.

And one day in quorum meeting, he tenderly asked them to pray for him to quit smoking, and so they did. But then they followed him home and confiscated all of his tobacco stash.

As his failing health put Alan into hospitals and rehab centers, “his boys” served him, quietly exuding powers of priesthood and of love unfeigned (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:41).

The miracle continued when Alan asked to be baptized—but then he passed away before it could happen. At his request, his deacons-turned-priests were the pallbearers and the speakers at his funeral, where they—fittingly—warned, expounded, exhorted, taught, and invited all to Christ.

And later, in the temple, it was one of “Alan’s boys” who baptized that erstwhile deacons quorum president in proxy for Alan.

Everything John the Baptist said to do, they did. They did what deacons, teachers, and priests do all over this Church and all over this world.

When my mission president announced my transfer, I thought he must be punishing me. A native of France, I was serving in France and Switzerland. Now my new companion and I were called to be zone leaders in Avignon—a city where there had not been a convert baptism for many months.
My companion and I spent our first evening in Avignon discussing our situation and trying to find motivation and strength. One solution would be just wait for things to happen. But when we thought of how short our missions were, we knew that we would hate to waste precious months.
We remembered the scripture in Matthew 19:26: “With God all things are possible.” [Matt. 19:26] What if we were in this city and region for a reason? What if the people of this city were not as hopeless as we had been led to believe? What if their problems were only the missionaries’ attitudes toward them? What if the Lord would prepare a recompense commensurate with our faith, our effort, and our desire?
We decided not to pay attention to what others had said about Avignon. In our prayers, we asked the Lord to guide us to a choice soul—one whom we would be able to prepare for baptism the following month. And we promised the Lord that we would work with all our strength.
Two days later, we met and began teaching Haroun—and we baptized him exactly one month after we had made our commitment to the Lord. Haroun referred us to his neighbors who lived above his apartment, so we also began to teach the Langer family. They, too, accepted the gospel and were baptized. It is wonderful to watch the miracle of conversion in people you love.
Since the apartment building where Haroun and the Langer family lived had only two stories, with one apartment in each, we realized that their entire building was now converted to the Church! We had achieved 100 percent success there!
After four months of work, sacrifices, miracles, and blessings, the little branch in Avignon had practically doubled. The missionaries of our district had prepared fifteen people to come into the Church. Now all of the missionaries wanted to serve in that city. Its reputation had been restored. All of the bad ideas about it had changed.
A year after my mission, I attended the Swiss Temple and had the surprise and extreme joy of seeing Brother and Sister Langer and their three children there. I witnessed them kneel at the altar and be sealed as a family. Brother Eric Langer is now a high priest—and is president of the Avignon branch.
I thanked the Lord for his generosity to me. And I thanked him for enlightening my companion and me on that first evening in Avignon when we decided to work with all our strength. What would have been the result if we had just waited for things to happen?

“My mother helped us learn the value of work. We all had responsibilities every Saturday, and we always did our work before we ever went out to play. We’d scrub, clean, dust, and vacuum because Mother believed that we should learn how to do such tasks when we were young. She made games out of nearly everything we did; we’d play that the dishes were drowning people and that we were trying to save them. It was fun to be with her, for she taught us to enjoy whatever we did.”

With permission, I'd like to tell you about another person who held on tightly to the word and found guidance and solace in times of trial. When I married Brandon Moon, I was so excited to become his eternal companion that I didn't really care to ask him about his future career goals. He was good to me and loved me. He decided that he wanted to attend vocational school and pursue an associates in drafting. After being married 10 years, I found an old journal of his. In it he had written, "I want to be a mechanical engineer." Hmm. That was odd. Was it true? Did he really have different dreams before we married?

I asked Brandon about this. He said he could never make it through the math. I understood this somewhat. When Brandon was 14, he was in a BMX biking accident which robbed him of sight in one eye and put him in Primary Children's Hospital during the beginning of his freshman year. When he finally returned to high school, he was quite behind in mathematics and never did catch up. So there it was. Mathematics was keeping him from accomplishing his goal.

