Gospel Story Finder

“It’s a pity you’re so short that you have to stand in the front,” my teacher said. “You’re the worst dancer in the class.”
These words were said to me in front of my entire choir class in high school. They were said with humor, and I responded with a small, forced chuckle, but truthfully, I was mortified. My teacher had choreographed simple dance steps for us to follow to perform with one of our concert pieces. Unfortunately, I’ve always been clumsy, so I struggled to get the steps right. And her words pretty much snuffed out my already miniscule flame of self-confidence. What she said was true: I was too short, and I couldn’t dance. I wondered if I would I ever be good enough.
That experience was just one of many times when I didn’t feel “good enough.” In those moments, I focus only on what I don’t have or what I can’t do, rather than what I do have and what I can do. It’s one of Satan’s greatest tools he uses against me and so many others.
After my choir teacher told me I was a horrible dancer, I was so discouraged. I had always tried to prove myself by trying to be good at what others excelled at. And I failed every time. I couldn’t shake the thought that my only talent was being a professional benchwarmer. I felt like God had forgotten to give me the right amount of “enoughness,” like He seemed to have given everyone else.
One day in seminary, my teacher gave a lesson about God’s creations. He showed us mesmerizing photos of outer space. I remember gaping at all the galaxies, stars, and planets that were shown—each one of them unique, mysterious, and beautiful in their own way.
And that’s when I realized something.
Out of all the phenomenal and unbelievable creations God made, He took the time to make me. A small, seemingly insignificant, ordinary human, who didn’t realize how extraordinary she actually was. A human uniquely set apart from all others. A human who was given her own, specific plan. A human with boundless potential and a divine destiny.
Me.
It was this moment when I finally and full-heartedly believed that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10). I realized that He truly thinks the world of me, and I have just the right amount of “enoughness” in His eyes.
In the end, I never did learn how to dance well. I can honestly say without any shame that I really am an awful dancer. But that’s OK! Because through the years, I’ve discovered many talents and strengths within me that I never knew I had. They’ve been revealed over time as I’ve relied on the Lord and had faith that He knows I’m good enough. Yes, we all get discouraged from time to time, but when we take a step back and truly realize the significance of who we are, our remarkable strengths, our unique abilities, and the Lord’s hand directing our lives, we are better able to endure this life with faith, hope, and exceptional confidence.

Allow me to share the true story of Alex, a quiet, thoughtful, and bright young priest. One Sunday, Alex’s bishop found him alone in a classroom in a state of great distress. The young man explained how painfully difficult it was for him to attend church without his father, who was not a member. Then he tearfully said it would probably be better for him to leave the Church.
With genuine concern for this young man, the bishop immediately mobilized the ward council to help Alex. His plan was simple: to keep Alex active and help him develop a heartfelt testimony of the gospel, they needed to “surround him with good people and give him important things to do.”
Quickly the priesthood brethren and all the ward members rallied around Alex and expressed their affection and support. The high priests group leader, a man of great faith and love, was chosen to be his home teaching companion. Members of the bishopric took him under their wings and made him their closest associate.
The bishop said: “We kept Alex busy. He ushered at weddings, ushered at funerals, assisted me at graveside dedications, baptized several new members, ordained young men to Aaronic Priesthood offices, taught youth lessons, taught with the missionaries, unlocked the building for conferences, and locked up the building late at night after conferences. He did service projects, accompanied me on visits to elderly members in hospices, gave talks in sacrament meeting, administered the sacrament to the sick in hospitals or in their homes, and became one of only a very small handful of people that I could totally rely on as bishop.”
Little by little, Alex changed. His faith in the Lord increased. He gained confidence in himself and in the power of the priesthood that he held. The bishop concluded: “Alex has been and will always be one of my greatest blessings in my time as bishop. What a privilege it has been to associate with him. I genuinely believe that no young man has ever gone into the mission field more prepared by his priesthood service.”

