Gospel Story Finder

1 Joseph Smith’s younger brother Samuel was the third person baptized into the restored Church. Two months after the Church was organized in 1830, he was set apart by the Prophet Joseph as the Church’s first formal missionary.
2 Samuel was anxious to share the gospel and to tell people about the Book of Mormon. But when he tried to sell copies of it to them, only a few wanted to buy it.
3 Many people were unkind to Samuel while he was on his mission. Often he went hungry and had to sleep outside.
4 Samuel did sell a Book of Mormon to Phineas Young. After Phineas read the Book of Mormon, he gave it to his brother Brigham to read.
5 Brigham Young read the Book of Mormon and believed that it was true. After studying the gospel of Jesus Christ, Brigham and Phineas told their friends about the Book of Mormon. Several of their friends read the book and joined the Church along with Brigham and Phineas.
6 Later Brigham Young became a prophet and a great leader. He helped the Saints to move across the prairies and mountains and to colonize the West.
7 Samuel Smith returned home from his first mission discouraged and disappointed. He didn’t know that because of his missionary efforts, Brigham Young and many other valiant people would come into the Church.

Tomás looked at the money in his hand and sighed. Two hundred pesos—not nearly enough. There were three fifty-peso pieces, two twenty-peso pieces, and one of the five-sided coins that Tomás called “cuadrados (squares).” The ten-peso coin wasn’t really square, of course, but Tomás liked the way the word sounded. He looked around him. The streets were almost empty now; soon it would be dark. With another sigh, Tomás picked up his shoeshine box and started home.
It was 1985, and Tomás lived in Santa Maria, a small town in northern Mexico. Every day after school, he walked up and down the dusty, unpaved streets looking for shoes to shine or odd jobs to do. He had to help his mother; his father had been killed two years ago in an accident at work. Tomás had four sisters and a brother, and his mother didn’t make enough money doing washing and sewing to feed everyone. But Tomás never complained. He was proud to be considered the man of the house at such an early age!
“Hola (hello), Tomás.” Doña Eva was standing beside her gate, holding a soda bottle. “Will you do me a favor? Anda (go) and bring me a drink from the store. You may keep the change, but please don’t be too long—I am very thirsty.”
Tomás put down his box and took the bottle. “I’ll be right back,” he called as he raced down the street.
Most of the adobe houses were dark. Santa Maria was so small that only the school and one store had electricity. Most of Santa Maria’s people didn’t even want electric lights. Here and there, oil lamps made strange, dancing shapes on the street.
Tomás was almost at the store when he stopped in astonishment. Two huge, shiny trucks were in the tiny plaza. Surrounding the trucks were villagers, some of them with armloads of clothing or blankets. With surprise, Tomás saw his own mother handing a brightly colored serape to a man in the truck. The long, narrow blanket was his mother’s favorite, a gift to her from his father. “Mamá! What are you doing?” he cried, running over to her.
“Remember how we heard of a great earthquake farther south? There are many who have lost both loved ones and homes. I cannot give much, but I want to send something that will help.”
“But you love that serape! Papá …”
Tomás’s mother smiled. “Your father would want to give something, Tomás. And I love my sisters and brothers too. Remember that as children of God, we are all family, hijo (son). I want to send a little love and comfort to someone who needs it more right now.” She saw the soda bottle. “That must be for Doña Eva,” she said. “She’s always impatient for her soda, Tomás. Run; do your errand for her.”
Tomás did as he was told, but not happily. He felt guilty about his very selfish thoughts, but he couldn’t help them. “How can anyone have less than we do?” he asked himself. “My mother never has anything new. We eat only beans and tortillas. Someday I will have much money, and then I will give. Not now!”
In the store, Tomás paid for the soft drink. He counted his change to be sure it was right. He was very proud of his reputation for integrity.
“Send Tomás,” Doña Eva always said when someone needed an errand run. “He’s a good, honest boy.” Remembering that the change was his, Tomás carefully put it into his empty pocket. He was about to go, when he noticed the newspaper on the store counter.
There were pictures of the earthquake damage—fallen buildings and huge cracks in the streets. In one corner was a picture of a tiny child. Tears filled Tomás’s eyes as he read the caption: Brave Boy Loses Life to Save Baby Sister. Tomás thought of his younger brother and sisters. They were noisy little pests, but he was glad that they were there, filling the small house with happiness. Tonight he would tell them that he loved them!
When Tomás passed the plaza again, all the villagers were gone. The trucks were still parked there, and Tomás stared at them. The coins in his pocket were heavy and cold. He had planned to put aside ten percent of his money for tithing, a few pesos for his savings, and give the rest to his mother. The money was important to his family, and it wasn’t enough to help anyone, anyway.
He couldn’t forget the picture in the paper, though. Why had he looked at it? But his mother was right—he had a lot. He had her, his brother, and his sisters. Tomás smiled a little. He even had dreams, big dreams. What was it his father used to say? “If you have dreams, and if you have faith, you have much.” He turned and walked back to the nearest truck. “It’s only a few pesos,” he said, holding out all except his tithing money.
The man took the coins and smiled at Tomás. “Thanks, son. It’s more than you know. There are people in need of medicine, even babies without food. Believe me, every peso will help someone live. Thank you!”
Tomás thought of the baby in the picture. Maybe his money would help her. But the important thing was that it would help someone. He said good-bye and hurried on toward Doña Eva’s house. “Thank Thee, Father, for giving me so much!” he prayed aloud.