Sometime after our conversation, Brandon was impressed to go back to school. He was unsure of how he was going to accomplish this. He would need to cut back his hours at work. We decided I should not work full time--we still had young children. We would need to live on less. He had a very demanding church calling. In addition, his math background was insufficient for an engineering degree. School did not seem like a good idea. We needed a miracle. We needed the faith described in Moroni 7:33: "And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me."

So, with faith, very little money, and the promise that the Lord would support us, Brandon started back to school. He started in the very first math class--the one that doesn't count for any college credit--the one you take if you don't remember anything from your high-school education. Then he took the next one. Finally, after four years of preparation, sacrifice, and a little help from his wife, he applied to the engineering program at BYU-Idaho. He eventually graduated with the very first cohort in this brand new degree at this brand new four-year university.

Along this journey back to school, I watched Brandon put the Lord first. He continued to study his scriptures and pray. He invited light into his life every day, and the Lord supported him. He did learn mathematics. He did become a mechanical engineer. He also learned that the Lord loved him. He had to start at the very beginning, but now he understands principles that he had skipped through before.

In the end my parents passed the baton to us of the next generation. And in our final days and hours together they provided a capstone on all of their sermons on love in two simple experiences.

The day before Dad died, we invited each person in the family to have a walk-through visit with him, quick and tender. He was in so much pain. But he hid that from view, as he focused on each individual and expressed his love and admiration and hopes for them, as he had always done. The power of that visit has lingered in the hearts of his posterity. Then as I sat by his side the next day, his final, silent message to me was a hand-squeeze, not powerful physically, but a squeeze that spoke of a perfect love that will endure forever.

“Sometimes you have to find peace within yourself,” said Rieko Ishikawa, 18, of the Tokyo Eighth Ward. “I live in downtown Tokyo. Whenever I go to stations or anywhere in the heart of the city, I find it very noisy. But where I live, we are close to the high buildings, so it is relatively quiet. You learn to enjoy the parks. You learn to enjoy friendly people. And with the gospel you know that you always have something good to share.
“For example, at school I know my friends would love the Church if they only understood it. So when we had a play at the ward, I took flyers and handed them out to my friends. They wanted to know where to come to see the plays. So I got to tell them where our chapel is, and that let me tell them a little about the Church.
“When I meet others at church, I find so many fine brothers and sisters, including our bishop, who show their love toward people around them. I am really happy to be among such exemplary people.”

After dinner they had a special family night. Dad showed them a black-and-white picture.
“This is Joseph Francis, your great-great-great grandpa,” Dad said. “He came to the United States with his family when he was 13 years old.”
Dad talked about how Joseph sailed from England and then worked in a factory to earn money to cross the plains. Benjamin couldn’t believe a boy who was just older than he was had done so many hard things.
Then Mom shared a story from her family history. “My mother, your grandma Hunsaker, met the missionaries when she was 13 years old. When she prayed to know if their message was true, she felt the Holy Ghost tell her to be baptized. Because of her decision, I grew up knowing about the gospel. My mother is a pioneer because she set a righteous example for others to follow.”
Benjamin liked that. Maybe there were ways he could be a pioneer! He was still thinking about it when Dad said it was time for the closing song and prayer.
“Now we can have the treat!” Sammy said. Mom handed everyone a cookie, some candies, and a few other yummy things. She showed them how to make wagons with marshmallows like white canvases on top.
“These wagons sure taste good,” Sammy said as he took a big bite. “I’m glad the pioneers went to Utah.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” to see how to make your own wagons!
“And I’m glad we don’t always have to make our own butter!” Benjamin said with a laugh. His life was different from the early pioneers, but he knew they all had one thing in common: they all believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ!

In my first semester of teaching we were studying 3 Nephi 11, and, as we had done all semester, the students were taking turns reading aloud verses from our assigned reading. As you know, chapter 11 of 3 Nephi records the appearance of the resurrected Savior on the American continents. As we approached verse 15, it was the turn of a young freshman girl to read. I hardly knew her voice since she sat in the back and was too shy to participate. She began reading:

And it came to pass that the multitude went forth, and thrust their hands into his side, and did feel the prints of the nails in his hands and in his feet; and this they did do, going forth one by one until they had all gone forth, and did see with their eyes and did feel with their hands, and did know of a surety and did bear record. [3 Nephi 11:15]

Then she paused. She could no longer read. There was silence in the class. The other students and I recognized that the peaceful spirit of the Holy Ghost was manifesting to her that what she was reading really did happen. Our Savior did appear in the Western Hemisphere. The Book of Mormon was true.