Name: Jackson
Location: South Carolina, USA
Goal: Long-term: Own a food truck some day; short-term: Learn about making food
“I told one of my Young Men leaders about a goal I had to have a food truck. He said, ‘Every year I do a back-to-school party. Why don’t you come cook for us?’ So I did. I made about 50 hot dogs and burgers in 45 minutes. I loved being with the guys in my quorum, and I got awesome feedback from the experience and some compliments. And I learned a lot.”

One winter day six-year-old Heber J. Grant sneaked onto the back runner of President Brigham Young’s sleigh. He wanted to ride for only one block. But he didn’t dare leap off until the sleigh slowed down. When it did, he had ridden quite a way. He tried to run without President Young seeing him.

President Young: Stop! That little boy is almost frozen! Put him under the buffalo robe.

President Young: What’s your name?
Heber: Heber Grant, sir.
President Young: You must be Jedediah’s son. I loved your father very much. He was my Second Counselor.

President Young told Heber he would like to interview him in six months. Heber obeyed. He and President Young were friends from then on.

Heber spent almost as much time at Brigham Young’s home as at his own.

I was a teenager when the missionaries brought the gospel into my home. I remember listening to their message and thinking that the Father and the Son appearing to 14-year-old Joseph Smith and an angel leading Joseph to golden plates sounded too good to be true. The missionaries also said that there was a living prophet on the earth. That also sounded too good to be true. But I noticed positive changes in our home as the missionaries taught our family. Soon I joined the Church.
Changes in my own life, however, didn’t come immediately just because I was baptized. I began attending church on Sundays, but other than that, I still did the same things I was doing before. It wasn’t until I was 17 years old that I made a promise to the Lord that I would read at least 10 pages of the Book of Mormon every day.
One of the first things I read was that the Book of Mormon was “written to the Lamanites,” and I was taught that the Lamanites “are among the ancestors of the American Indians” (Book of Mormon, Title Page and Introduction).
I am proud of my name and of my heritage. Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me. I was eager to continue reading.
I never missed a day. As I read, I marked in red all the great truths everyone needs to know. Then I marked in yellow the promises the prophets made to the descendants of the Lamanites. As I did so, their words seemed to fly off the page!
After reading the last page, I got on my knees and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was true, if Joseph Smith was a prophet, and if the Church had a living prophet. As I prayed, I felt the Spirit powerfully witness to me the truth of these things.
“Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me.”

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening I came home to see a truck in his driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it begins with love.

The heat rose in dizzy waves before us as we sped along the freeway. “It must be very hot outside,” I thought as the air conditioner hissed away in our station wagon. I had heard how difficult it was for the first settlers to even enter the St. George Valley in southern Utah, let alone survive there. This was almost impossible to comprehend as we drove easily along through rocky volcanic barriers on a ribbon of asphalt.
We rapidly ascended into the Virgin River Valley, and the little community of St. George stood out against the scorching sandstone cliffs.
A barrage of bright signs beckoned us with “Enter,” “Vacancy,” “Color TV,” “Sauna,” “Pool.” When I rolled down the window, a blast of hot air reminded me that I would soon be refreshed by a swim in the blue waters of a motel pool.
The heat from the hot pavement penetrated the soles of my gym shoes as we walked the few blocks from our motel to the old St. George Tabernacle.
Hewn from native red-orange sandstone, the thick rock walls showed countless small markings from the pioneer stonecutters’ hand-held instruments. Directly under the stately spire was a tablet with the inscription “Commenced 1863—Completed 1871.”
While my little sisters played under a shade tree on the Tabernacle grounds, I walked around the building for closer inspection. The doors were locked, but by shading my eyes, I could just make out through the old window panes the beautiful circular wooden staircases.
My mother pointed out some of the old buildings surrounding the tabernacle and told us that these were at one time part of the old Dixie Academy—later Dixie Junior College. The new Dixie College campus is now located clear across town.
As I peered into one of the old vacant classrooms where biology had once been taught, I could hear my young sister Terressa protesting crossly, “I’m tired and bored, and I don’t want to see any more old buildings.”
A morning of tennis and sight-seeing left me weary. I lay by the pool, and the perspiration trickled freely. It was then I realized I was more than just a sun-warmed visitor. I felt at home here, as if somehow I belonged. My passing feet had disturbed shadows in the sand—reminders of a life-style long since gone. And yet it was as if I had discovered a golden chain in those sands—a chain of people linked together by time and love—my family.