One Sunday, seated in front of the television with my cigarettes and usual bottle of wine, I heard the doorbell. Opening the door, I saw two young men in blue suits, with name tags identifying them as missionaries. The room I invited them into was full of smoke and the smell of alcohol, but they were undeterred and began to question me about my beliefs. Did I believe in God?
That made me stop and think. Though I had been baptized as a little boy, I had never been a churchgoer—I thought religion was not worth it. Rather, I believed in my conscience and the need to be honest with my fellowmen. Yet I surprised myself and answered yes to their question. As they continued and began to teach me about Joseph Smith and the Restoration, it seemed as though I had already heard their words. An indescribable feeling began to come over me, and I loved these young men. When they offered a prayer, I began to cry, and my heart began to swell until it would burst.
We made an appointment for the following Tuesday, and during the interval, my life passed before me as in a film. Until the age of twenty, I had abstained from alcohol. But then a business failure and financial difficulties sent me into a deep personal crisis, compounded by my wife’s illness and two-year convalescence in a distant hospital. I sought comfort in alcohol, and before long I began to drink quantities of strong spirits from morning until night. Add to that the 70 to 100 cigarettes I smoked daily and you can understand that my physical condition deteriorated gradually to the point where I was embarrassed about it.
At one point I entered a hospital to be detoxified, but the doctors were unable to help me and I became even more depressed. I had a good job and a wonderful family, but I needed to get out from under these vices. In desperation I abandoned myself even more completely to alcohol, at one point even attempting suicide. I tried to enter a private clinic for help, but could not afford the treatments. It was at this point that Elders Sorensen and Waterman entered my life.
When they returned for our second meeting, the two missionaries spoke to me of many new things that I did not know but felt were true. When they told me about the Word of Wisdom, I felt my heart sink, and I said “Tell me how I, of all persons, can give up alcohol, since I have tried every way I know how, and have had no success.” They asked me if I believed in God and in the things they had taught me and if I felt that I had faith in the Lord. I replied that I did.
“Good,” they said. “If you will listen to us, we’ll help you and the Lord will give you the power to overcome your problem.” “I’ll be infinitely grateful,” I answered. Their exhortations filled me with joy, with hope, and with faith, and I really desired in my heart to follow their guidance. When I prayed I felt more and more self-confidence, and from that morning, with my newborn courage, I imposed the rule that I would never drink cognac again. And I was able to maintain that rule though I suffered greatly. With the help of the elders, and with humility, I was able to gradually reduce the doses of other alcoholic beverages and of cigarettes. It was not easy, but I felt the Lord near to me, helping me. I felt that I had to do my part and that I would not be alone in this trial.
After a month and a half I was able to overcome my vices. Finally free, I felt ready to be baptized, with my wife, on December 28, 1977. I came up out of the baptismal waters renovated in body and spirit, sure that the Lord forgets our sins if we are truly repentant. I can’t explain what a joy it was to abandon the old me and see myself reborn full of trust in myself and love for my fellowman. I had an immense desire to recover all the lost time showing gratitude to the Lord with a commitment to do everything that he commanded me.
Following my baptism, my health improved day by day. At first I continued to arise in the morning full of aches and pains. Getting up was a painful trial. But after prayer, I was able to go about my work serenely until the evening, when the problems returned. But then, one great day, I arose and realized that I was finally free of the pains. From that time forward I have had no problems.
After a year of Church membership, we were able to go to the temple, where my wife and our three daughters were sealed to me. Now we are truly a united family. I have been blessed with a number of challenging callings in the Church and can bear witness that, with humility and faith in the Lord, there is nothing impossible for man. I know, too, that observance of the Word of Wisdom brings health and strength—and the desire to use that strength in the service of the Lord.

