Gospel Story Finder

The epitome of celebrating the beautiful and overlooking the misfortune is the story of Thomas Moore.
Soon after he was married, Thomas Moore, the famous nineteenth-century Irish poet, was called away on a business trip. Upon his return he was met at the door, not by his beautiful bride, but by the family doctor.
“Your wife is upstairs,” said the doctor. “But she asked that you not come up.” Then Moore learned the terrible truth: his wife had contracted smallpox. The disease had left her once flawless skin pocked and scarred. She had taken one look at her reflection in the mirror and commanded that the shutters be drawn and that her husband never see her again. Moore would not listen. He ran upstairs and threw open the door of his wife’s room. It was black as night inside. Not a sound came from the darkness. Groping along the wall, Moore felt for the gas jets.
A startled cry came from a black corner of the room. “No!” she said. “Don’t light the lamps!”
Moore hesitated, swayed by the pleading in the voice.
“Go!” she begged. “Please go! This is the greatest gift I can give you now.”
Moore did go. He went down to his study, where he sat up most of the night, prayerfully writing. Not a poem this time, but a song. He had never written a song before, but now he found it more natural to his mood than simple poetry. He not only wrote the words, but he wrote the music, too. The next morning, as soon as the sun was up he returned to his wife’s room.
He felt his way to a chair and sat down. “Are you awake?” he asked.
“I am,” came a voice from the far side of the room. “But you must not ask to see me. You must not press me, Thomas.”
“I will sing to you, then,” he answered. And so for the first time, Thomas Moore sang to his wife the song that still lives today:
“Believe me, if all those endearing young charms which I gaze on so fondly today, were to change by tomorrow and flee in my arms like fairy gifts fading away, thou would’st still be adored, as this moment thou art—let thy loveliness fade as it will.”
Moore heard a movement from the dark corner where his wife lay in her loneliness. He continued:
“Let thy loveliness fade as it will, and around the dear ruin each wish of my heart would entwine itself verdantly still—”
The song ended. As his voice trailed off on the last note, Moore heard his bride rise. She crossed the room to the window, reached up, and drew open the shutters.

I have always had the highest admiration for the office of a bishop. I have been associated with bishops all my life. When I was six months old, my father was called to be the bishop of our ward. He served until after my eighteenth birthday. Within a few years of my marriage, I was called into a bishopric. I soon discovered the love which is generated within a bishopric as they serve together. An employment opportunity came to me after about three years of service, and it seemed appropriate that I accept it. It was with deep sorrow that I left the association of this bishopric. On our final night in the community in which we were living, they held a party. To avoid saying good-bye, we slipped away from the party before it was over and went to stay at a friend’s home. The bishop and the other counselor I had been serving with came over when the party concluded and sat up all night while we rested, awaiting our early departure, so that we would not leave without the proper farewell. With a big lump in my throat, I said good-bye to these two brethren as I went on to other assignments.

Bowling also teaches you to “follow through and keep going.” How has this helped you to overcome challenges? Before I release my bowling ball, I must keep my body in proper alignment, especially my arm, hand, and wrist. Even a slight turn of the wrist can send the ball off course. This is also true for my spiritual and personal growth.
When I experienced ongoing bullying from a peer, I was troubled for a time. I sought advice and comfort from my parents and seminary teacher and through studying the prophet’s counsel and the scriptures. The bully eventually moved away, and I was able to “course correct” by remembering my divine worth.