Several months ago, a stake president and I visited a sister in his stake and her young adult son. After years away from the Church, wandering difficult and unfriendly paths, she had returned. During our visit, we asked her why she had come back.

“I had made a mess of my life,” she said, “and I knew where I needed to be.”

I then asked her what she had learned in her journey.

With some emotion, she shared that she had learned that she needed to attend church long enough to break the habit of not coming and that she needed to stay until it was where she wanted to be. Her return was not easy, but as she exercised faith in the Father’s plan, she felt the Spirit return.

And then she added, “I have learned for myself that God is good and that His ways are better than mine.”

Oertli turned and looked back at the rapids. Another raft, the last of seven, was moving toward the head of the rapids. Oertli rowed to the slow water on the inside of a bend. He waved his arms at the other raft.
“Left, left,” he shouted.
His arms were wet, shining in the bright sunlight.
“He’s rowed here before a couple of times, but that’s a tricky spot. I told him about the two rocks. I hope he remembers.”
He wiped his hands on his legs.
“We’ll watch in case they run into trouble,” he said.
The other raft rose and dropped suddenly, vanishing below waves and then rising up again.
“He’s missed the first rock.”
Oertli stood on the supply box in the middle of the raft waving.
“Right, right,” he shouted. He stopped and stood silent. “He can’t hear me. He’s not rowing.”
A wave suddenly sprayed up in front of the other raft. Jerking back, it stopped, pinned against the rock. Water foamed around it in a wild swirl, tipping it forward. The current caught it, turned it, and pulled It from the rock and down the river, safe.
“Someone’s in the water,” Oertli yelled.
A small orange figure bobbed in front of the raft in white water.
“Row toward her,” Oertli yelled.
Small forms on the raft moved frantically. Out of control in the turbulence, the raft came sideways down the rapids, and the distance between it and the girl in the water grew as the river swept her downstream.
Oertli grabbed the oars again and rowed toward the shore.
“We’ll stop and pick her up when she comes by. If we pick her up now, she’ll be fine. She has her life jacket on, but the water’s cold.”
The shore came up fast.
“Doug, jump out and brake the raft with the rope when we get to the shore. The current’s strong here.”
Doug jumped into the water next to the shore, holding the rope, and fell. He braced himself. The rope grew taut and jerked him down into the water. He stood, getting his footing on slick rocks, then fell again.
The raft slowed and swung in against the shore. Doug stood and brought the raft to a stop.
“Get ready to push off when I say,” Oertli said. “This is why I make sure right at the first that everyone has a life jacket on and buckled. This is a good river. It’s safe, but you can never be too careful.”
He looked up the river. The girl was coming down fast.
“Get ready,” Oertli shouted.
The girl drifted closer.
“Now!” he yelled, grabbing the oars.
Doug pushed the raft into the current and jumped in. Pumping the oars in a rhythmic motion, Oertli brought the raft to the middle of the river. The girl drifted even with the raft about ten feet away. Someone threw her a rope. Oertli hit the water hard with the oars. The raft moved next to the girl and several hands pulled her from the water.
“Are you all right?” Oertli asked.
The girl nodded.
She was clenching her fists tight to her body, shivering. Water dripped from her hair down her face.
“Cold?” Oertli asked.
She nodded again.
“We’ll fix that,” he said.
“Doug, we’re going to pull in and stop.”
He pulled out a pile of waterproof bags and undid the straps on one. He unpacked a heavy wool sweater, a pair of pants, and a thick, down jacket.
“When we get to the shore, go back in the trees and put these on,” he said.
A few minutes later the girl returned.
“Are you okay now?”
She nodded.
“Warm enough?” Oertli asked smiling.
She managed a smile and nodded.
“I keep several sets of warm clothes just for this.”
He rowed to the fast current and leaned back, tipping his head up toward the sun. It was bright and hung low in the sky.
“We’ll be in camp in about an hour,” he said.

