Gospel Story Finder

My wife’s father, Leslie James Anderson, grew up in the small town of Manti, Utah. In 1919 when Les was only 14 years old, Sanpete County built a road up Manti Canyon using what was then a common method of detonating black blasting powder to remove difficult rocks and sharp canyon walls that could not be subdued any other way. Late that summer, Les, his cousin and best friend, Lyle Anderson, and two other friends decided to go up that new canyon road to fish and camp overnight at the Corduroy Reservoir. These young, adventuresome boys loaded their camping gear in a one-horse buggy and started up the canyon as a foursome, without any adult supervisors.

As you can imagine, these boys were about as happy as Tom Sawyer to be on an overnighter on their own. I can imagine them now, cheerfully and playfully making their way up the canyon road, anticipating all the fun and adventure that awaited them. On the way, the boys found along the side of the road a supply of the explosive black powder that had been left behind by the road builders. Les and his cousin, Lyle, were intrigued and excited by this discovery and instantly imagined the fun they could have with the powder that night around the campfire. They eagerly filled their pockets and a hat with as much black powder as they could hold.

Later on that afternoon when they arrived at the camp, they turned their horse loose to return home to Manti, knowing the horse would be needed at home and that on their return they could pull the little buggy down hill by themselves. After pitching their camp and building a campfire, the boys thought they’d have some fun. At about 9 o’clock that evening, Les and Lyle started throwing some of the black powder into the fire and watching it explode with a bang. But with one of these explosions, a spark landed in the hat filled with powder and ignited it. It exploded and then ignited the powder in their pockets. In an instant, the air was filled with piercing screams, and the boys’ clothing was a mass of flames. The two boys in the tent rushed out to help Les and Lyle, but they couldn’t put out the flames until the clothing was almost entirely burned off, and Les and Lyle were covered with deep burns. The other boys wrapped quilts around Les and Lyle and placed them as gently as possible in the buggy and then started pulling the buggy down the canyon in the dark.

All the way down the canyon, the two badly burnt boys kept calling for water. In fact, at one point Les could hear water running in the creek close to the road. The buggy was going quite slowly at that moment, so Les rolled himself out of the buggy and into the water. Les said later that he thought this saved his life as the cool water eased the pain of his burns.

Les’ cousin and best friend, Lyle, was not as fortunate; he stayed in the buggy near death as they returned down the rocky road to Manti, finally arriving home at about 11:00 p.m. Despite a constant vigil of medical attention throughout the night, the next morning Lyle died.

It took Les two years to recuperate, including one full year of missed school. When I met him at age fifty-three, although his face was scar-free, he still had deep scars from his feet all the way up his back and along his arms. Thanks to the fasting and prayers of the good people of Manti and his own sheer will, he healed well enough to embrace the responsibilities of adulthood and live a full life. He served his country in World War II as a Bombardment Squadron Commander in Italy, rising to the rank of colonel in the Army Air Corps. He returned safely after the war, was eventually elected Mayor of Manti, and served faithfully in the Manti South Ward bishopric. The fruit of his faithfulness is manifest today in a large and faithful posterity.

Another time when I was feeling aimless was during my final year of university. Life was tough. It was during the pandemic, so I was depressed while I was stuck at home finishing classes. There was such a lack of direction and connection in my life.
I even struggled with church at this time. I often had to make myself roll out of bed in my pajamas to listen to sacrament meeting online because that’s all the motivation I could muster.
During this dark period, I reached out to my family and friends and explained to them how aimless and depressed I felt. I didn’t feel like I had any hope for the future and didn’t know how things were going to work out. And that’s when they told me that they were praying for me and supporting me even though they were far away.
As I reached out to loved ones who have deep faith and as I prayed to Heavenly Father with just an inkling of spiritual motivation, I felt sustaining support and love.