In a small country town lived a boy named Willard. Willard collected everything imaginable. In fact, his room looked like a junkyard. But Willard knew that one day he would build something truly magnificent with all the junk he’d collected.
Willard started keeping all his junk in his room after his parents told him that he couldn’t leave it scattered throughout the house.
In one corner of his room Willard had an assortment of cardboard boxes. The smaller ones were stuffed inside the bigger ones to save space. Dangling from his doorknob were old shoelaces and pieces of string and yarn. Willard had shoe boxes full of different-size wheels from broken toys. Old wagon wheels were propped against the wall. Piled here and there were old inner tubes, Popsicle sticks, bottle caps, milk cartons, stacks of pictures from magazines, crayons, pencils, and all kinds of tape. And on his dresser he had soda cracker boxes piled to the ceiling.
One evening when Willard’s mother tried to get into his room to say good night, she could barely squeeze through the doorway. “Willard,” she said, “this mess is getting to me.”
When his father pushed into the room, he ordered, “Willard! This stuff has to go. You have until the weekend to get your room cleaned out. That’s it!”
Willard didn’t sleep much that night. He couldn’t possibly throw out all his magnificent junk. He knew that the time had come for him to build something truly magnificent.
It took Willard two days to carry all the junk from his room to the backyard. On the third day he started building. First Willard threaded some heavy wire through an old bicycle inner tube and nailed it to a tree. “A truly magnificent basketball hoop,” he said, pleased with himself.
Then he cut shorter pieces of heavy wire and shaped them into small hoops. “A truly magnificent ringtoss,” he murmured.
Next he built a pushcart, using some discarded wagon wheels. He made a seat for it and oiled the wheels. “Truly magnificent,” he said, beaming.
Willard took the tops and bottoms off all his cardboard boxes. He laid them end to end, forming a maze. He crawled through the boxes and pasted his collection of pictures on the inside walls. A truly magnificent fun house, thought Willard.
Willard stacked some milk cartons on a crate, then called it a day.
On the fourth day Willard still had lots to do. He made airplanes and little houses out of his piles of Popsicle sticks. He made kites out of newspapers and used his yarn collection for tails. Finally he built lots of his favorite toy—cracker-box trucks. He cut down one end of each box a little, folded down the flaps to make the cab, and taped the folds in place. He punched holes in the sides of the box, pushed dowels through for axles, snapped on wheels.
On the fifth day Willard put up a sign in his front yard:
WILLARD’S MAGNIFICENT CARNIVAL
ANY GAME OR RIDE—ONLY 5 PRETTY ROCKS
MAGNIFICENT PRIZES
Curious, all the children in the little town came to his carnival. They played ringtoss and basketball and knocked down milk cartons with balls. There was always a line of kids waiting to ride the pushcart.
One girl came out of the fun house and said, “Willard, this is the best fun house I’ve ever been in—it’s not even scary.” One boy said, “Willard, this is great. I have enough rocks to spend the whole day here.”
Willard gave prizes to the game winners. They could choose an airplane, a house, a kite, or a cracker-box truck. Like Willard, their favorite was the cracker-box trucks. “These are really nifty,” they said. Everyone wanted one, even the girls.
After two days of fun and games, Willard was out of prizes. So he asked for everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming to my carnival. You may take home anything that you see here.”
Some children took bottle caps, some took boxes, others took wheels and odds and ends until everything was gone. Soon Willard’s backyard was clean and quiet and back to normal.
All during the carnival, Willard’s parents had looked on in amazement. Now his father said, “I’m really proud of Willard for having this carnival. He got rid of all his junk and provided a great time for all the kids in town.”
“He certainly did!” said his mother.
But when they walked into Willard’s room to tell him how proud they were of him, they were stunned. All over the floor, and in every nook and cranny, were boxes and sacks filled to the top with pretty rocks!

Recently I went to an Alzheimer’s care facility in Salt Lake City to visit a long-time friend, Mayre Nielsen, who is 97 years of age. I was escorted by a young woman attendant to Mayre’s bedside. As I greeted her, she looked at me with glistening eyes but did not speak a word. I said to her, “Mayre, do you remember when we first met?” Still there was no answer. I continued, “It was long years ago, when you were a member of the Primary General Board and accompanied Sister Monson and me to an assignment in Sydney, Australia.”
Without uttering a sound, Mayre watched me carefully as I continued. “You will recall, Mayre, that you were to stay at the home of the stake Primary president, Sister Beryl Lord. You had learned, however, that Sister Lord was married to a nonmember who was indifferent toward the Church. For this reason, you were concerned about staying in Sister Lord’s home and asked if you could stay at a local hotel instead. I told you I felt we should wait until we met Sister Lord and her husband and then decide where you should stay. You asked how you should act, were you to stay in their home. I told you to act as a Latter-day Saint, to be yourself, to offer the blessing on the food and to offer your evening and morning prayers.
“Do you remember, Mayre, that when we arrived at the airport in Sydney, Australia, the stake Primary president, Sister Lord, welcomed you and said, ‘I hope you are going to stay at our home’?
“You looked at me pleadingly, Mayre, obviously hoping I would suggest you stay in a hotel. However, I was impressed to suggest otherwise and told you I thought you should stay at Sister Lord’s home and meet her husband and family. I asked Sister Lord where her husband was, and she pointed to the lobby of the airport and indicated that he was standing behind a pillar, out of view. We met Frank Lord, and then you departed with them to an unknown fate.”
I paused in my narrative. Mayre Nielsen still had not spoken to me, and yet her eyes remained fixed on me. I continued speaking. “Mayre, just over a year later,” I said, “I returned to the Sydney stake to divide it and create the Sydney South stake. Following the conference, a man I recognized approached me with tears in his eyes. He told me he was Frank Lord, husband of the stake Primary president, and that just a few months earlier he had entered the waters of baptism and had become a member of the Church. I asked him how he had gone from being one who was indifferent toward the Church to one who had become a member. Mayre, he told me that it was your example and your sweet spirit when you stayed in their home that had prompted him to commence his study of the gospel and to become a member of the Church. He asked if I would be sure to thank you for the profound influence for good you had on him.
“When I returned home from attending that conference, Mayre, I telephoned you and expressed to you Brother Frank Lord’s great gratitude that you had stayed in his home and had had such a powerful effect on his life. I recall that you, too, were most grateful for the inspiration which directed that you stay with the Lord family.”
I continued speaking: “Shortly after that, Brother Lord served as a counselor in his ward bishopric and then was called to the stake high council. Since there was no temple in Australia at that time, Brother and Sister Lord journeyed to the New Zealand Temple for their endowments and sealing. Over the years Brother Lord’s testimony has remained strong. He has filled many Church positions and continues active to this day.
“Mayre Nielsen, thank you for having the truth, living the truth, and sharing the truth.”