Several weeks later I was grading the final exams. I came to the exam of this young freshman girl. On the last page she had written: “Brother Farnsworth, thanks for asking me to read in 3 Nephi that day.”

Eighteen months after the passing of our son, we received a phone call from LDS Family Services saying that a young woman had chosen to place her baby with us. Knowing that we could not have more biological children, we could not have been more excited.
When our little girl was six months old, we finalized her adoption and took her to the temple to be sealed to us. Four years after our little girl became part of our family, another young woman chose us to be the parents of a sweet little boy. Again we had the blessing of taking a six-month-old to the temple. I will never forget how I felt when I saw my children, all in white, in the temple with my husband and me to be sealed to us for eternity.

In 1972 we had a large family and a very small home. Seven of our nine children were then under the age of 12, and our five girls shared a single bedroom. We had only one bathroom. The opportunity came to move to a much larger and nicer home that was also closer to my work. It seemed like a simple, uncomplicated decision. It meant a change in ward, stake, and school, but that didn’t seem important in light of the advantages. I spent two frustrating months considering the move. I was learning about stupors of thought. I finally decided to take the problem to the Lord in a serious way. I determined I wouldn’t eat until I made a clear decision. For three long days the same frustrating ideas went through my mind. Finally I asked the right question: not about money and convenience but about family and Church. The next morning in the shower I knew we should stay where we were, and I made the decision. The calm peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7) came over me, and I knew it was right. I didn’t know why, I just knew. I learned why two months later, when I was called to be the stake president. The Lord, of course, knew all along. I just had to ask the right question.

Rex: Student discouragement is not limited to entering freshmen, or even to undergraduates. By far my worst experience with discouragement occurred during my first year of law school. It was caused by my losing perspective.
Day after day I would put in long hours of preparation and then sit in class and be amazed that seemingly everyone of my classmates could come up with all kinds of brilliant insights while all I could do was sit there and say to myself, “Gee, I wish I’d thought of that.” I honestly wondered during those first few months if I was destined to flunk out. I have since discovered that this is a common phenomenon, and it is not limited to law students. From conversations with some of you, I’ve learned that many face the same challenge: today’s BYU students are very well prepared, and some often sit in class thinking that everyone else is getting it better than they are. My own experience taught me that another important antidote for discouragement is to never give up on yourself. Remember the fundamental principle that for any really top quality school—and BYU clearly qualifies—if you’re good enough to get in, you’re good enough to get out.

I’m not what most people would consider a convert to the Church. I was baptized when I was eight, and I have gone to church all my life. But when it came time to serve a mission, I decided not to go.
I thought about a mission, and I even prayed about it. But I never felt that I received an answer. I decided I didn’t want to go on a mission for someone who didn’t answer my prayers.
As the months went by and my friends started to leave for their missions, I started to grow farther away from the Church. Soon I quit going to church altogether. Before long I noticed I wasn’t very happy with my life. I couldn’t understand it. I was going to college and working at a ski resort. I had a nice car and a girlfriend. But I still wasn’t happy. It was about this time that the stake president’s secretary called me for an appointment. I couldn’t imagine why the stake president wanted to see me, but I went ahead and set up a time.
When I arrived at his office, the stake president said, “You probably wonder why I wanted to speak with you tonight.” I told him that I did. He explained that he was talking with all the young men of the stake who were my age to find out what they were doing with their lives.
Oh great, I thought, another person who’s going to tell me to go on a mission. But the stake president surprised me when he told me that my decision about a mission was between me and the Lord. We talked about my plans for the future, and then he said, “I want you to do two things for me. Will you pray and read the Book of Mormon?”
I told him that I would, even though I had no real intention of doing so. But over the next few days, I couldn’t get the stake president’s words out of my head: “Pray and read the Book of Mormon.”
One morning a couple of days later, I got up and got ready for work. Before I left, I grabbed my mom’s old copy of the Book of Mormon and stuck it in my backpack. That day, I was assigned to work at one of the slowest lifts at the resort. As I was sitting in the top shack, I decided to read some of the Book of Mormon. I’ve read 1 Nephi about 300 times, so I decided to start at Jacob and read from there. I remembered that when you read the scriptures, you are also supposed to pray to know if they’re true, so I offered a brief but sincere prayer, and then began my reading. I read Jacob, then Enos, Jarom, and Omni. The crew foreman called and told me someone was going to come and relieve me for lunch. I told him I’d like to skip lunch and stay at that lift the rest of the day. I kept reading.
By the end of the day I had read from Jacob to Alma, and I understood it. I had an overwhelming feeling to share the things that I had read with everyone that I could. The things I read made me happy. I felt excited but also peaceful. I knew that the Book of Mormon was true. There was no way to deny it.
Earlier I had felt that the Lord hadn’t answered my prayer about whether to serve a mission or not. What I hadn’t thought about is the fact that I already had an answer. I already knew that it is the responsibility of every young man to serve a mission.
Although I’m not what most people would consider a convert to the Church, that day at the ski lift I was converted, and the desire I felt to share the things I read stayed with me. I’m now serving a mission in San Bernardino, California. I’m so grateful that I didn’t pass up this chance to serve.