The Spaniards’ attitude was reinforced when Simón was sent to Spain for further education. By this time he was a slim young man with a thin, suntanned face and dark piercing eyes. He was a better athlete and horseman than any of his admiring friends who benefitted from the almost limitless supply of money Simón provided for their pleasures.
One day while riding his horse, Simón was stopped by the police, searched, insulted, and told that he was no longer welcome in Spain. He was furious at the incident, for it pointed out more clearly than any of his tutor’s words the low regard that the Spanish rulers had for Creoles. Then began his dream to free all of South America from Spanish rule and make it one glorious republic much like the United States of America. Although this dream was not realized, Simón Bolívar is now often called “the George Washington of South America.”

As Adam Harrop walks the sidewalks of Ricks College, very few students or faculty would be able to single him out of the crowd. After all, his worn jeans, fresh haircut, and navy blue shirt are common sights at the LDS Church-owned junior college in Rexburg, Idaho.
However, beneath his common appearance, Adam is different. Not many male sophomores at Ricks are only 18 years old. Most second-year male students are 21 and returned missionaries. In addition to Adam’s unique age situation, he also holds the top student leadership position, overseeing 8,500 students at the largest private junior college in the United States.
Being student body president of Ricks College doesn’t come stress free. Especially when you’re taking a full load of classes, planning towards a degree in law or medicine. Especially when you’re also preparing for a full-time mission. Especially when you’re younger than most of the people you are leading.
But Adam Harrop knows that everything “IS OK.” The Harrop family has a saying back in Quincy, Illinois, where Adam grew up. If you’re In Scriptures and On Knees (IS OK), everything will turn out the way the Lord intended.
Adam doesn’t see his age as a disadvantage. “I still have my youthful spirit,” he says. “I want to work hard and play hard.”
It wasn’t easy from the start, however. Adam didn’t come to Ricks with a lot of leadership experience. Once he got to Ricks, he knew he wanted to develop his leadership skills. “There are a lot of people older than I am on my committees,” Adam says. “But there is a feeling of trust that has grown among the officers that has allowed me to lead them and to accomplish our goals.”
In fact, Adam’s campaign slogan last spring emphasized his energy. His signs read, “Thumbs up, step it up with Adam Harrop.” The voters said thumbs up to his ideas and elected him to the office. Adam is quick to give a thumbs up to his sister Heidi, also a Ricks student, who did “all of the campaigning,” he says. Adam has five older sisters, including Heidi.
His support of other students and leaders and, in turn, their support of him make him an approachable leader. He hopes his experience at Ricks will be a springboard toward a successful career. “Being the president has taught me time management, communication, patience, and how to get along with others,” Adam says. “It has been a big character builder for me.”
Adam spends more than 20 hours a week completing duties for his office, including attending 18 meetings each week. “I have to make good use of my time so I can study. None of us has time to waste. We all have to prioritize and know what is the most important to us.”
“If I could give advice to high school students,” says Adam, “I would say to push yourself harder and find areas in which to improve. Participate in something that will help you grow—physically, spiritually, and academically. Find out what the Lord wants you to do, not just what you want to do.”
Adam is pushing himself hard in his office and his schooling as he tries to do what the Lord would have him do. At times it seems overwhelming, but he reads his scriptures and prays. So he knows, everything IS OK.