How grateful I am that you are an example for my granddaughter. She can look up to you as someone who cares about everyone and goes out of her way to show loving concern. She told me that one day when you didn’t have a car, you walked more than a mile to her house with your small children to bring cookies.
“I was thinking of you and your mom and wanted to do something nice for you—just because,” you told her.

While recently touring the beautiful Brigham City Utah Temple, I was reminded of an experience that I had while serving as the coordinator of the open house, rededication, and cultural celebration of the historic Laie Hawaii Temple.
A few months prior to the completion of the extensive renovation work, I was invited to tour the temple with the Executive Director of the Temple Department, Elder William R. Walker, and his Temple Department associates. In addition, various members of the general contracting firm were in attendance. The purpose of the tour, in part, was to review the progress and quality of the work performed. At the time of this tour, the work was about 85 percent completed.
As we moved through the temple, I watched and listened to Elder Walker and his associates as they inspected the work and conversed with the general contractor. On occasion I observed one man running his hand along the walls as we moved from room to room. A few times after doing this, he would rub his fingers together and then approach the general contractor and say, “I feel grit on this wall. Grit is not temple standard. You will need to re-sand and buff this wall.” The contractor dutifully took notes of each observation.
As we approached an area in the temple that few eyes would ever see, the same man stopped us and directed our attention to a newly installed, beautiful leaded-glass window. This window measured about two feet (0.6 m) wide by six feet (1.8 m) tall and contained an embedded, small stained-glass geometric pattern. He pointed to a small two-inch (5 cm) colored-glass square that was part of the simple pattern and said, “That square is crooked.” I looked at the square, and to my eyes it looked evenly placed. However, upon closer inspection with a measuring device in hand, I could see there was a flaw and that this little square was indeed one-eighth of an inch (3 mm) crooked. Direction was then given to the contractor that this window would need to be replaced because it was not temple standard.
I admit that I was surprised that an entire window would need to be replaced because of such a small, barely noticeable defect. Surely, it was unlikely that anyone would ever know or even notice this window given its remote location in the temple.
As I drove home from the temple that day, I reflected on what I learned from this experience—or, rather, what I thought I learned. It wasn’t until several weeks later when I was invited to tour the now completed temple that my understanding of the prior tour experience became clearer.
As I entered the completely renovated Laie Hawaii Temple, I was overwhelmed by its beauty and quality of finish. You can appreciate my anticipation as I approached the “gritty” walls and the “flawed” window. Did the contractor re-sand and buff the walls? Was the window really replaced? As I approached the gritty walls, I was surprised to see that beautiful wallpaper now hung on all the walls. My first thought was, “So this is how the contractor addressed the grit—he covered it.” But, no, I learned that it had always been the plan to hang wallpaper on these walls. I wondered why a little hardly detectable grit mattered if wallpaper was to cover it. I then eagerly approached the area where the flawed window was located and was surprised to see a beautiful floor-to-ceiling potted plant sitting directly in front of the window. Again I thought, “So this is how the contractor addressed the crooked little square—he hid it.” As I moved closer, I pushed the plant’s leaves aside and smiled as I saw that the window had indeed been replaced. The formerly crooked little square now stood neatly and evenly in the pattern. I learned that it had always been part of the interior design to have a plant in front of this window.
Why would walls with a little grit and a window with a little asymmetry require additional work and even replacement when few human hands or eyes would ever know? Why was a contractor held to such high standards?
As I exited the temple deep in thought, I found my answer as I looked up at the refinished exterior and saw these words: “Holiness to the Lord, the House of the Lord.”