As the time for the Festa Del Grillo (Festival of the Cricket) drew near in Florence, Romano was ready. He had been saving his money and knew the cricket he wanted to buy.
The coins jingled in his pocket as he hurried to the cricket shop.
“If my cricket is judged the best singer in the Festa Del Grillo,” Romano murmured, “it could bring happiness back to my family. A singing cricket always brings good luck.”
Romano remembered the smiles of his mother and father and the singing in their home before his little brother became terribly ill. Now that his brother was gone, there was no singing and only a rare smile. Maybe the cricket will help, he hoped. Romano knew he must choose his cricket well to get a singer.
A tiny bell rang as the boy opened the door to the shop. Many people bought crickets at this time of the year, and there were many from which to choose.
“Buon giorno (good morning),” he said to the shopkeeper. “I want to buy a cricket that is a good singer. See the cage I have made for him.”
“It is a fine cage,” said the shopkeeper. “And I have a fine cricket for it. Look closely, now, Romano. There is only a tiny stripe on this one, but it marks him for a good singer.”
“I shall take him then,” said Romano. He spread out his money for the shopkeeper to see. “This is all I have,” he said.
The shopkeeper gathered up several of the coins. “This is just right,” he said. “Just what I must have for that fine cricket.”
Romano put the cricket inside the cage and fastened the tiny door. “I hope he sings well,” said the boy. “My family needs some good luck.”
“As we all do,” said the shopkeeper, nodding. “With so many crickets, I cannot be certain which ones are singing the loudest. All I can tell you is that there is a lot of singing here in my shop. And he has the yellow stripe. He looks like he’ll be a singer.”
Several times on his way home, Romano stopped and put the cage up to his ear, but he heard nothing. Suppose after I spent my money the cricket won’t sing! he worried. But it must! The boy looked again for the tiny yellow stripe. Seeing it, he was reassured.
“See what a fine cricket I have,” he said to his parents when he had returned home. “He will bring us good luck when he begins to sing.”
His father looked up from his paper and nodded.
“Has he sung for you already?” asked his mother.
“Not yet,” replied Romano. “Perhaps he is hungry,” said his mother. “It is hard to sing when your stomach or your heart is hurting with emptiness.”
“That’s true,” said Romano. “I’ll go to the garden and get him a lettuce leaf. Then he’s sure to sing!”
The cricket began at once to make uneven scallops all along the edge of the ruffled leaf. But then it stopped. And still it did not sing.
That night it was quiet in the small apartment. Romano remembered when they had lived in the little country house and he and his brother had laughed together while his parents played music and sang. But tonight not even the cricket sang. His parents did not smile, nor did Romano.
On the morning of the Festa Del Grillo, Romano scrubbed himself until his face and his hair were as shiny as his dark eyes. He put on his best trousers and his bright red shirt and walked along beside his parents, carrying the cage. His mother’s blue flowered skirt softly swished as she walked, but that was about the only sound Romano heard. The cricket in the cage remained silent.
At the festival there was music, and friends greeted each other. There were also many things to buy and crickets that sang. The judges came by his cricket several times. Romano waited by the cage and listened and hoped. But his cricket did not sing.
Romano’s heart was heavy as he returned to the apartment. He had the same feeling that he had known before, one of being almost smothered by the high buildings. He longed for soft grass under his feet instead of the hard sidewalks and for the open country where he could sing without feeling closed in.
My cricket’s closed in! Could that be the reason it doesn’t sing? he wondered. He must give it one more chance. If only it would sing, just once, it might bring good luck to their home for a whole year. And so the boy waited. But no sound came.
At dusk he took the cage and left the apartment. He carried the cricket out to a hill beyond the city. There he stopped and opened the cage. And as the cricket took flight, the sound came that he had been waiting for. Yes! It was singing!
But it’s too late, thought Romano as he turned toward home. His cricket did not win at the Festa Del Grillo. Neither did it sing to bring good luck to their home. But in his sadness there was a tiny glow of happiness as he thought of his cricket flying free. Somewhere, at this very moment, it would still be singing.
As he neared his home he could see a light in the window. His parents were there in its glow, waiting for him. He held up the cage.
“The cricket!” exclaimed his father. “It is gone?”
“Yes,” said Romano. “He did not like the cage.”
His mother nodded. “That is good,” she said.
Romano shook his head. “But now there will be no good luck. We would have had it for a whole year if only he had sung in our home.”
His father arose and put an arm around the shoulders of the boy. “To turn the cricket free when the festival is over is a great kindness,” he said. “And even now, we have good luck. We have a son who wants happiness for a small cricket.”
Romano looked at his parents. On their faces he saw the smiles he had been longing for. He thought of his cricket, flying far and free. A good feeling crept over him, and in his heart, he, too, was singing.

I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be Thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.

I helped take care of Grandma Pinegar a few Sundays ago. Grandma is 99 and very frail. She is blind and quite deaf, and recently it has become difficult for her to talk in more than a whisper. Her little body is so bent over that there is not much room in her lungs for air.
I leaned close to her and asked, “Grandma, tell me how the gospel has blessed your life.” She whispered softly and shared her gratitude for the promptings and guidance she had received from the Holy Ghost.
When her second child, James, was 18 months old, he and his older brother were playing outside and she was watching them from the window. Suddenly she couldn’t see him and ran from the house, calling and searching frantically. There was water in the irrigation ditch that shouldn’t have been there, and she searched along the edge of the ditch and could see nothing. She ran for the hired hands to come and help and ran back to where the ditch went through a long culvert. Running to the other end of the culvert, she saw two little shoes, and pulled on them. When she had her son in her arms, she was prompted to clasp her hands together and place them under his stomach and carry him in front of her in this way, using her knee to hold some of his weight. She ran toward the road, crying for help. The promptings she received to carry him in such an unnatural manner saved his life.
Brothers and sisters, I am personally grateful for the promptings we received as a Primary presidency. During the general conference when we were sustained, President Gordon B. Hinckley described some of the terrible atrocities that have been inflicted on children throughout the world. We read in newspapers and periodicals of the evil influences that are invading our homes.
As a new and very concerned Primary presidency, we prayed and searched the scriptures and were led to a verse in Isaiah that describes conditions during the Millennium: “They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord” (Isa. 11:9). That was exactly what we wanted to have happen. We didn’t want any child to be hurt or destroyed, but we didn’t want to wait for the Millennium. We wanted that to happen right now. If our Primaries were full of the knowledge of the Lord, if our homes were full of the knowledge of the Lord, there would be peace and righteousness and the children would not be hurt in any way. We prayed to know how we could help that happen and were led to 2 Nephi 25:26. Our homes and our Primaries will be full of the knowledge of the Lord when “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ.”
We are so grateful for the peace and hope these scriptures gave us and for the direction we received through the Holy Ghost to encourage Primary leaders to have Christ-centered Primaries.