Abbie lived near Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah. She loved to see the Christmas lights twinkling in the winter and the tulips blooming in the spring, and hear the Tabernacle Choir singing all year round.
One day in sacrament meeting, Bishop Allen made an announcement: “Some Church members from Mexico are thinking about coming to general conference, and they’ll need places to stay. If any of you can host these guests, please talk to me after the meeting.”
On the way home from church, Abbie asked, “Will any of the visitors from Mexico come to our house for general conference?”
“I’m not sure, sweetie. But we’ve volunteered to let a family stay with us if they need to,” Dad said.
“Why do they want to come all this way for general conference? Can’t they watch it on TV?”
“They can watch it at their stake center,” Mom explained. “But until now, they have never had the opportunity to see a prophet in person. Do you remember how you felt when you saw President Hinckley?”
Abbie nodded. “I felt the Spirit really strongly when he walked into the room.” She had never been to general conference, but she had seen the prophet and two Apostles speak in other meetings. She had even gotten to shake an Apostle’s hand. Until now, she had never really thought about how special that was.
“Not every member of the Church gets a chance to see the prophet,” Dad said. “Some watch conference at a stake center and others listen to him on the radio. Some people can only read what he says weeks or months later.”
“Listening to him any way you can and obeying his words is what matters most,” Mom added.
Abbie knew that Mom was right, but she was still glad she had been able to see President Hinckley. She imagined living far away from Salt Lake, not being able to hear the prophet speaking inside the Conference Center or see the tulips blooming around the temple nearby. “I would travel a long way, too,” she decided aloud, “just to see the prophet once.” She hoped that the families from Mexico would come.
When the bishop called to tell Abbie’s dad that they would have guests for general conference, Abbie was excited and worried. Her family’s house was small. Would the visitors like staying here? She was also worried about the language differences. She didn’t know any Spanish! How would she talk to them?
Three weeks later, she stood with her parents in the stake center parking lot, waiting for their guests to arrive. Soon a dusty bus pulled into the lot. It jerked to a stop, and people piled out the door. They looked tired, and their clothes were wrinkled, but they were smiling.
Dad walked over to the group and started speaking in Spanish. He had learned it while serving a mission in Argentina. Soon he came back with a couple and their two children.
“This is Bishop Martinez, Sister Martinez, and their children, Isabel and Alejandro.” Alejandro was barely old enough to walk, but Isabel seemed to be only a bit younger than Abbie. Then Dad introduced Abbie and her mom to the Martinezes in Spanish.
“Hola,” Isabel said shyly.
“Hola,” Abbie repeated. Her dad had taught her that it meant “hello.” As Isabel smiled at her, Abbie’s worries disappeared. They couldn’t speak very well to each other, but they could still be friends.
After dinner, Isabel followed Abbie into her room. Abbie pulled out her box of toy dishes and food. Picking up a plastic apple, she told Isabel the English word.
“Apple?” Isabel repeated. “Manzana.”
“Manzana,” Abbie said. Isabel pretended to gobble it up, and they both laughed.
Isabel rummaged through the box and pulled out a little milk carton. “Leche,” she said. Abbie repeated the Spanish word, then told her the English word. One by one, they learned all the toys’ names.
“This is fun,” Abbie thought.
Suddenly, Isabel covered her face with her hands and cried, “Adios!” Abbie knew that meant good-bye. Confused, she wondered if she had somehow hurt Isabel’s feelings. But then Isabel opened her hands like shutters and yelled, “Hola!” She giggled. Her hands flapped shut again. “Adios!”
“It’s like peekaboo,” Abbie realized. She joined in. “Hello! Good-bye! Hello! Good-bye!”
The next day during conference, Abbie imagined Isabel sitting at the Conference Center, listening to a translator through headphones. She couldn’t wait for her new friend to come back and tell her what she thought of everything.
When the Martinezes returned, Isabel chattered excitedly. Abbie had never heard anyone talk so fast!
“What’s she saying, Dad?” Abbie asked. “Did she like conference?”
“Yes,” Dad answered with a smile. “She saw the prophet.” Abbie grinned.
In no time at all, Abbie and her family were taking the Martinezes back to the stake center to board their bus for home. Abbie felt so sad she couldn’t even look at Isabel. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry. But Isabel wasn’t going to leave without a good-bye. She hugged Abbie. Then she brought her hands up to her face. “Hola! Adios! Hola! Adios!” She laughed as she played their peekaboo game.
“Hello! Good-bye! Hello! Good-bye!” Abbie replied. She giggled, too, even though there was a lump in her throat.
As the bus drove away, Abbie tried to smile. “Can we have guests for general conference every year?” she asked. “I liked making a new friend.”

Instead of canceling the Young Women activity that was to take place the night war broke out in the Persian Gulf, the young women of the Kihei Ward, Kahului Hawaii Stake, decided to pitch in and do what they could to support the troops.
On the spur of the moment they wrote letters to the Latter-day Saints serving in the Middle East. Many of the addresses had previously been listed in the LDS Hawaii News. They also designed hand made cards and sent candy, and wrote scriptural messages. “By the time the activity was over, a feeling of calm replaced the anxiety every one had been experiencing,” said leader Diane Harris.

It’s a bit quieter in the early mornings at the Dunlop household in Capalaba, Australia, these days. Oldest brother, Craig, is serving his mission in the Australia Perth Mission.

“He would come out of his bedroom about 5:30 and, bang, he would shut the door. He would bang down the hall,” said his mother, Kathryn. “We miss that, the big bang of the morning.”

The other seven Dunlop children feel there’s a big hole now that Craig is away from home. Nathan, 14, said, “Craig used to mug me and wrestle me to the floor.”

“He would keep us in line and tell us what we should be doing. Have we practiced our sport? Have we done our homework? Have we read our scriptures? Now he does it long distance,” said Melissa, 17.

This is love at home?

Yes, you feel it when each child grins, as they try to tell their favorite story about their brother.

Maybe the Dunlops learned to love each other from the example of their parents, particularly their father, Robert. Right while they’re talking about their family, Dad arrives home after having been away from home all week because of his work. Everyone is so glad to see him.

Leanne explains, “We miss him. When he gets home, we all bolt for the car when he drives up.”