One of many outstanding missionaries with whom Sister Funk and I served was Elder Pokhrel from Nepal. After being a member of the Church for only two years, he was called to serve in the India Bangalore Mission, an English-speaking mission. He would tell you he was not well prepared. That was understandable. He had never seen a missionary until he was one, because no young missionaries serve in Nepal. He did not read English well enough to understand the instructions included with his call. When he reported to the missionary training center, instead of bringing nice slacks, white shirts, and ties, he packed, in his words, “five pairs of denim jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and a lot of hair gel.”2

Even after he obtained appropriate clothing, he said he felt inadequate every day during the first few weeks. He described that time of his mission: “Not only was the English difficult, but the work was just as challenging. … On top of all of that, I was hungry, tired, and homesick. … Even though the circumstances were tough, I was determined. I felt weak and inadequate. I would pray at those times for Heavenly Father to help me. Without fail, every time I prayed, I would feel comforted.”3

Though missionary work was new and challenging for Elder Pokhrel, he served with great faith and faithfulness, seeking to understand and follow what he was learning from the scriptures, Preach My Gospel, and his mission leaders. He became a powerful teacher of the gospel—in English—and an excellent leader. After his mission and some time in Nepal, he returned to India to continue his education. Since January he has served as a branch president in New Delhi. Because of the real growth he experienced as a missionary, he continues to contribute to the real growth of the Church in India.

In 1972 my father, his mum and two brothers and two sisters immigrated to Australia establishing themselves in Perth, Western Australia. My father joined the Australian army in 1973, serving in various postings. He met my mother in Melbourne in 1982 and their first date was to a Stake YSA dance. Later, my mother introduced him to the missionaries. Accepting what he had been taught and with the faith and testimony the size of a mustard seed, he was baptized on 9 May 1982. A year later my parents were married and sealed in the New Zealand Temple. Together they had five children. Heavenly Father and living the Gospel have been a blessing in all our lives.

In my opinion, some Church planning and leadership meetings are far too long. I was once asked by a Church leader, “Are you as a leader punctual in conducting meetings?”
I said, “Yes, I always start meetings on time.”
He said, “But are you punctual?”
I answered again the same way, “We start on time.”
He asked me the same question again, and as I sat looking perplexed he said, “I know that you begin your meetings on time, but do you end them on time?” He added, “End the meeting at the appointed time and let people go home to their families. Those who neglect the appointed quitting time are as much in error as those who neglect the beginning time.”

Josh: When we first went to Camp Tatiyee, we were all a little uncomfortable. As we were introduced, it was amazing to see how happy the participants were. I remember thinking to myself, “How can they be so happy when they have serious disabilities and other challenges?” But they were genuinely happy to see us. We played football, softball, and kickball, and we even arm wrestled with them. I learned pretty quickly that the camp participants have a special purpose in life.
I’m sure that as a missionary, I will find myself in uncomfortable circumstances. This experience has helped prepare me to not fear those situations on my mission when that time comes.
Our football team visits Camp Tatiyee each year as an act of service, but I believe the camp participants are also serving us by their examples. I have learned that if you really want to be happy, then you forget about yourself and serve someone else.