Illustration by Stan Fellows
I buckled my daughter into the well-worn car seat. Our budget was tight, so I was grateful for the recent hand-me-down. It served as a booster seat since my daughter had outgrown her previous car seat. I looked forward to running errands on that beautiful day.
We pulled into our first stop, the library. As I unstrapped my daughter, I noticed a young Hispanic woman parked next to us. A baby, unable to fully support himself, sat directly on the back seat, hunched into a little ball. The young mother struggled to cinch the seat belt tight enough for his small form. I had two thoughts.
“She doesn’t have a car seat for her baby. I could give her mine.”
And then I talked myself out of it.
“She probably doesn’t speak English. I might offend her. My car seat is awfully worn; maybe she wouldn’t want it. If she did, how would I replace it?”
So I did nothing.
She slipped into the driver’s seat and drove away.
Before I reached the library’s doors, regret engulfed me. I knew I had made the wrong choice, and there was no way to undo it.
I pulled on the doors but they didn’t budge. The library hadn’t opened yet. I spent the rest of my errand run endlessly replaying the scene, haunted by the fact that I had done nothing.
After my last errand, I decided to try the library again. I pulled into the same parking spot as before. To my surprise, I saw the same mother and son parked beside me again. An immense burden lifted from my heart.
This time I acted without hesitation. I unbuckled my child’s car seat and approached the young mother. She didn’t speak English. With gestures, I pointed to her baby and the car seat and her car. Together we buckled the car seat in the car. As I showed her how to use it, I realized I already knew the only Spanish I needed to know: “gracias.”
My heart overflowed with gratitude to a merciful Heavenly Father for giving me a second chance to help a sister in need.
I added one final errand to the list—a nearby thrift store. I buckled in my daughter and drove carefully to the store. In the back corner of the shop, sitting on the floor, was a car seat—identical to the one I had just given away and just as worn. I purchased it, awed and humbled at the morning’s sequence of events.
Through the Savior’s gentle but effective teaching, the lesson had been planted deep into my heart: follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost—the first time.

Isaac Ernsten pulls on a pair of rubber gloves while one of the other young men in the quorum helps tie a hospital gown over his white shirt and tie. They all put on surgical masks and make sure they have both the sacrament trays before they walk into the hospital room. The man in the bed is one of many who has requested that the young men bring the sacrament to him.
Each Sunday, patients in the Salt Lake Regional Medical Center who can’t make it to church have church brought to them by the young men from the Salt Lake Emigration Stake. During the months of January and July, it’s the responsibility of the young men from the 21st North Ward.
“In church, some people take the sacrament just because it’s a part of the sacrament meeting,” says Isaac, a priest who helps bring the sacrament to hospital patients. “These people have to request that the sacrament be brought to them. I think it means a lot to them. Some of them are so happy to see us when we get there. I can tell that they really want the sacrament.”
Most of the young men will admit that sometimes it makes them a bit nervous to be around people who are seriously injured or dying, but they feel it is their duty, and they enjoy doing it. And even though the man in the hospital bed does not feel well, he is happy to see them come in.
The stained glass windows around the small chapel glow with the bright light from outside. The hospital branch uses a chapel that was built by the Catholic Church when the hospital was known as Holy Cross Hospital. More than half the congregation is made up of the young men from the 21st North Ward, and there are fewer than a dozen of them. Others in attendance include the branch presidency, Relief Society presidency, a few patients who feel well enough to leave their beds, and some hospital staff.
It takes one deacon only a few minutes to pass the sacrament to everyone. Then the young men put on the sacrament meeting program. They give the talks, offer the prayers, and fill in wherever else they are needed.
“In our home ward, preparing the sacrament can sometimes become routine,” says Abe Daris, a priest who has helped prepare, bless, or pass the sacrament at the hospital since he was a deacon. “Not that it should be routine, but here it is something more. It makes me realize how important the sacrament is. Even if there are only one or two members who show up, it’s still important enough for a whole quorum to help out a branch president and conduct a sacrament meeting. It’s important that members renew their covenants every week and feel the Spirit.”
After the meeting, the young men visit the individual rooms of people who have requested the sacrament. “That’s my favorite part,” Abe says. “It makes me realize how important the sacrament is to people. When we come with the sacrament, they just light up, and they’re so excited.”
All of the priesthood holders can remember specific people and experiences in the hospital that strengthened their testimonies. Abe remembers a woman who was very ill. “She had a lot of trouble breathing,” he said. “She couldn’t talk at all and could barely move. Even though we couldn’t communicate verbally, we could see in her eyes that she was happy to receive the sacrament. We smiled at her, and she smiled back. We could feel the Spirit and knew she appreciated it. It’s hard to explain. You had to be there.”
One of Abe’s brothers, Jeremiah, a teacher, remembers helping a woman who couldn’t move to take the sacrament. “I had to hold the sacrament water out and pour it into her mouth,” he says. “That was probably one of the more memorable experiences. I was helping someone who couldn’t do it for herself. She was really happy to get the sacrament. I’m sure she was glad I was there.”
Before they bless the sacrament and pass it to the patients, Simon Williams, one of the teachers, enjoys visiting. “There are all sorts of people there. Sometimes we visit new mothers, and sometimes we visit older people,” he says. “When you are in a hospital, I think you have a lot of time to think about life. People start thinking about what they’ve done in the past and start thinking more about Heavenly Father and the gospel. I think taking the sacrament for the people in the hospital can mean more for them than for many people because a lot of the people in the hospital are going to have some pretty big changes in their lives.”
Each week as the young men give service in the hospital, they receive something themselves. One thing they all agree on is that their assignment has given them a greater understanding of the importance of the sacrament. “A lot of times in my home ward I don’t really take the chance to think about what the sacrament means because I’m focused on passing it,” Simon says. “Sometimes we take the sacrament for granted. But it really stands for something amazing.”
The youth feel it is their duty to serve others. But no matter how much they give, they say they are the ones who are rewarded most. “We have such a good time doing it that it’s not really like it’s a sacrifice,” Abe says. “When you’ve been given so much, you have to serve and help other people. This has just been another way for us to give back, and not only to help other people, but to grow ourselves. Our duty to God is to serve Him by serving other people.”