Robert Dunlop tells of a sad experience in his past. “The last time I saw my dad was when I was going to boarding school. He was ill, and he wanted me to give him a kiss good-bye at the station. I was embarrassed and didn’t give him a kiss in front of all the other kids going away to school. It was the last time I ever saw him. I keep telling my own children of that.”

“So we give him kisses all the time,” said Leanne quickly.

But how does a parent let his children know he loves them when things don’t always go smoothly? “After we have an argument, Dad always says, ‘But I still love you,’” Melissa explains. “He always comes back and gives you a hug—always. Even if I am so angry that I think I don’t like him any more, then he comes back with that. He tells us all the time that he loves us.”

And the Dunlops make happy family memories. One of their favorite things to do together is bike riding—their Maleny bike ride. Sarah explains, “Mom and Dad take the older kids right to the top of the hill. Mom will usually drive down with the babies in the car, and the rest of us coast all the way down the mountain. We love that.”

Then the family all starts talking at once about who had bumped into whom and the funny things that happened, like when Sarah ran over a snake and they didn’t tell her because she would freak out.

Love at home? For the Dunlops it is.

In her English class Melanie must speak slowly and distinctly, with a heavy British accent, or she might be misunderstood. “They teach British English here, not American English,” she chuckles. “They tell me Americans speak too fast and swallow their words.”
Kirsten Rhau, 16, one of Melanie’s friends, chats with her following the class. “Melanie is just like any other student,” Kirsten says. “She understands well, and if she makes a mistake in grammar, we correct her nicely. She does the same for us in English. We’ve formed a ‘mutual aid society.’” The two friends often meet between classes and usually spend lunch together.

In September 2020, with the declining health of our parents and the instability of the COVID-19 pandemic, we relocated my sweet 83-year-old parents from their home of 45 years in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Cedar Hills, Utah, to be closer to family, making it easier for us to help care for them.
As you can imagine, this move was difficult for them on many levels. Residing in Las Vegas for most of their married years, they enjoyed their independence and the relationships they built there. They owned a lovely home and prided themselves on having an open door when family passed through. Giving up home ownership after 66 years and downsizing into a small rental home in a new state was challenging. Now they had to say goodbye to everything familiar to them, including friends they’d shared years of memories and experiences with and people they’d grown close to while serving in various callings.
At the time of the move, Church meetings were held remotely. Our parents worried how they would be able to get to know the people of their new ward when there was no opportunity to go to church and build new friendships. How could they possibly feel at home in these circumstances?
We found them a small rental home in a neighborhood in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward, unaware of what a special place it would turn out to be.
Because we had simplified their belongings for the move and didn’t need assistance with moving bulky items, we hadn’t contacted the ward leadership to announce their arrival. That didn’t matter. Within five minutes of our pulling in with the moving van, neighbors arrived at the door, gloves on, asking how they could help. Homemade muffins were delivered and cold drinks offered to our family members helping with the move.
On Thursday of that week, members of the Relief Society presidency visited to introduce themselves and welcome our parents to the ward. On Sunday the bishop came to meet them and inquire whether they needed anything. He spent almost an hour with them, genuinely getting to know them and asking if they’d be willing to take ministering assignments.
Within two weeks of their arrival, they had ministering brothers and sisters assigned to them and were contacted by both. They also received ministering assignments and were introduced to their assigned families. Even with Mom’s late-stage dementia, her ministering companion made the effort to invite her and bring her along as they visited the sisters they were assigned to. The ministering brothers were consistent, loving, and genuine. They immediately found a commonality with roots from Wyoming, and my parents felt loved from the first visit.
Later that month the youth of the ward secretly covered their front door with notes of welcome and love. The first week of November, some deacons asked if they could come by and meet Mom and Dad. About seven young men and their leaders spent time with them, introducing themselves through get-to-know-you topics such as favorite foods, where they went to school, and what they did for after-school activities. The deacons followed up by asking our parents questions about how things were when they grew up and how they met.
These youth continued to come by at least monthly, sometimes just to drop off a treat or to check in. They caroled at Christmastime and brought a lovely holiday basket of food and treats. Because of these simple kindnesses, Dad could call the boys by name when he saw them and had a sense of familiarity with the ward, even though they weren’t able to meet in person for Sunday meetings.
A girl in the ward was invited in her home evening to say hello to someone new, and she chose Mom and Dad. She proceeded to build a relationship with them, coming over almost every day with a treat or to drop off a flower she had picked from her yard.
Our parents were asked to create a short video introducing themselves that was shown at the ward Christmas party. Every time there was a ward activity or gathering, our parents were reminded and offered a ride by someone. Special treats and hand-colored cards were delivered on their birthdays and holidays, and kind neighbors shoveled their driveway, sprayed the lawn for dandelions, and pulled their trash cans in every week. The ward members made a special effort to call them by name, recognized them at the grocery store, and helped them feel like they belonged.
Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.
With Mom’s dementia, one activity she was drawn to was sweeping. A kind neighbor recognized this and allowed her to come and sweep around them as they pulled bushes from their front yard, all the while making Mom feel like she was the one providing the service.
Dad was invited to participate in the ward choir and made to feel he was a valued addition. At age 84, he was called to work in the Young Men organization as a specialist with the deacons, gaining a feeling of relevance and contribution.
After only a year, they felt at home, that they mattered, that they could still make a difference. They were never made to feel like they were a burden or just “another renter” in the neighborhood. My heart is full as I contemplate the Lord’s words in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Well done, Cedar Hills Sixth Ward!