A true story from South Africa.
Allyson’s heart pounded. It was almost her turn to give her history presentation. She had practiced again and again with her mom the night before. But still, she felt really nervous. She hated talking in front of people!
“Next up is Allyson,” Mrs. Tanner said. “Please come present your report.”
Allyson stood up from her desk and nervously walked to the front of the classroom. She looked out into the faces of her classmates and took a shaky breath. Her palms felt sweaty. She wiped them on her school uniform.
She opened her mouth to start. But suddenly she didn’t know what to say. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to speak. It felt like all the words she had memorized were stuck in her throat. Her stomach felt all twisty.
Then Allyson remembered something. A few weeks ago, her dad had told her a story about how he prayed for the Holy Ghost to help him.
Quickly Allyson said a prayer in her mind. Heavenly Father, she prayed, please help me be calm and do well with my presentation. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
As soon as Allyson finished her prayer, the panic began to melt away. Her shoulders relaxed, and her mind felt clear.
This time when she opened her mouth, the words came easily. “My report is on the early settlers in South Africa in the 1600s,” she said. She shared the facts she had memorized. As she got to the end of her presentation, a feeling of happiness spread through her. She had done it!
Allyson sat down with a smile on her face. Her report wasn’t perfect, but she was really proud of how she did.
“Hey,” her friend Emily whispered from the desk beside her. “You did so good! I thought you hated talking in front of people.”
Allyson laughed quietly. “I thought so too! I just prayed and asked God for help, and He helped me.”
Emily was quiet for a second. Then she whispered, “Wow, maybe I should pray more too.”
As the next student began, Allyson thought about what had just happened. She felt so different after saying her prayer. The Holy Ghost really had helped her feel calm and brave!
Allyson said another quick prayer in her mind. Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, she prayed. Thank Thee for sending the Holy Ghost to help me.

First Presidency devotional. One of my favorite Christmas experiences took place when I had been a member of the Church for a year and a half. I listened to the First Presidency Christmas devotional. It’s always great to hear from the prophet, but during the Christmas season it was especially fantastic.
As we sat in the chapel and listened to the prophet’s words, we felt the Spirit very strongly. His words were meaningful, and I was able to better understand the true spirit of Christmas and the importance of loving our neighbors and rendering service. Even more important, my testimony of Jesus Christ grew stronger that day.
When I was a child, I always got the gifts I wanted on Christmas, but I have never received a better gift than hearing from a prophet that Jesus Christ lives and that this is His true Church.Alvaro M., Uruguay

When missionary couple David and Theresa Nish, from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, noticed a need for improved oral hygiene for children living in Saint Lucia, they knew it was time to do something about it.
Enlisting the help of the Church’s Welfare and Self-Reliance Services Department, young Latter-day Saint volunteers, the Saint Lucia Government and local school administrators, the Dental Hygiene Project was born.
The young women were given the responsibility of purchasing the supplies needed for the dental hygiene kits. They began by enquiring at various shops to find the best value for their money.
Eventually 3,200 toothbrushes, 3,200 tubes of toothpaste and 3,200 plastic cups were purchased and then assembled into 3,200 zipper-lock plastic bags for distribution by the Nishes to local primary schools.
The project was funded by Latter-day Saint Charities which receives donations from Latter-day Saints and others around the world.
“There are few dental facilities or clinics in the communities,” Sister Nish says. “And when they get dental decay and their teeth fall out, that is it, they don’t have any more teeth.”
“We found they weren’t brushing their teeth adequately” David says. “We realized if we got involved at the primary school level there was probably a better chance for children to understand about oral hygiene.”
The Dental Hygiene Project has been moving forward since January 2020 under the direction of the couple, and now includes primary and special-ed schools.
The Nishes’ work with school leaders to set up appointments to teach the children and distribute the dental hygiene kits.
They delight the younger children with role play and stories that teach why brushing your teeth is important.
“The response and gratitude from the local school administrators for the Church’s help has been overwhelming,” David said. “Most were astounded that we gave the dental kits out with no strings attached.”
The Dental Hygiene Project is one of many service projects with which the couple have been involved. Missionaries for just over a year in Saint Lucia, the Nishes spend their days and most evenings looking for ways to serve the people.
“We work with people. We talk to people, we hear what their problems are,' Sister Nish says.
Elder Nish continued, “A lot of what we do—we don’t know why we do it at the time—but a month or two or three months down the line it just all seems to fall into place. It really is not us, it’s the Lord working through us.”