“Utah School for the Blind”—I turned my car into the school’s driveway and glanced at my watch. I had had trouble finding the address, and I was late for an appointment at 12:00 to meet with Scott Jeppson from American Fork, Utah. He had recently been awarded the Eagle badge, an outstanding achievement and an especially remarkable one for him. Scott was born with an eye disease called glaucoma, and by the time he was twelve, due to the glaucoma and a list of other medical complications, he was totally blind.
Scott was waiting at the edge of the parking lot when I drove in. The first thing I noticed about him was his smile. He had the biggest, brightest smile I’d ever seen. After shaking hands with him and introducing myself, I apologized for being late.
“I got lost,” I explained.
“Well, that’s okay,” he said. “That happens to me a lot, too. If we hurry we might still be able to get some lunch.”
Scott led me across the campus as fast as I could walk. I didn’t understand how he could go so quickly when he couldn’t see until I realized that he had every square foot of the place memorized. After lunch we followed Scott’s regular schedule: reading class, swimming, and history. Scott reads using the Braille system and by using a machine called an opticon. The opticon converts regular printed material into vibrations in the shape of letters that are read with a single finger.
After the classes were over, I got a chance to talk casually with Scott as we sat on the grass in the sun. There was a group of students playing softball below us. The game was the same as regular softball except the ball had an electronic beeper in it.
I asked about the problems he’d had adjusting to his handicap.
“It took a lot of adjustment,” he said. “I just do the things I need to do first—pray, study the scriptures, and attend church. I’ve also been blessed with a good family and friends. I can work out most of the problems, and if I can’t work them out, I can get a lot of help.
“I also believe that I’m the only person who can make me happy. I work out the problems, just like anyone else, and I try to smile through discouragement.”
Scott holds the office of a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. He helps prepare and bless the sacrament. He gives talks, using notes in braille, and goes home teaching. In Scouting, since he has earned his Eagle, he is now working toward Scouting’s next higher awards, the Palms.
Last summer Scott and 17 other members of his stake went on a three-day handcart trek. The first day they pushed their carts 26 miles. The second day turkeys were turned loose. The members of the companies were blindfolded and told to catch them. Scott caught the turkey for his group.
On the last day of his trip each one went out by himself.
“That gave me a chance to think,” Scott said. “I had a lot to think about—about reaching goals, about what kind of member of the Church I was. I needed to take everything further. I needed to take what I was further. I realized the only thing stopping me was myself.”
It was over a year ago when first met Scott. He’s 17 now. Scott has changed in a year. He’s grown. His goals for the future include a temple marriage, missionary work, college, and a career in teaching. “I’ll find a way to reach my goals,” he said, smiling. “After all, you’re the only person who can make you happy.”
Scott’s smile? It has changed too. It’s even bigger.