Photograph by Allison Oberg
Sister Rachael Oberg was originally called to the Canada Montreal Mission speaking French. She was excited to serve the Lord but came home due to health reasons after serving for six months.
Sister Oberg was sad to leave her mission in Canada, but she felt prompted to continue her service and move forward with faith. Service missionaries live with immediate or extended family members, so Sister Oberg moved home with her parents and worked with her stake president to transfer to the Oregon Portland Mission, in the area where she lives.
When Sister Oberg served as a teaching missionary in Canada, she felt that she was the voice of the Lord as she taught the Savior’s gospel to others. Now, as a service missionary, she tries to serve as the hands of the Lord.
Sister Oberg said one challenge facing service missionaries “is having that sense of fulfillment in what you do and knowing that it is enough and that Heavenly Father is proud of you.”
Her approach? “It’s about that mindset shift I tried to have. You are serving someone in the hopes that you can become their friend. You are learning how to love other children of God.”
“You are serving someone in the hopes that you can become their friend.”
Under the direction of her mission leader, Sister Oberg has been able to serve in the Portland Oregon Temple, the temple’s visitors’ center, a senior center, and food pantries.
Sister Oberg shared that teaching missions and service missions, though different, are “one and the same. They are both the work. They are both bringing others to … Jesus Christ.”
One of the biggest lessons Sister Oberg’s parents learned from watching her missionary experience is that the Lord has a pattern. “He asks us to do things that are full of surprises and learning opportunities,” said Sister Oberg’s mother, “and when we do them with our whole heart, the outcome is the same: increased trust in our Savior and an increased ability to feel His love for ourselves and those we are serving.”

Even with such deep focus, Juan knows that it’s not easy to stay on target. A few years ago he gained a lot of strength from older young men in his ward. But most of them have moved or have started attending elders quorum, leaving Juan with few Church friends to support him when things got hard. During those times, Juan sought strength from his parents and siblings—and from his Heavenly Father.

“You feel a little alone sometimes because you have different standards, a different way of living, of treating other people, of seeking different things in life. But the truth is,” Juan adds confidently, “you are never alone. We always have prayer, and we can always draw closer to our Heavenly Father. I have always prayed to have the strength to do what’s right, to have the courage to stand up to my friends when they do things that aren’t right.

“And you know what?” he continues. “Sometimes my friends have told me they admire my example and the strength I have to say no.”

Some of the temptations that Juan faced were easy to reject. He could easily say no when a friend would invite him to drink alcohol. That was a clear violation of the commandments.

“But there are times when the temptations are more subtle,” Juan explains. “As it says in the scriptures, sometimes it’s disguised [see Matthew 7:15]. The temptations can appear as though they are nothing bad because they don’t appear to break a specific commandment. That’s when you have to pray to be aware of what’s going on so that you don’t get confused. The Spirit has helped me understand this many times when something is wrong or when people are trying to get me to do bad things.”

As Juan prepares for his mission, he has made some new friends in the Church who support him.

“I’m an example for other youth now, and this has been a blessing for me,” he says. “It helps me understand that the effort to be strong, to be faithful, is worth it.”

by Janet Sorensen
The young members of the Church in Sao Paulo, Brazil, know how to celebrate holidays. One of the biggest holidays in Brazil is Carnaval, a three-day celebration where parades and dancing take place at all hours of the day and night. It is a time when anything goes, and morals seem to be quickly forgotten.
But the LDS youth of Sao Paulo have a better way to celebrate. Every year during Carnaval, the members plan a youth conference away from the city, so the youth can enjoy three days of recreation, learning, and spiritual activities.
Last year they went to the original Sao Paulo stake center (there are now 11 stakes there). It is located at a complex outside of the city, along with the temple and the missionary training center. The group stayed in dormitories, and though they could see the skyscrapers of the city, they were far from the drunken parties and wild people.
For Independence Day, these youth chose sites within their stake boundaries that needed to be cleaned up. All worked together to plant trees, repair curbs, and generally clean the areas. On another Independence Day, they planted more than 400 trees that were donated by the city government. It seemed an impossible task, but they finished the project in half a day because everyone helped.
These Brazilian youth know the best way to celebrate: put the teachings of the gospel into action and let the joy shine through.