As Tim took one last swing at the pine tree, the ax resounded and a slow snapping sound sang through the small valley. “Look out!” Tim shouted.
Jeff sidestepped the falling tree, then he noticed Tim had lost his footing and was tumbling down the long, steep hill just beyond the fallen tree. Jeff slid to where his brother lay against a huge rock, his leg twisted into an unnatural position beneath him. “Tim! Tim! Are you all right?” But there was no answer.
Snow was beginning to fall in huge soft flakes, and Jeff fell to his knees to brush it off Tim’s face. “Wake up, Tim,” Jeff urged.
After a long moment, Tim slowly opened his eyes.
“Thank goodness!” Jeff said. “What happened?”
“I slipped trying to get out of the way of the tree,” Tim answered slowly.
“Can you walk?” Jeff asked as his older brother slowly rolled over and tried to sit up.
“Oh, boy!” Tim cried. “Something’s wrong with my leg. I can’t put any weight on it.”
“Maybe it’s broken,” Jeff said, afraid to think what that might mean. His heart felt as though it were made of lead. He and Tim had come to the mountains early to open the cabin and to cut a Christmas tree. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve and the rest of the family wouldn’t arrive until then for the family’s traditional holiday in the mountains.
“I don’t know,” Tim replied. But the pain in his voice said more than the words.
Jeff looked across the white and green patchwork on the mountain. The sun disappearing on the other side meant that there was probably an hour left before total darkness settled over the valley. The cabin was about fifty yards away. Tim’s so heavy, how am I ever going to carry him there? Jeff wondered. And once we get there, then what? There’s no phone in the cabin and nobody around for miles. I’ll probably have to get to the main highway to find help and that’s ten miles away!
Tim must have been thinking the same thing. “Jeff, there’s no time to waste,” he said. “I think I can drag myself back to the cabin. If you take off now and hurry, you’ll make it to the highway for help just after dark. Think you can do it?”
“But I can’t leave you alone like this!”
Tim’s face was pinched with pain. “You have to, Jeff,” he urged. “I need help!”
Jeff hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he turned and began to carefully make his way down the snowy mountain. When Jeff tried to go faster, he slipped and fell. Picking himself up he glanced back up the hill.
Tim had moved about fifteen feet. “Hurry,” Tim called. “I’ll be all right.”
Jeff zipped his coat up around his neck to keep out the snow and went on. Soon he reached a narrow winding roadway. The road wasn’t as steep or rocky as the mountain path so he started jogging. He looked back, but Tim and the cabin were out of view.
Dusk settling over the quiet valley gave the towering pines a spooky look. The snow muffled any sounds except the thud, thud, thudding of Jeff’s feet. “Faster, faster, faster,” he kept repeating, his breath looking like smoke in the cold air. And his feet did move faster and faster, even though they slipped and stumbled on the road. Then a pain in his side forced him to slow to a walk. The falling snow had covered the narrow road, making it hard to tell which way to go. And now Jeff realized the darkness was coming faster than expected. The whole valley was suffused in shadows and deadly silence, with the mountains towering on either side like giants. Jeff had never felt so alone, so helpless, so scared. “What if I don’t make it?” he whispered then stopped himself. “I can’t think like that,” he said to convince himself. “I have to make it. I will make it!”
The dark world around him became colder and more frightening, and there was no moon yet. But fortunately the snow had stopped and a few stars were showing through the cloudy black sky.
Jeff began to run again as he searched his mind for something to think about to keep away the fear. Suddenly a cracking noise stopped him. He listened intently but there was only silence. “Must have been a limb breaking under the weight of the snow,” he mumbled, looking around. In the darkness everything seemed huge and threatening. But the worst feeling was that of loneliness.
Quickly Jeff’s mind reached for a thought, any thought. Slowly some familiar words began to form in his head. What were they? Night … star … brightly … then he remembered. They were words from one of the songs he’d sung for the Christmas sacrament meeting program: “O holy night! The stars are brightly shining; it is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth. … ”
Jeff hadn’t thought much about the words then, but now in the cold darkness they were taking on new meaning. He looked up. There was only one star shining mistily through the clouds. As he stared at it, the song became more than mere words. And finally he began to understand what the words meant.
Slowly more of the song drifted through his mind. “In all our trials, born to be our friend … ”
It was starting to snow again. “This certainly is a trial and I sure need a friend,” he murmured.
He watched the snow, letting the thoughts float freely through his mind. “He was born and He died because He loved me so much,” Jeff whispered into the darkness. “He is my friend.”
A beautiful feeling of comfort replaced the fear and worry in Jeff’s heart.
“I’m not alone,” he said loudly, “and I know Tim is going to be all right.”
With snow falling again, Jeff dropped to his knees. “Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for Christmas and for Thy Son and for being with me. I know Thou wilt be with my brother too. Please lead me to someone who can help us …”