Sarah was unpacking a box in her room when Mom walked in.
“Can we paint the walls yellow?” she asked Mom.
They had just moved into a different house. Sarah had been able to pick out a quilt and curtains for her new room!
“I think so,” Mom said. “Yellow is a happy color.”
Sarah put a few books on a little shelf by her bed. Mom didn’t always feel happy lately, not since Dad had died in the accident. Sarah carefully put her favorite picture of Dad next to the books, where she could see it every morning when she woke up.
She heard a sniffle and saw tears in the corners of Mom’s eyes.
“I love you, Mom,” Sarah said, wrapping her arms around Mom’s waist and squeezing tight.
“I love you more.”
The Saturday before school started, Mom and Sarah put on old clothes, moved the furniture to the middle of Sarah’s room, and carefully pushed paint rollers into trays of yellow paint. After a while, the walls were covered in yellow—and so were their faces and clothes!
“You look like you’ve got sunshine splattered all over you,” Mom said with a laugh.
Sarah giggled. “And you look like a banana exploded next to you!”
They were still laughing as they cleaned up. But Sarah’s smile faded when she thought about going to Primary tomorrow and school the day after that.
“I’m worried about church and my new school,” she told Mom as they rinsed paintbrushes in the sink. “I won’t know any of the teachers or kids or anybody.”
Mom turned off the water and pulled Sarah into a hug.
“You’ll make friends. You have a kind heart that will draw others to you. Be your wonderful self, and friends will come.”
Sarah felt a little better, but she was still nervous.
“I wish Dad were here to give me a blessing,” she said. “Like he always used to before I went back to school.”
Mom was quiet for a minute. “What about Uncle Wyatt?” she said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to give you a blessing.”
Sarah nodded. Maybe a blessing would help.
That night, Sarah’s uncle put his hands on her head to give her a blessing.
“I bless you to know that the Savior is mindful of you as you start this new chapter in life,” he said. “He will not leave you alone.”
Sarah paid special attention to the words new chapter. She loved to read and was always excited to start a new chapter in a book.
The next morning Sarah and Mom went to church. After sacrament meeting Mom helped Sarah find the Primary room. A girl inside smiled at her and said hello.
“You can sit here if you want,” she said, patting an empty chair next to her.
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “My name’s Sarah. I’m new here.”
“I’m Melody. And I’m new too! This is only my second week.”
Soon Melody and Sarah were talking with the other Primary kids. Their teacher was really nice.
“I hope school goes this well!” Sarah thought as she went to bed that night.
The next day, Sarah rode the bus to her new school. She was excited to see a few kids from Primary in her third-grade class.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Sarah prayed silently as she ate lunch with her new friends. “Maybe this will be a good chapter, after all.”

Eleven-year-old Christine hurried out of the gas station. She knew she needed to be fast—her family was waiting. She threaded her way through the aisles and out the doors. She stopped.
They were gone!
At the gas pump where her family’s beige van had been was a small red sports car. Her stomach flipped. “Where are they?” she asked herself, trying not to panic.
She scanned all of the parking spaces. No van and no family. She walked around to the other side of the gas station to check the gasoline pumps there. Several 18-wheeler trucks were filling up with diesel fuel. “The van would be hard to miss,” she thought. “A beige 15-passenger van pulling a trailer isn’t going to just disappear.”
She looked toward the highway. A green car followed by a blue minivan zoomed past. Other cars hurried on to their destinations. Still no sign of her family’s van.
Only ten minutes before, Christine had jumped out of the van at the gas station. Dad had been filling it up with gas, her younger brothers had been trying to clean its almost-too-tall windows, and Mom had been coming back from taking three-year-old Mark to the rest room. Mom had told everyone that if they needed to use the rest room, they’d better do it now.
Her family was driving to Utah for a family reunion, and they had only started their two-day drive that morning. Christine knew that the next time they’d stop would be for lunch, so she had run inside to use the rest room.
She walked around the gas station once more, hoping to see them. Vehicles of all sizes were coming and going, but none of them looked like her family’s van.
Feeling very alone, she walked to the back of the gas station and saw a covered deck and several picnic tables. She slowly climbed the steps to the deck and sat down. From here she could see all the highway traffic.
Fear crept into her heart as she watched people coming and going. “I hope nothing is wrong with them,” she thought. “I hope that they miss me soon.”
A small rainstorm passed by. She moved to a different corner of the picnic area so that she wouldn’t get wet.
She bowed her head and whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless my family to come back and get me. Please bless that they are OK. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Christine looked up, the rainstorm had cleared and the sun was out. Her fear and loneliness left, and she felt that her family would be back for her soon.
After walking around the gas station again to see if she had missed seeing them return, she went back to the deck, sat down, and waited. Remembering the feeling that she had felt after praying, she stopped fretting.
Soon, a beige 15-passenger van pulling a trailer came down the highway. God had answered her prayer.
She ran to the front of the gas station to meet her family. They pulled up, and she jumped into the van to the welcoming chorus of her brothers and sisters.
Mom turned sideways in the front seat to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re OK. When we realized you had been left behind, we were so worried!”
“Well, I’m OK. I said a prayer that you would come back,” Christine replied.
“I’m glad you remembered to pray,” Mom said. “From now on we’ll be more careful to not leave anyone behind.”
Christine looked out the window as the gas station gradually disappeared. Silently she thanked Heavenly Father for bringing her family back to get her.

Early in the spring, a few days before Easter, I went out into the desert country of western Utah. I had been there a month earlier and had been amazed at the silence. There was nothing moving, no life, only the gray color of the earth and the sagebrush and a somber winter sky. This time I got there in the night and listened to the coyotes and great horned owls calling until morning.
With first light I climbed to a high peak and watched the sun rise over mountains a hundred miles away. As the sun cleared the mountains, golden light fell on a desert floor covered with red flowers and green grass. Thunderclouds 30 miles away swept across the valley floor. There were mule deer and antelope. A doe and her fawn walked within 20 feet of me. Great flocks of small birds, chickadees, wrens, finches, and juncos flew over. The desert had come to life with the spring.
It’s funny how you can know something and not know it. I thought of another desert and another spring. I thought of Easter and of what it means, of life coming from death, of death coming from life, of resurrection, of living again, and for the first time I began to understand. It was like my friend’s hand pulling me out of the water onto the safety of the ice.
I would like to say everything changed then. It didn’t. Some of the hurt I feel from the way my mother died will always be with me. The morning in the desert was just a beginning, a change in direction. It is a direction I think will take me a lifetime to complete.