Last August, I had an important decision to make. I could either go to Young Women camp with my ward or attend a volleyball camp. I would be trying out for the volleyball team at school, and the volleyball camp was highly encouraged. It showed you were dedicated if you attended it. I had been praying about whether I should go to Young Women camp or volleyball camp. I had a strong impression to go to Young Women camp.
The biggest lesson I learned at Young Women camp was about blessings we receive when we follow the Lord. The following week, I went to tryouts. I made the volleyball team and progressed to varsity at the end of the season. My testimony grew immensely. I know whenever we are faced with decisions, we can pray and receive answers.

They were known everywhere they went. They were members of the best football team around, which made them members of the most popular groups on campus—in town—in the state. At every turn there was an encouraging word, a friendly smile, a jovial pat on the back. Their names were in the papers; their faces were on T.V. Their lives were a dream. Yet they willingly traded those dreams in for a hard dose of reality.
More than just voluntarily, they eagerly exchanged all that fame and glory for obscurity, taking little heed of the effect it would have on their futures. They traded the warm handshakes for indifferent shrugs, the encouraging words for curious glances. Only a handful, if that many people, knew them, and they were hundreds of miles away from those who cared for and loved them.
Yet Bart Oates, starting center for the New York Giants, and Trevor Matich, 1985’s first-round draft pick of the New England Patriots, claim they would do it again in a second. They feel their choice to interrupt their promising college football careers to serve missions was one of the most important decisions they ever made. And they acknowledge the fact that they wouldn’t be where they are today if they hadn’t served.
“When I made the decision to go on a mission, a lot of people thought I was crazy,” relates Trevor. “I’d played two seasons of football at BYU. I’d made varsity as a freshman—the only freshman on the varsity offense that year. I’d received two championship rings. I’d been to two Holiday Bowls. And I was going to leave it all to go on a mission?
“But they didn’t understand my motivation. Going through my mind was the fact that football is good and football is important, but someday football is going to end. Where would I be on that day if I based my entire life on football? I thought of what doesn’t end, and that’s my relationship with God, with my family, and with our church.
“So I left football, knowing that I might not ever play again. But even if I didn’t there would be no regrets, because the most important thing would be taken care of.”
Deep sentiments from a deep man. Trevor belies the stereotypical offensive lineman image. At age 24 he is eloquent without being arrogant, which is an accomplishment, since he had barely finished helping BYU win the national football championship when New England snatched him up to play center.
Although the Patriots offered Trevor a salary that competes with the best of them, you won’t see him flaunting it. He’s still most comfortable in a plain shirt and his old Levi’s with the strings from his Super Bowl field pass attached. Trevor had to watch his team play in the Super Bowl from the sidelines because, in the first game of the season, a gang of Green Bay Packers fell on his ankle. That, much to his frustration, left him on injured reserve for the rest of the season. But Trevor has high hopes for this, his second season.
When he’s not working with the team, Trevor often finds time to travel home to Sacramento, California, where he likes nothing better than watching his younger brother play basketball. In Boston, where the Patriots are based, he spends a lot of time counseling youth at the Gabler House, a home for children who are wards of the state.
Bart Oates doesn’t exactly fit the bruising stereotype either, although he says he’s “too fat and too slow to be anything other than an offensive lineman.” In fact, “jolly” might be the first word you think of when you see him, with his perpetual smile, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes. It’s a good thing too, because at 6 foot, 3 inches and 265 pounds, the man could be rather intimidating without a smile.
At age 27, he has already had four years of experience with professional football. He was drafted out of BYU to play with the Philadelphia Stars of the newly formed United States Football League, where he stayed for three years. Just last year his contract with the USFL expired, and he decided to make the switch to the National Football League. His play at center helped the Giants to a division title, and they have higher hopes this year.
When he’s not playing football, he’s studying law at Seton Hall University in New Jersey, playing racquetball, spending time with his wife and two small sons, or serving as assistant nursery leader in the Emerson Ward, Caldwell New Jersey Stake.
Bart feels the same way Trevor does about his choice to serve. “The decision to go on a mission was easy. It was just the right thing to do. And you know, when I went, I made up my mind I was not going to return to football. That was the only way I could serve well. Instead of suffering the mental anguish of going through two years of thinking ‘I’ve got to stay in shape so I can play when I get back,’ I put it all out of my mind, and in so doing I was able to concentrate on my mission.”
So out they went. Bart served in the Nevada, Las Vegas Mission from 1977–79, and Trevor served in the Mexico Torreon Mission from 1981–82. They were to learn many things in the mission field that they readily admit they would have missed had they stayed on the football field.
“It gave me a new perspective on life,” Bart says. “Before that, football was my life—it was my god, really, in that, first and foremost, everything I did was toward making me a better football player, and everything else came second. But my mission helped me to realize that the spiritual aspects of living are more important than anything we can do as far as personal glory goes.”
Trevor adds a few more lessons learned in the mission field. “When I first got to Mexico, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. There were people living in one-room houses about the size of my bedroom, with eight kids and maybe one bed, a chair, and a table. The door would be a curtain hanging down. You see other people put up four stakes, wrap butcher paper around them, and that’s their house.