James Setterberg was also part of the first generation of missionaries to use Preach My Gospel. When he arrived in the Texas Houston East Mission in 2005, his fellow missionaries had been using the resource for several months. But because of the example of a local priesthood leader, Elder Setterberg realized that the tool’s usefulness wasn’t limited to the missionaries.
“In one area, we missionaries lived in the home of a stake president and his family. Every morning, they got up for scripture study, which included going through the various chapters of Preach My Gospel. That’s when I realized that this book really is for everyone,” he says.
It was a lesson he brought home with him. “Before my mission, I had never really set specific goals for my life; I guess I didn’t want to overshoot things,” he admits. “But because of the emphasis on goal setting from my mission president and chapter 8 of Preach My Gospel, that began to change.”
Weekly planning and goal-setting sessions for two years formed a habit that James has retained since his return home. He has, for example, set and worked toward educational and spiritual goals. He says, “I’ve come to realize that without setting goals, you can’t really tell where you are in life, progression-wise. But when you do set and work toward goals, you stretch yourself and become a better person. I have Preach My Gospel to thank for learning that.”

One summer, my mother and I went on a humanitarian trip to Guatemala. One day, we went to the Semac Champey, a park with pool after pool of deep blue water connected by rock terraces overflowing with water.
Our group hiked up the steep, rugged path to the cliff top overlooking the pools. The hike involved many staircases along a sheer drop-off. Several times we had to stop by a bench just to catch our breath.
After hiking for hours, my mother was winded and tired. She stopped alongside the trail, saying she would join us on our way back down.
I continued about 200 feet farther and came to the clearing with the lookout. The view was beyond words. Hurriedly, I ran back to my mother and encouraged her to come and see it.
As we rested and took in the view, I thought about how that hike is like our lives. Though the pathway of the gospel is straight and narrow, sometimes it seems like a vertical climb. We get discouraged as friends give up or turn back to paths that seem easier. And the adversary is constantly there, telling us that we’re foolish or just not spiritually cut out for the journey.
But we shouldn’t give up. Eternal life, just like that view, will be beyond words. Though we won’t achieve perfection in our mortal state, we can reach any heights through Christ, and He will always be there to help us for those last 200 feet.
Since this experience, I’ve tried to not give up on my hike to heaven. The Lord has blessed me in my efforts to fulfill His commandments and serve others. I know that He will help all of His children. Our part is to keep pressing on.

I want to tell you how I am trying to be like Jesus Christ. I moved from Utah to Pacific Grove, California. My teacher gave me an assignment to make a montage about myself. My mom and I decided to make part of the montage about the Church. I am the only member of the Church in the fifth grade at my new school.
Making the montage answered a lot of questions, like why I don’t play on Sunday, why I don’t swear, and what my gospel standards are. I hope I can be more like Jesus.

One sister with a large family set a goal to make better use of her husband’s salary through using her imagination and talents. One way she saved money was by sewing her small children’s clothing from remnants which she obtained without charge from fabric stores. Harvest time meant lots of free produce for her family, as they obtained permission to gather fruit that fell from the trees at local orchards and processed it for their home storage.

Somehow I knew that Melissa’s surprise would be chocolate chip cookies. We took them down to Mrs. Palmer’s because she invited us for dinner. She’s our landlady and lives on the main floor, under our apartment. She’s not a member of the Church, even though missionaries have lived in her apartment for many years. She invited Will to come to dinner, too, and we waited and waited, but he never showed up. It was very disappointing, and we felt sorry for Mrs. Palmer because we waited so long that the dinner was cold before we started eating. But Mrs. Palmer felt sorry for us, too, so she let us show her the video that we were going to show to Will. Then the three of us ate all Melissa’s cookies. They were delicious! Please give Melissa a big thank-you hug for me.