Kendra was alert for any opportunity to begin a gospel discussion. Like a lot of young people, her wallet was stuffed with pictures of everyone who’s ever been important to her. In front of all the others, she included a photo of the president of the Church and a picture of the Savior. When her friends would flip through her photos they’d ask if the kindly looking man in the first photo was her grandfather.

“Oh no,” she would explain. “He’s the president of our Church.” The next picture was of Christ. “I’m sure you recognize him,” she would say. “He’s my best friend.” It was a great conversation starter.

Sometimes, Kendra took the initiative even further. One Thursday night, when investigators called to say they couldn’t make it to her home to meet with the missionaries, she decided not to let her missionary night go to waste. She and a girlfriend jumped into the car and headed for town, where they found some young people and convinced them to skip a movie and come meet the missionaries instead.

Kendra’s missionary vigor helped 11 people join Christ’s true church and acquainted many others with its teachings. And Kendra herself grew tremendously while on her “mission.” She says it was the happiest time of her life because she cared so much about other people.

At the close of one of her letters to me, Kendra expressed joy that her “mission” really hasn’t ever ended. I sustain her in that thought. Though our callings in life may seem to change occasionally, their purposes remain the same—to help each other return to our Father’s presence.

In 1951 and 1952, I attended the Frankfurt branch, which was not as big as the one in Zwickau. The Frankfurt meetinghouse was small, and we had classes in the basement. The missionaries taught us important gospel principles. One missionary, Elder Stringham, impressed me very much with his lessons on the Pearl of Great Price, especially where Moses is being taught that he is a Son of God. Elder Stringham also taught me the scripture that says, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). This gave me comfort and courage, because at that time, the future looked bleak in Germany. The city of Frankfurt was in ruins with bombed-out buildings. That teaching has stayed with me throughout my life. It taught me that I need to be on the Lord’s side. I cannot afford not to be on the Lord’s side.

Evan and I created a great “hut” down in the rocks and sand of Ash Creek. That was a small tributary to the Virgin River in southern Utah. It was the perfect place for catching little blue-bellied racing lizards. When it came to catching those, Evan and I had no peers. That was one thing we could do better than even my two older brothers.
I did not know until we were about ten years old that Evan had been born with a heart defect. He had asthma and often coughed and wheezed from that, but it did not interfere with our play. One reason I did not know that his health problems were serious was that he never once complained.
All along, his parents had been waiting for him to reach an age when he was strong enough to survive surgery. Finally, the doctors felt that they could wait no longer, so off to Salt Lake went Evan and his parents.
He wrote to me saying that he had taken an advance tour of the hospital to see everything, including the operating and recovery rooms. The doctors wanted him to see them in detail, so that when he awoke, he would not be frightened. To me, it seemed that he took that all in stride.
Several days later Evan underwent eight or ten hours of major surgery. Unbelievably to me, he died on the operating table.
I was crushed. I had prayed faithfully and fervently that he would survive. I thought my prayers had gone unanswered. Brokenhearted, I went back to our river hut one last time after the funeral. I stayed only long enough to push some of the rocks aside and destroy the fort that we had built. I guess I thought if I could destroy what represented Evan, I could destroy the horrible feelings of grief that I was experiencing.
Later I would learn that those feelings were normal. I loved Evan. I would miss him. That is a natural instinct, and there is nothing wrong with it.
I thought about Evan every day for a month or so. Then I began to get busy with other friends, and soon I was just thinking about him every now and then. After about ten years, I found that I would go months at a time and never think of the closeness that we had shared. I noticed, however, that when I started thinking about him, all of the good feelings that I had felt with him so many times would come rushing back into my mind and heart.