“But the thing that struck me was that amidst all that lack of physical comfort, the people were happy. I mean, they were really happy. As time went on, I came to know that they placed very little value on material things, and a lot of value on people—the family—relationships. Mexico is very family oriented, and I think that’s one of the reasons why the Church is growing so fast down there. People love each other, and that’s their life. That became my life too.”
The mission experience, however, was not all smiles and tears of joy. At times, both Bart and Trevor met with hostility, pain, and frustration. No grueling spring training, no brutal two-a-day practices, no bone-jarring games can match the hardships Trevor felt. “I had some very trying times,” he relates. “But the motivating factor to keep on going was that I knew that at the point where I said ‘Stop! I can’t take any more!’ my progression would stop. So I just kept right on going.”
And Bart knows that no stunning football victory, no league or world championship, could ever match the elation he felt in the mission field when, for example, one of his closest investigators finally saw the gospel light. “His wife and kids were already members,” Bart relates, “and he just didn’t want to make a commitment. We got to be really close, great friends. Then one night I asked him if he would be willing to pray to our Heavenly Father to find out if the Church was true. He agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and the whole family knelt down to pray with him. The Spirit came over us and everyone in the room felt it. I said, ‘Fred, do you know what you’re feeling?’ He couldn’t deny it. I said, ‘You know you want to be baptized,’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”
Neither Bart nor Trevor would pass up those types of experiences—not even if they had known what they would go through when they returned to football.
“My mission did not help my football,” Bart says. “Some guys go out and expect that since they’re making a sacrifice for the Lord, the Lord is going to bless them by improving their football skills. That’s not the case.” Toward the end of his mission Bart did rise at 4:30 A.M. for conditioning workouts. (“All my companions wanted to be transferred. I know that,” he laughs.) But he wasn’t a superman when he returned. He had to scramble to regain his skills and reflexes.
“I wasn’t better than I was before my mission,” he confides. “I wasn’t even as good. But it didn’t take me long to get back into shape.” Bart also notes that by the time he returned to BYU, the starting center ahead of him had graduated, and the position was open to Bart for the next three years, whereas he would have been second string two of those three years had he chosen to stay and play.
Trevor’s absence from football didn’t help his skills, and didn’t help his size either. “I left at about 235 pounds, and I came back at about 207,” he said. “Most guys have their mothers greeting them at the airport saying, ‘Great to have you back, son,’ but all my mother said was ‘Oh Trevor, you look so thin.’ To be honest with you, the coaches were worried. But when I got home, I lifted a lot of weights and ate everything that was slower than me—lots of pizza and chocolate chip cookies. It helps to have a mom who has a master’s degree in nutrition.”
Trevor’s mother not only played a major role in filling him out when he returned, but she also helped to form his character before he left. Trevor’s parents divorced when he was young, leaving his mother alone with four children. Besides Trevor, Carol Matich has managed to raise Maren, 25, who sings with the San Diego Opera, Krestin, 21, a runner-up in the Miss Sacramento Pageant, and Dever, 19, an All-Northern California basketball star.
Bart’s family had a great influence on him as well. His father, Bob, who was a tremendous athlete himself, started Bart playing football when he was only eight years old. Bart’s two brothers and three sisters were all very active, especially Brad, who preceded Bart into the ranks of professional football. When Bart was drafted by the USFL, they drafted Brad as well, and the two brothers played together for three seasons.
Bart is now influencing his own family. There’s four-year-old Derek, six-month-old Zack, and, of course the former Michelle Ivins, a convert Bart met at BYU and married in the Salt Lake Temple when he’d been home from his mission just under two years.
Michelle readily recognizes what an important influence Bart’s mission had on his life. In the somewhat glamorous world of professional sports, it’s easy to become conceited and self-absorbed, but she says Bart is the opposite. “His mission taught him selflessness,” she says. “I’ve noticed in our marriage and in his dealing with others that he is very conscious of the other person’s needs. Instead of trying to make himself look good, he tries to make the other person feel good. That’s an attribute that going on a mission helps to develop. You’re not out there to build yourself up, but to build others up and bring light into their lives.”
It’s been several years now since Bart and Trevor were released, but their missions are never far behind them. Both serve as stake missionaries and have the opportunity to draw on their mission experiences daily. Neither lives in an area with a large LDS population, and people are always curious about their beliefs.
The Boston media, in particular, was curious about Trevor’s religion. When he signed his contract with the Patriots, the local headlines read, “Ex-missionary to get new mission on Pats—BYU Mormon center must protect passer” and “Matich’s new mission: Patriots.” The papers carried detailed accounts of Trevor’s missionary experiences in Mexico and couldn’t resist mentioning that they inspired him to be a “dedicated disciple of the work ethic.”
The Oates find people in New Jersey curious about Latter-day Saints too. They belong to a group of Christian athletes and their wives who meet regularly for Bible study and fellowship. “I was a little reluctant to go at first,” confides Michelle, “because our beliefs are so different from most other denominations. But I decided to take the time and go because they talk about leading a Christlike life, and I wanted to be associated with people who are interested in that.” More than once the Oates have had the opportunity to explain LDS beliefs to the group.
So life in the world of professional athletics goes on for these two ex-missionaries, but they’ll tell you it has a deeper dimension, a brighter sheen because they served. Giving up a few years in college seems like a small sacrifice when they consider all they got in return. Neither feels he would be in the position he is today if he hadn’t answered the missionary call.
Trevor speaks for both of them when he says, “The things that I learned and the changes that came about in me, as well as the changes I was able to be a part of in the lives of others, were something I’d trade all the football and all the pro contracts in the world for. My mission was a great influencing factor in my life.”