“He’s still afraid of snakes,” said Grandma A’Dell, looking at Grandpa out of the corner of her eye. “I loved snakes, especially the blow snakes that we caught in the cow pasture. Once, right after we were married, your grandpa and I were out on a walk, and I picked up a bitty little garter snake. Your grandpa told me to put it down right then and to never touch another snake if I wanted to touch him again. I let it go because I’d lots rather hug your grandpa than hold a snake.”

Michael G. (right), age 11, from Panama, loves his karate classes and studies hard in school. Once he got to be “principal for a day” at his school because of his good grades.
Michael is already a courageous missionary. When the Church had an information stand at the international fair near his home, Michael and his parents stood at the entrance of the fair, gave people pamphlets about the Church, and invited them to visit the Church’s stand. He also gave a pass-along card to a friend’s family, and the missionaries taught them about the Church. He is looking forward to being a full-time missionary.

About a year ago, our youngest daughter and her husband were preparing to welcome their very first child, a sweet baby girl. They were excited beyond belief. Just a few days before the delivery date, the baby stopped moving, and the doctors couldn’t detect a heartbeat. A day later, little Charlotte Faith was delivered stillborn. Never before had we experienced that kind of grief. Every part of our soul wanted to scream in anguish. Lucia and I hurt deeply for our daughter and her husband. All we could think of was all the whys and what-might-have-beens— all the joy we would have experienced with this little one. Why did this happen? Why didn’t we see it coming? Why? Why? Why? Well, I still don’t have answers to those questions. They’re currently in the box, and I think the answers will take some time— maybe a long time. But our faith and trust is in the Lord. We will wait on Him. We miss little Charlotte! The faith of our daughter and her husband has never wavered. Their hearts are healing. And they recently welcomed a little boy, Peter Abram, into their family. That’s what it looks like to move forward with faith.