It wasn’t any big, formal, youth outing. It hadn’t been months in planning. It didn’t involve a long trip to an exotic location. In fact, it sort of came up on the spur of the moment.
Julie Johnstun, a member of the Centerville Fifth Ward Young Women presidency, has some relatives in Mendon, Utah, David and Bette Kotter, who live near open fields and a big, high hill. The Kotters, members of the Mendon Second Ward, invited the Centerville youth to come snowshoeing, and it didn’t take but a moment for the invitation to be accepted.
What resulted was a winter activity that could have been held by any ward anywhere in the Church, given enough snow. And that’s the point. Because even though it was just something to do on a Saturday afternoon, both the leaders and the youth learned they could have fun close to home, that it’s being together and sharing together that build memories that will last long after winter’s chill is gone.
For a week, moist, heavy air had been blowing north from Mexico and southern California. But the front had stalled when it slammed into the subzero slopes of the Cache Valley mountains. And there it had unloaded. Mendon and the surrounding hills were mounded in white—white deeper and softer than coconut cream pie.
The challenge was to learn how to walk on the cream.
“Don’t worry, the snowshoes will get you through,” said Rodney Brown, 14, ever the optimist.
“Yea,” said Kyle Owen, 14, sitting on a snowbank nearby. “But first you have to figure out how to put them on!”
The rubber strips and rawhide laces were a bit hard to untangle, and sometimes the laces were quite stiff. But that didn’t slow down Jerri Taylor, 16, and Becky Marcantelli, 17. They already had their shoes on and were taking their first wobbly, uncertain steps across the drifts.
“This isn’t so haaaaard … ,” Becky said as she lost her balance and tumbled, pulling Jerri with her into the snow.
“Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again,” became the motto of the day.
It wasn’t long before all of the young men and women in the ward were stretched out in a long line, waddling up the hill like some pack of abominable snowmen.
“You have to lift your feet just right,” Justin Browning, 14, said. “If you don’t, you’ll catch part of the shoe and fall over. But lifting just right means walking funny.”
“I finally got tired of the snowshoes, so I took them off,” said Laurie Jordan, 14. “The snow was crusty and I walked along okay for a minute. But then I hit the powder, and the next thing I knew, I was in up to my waist.”
While Scoutmaster Norm Beers and one of the deacons, David Kidd, helped dig Laurie out, fog started drifting back into the valley. Soon it was so thick that seeing became difficult. What had been a land of blue sky and white landscapes became a murky world of gray—gray air, gray snow, shadowy figures still hiking up the hill.
“Hey, who turned off the sun?” said Vincent McCorkle, 14.
“Are we gonna wander around in this stuff all day?” said Shane Curtis, 15.
It became apparent that the only way out of the fog was to walk out—or more accurately, to climb out. The faster snowshoers, like 17-year-old Bart Tingey, broke through the clouds and shouted back that it was clear up above.
“Hurry up,” Bart said. “This is neat.”
“Knowing there was something up there worth seeing made me keep climbing,” said Michele Wenzel, 14. “I was tired, but I was curious.”
Michele and her friend Appen Sill, 14, were in the last group to reach the summit. But the view was worth the hike.
All around, fog filled the valleys. But here and there mountain peaks poked through like purple islands in a white sea. And the sky was blue, the kind of crisp, clear blue that only hill climbers get to see.
“It was like that hill was our own little refuge, where we could climb up and see for miles,” said Troy Wenzel, 18. “I don’t know when we’d ever go there and have the exact same conditions to do that again.”
A quorum instructor or a Young Women teacher could have seized on the moment to paint an analogy, a comparison with the youth of the Church who sometimes wander in the fog of the world, but who will come to see the light of day if they’ll listen to the right voice and rise above the clouds.
It could have been said. But at the moment, nobody said a thing. There was total calm. Just for a moment. Then there was tubing, snowball throwing, tobogganing, skiing, and long hikes back to the Kotters’ house for lunch and then to the cars for the trip home.
It wasn’t until months later, when Young Men President Kim Wall was teaching the priests, that the lesson came full circle.
First he read the scripture:
“But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9).
Then he said, “Remember that afternoon up in Mendon? Think about wandering in the fog. Think about how you felt when somebody called down to you and told you the view was worth the hike.”
“Yea,” said Steve Dalrymple, 16, the newest member of the quorum. “I was there. This scripture is just like that.”

President Thomas S. Monson is a great example of this principle. In January of 2005, he was presiding over a priesthood leadership conference in Puerto Rico when he demonstrated how the Savior and His servants render service through personal ministry. At the conclusion of that wonderful meeting, President Monson began to greet all the priesthood leaders in attendance. Suddenly, he noticed that one of them was watching everything from afar, off by himself.

President Monson walked away from the group, toward that brother, and spoke to him. With emotion, José R. Zayas told him it was a miracle that he had approached him and an answer to the prayers that he and his wife, Yolanda, had offered before the meeting. He told President Monson that his daughter was in very poor health and that he had with him a letter from his wife that she wanted delivered to President Monson. Brother Zayas had told his wife that it would be impossible since President Monson would be too busy. President Monson listened to the story and asked for the letter, which he read silently. Then he put it in his suit pocket and told Brother Zayas that he would take care of their request.

In this way, that family was touched by our Lord, Jesus Christ, through His servant. I believe the words of the Savior in the parable of the good Samaritan apply to us: “Go, and do thou likewise.”