When Brian Breshears and his friends started discussing religion and the purpose of life, they always seemed to come up short on answers. In fact, they often felt that things were way over their heads. But they knew somebody, somewhere, had to know the truth. That’s when the name Mickelle Thompson popped into Brian’s head. Of course, he thought, Mickelle has an answer for everything.
Several hours later, Brian and his friends met Mickelle and her friend Lindsey Miller at a local restaurant. At the time, this scene in Chesapeake, Virginia, made for an interesting picture: two clean-cut, LDS teenage girls with open scriptures on one side of the table. Three scruffy-looking boys, sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes, on the other side.
That picture, however, has changed. Today Brian is sitting on Lindsey and Mickelle’s side of the table.
Brian’s transition actually began several months earlier in drama class. As usual, Brian started his day with a glance at the call board, a bulletin board drama students at Great Bridge High School must check three times a day to note auditions and rehearsals. Usually it contains pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, but something different caught Brian’s eye that morning—a colorful flyer announcing that Mickelle Thompson was willing to answer questions about a recent 60 Minutes episode featuring her church’s prophet. Brian hadn’t seen the interview, but he knew Mickelle was LDS. All the kids in drama called her “the Mormon.” “I saw her at lunch that day and asked her about the interview,” says Brian. Mickelle gave him a videotape of the interview, and he watched it that night.
“I was a little bit curious and wanted to know more,” Brian says. His curiosity led to more questions—questions which Mickelle and Lindsey always seemed to know the answers to, no matter how or when Brian asked them.
Before the meeting at the restaurant, Mickelle had been the center of attention at a drama cast party. “Mickelle was sitting off to the side, and I started talking to her, and everyone started joking around about her being Mormon,” Brian says. “We asked her about anything. I remember she was so calm and collected with it; she answered our questions seriously.”
Then there were the conversations over lunch at school with other friends who had seen Mickelle’s note. “We’d sit by the wall, and I’d bring my scriptures every day and just talk about all sorts of things,” says Mickelle. “I would go home, and with my dad I’d stay up late at night and look up things in the scriptures to answer their questions.”
When Brian met up with Mickelle and Lindsey at the restaurant a couple of weeks later, he was once again impressed. “I had gone to a lot of churches before that and asked questions and they couldn’t really answer them. But Lindsey and Mickelle were quick to answer my questions.”
Brian revelled in their responses. “He just soaked everything in,” Lindsey says. And he did so for good reason. “At the time, mentally, I didn’t know who I was. I was totally lost,” Brian says. “I felt like I had hit bottom. I guess that’s when they came along. I didn’t know what I believed. I didn’t have anything to hang on to. They were there when I needed answers.”
School ended for the year, and slowly Brian started coming to church. He asked more questions and continued his friendship with Lindsey and Mickelle. For months he went to Sunday meetings and Wednesday night activities. “Things started to change in my life the more I went to church,” Brian says.
By the end of the summer, Lindsey knew that Brian was up to a bigger challenge—the early-morning seminary type of challenge. But getting Brian to wake up at five every morning wouldn’t be easy. So Lindsey made a deal with him.
She had six books to finish for a summer reading assignment, and she told Brian that she’d finish her homework in the last three days of their summer break if he’d go to seminary and be present 80 percent of the time.
Brian didn’t expect Lindsey to come through. “I said, ‘That’s an easy deal. I’ll take that one,’” Brian says. “But come the first day of seminary, I was sitting there.”
Eventually, Brian had asked almost every question possible, and Lindsey knew it was time for her to ask a question. Brian said yes, and soon the local missionaries, Elders Vasas and Chugg, taught him the first discussion.
They began at a normal pace. Then one night, the missionaries showed Brian a video about the early Saints and their struggles to build a temple. Brian had never asked much about the early history of the Church and was amazed at what he learned. “I was totally taken back by this video and the dedication shown by the Church through all these trials,” Brian says. “When the video was over, I said, ‘I want to speed the discussions up. I’d like to get baptized.’”
On November 6, 1996, the day before his birthday, Brian entered the waters of baptism. Thirty nonmember friends came to his baptism. New friends from seminary and church filled the chapel. Of course, Lindsey and Mickelle were there too. Just about everyone who had answered Brian’s questions in the past six months was there to see him make this covenant.
“My baptism day was the most awesome experience of my life because I had so much to be wiped clean,” says Brian. “It was the most releasing feeling I’d ever had to know that I could be forgiven.”
Brian’s future is looking up. So are Lindsey Miller’s and Mickelle Thompson’s. While Brian found the gospel, Lindsey and Mickelle found the joy that comes from sharing it.
“I’ve learned how to use the scriptures a whole lot more and share them with other people. It’s really not a hard thing to do,” Mickelle says.
Lindsey says, “When I got to know Brian, I didn’t really think he would be likely to join the Church. I don’t know how a person could have been in more trouble. He went from the very bottom to the very top. I’ve now learned that you can try to share the gospel with anybody.”
Right now Brian is waiting for his mission call to share the gospel with “just about anybody.” Already, he’s started serving the Lord through missionary work. He’s given a Book of Mormon to his parents. Lindsey and Mickelle marvel at the example he’s been to other youth in the area as they’ve faced struggles and temptations. “He’s the one setting the example now,” they both echo.
And nothing could be more true for the young man who once sat, full of questions, at a table with two bright girls who seemed to have an answer for everything. Now Brian sits with them and shares the joy that comes from knowing.
Editor’s Note: Brian Breshears is now serving in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission.