Some of you older men may remember the Rose Bowl football game of 1929, when a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the goal of his opponent. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own team, preventing a touchdown. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player. He lived to be eighty-four, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

Image © Hemera/Thinkstock, iStock/Thinkstock
During my college days, I was one of a class of students appointed to fieldwork as a part of our prescribed courses in geology. …
A certain assignment had kept us in the field many days. … As the time allotted to the investigation drew near its close, we were overtaken by a violent windstorm, followed by a heavy snow—unseasonable and unexpected, but which, nevertheless, increased in intensity so that we were in danger of being snowbound in the hills. The storm reached its height while we were descending a long and steep mountainside several miles from the little railway station at which we had hoped to take [a] train that night for home. With great effort we reached the station late at night while the storm was yet raging. …
… The train for which we so expectantly and hopefully waited was the Owl Express—a fast night train connecting large cities. …
Long after midnight the train arrived in a terrific whirl of wind and snow. I lingered behind my companions as they hurriedly clambered aboard, for I was attracted by the engineer, who during the brief stop, while his assistant was attending to the water replenishment, bustled about the engine, oiling some parts, adjusting others, and generally overhauling the panting locomotive. I ventured to speak to him, busy though he was. I asked how he felt on such a night—wild, weird, and furious, when the powers of destruction seemed to be let loose, abroad and uncontrolled, when the storm was howling and when danger threatened from every side. …
His answer was a lesson not yet forgotten. In effect he said, though in jerky and disjointed sentences: “Look at the engine headlight. Doesn’t that light up the track for a hundred yards [90 m] or more? Well, all I try to do is to cover that hundred yards of lighted track. That I can see, and for that distance I know the roadbed is open and safe. … The light of the engine is always ahead of me!”
As he climbed to his place in the cab, I hastened to board the first passenger coach; and as I sank into the cushioned seat, in blissful enjoyment of the warmth and general comfort, offering strong contrast to the wildness of the night without, I thought deeply of the words of the grimy, oil-stained engineer. They were full of faith—the faith that accomplishes great things, the faith that gives courage and determination. …
We may not know what lies ahead of us in the future years, nor even in the days or hours immediately beyond. But for a few yards, or possibly only a few feet, the track is clear, our duty is plain, our course is illumined. For that short distance, for the next step, lighted by the inspiration of God, go on!

A few years ago, while on a mission tour in Europe, I was asked to interview a young man who was recently out and wanted to go home. He had not been away from home before in his life and he was homesick and in despair in a strange country. He had actually run away once, but had come back.
I had quite a conversation with this young man, and from my own missionary experience I knew something of the despair that can come into the life of a missionary when he first goes into the field and begins to make that initial adjustment. If he can just hang on through those early trials, then gradually he will get into the spirit of his mission and find the peace and joy that every missionary has a right to experience.
At first he was adamant in his desire to return home, but gradually the spirit of the conversation began to change. We talked about his call from a prophet. We talked about the love of his parents and their desire for him to stay and succeed. We talked about those he had been called among to teach, and finally I asked, “Elder, do your father and mother want you home?”
His answer was, “No.”
“Well, do your brothers and sisters want you home?”
And he said, “No.”
Then I said, “Does your girl friend really want you home?”
And he said, “I guess not.”
I then said, “Elder, does anyone want you home right now?”
He said, “I guess not,” and then he said with a new determination, “Brother Dunn, I think maybe I better try to stay.” He had made a vitally important decision in his life—he had decided to hang on.
The months passed and one day my secretary asked if I could take a minute to see a recently returned missionary. As I walked out of my office, there was this same missionary. I didn’t recognize him at first, he seemed taller because he was standing straight. Unlike the first time, he looked me right in the eye, and his whole countenance was smiling. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I shall never forget his image. He was going home now, a servant of the Lord, having completed an honorable mission. His roots were reaching downward; and although there will be the usual trials ahead, he knows something of what it means to hang on for a while longer when everything looks its darkest.