On 27 June 1844 Elder Taylor, Elder Willard Richards, also of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Prophet’s brother Hyrum were in Carthage Jail awaiting word from the governor. While the four friends waited in prison, Elder Taylor sang the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief.” The mood was somber and melancholy. “Shortly Hyrum asked him to sing the song again, to which he replied:
“‘Brother Hyrum, I do not feel like singing.’
“‘Oh, never mind; commence singing and you will get the spirit of it.’
“Soon after finishing the song the second time, as he was sitting at one of the front windows of the jail, he saw a number of men, with painted faces. … The mob reaching the landing in front of the door, and thinking it was locked, fired a shot through the key hole. Hyrum and Doctor Richards sprang back, when instantly another ball crashed through the panel of the door and struck Hyrum in the face; at the same instant a ball … entered his back, and he fell exclaiming, ‘I am a dead man!’ …
“… Elder Taylor took his place next [to] the door, and with a heavy walking stick … parried the guns as they were thrust through the doorway and discharged. …
“… Streams of fire as thick as a man’s arm belched forth from the ever increasing number of guns in the door-way, yet calm, energetic and determined, Elder Taylor beat down the muzzles of those murderous guns.
“‘That’s right, Brother Taylor, parry them off as well as you can,’ said Joseph, as he stood behind him.”
But as the gunfire continued and more mobbers pushed their way up the stairs, Elder Taylor sprang for the open window.
“As [Elder Taylor] was in the act of leaping from the window, a ball fired from the door-way struck him about midway of his left thigh. He fell helpless on the window sill and would have dropped on the outside of the jail—when another shot from the outside, striking the watch in his vest pocket, threw him back into the room. … He drew himself as rapidly as possible in his crippled condition under the bedstead that stood near the window.
“While on his way three other bullets struck him; one a little below the left knee—it was never extracted; another tore away the flesh to the size of a man’s hand from his left hip and spattered the wall with blood and the mangled fragments; another entered the forepart of his left arm, a little above the wrist, and, passing down by the joint, lodged in the palm of his left hand.”
While he lay in pain, he heard the mob shout that the Prophet had leaped from the window.
“Dr. Richards … confirmed his worst fears—the Prophet was dead!
“‘I felt,’ says Elder Taylor, ‘a dull, lonely, sickening sensation at the news.’”12
Several days later, Elder Taylor discovered that one ball of shot, aimed at his heart, had smashed into the crystal of his pocket watch, preventing him from falling from the jail window. He said, “I felt that the Lord had preserved me by a special act of mercy; that my time had not yet come, and that I had still a work to perform upon the earth.”13

“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.