Sister Evanka Pashinova, who had been an opera singer before she joined the Church, orchestrated the production. She translated unfamiliar songs into Bulgarian and organized the choir. Despite the distances members had to travel to rehearse (as long as two hours’ travel each way), choir members were enthusiastic and committed. They never missed a rehearsal. The musical portion of the program began to come together.
Several individuals blended their talents to create the costumes and scenery. Elena Shtilianova, a fine seamstress, made or found the costumes for all three scenes. An investigator who is an actress with the National Theater arranged for the Father Christmas costume. Another sister who is an artist painted exquisite backdrops. In a country where rolls of paper are often not available, she somehow found the materials needed to create the scenery. The investigator who had provided the Father Christmas costume also borrowed spotlights from the National Theater—as well as the union technicians who came with them.
As the complexity of the production and the number of participants and guests outgrew the meager facilities of the mission office, a banquet room at the Moscow Hotel in Sofia was reserved with funds from the mission office. Although it had only a small stage, an upright piano, and very limited space, it was the best that could be found. The choir members laughed about “standing room only” and offered to stand offstage when they weren’t performing so everyone could squeeze in.
The work took on a rhythm of its own as the weeks of rehearsal went on. The members’ excitement crescendoed into confidence, and everyone began to look forward to the chance to sing of the birth of the Savior and of his place in their hearts.
But as the excitement grew, the group’s harmony was invaded by discord. Newspapers and television spoke against the Church. Missionaries were physically abused. Rocks were thrown through the windows of the mission home and the mission office. One night the whole front of the mission office was painted with obscenities.
As the anti-Church sentiment grew, the manager of the Moscow Hotel began to worry about the possible consequences of allowing the Church to hold a Christmas program in her hotel. Less than 36 hours before the program was to begin, she notified the mission office that the members would not be able to use their reserved room after all.
Some of the members were devastated by the news, believing that the Christmas program would have to be canceled. President Warner was more trusting.
“Heavenly Father knows where we are and how much we need to have this program,” he said. “Let’s leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
The Lord heard their prayers. When the assistants to the mission president, Elder Trent Murray and Elder Hannon Ford, returned to the Moscow Hotel to get the mission’s money back, the manager explained why she was reluctant to allow them to use the reserved room on the main floor and led them to a room on the second floor.
“If you can promise that your people will come in the back door instead of the front door, go up the back stairs, and not use the lobby, you can use this other room,” she said, opening the door to a much larger ballroom. It was two and a half times larger than their reserved room, and it had a wonderful grand piano. It even had a Christmas tree and other holiday decorations.
On a cold Saturday afternoon in Sofia, missionaries met the members and investigators arriving for the program and directed them to the back door, where they entered the hotel inconspicuously. More than 400 guests crowded into the ballroom. Even the dour faces of the spotlight technicians, who were unhappy to be working on a holiday, could not spoil their festive spirit.
The 150 choir members sang beautifully, and the audience joined in for a sing-along. By the time a young couple placed their baby in the manger for the final scene, the room was filled with joy and music. Even the spotlight technicians were singing and clapping along with the others.
The Spirit was so strong that no one wanted to leave. But like every performance, the Christmas program had to conclude. The same child’s a capella solo that had opened the program—her “Silent Night”—ended it. As the audience and the participants returned home, echoes of their experience—their “Joy to the World”—reverberated in their hearts and warmed the chill in the Bulgarian air.