On a different occasion, a BYU-I student went back to her home in Texas for the summer a few years ago. She was looking forward to seeing conference on her local cable TV. To her chagrin, the conference proceedings were canceled by the carrier and replaced with another program. Now, this student is just like you, a young person navigating the waters of higher education. She, however, had learned to let her voice be heard, so she wrote to the service company and addressed the decision maker in a kind but graciously firm way. To her surprise, the conference proceedings were put back on the schedule. What a blessing this was to her, and to whomever happened to venture on that channel during conference time.

Our family will not forget our little friend Becky, who invited us to hold our family home evening in her home. Even though her daddy was not a member of the Church, she wanted him to participate in a family home evening. Most of all, she wanted him to become a member of the Church.
Becky’s daddy said he would be glad to have us go to their home for family home evening. We had a beautiful time together. The spiritual lesson was followed by refreshments, some games, and family prayer. As we were saying goodnight, Becky looked up at me and asked, “Bishop Simpson, will you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” I answered, “anything you say.”
“Will you please baptize my daddy for me?”
That request, filled with the hope and faith of a child, sank deeply into the heart of her daddy, and it was just a few weeks later that his baptism was performed.

Genuine gratitude was expressed by the writer of a letter received some time ago at Church headquarters. No return address was shown, no name, but the postmark was from Portland, Oregon:
“To the Office of the First Presidency:
“Salt Lake City showed me Christian hospitality once during my wandering years.
“On a cross-country journey by bus to California, I stepped down in the terminal in Salt Lake City, sick and trembling from aggravated loss of sleep caused by a lack of necessary medication. In my headlong flight from a bad situation in Boston, I had completely forgotten my supply.
“In the Temple Square Hotel restaurant, I sat dejectedly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple approach my table. ‘Are you all right, young man?’ the woman asked. I raised up, crying and a bit shaken, related my story and the predicament I was in then. They listened carefully and patiently to my nearly incoherent ramblings, and then they took charge. They spoke with the restaurant manager, then told me I could have all I wanted to eat there for five days. They took me next door to the hotel desk and got me a room for five days. Then they drove me to a clinic and saw that I was provided with the medications I needed—truly my basic lifeline to sanity and comfort.
“While I was recuperating and building my strength, I made it a point to attend the daily Tabernacle organ recitals. The celestial voicing of that instrument from the faintest intonation to the mighty full organ is the most sublime sonority of my acquaintance. I have acquired albums and tapes of the Tabernacle organ and the choir which I can rely upon anytime to soothe and buttress a sagging spirit.
“On my last day at the hotel, before I resumed my journey, I turned in my key; and there was a message for me from that couple: ‘Repay us by showing gentle kindness to some other troubled soul along your road.’ That was my habit, but I determined to be more keenly on the lookout for someone who needed a lift in life.
“I wish you well. I don’t know if these are indeed the ‘latter days’ spoken of in the scriptures, but I do know that two members of your church were saints to me in my desperate hours of need. I just thought you might like to know.”
What an example of caring compassion.

When President Russell M. Nelson visited Guatemala in 2019 as part of a nine-day ministry to Latin America, he spoke at an evening devotional, where I was asked to conduct a 200-voice choir. Sometime after we had started rehearsing, I had a dream.
I dreamed that I would be able to say hello to the prophet. After the devotional, as President Nelson waved farewell with his handkerchief to the 22,000 people there, he turned to me and said in perfect Spanish, “Thank you very much. Well done!” Then, speaking to the congregation, Sister Wendy Nelson said, “I didn’t know you had a Tabernacle Choir in Guatemala!”

Trish Goodsell, of the Atwater Second Ward, Merced California Stake, is especially sensitive to the needs of the handicapped. She is handicapped herself, and this inspired her to plan a Laurel project that involved helping the teachers and Mia Maids in her stake put on a Halloween party and dance for the residents of a local facility for the mentally and physically disabled.
The youth provided games, a costume contest, a parade, and, of course, a dance that even those in wheelchairs loved. Each guest was escorted by one of the young people, so no one was left alone.

When I was baptized in 1977 at the age of 10, my mother, with 8 children, was separated from my father, and we had many needs, both temporal and spiritual. The sisters of that small branch in the city of Oaxaca, Mexico, were faithful in visiting my mother to minister to her. These sisters lightened the burdens of my mother and the entire family in many ways; they were a great blessing in our lives.

My mission president’s journal of 1986–1989 describes the same pattern, repeated again and again, with only a few variations: The sisters in Solothurn were prompted by the Spirit to go home from church via the town square, some distance out of their way, just at the moment a young father, a devout Pentecostal leader, crossed the same square. From Yugoslavia, very ill, and seeking a blessing of health, he had been told by the Holy Spirit to go to the town square at noon and he would find someone who could heal him. They met in the square—” by chance,” of course. He told them his need; the sisters led him back to the bishop’s office of the Solothurn chapel, where he received his promised blessing. They went to the man’s home on the following day to inquire after his health and learned that he had been instantly healed. They taught him and his wife and his family, who all joined the Church and later moved back to Yugoslavia- just in time to host the first LDS missionaries sent to open the country to missionary work. And a host of people shouted, “Hosanna!”