“On two different occasions I have tried to approach friends about the missionary discussions but was turned down flat!” said 16-year-old Mari. “Needless to say, I was embarrassed when they let me know that they weren’t interested in finding out about our church.”
Mari is an attractive, intelligent high school student. She attends seminary and comes from a devout, missionary-minded family. And I can understand her frustration at wanting to do what the prophet has asked us to do, yet seeming to alienate good friends in her attempts to do so.
There is no question but what a successful missionary experience is rewarding, but how can we avoid the unpleasant ones? Perhaps we can’t experience 100 percent success, but let’s try a few other approaches.
Robin was just 19 years old when she enlisted in the navy and was assigned to the East Coast of the United States. Her roommate was an LDS girl whom she quickly grew to love.
“I admired my roommate’s way of life, her high ideals and standards. She stood for everything that I wanted to have in my life. I wanted to be in her company and with those who shared her standards. I wished and longed for an invitation to join in the activities of her youth group but was never given an opportunity to join them.”
A few months later Robin was transferred to the West Coast in another navy installation. Unusual as it seemed, her new roommate also proved to be an LDS girl. As they talked together on their first night it became apparent that this Church group was just as busy as the other group had been. The difference was that Robin was immediately invited to accompany her new roommate to all of these functions.
Within a few weeks Robin began the missionary discussions and was baptized. She became the best member missionary in the area and was constantly bringing fellow workers to Church functions so that they could investigate the Church. As soon as she was discharged from the navy, Robin was called as a full-time missionary.
A second experience concerns an elder serving in our mission, who gave this account of his conversion:
“During my first year in high school I became aware of a small group of fellow students who seemed to have a tightly knit bond of fellowship between them. They acted differently from the rest of the students. Their language was clean, their standards were high, even their appearance was different. They were not on drugs, and they did not smoke or drink. I admired them and tried to become acquainted with them.
“They were always having such a good time together, holding their own parties, dances, and other socials. I was told by someone that they belonged to the LDS church, but that did not matter to me. I still wanted to belong to their group.
“I hinted as much as I dared that I would like to attend some of their socials, but they didn’t take the hint. Finally in my senior year, I summoned the courage to ask them outright if I could possibly attend some of their socials, even though I was not a member of their church.
“Within a few weeks I was baptized into their church, and here I am now, about a year and a half later, on a mission for our church. When I see how difficult it is to find converts in the mission field, I wonder why these fellow students of mine found it so difficult to invite me to go with them.”
As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop, I asked each of them: “Are you dating anyone who is not a member of our church?”
“I’m not exactly dating him, but we know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party, and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.
Does this give you any ideas? How many of your friends would like to attend your socials, your dances, your outings? How many would like to join you in all the fun times you have? Is this not an easy and inoffensive way to introduce them to the gospel of Jesus Christ? In most cases you can let the missionaries invite them to take the discussions and to teach them.
I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him and was turned down. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I’ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.
Even a young man who was dating one of our daughters (he later became her husband) accepted the challenge to pray and search for someone who would accept the missionary message. He was directed to a friend whom he had known all his life but had never approached about our Church. Within a month this young man was baptized into the Church.
Everyone has a different approach, one that seems in keeping with that individual’s personality and that he feels comfortable with. Although the person we talk to may not join the Church now, he may accept the message later. We are convinced that some of these individuals will come into the fold sometime in their lives.
Whether we accept the fact or not, we are different from the world if we are living what we believe. Let me tell you about two of our missionaries.
It was the dinner hour, and it was raining without any sign of a letup. In spite of the rain, these two missionaries continued tracting. But let the father in one of these homes tell what happened that night:
“I had come home from work tired and hungry and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I might also add that I dislike ‘door knockers’ and canvassers.
“I had just sat down to my dinner when the knock on the door came. I don’t know what I expected to find at the door, but I didn’t intend to be very pleasant about the disturbances at this particular hour.
“Perhaps I was too stunned at first to be angry, but for some reason or other I did not slam the door in their faces. There in the doorway stood two young men, grinning from ear to ear and literally beaming as they told me that they had a special message for me and my family. I still don’t know what prompted me to invite them to come in, except that there was something very special about them. There was an aura about them that I had never experienced before.
“I can tell you that when I invited them to come into our home, I also invited the greatest blessings that have ever come into my life and the life of my family. Yes, we were all baptized into the LDS church.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 88:67 [D&C 88:67], we are told: “And if your eye be single to my glory, your whole bodies shall be filled with light.” We are different when we are living the way the Savior taught us to live. Our bodies will be filled with light, and people will become aware of this.
A man came into the mission home one day asking to know more about our church. “I sat on a plane next to one of your members,” he said, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. He told me about his family and the love they had between them. His face almost glowed as he talked.”
This man was far more worldly than the average man on the street. “I know I will have to make some drastic changes in my life, but I want what that man has. My family means a lot to me,” he said.
If we live what we believe, our example may serve as an effective missionary for us and for the Church, especially for those who are searching for the “more excellent way” (Ether 12:11). There are many people who admire our way of life and our standards of conduct. They want this way of life for themselves and for their families.
Doctrine and Covenants 123:12 [D&C 123:12] tells us that “there are many yet on the earth among all sects … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” So how can we help them find it? How can we be effective member missionaries?
It just might be that your best method is to be your best self. Be friendly and be sharing. Invite those around you who are not members of our church to share with you the fun and the joy that they may be secretly wishing they could also have.
Instead of losing friends, you may develop friendships that will endure through this life and the life to come.