When Jesus lived on the earth He often taught people by telling them stories called parables. I would like to tell you a story—that you might call a parable—about a little girl. She is a little different from most girls because when Heavenly Father sent her spirit to earth she could not do some things just like other girls her age. Because she could not ride a bike, paint, write or do many other things that boys and girls and adults take for granted, she became known to her friends and schoolmates as mentally retarded when, in fact, her intelligence was above average.
This little girl has the same kinds of feelings as do other boys and girls—she hurts when she falls, is happy when someone tells her how nice she looks, and becomes emotionally upset when teased and made to feel she is no good by children who could be her friends.
Finally, after a great deal of help from doctors, family, and people who love her, she doesn’t cry so much when teased. But when these children tease her and can’t make her cry anymore by saying mean things, they sometimes hit her so she will cry. And she does, because she cries when someone hurts her.
My story, in case you haven’t guessed, is about me. It is my prayer that Heavenly Father will bring love and understanding into the hearts of these children so that my story can have a happy ending. This I say in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Can Amy come over and tend we?” pleaded my four-year-old daughter.
“Us, tend us,” I responded automatically.
“We’re being real good,” added her twin sister. “Pull-lease.”
“Okay. Tonight after Daddy comes home, Amy can come over.” And with shouts of glee and clapping they returned to their play.
Amy is our babysitter, but she’s so much more. She is my daughters’ best friend. At 15 she stands less than five-feet high, has long dark hair and an infectious smile.
Why do my daughters and I agree that Amy must qualify as one of the world’s number one babysitters? I’ve pondered that question quite frequently lately as I’ve discussed babysitters with many of my young mother friends. And the answer: Amy is more than just a babysitter who comes to watch my three highly energetic daughters while I’m at a meeting or on a date with my husband. She is a wise young woman who is learning the art and joy of being a mother.
While she is at our house, her attention is centered on my children, not a television program, her homework, or a telephone call to her friends. The children are her first concern, and since there are three of them under five, it takes practice to meet their demands, pacify their squabbles, and divide her time fairly among them.
Part of her charm is a surprise grab bag filled with something different each time she comes. The bag is opened after Mom leaves, and its treasures are many: different dolls with blankets and accessories to mix and match, materials for a special craft project, a treat she’s baked for them.
Her grab bag provides countless teaching moments for my children as well as some very fun playtime. Probably without even realizing it, she is reinforcing the gospel principles they learn in Primary and family home evening.
If dolls are part of the grab bag treasures, the girls dress and undress them, matching colors and coordinating outfits. When it’s time for bed, the dolls say their prayers and are placed under the blankets. “Then the ‘mommies’ munch on the special treats Amy brought, and she invents bedtime stories.
Crafts are a favorite with my girls. Gluing, cutting, coloring, and pasting can create some exciting treasures and lasting memories. And Amy’s imagination is loaded with lots of fun stories they draw pictures about. Naturally artistic, Amy has spent hours drawing pictures for my children. The children she creates in her stories usually have the same names as my children, and they are involved in the same activities my children love—from helping Mom to going to Primary. We finally got a large book of used computer paper for our children to draw on. The blank sides of the pages contain many of Amy’s drawings. Now whenever they thumb through to find new pages to draw on, they are delighted again and again by pictures Amy has drawn. Pages and pages are filled with letters of the alphabet where Amy has helped the girls practice writing their names.
She knows dozens of Primary songs and lots of finger plays. I often hear snatches of new songs coming from their bedroom as they play. Many times when the girls quarrel, I say, “Can’t you sing me a pretty song instead?” And they can.
My girls see Amy in other situations, too. Always their eyes light up and their faces beam as they point to their Amy in church, where she helps her mother tend her younger brother and sisters, or at a ward party where she is playing the piano. At night she waves as she rides by delivering newspapers, and the girls come running into the house shouting, “Mommy, Amy waved to me.” “Me, too,” echoes another. “Amy wave me,” and my two-year-old beams. Such a little thing, and yet it means so much.
Amy’s influence is felt in our home long after she is gone. How grateful I am for the Amys of this world who influence the lives of my children so positively and for the mothers of all the Amys, mothers who are preparing their daughters for motherhood. My daughters dream of growing up so they can be like Amy. And I hope they do.
When the neighborhood children get together you often hear, “My Amy is going to tend me tonight.”
“She’s not your Amy; she’s my Amy.”
“She’s my Amy,” whines another quivering voice.
“She’s all our Amy,” answers another who is older and wiser. Happily they all agree and go back to playing.
Yes, she is everybody’s Amy. She’s a mother’s pride and joy, a little girl’s best friend, a frustrated mother’s chance for retreat, a Young Women president’s dependable worker, a father’s little girl, and a future mother who is learning now countless ways to bless the lives of other young children—her own.

Chaplain Brent Jones served as an army chaplain at Ft. Carson, Colorado, in January 2004. He remembers having the responsibility to provide support and comfort to the family of a soldier who had been killed in action. Because the soldier’s unit remained in Iraq to fight, Chaplain Jones was flown to California to honor the dead, which is one of the vital missions of a chaplain.
Chaplain Jones did not know the family or the soldier and was not asked to participate in the soldier’s viewing, funeral, or graveside service. A ministry of presence would have to suffice. However, “on the morning of the funeral,” he says, “I felt the impression that the Lord wanted me to offer a special prayer at the graveside service that would indeed be a blessing to this killed-in-action soldier and his family. But how could I do this when I was not on the program, and I certainly didn’t want to offend anyone?
“After the funeral, as I was walking toward the grave, his religious leader caught sight of me. We had a brief conversation, and it was determined that near the end of the graveside service, when he looked in my direction, I could step forward and offer a prayer. That’s just what I did: I was given the opportunity to offer that special prayer that the Spirit had told me about earlier that morning. I was extremely grateful that the Lord had prepared a way for me to bring honor and comfort to a grieving family.”