Years ago I was counseling a young couple who were struggling in their marriage. The husband was addicted to pornography; it had a serious adverse affect upon their relationship. Finally he committed to give it up. One day, however, the wife came home from work and felt an evil spirit in their home. She noticed her husband's briefcase by the dining room table. She opened it up and there she saw the pornography she so abhorred. Then she said, "I know that pornography was the cause of the evil spirit in our home." If this evil plagues you then see your Bishop and overcome it so you can replace its captive hold with the sweet and liberating whisperings of the spirit.

They aren’t great basketball players, but they are determined, I thought as I watched the opposing team run up and down the court.
They were younger, less experienced, and shorter than our basketball team, but they kept on trying, even when it was clear that they didn’t have a chance of winning.
Randy, a boy with sandy-blond hair, played like he didn’t know what the score was. Although he rarely had possession of the ball, he chased it up and down the court like the whole game depended on him.
When his teammates did pass him the ball, he would carry it four steps, stop, bounce it, and pass it to another player. But the referees didn’t call traveling, and no one complained. Randy, who is mentally handicapped, was doing his best.
With seconds left on the clock, he got the ball and his teammates yelled for him to shoot. Concentrating so hard that his tongue hung out of his mouth, he shot—and missed. One of our players rebounded the ball, hesitated, and then tossed the ball to Randy.
“Shoot the ball!” our player yelled, and members of both teams joined in the cheer.
The ball went up, hit the rim, and bounced off. Again, Randy was given the ball, and again he missed. Time had run out, but the buzzer didn’t sound, and the referees stayed at half court. Everyone yelled for him to try again. This time the ball arched and swished the net, and the last two points of the game belonged to Randy.
The crowd went wild and the members of both teams surrounded Randy to congratulate him. He jumped up and down like he’d won the game. And I realized that he had.
And so had every player in that game. They had been true sportsmen: fair and generous. That night no one went home feeling angry or disappointed. There was no bragging or teasing—only fun, good feelings, and winners.

James carefully straightened his tie as he rode to the stake center. Today was his little sister Angie’s baptism, and he knew he needed to look as nice as he could. He looked over at Angie. She was sitting very quietly, looking out the window. He wondered if she was scared or excited.
James remembered his own baptism day. He had been so excited to finally step into the font. He remembered how warm the water felt, and especially how warm he felt inside. He was happy for Angie.
But he was also a little bit jealous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if people could be baptized more than once? What if he could ask his father to let him put on some white clothes too, go down into the water, and be washed clean?
James thought about the promises he had made when he was baptized. He knew that he hadn’t been as good as he had planned to be. Sometimes he was mean to Angie. He had told a few lies. Last week he even took his friend’s Frisbee without asking and hadn’t returned it yet.
James began to feel sad. If only he could get baptized again so that he could start over! He would do better this time; he knew it.
At the stake center, James sat next to his mother and watched his father help Angie into the water. She looked happy. James remembered that feeling. Maybe if he told his father about the things he had done wrong, he could get baptized again. But he didn’t dare ask.
After Angie’s baptism, the whole family had dinner together. Angie was beaming. Grandma and Grandpa were there too, looking proud of Angie. James thought about how sad they would feel if they knew the things he had done since his own baptism. He didn’t feel very hungry.
“What’s wrong, James?” Dad asked, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. His face was full of love. Would he understand and let James get baptized again? Or would he be disappointed in his son?
James leaned over so no one else could hear him. “Dad, can I get baptized again?”
Dad looked closely at James. “Well, that’s not exactly how things work, James. Is something bothering you?”
“Well, it’s just that sometimes I want a chance to start over again.”
“Ah, I see. Are you remembering your own baptism day?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that. Sometimes I wish I could get baptized again. But you see, James, I don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” James asked.
Dad smiled. “Like you, I wanted to keep all the commandments when I was baptized. But I have done many things wrong since then. Just yesterday I lost my patience when you didn’t do your chores right away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I really wanted to erase my mistake as if it had never happened.”
“So you wanted to get baptized again?” James asked.
“Well, I did want to be clean again,” Dad said. “But I knew that there was another way to get clean again besides getting baptized. I could repent.”
“Is that all?” James asked. “I mean, is repenting the same as getting baptized again?”
“Yes, but there is another part too. Being baptized when you’re eight is something that you do to show obedience and make a covenant to keep the commandments. After that, when you sin, you need to repent and show you really mean to do better.”
James smiled. “You mean by taking the sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “When you take the sacrament you are showing Jesus that you have repented of the things you did wrong that week. And then, as you eat the bread and drink the water, you become clean, and you are ready to start over.”
James remembered the words of the sacrament prayer. Each week he promised to take Jesus Christ’s name upon him—just like when he was baptized. “So I am clean if I repent and then take the sacrament?” he asked.
“That’s exactly right,” Dad said.
“Wow.” James was quiet for a minute. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could take the sacrament then! But he had some work to do first. He wondered if Mom would let him take the Frisbee over to his friend Mark’s house after they got home.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m sorry for not doing my chores yesterday. Will you forgive me?”
Dad smiled and hugged James. “Of course I will.”