Carly W. from Rexburg, Idaho, USA, is a busy helper. At home Carly helps out by taking care of her family’s cats, dogs, and chickens. Because Carly is one of the best students in her class at school, she helps other children with math and reading. In Primary, Carly’s singing helps other children to feel the Spirit.
Because Carly has done such a good job helping others, some of her friends decided to help her too.
Carly was born with a disease called spina bifida. This disease makes it hard for Carly to use all of her muscles. Doing things like walking on uneven ground and climbing up stairs can be hard for her. At school, Carly wasn’t able to play on the playground because the playground equipment was hard for her to use. There were other children who also couldn’t play on the playground equipment.
“Sometimes I felt bad and frustrated at recess because I couldn’t play on the playground,” Carly says.
One of Carly’s friends, Halli Jo, and Halli Jo’s mom decided to earn money to build a playground that Carly and all the other students at the school could use.
Halli Jo, her mom, and a lot of other people worked to earn money for the new playground. It took a lot of work, but they were able to earn enough money to build a new playground that all the students could play on.
“It was a lot of hard work,” Halli Jo says. “But it never made me sad to do the work—it just made me love Carly more.”
Carly is happy to be able to play on the playground with her friends. She says, “I like walking up the ramps and going down the slides. Me and my friends have fun together.”

More than 35 youth from the Austin Texas Stake recently joined forces with other youth from the Austin area to complete a beautification project at Pioneer Farms, a living history museum. As part of a service project organized by the stake, the teens planted 116 trees and shrubs and cleared away seven tractor-trailer loads of brush and debris.

“The teens worked hard and kept asking what more they could do to help,” said Angela Walters, the museum’s volunteer coordinator.

“It really felt like we helped to transform the farm,” said Rachael Long, a Laurel from the Pflugerville Ward who worked to plant trees. “After we planted the trees, it really changed the look of the park. It was hard work, but really fun at the same time.”

Sister Margaret Easthope, Young Women president of the Pflugerville Ward, said the youth had a good time working together and were excited to see the difference their efforts made. “The youth gained a greater appreciation of what hard work means, and what it takes to plant so many trees!” Sister Easthope said.

I am a convert to the Church. My conversion began in a bakery where I noticed a young man who seemed to stand out from those around him. I was curious to know what made him different, and I asked him what church he belonged to. As he responded to my question, his missionary companion joined us. When I asked them how I could know more about their church, they scheduled an appointment to visit with me in my apartment.
On the day of their visit, I sensed a calmness and serenity about the two young men, Elder Eric Dorr Hansen and Elder Paulo Alves da Silva. Through the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I felt their message was inspired and true, and I accepted it.
The Holy Ghost recently helped me to reach out to a sister who was experiencing a difficult phase in her life. I shared with her the talk given by President Elaine L. Jack, Relief Society general president, at the September 1990 General Women’s Meeting. (See “These Things Are Manifested unto Us Plainly,” Ensign, November 1990, page 88.) In her talk, President Jack referred to the story of the Savior offering the woman at the well the waters of “everlasting life.” (See John 4:14.)
How grateful I am for the Holy Ghost. That divine link with Deity has not only helped me personally, but it has also helped me bring courage and comfort to someone in need.