Gospel Story Finder

My friends and I started to play video games a little each day. Soon we were playing two hours a day. When we talked to each other during the games, things that normally wouldn’t be said were said. I decided that every time my friends would play video games, I would make better use of my time by doing something else. I soon found that I was a lot happier inside. Video games can be fun, but when they’re filled with vulgar language and violence, Satan can corrupt our minds.

Once when I received my pay at work, I cashed the check and headed home to pay some bills and to help my wife, who was expecting our first child. I got on the bus and put my money in my wallet. Then I hid the wallet in a pouch that was part of my shoulder bag, where it would be safer. I was quite surprised when I got home, looked for my wallet, and wasn’t able to find it. I was very worried. It was my whole two-week salary, and losing it would cause us many problems.
I looked diligently for my wallet, and when I couldn’t find it I decided to go back to the bus that had brought me home. I couldn’t find it there either.
After some time I went home, feeling very frustrated. I went into my room and knelt down. With a sincere heart and in tears, I lifted my prayer up to God and asked Him to help me. I told Him I paid a full tithing and now I needed a blessing. I know that the Lord doesn’t always answer our prayers in the way we desire, but on this occasion He did bless me in a wonderful way.
Later that night the bishop knocked on our door and asked me if I had a social security card. I told him I did, but it had been lost with my wallet that very day. He showed me a wallet and asked if it was mine. I saw that it was and that all of my money was still there. The bishop explained that a friend, who was not a member of the Church, had found it outside her house. When she saw the temple recommend in it, she took it to him. He told me this was nothing less than a miracle and it had happened because I faithfully paid tithing.

Some of you may have read in the history of the Church the experience that was held by one of the General Authorities named John Wells. He was in the Presiding Bishopric of the Church and lived between 1864 and 1941. His son Arthur was killed suddenly. In the diary of Bishop Wells’s daughter, Clarice Wells Crook, we find this account:

On October 15. 1915, my brother Arthur Thorpe Wells, 20 years old, was working as a conductor on the Emigration Canyon Railway. . . . Arthur was a handsome, intelligent, and happy six-footer. . . . In the course of his duty, he flagged an on-coming train to the siding and signaled his motorman to proceed. No one saw the accident but when Arthur did not signal his return to the train, the motorman stopped the train and they found Arthur lying on the tracks, for the train had run over him.

This incident to the oldest son and brother saddened the family, especially the mother, who could not content herself, not knowing how it happened.

On October 30, fifteen days later, Arthur came to mother in a dream or a vision and explained some of the things that she wanted to know. He said that when his spirit left his body, he went immediately to the Presiding Bishop’s Office to tell father, who was busy talking to a woman and he told his mother who the woman was and what they were talking about. This was confirmed later by his desk calendar. He then went to tell his mother, who was baking pies and singing a certain song. He said that he was unhappy to leave all of his loved ones. He was lonesome and felt a little strange because he was not so well acquainted there. He was told that he would soon find happiness.

Mother was a little concerned because he didn’t look happy and so she was blessed with another visit from Arthur. He told her that now he had been assigned work in the Priesthood Quorum and was very busy working with his grandparents and relatives. He told her not to worry about him anymore, because this was the last time that he would be permitted to come back to see her. This was a great comfort to all the family.

What do we learn from this? Apparently his mother had placed herself in a meditative mood so she could receive the visitation of her son, but apparently his father, who was a General Authority, was so busy in the affairs of the Church he didn’t take time to listen. We have to meditate; we have to take time to listen in order to have the guidance we require from on high.

The next morning I found my father in the kitchen again.
"What shall we do today?" he asked.
"Let’s go to church," I said.
"Aw, no one at church wants me there," he replied.
"I do," I said.
He looked at me for a few moments, then smiled. "Okay. Let’s go."
I slipped on the dress my father had bought me the day before and brushed my hair.
My father whistled when he saw me. "You look pretty as a picture. All the boys in the ward will be glad I came today and brought my daughter."
I laughed.
When we entered the foyer at the church, a short stocky man came forward to greet us. "Hello, John," he said, extending his hand to my father.
"Hello," my father replied. "This is Cathy, my daughter. Cathy, this is my home teacher, Brother … ah …"
"Richardson," the man said. "Nice to meet you, Cathy."
"Nice to meet you, Brother Richardson," I replied.
The man disappeared in the crowd but reappeared a few minutes later with a pretty brunette woman about my father’s age.
"John," he said, "I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Myrna Wilson. She’s a widow," he said meaningfully.
Myrna Wilson blushed noticeably, and my father sputtered out a "Nice to meet you." I suppressed a giggle.
I teased my father about it later that day when we were home from church. "You have to watch those Mormons," I grinned. "They’re always trying to marry someone off. But I have to admit, Widow Wilson wasn’t bad, was she?"
He laughed. "Yes, you Mormons are always trying to marry someone off."
"Would you do me a favor?" I asked suddenly serious.
"What?"
"Would you quit smoking?"
My father’s face fell. "I’d like to, Cathy, I really would. I’ve tried a hundred times, but I can’t."
"I’ll help you this time. Brother Richardson probably would too." Then I grinned. "I’ll bet even Widow Wilson would help."
He grinned back. "Okay. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try."
"Good," I said. "I just know you can do it." Outside a car horn honked. "There’s your mom," my father said. "You better not keep her waiting. I’ll call you, okay?"
"Okay," I said. Then I hugged him.
"Good-bye, Cathy," he said.
"Good-bye, dad," I answered. Halfway out the door I turned back. "Tell Widow Wilson hello from me."
I could hear him chuckling as I shut the door and headed for the car where my mother was waiting.

As one of the best center-forwards for his age, this ox-strong young man is said to have the ability to score from anywhere. Surprisingly, watching football (soccer) didn’t interest David when he was young. “My older brothers had to push me into playing with them to make up the numbers,” he remembers.

But by the age of 11, David’s talents for the sport were obvious. Selected as the best player in his school, David was chosen to play for his hometown of Bolton. As one of the best players for Bolton, he was picked by scouts to play for Oldham Athletic. When his four-year contract with Oldham ended, Manchester United couldn’t wait to snatch him up.

As the only Latter-day Saint on the team, he has the opportunity of raising his standards high. “The other players respect me for my beliefs. They don’t tease me about my social life when I don’t follow them to the pubs and booze-ups. They know that I don’t drink and respect that decision.”

In order to keep his testimony strong, David actively attends church each Sunday and weekday activities. “I’ve just been set apart as a stake missionary, and I serve as a home teacher,” he says. His work as a stake missionary should have a positive effect on those in the Manchester area—many of whom follow Manchester United and may recognize David.

The Church plays an important role in my life,” David says. “Participating in seminary helped build my testimony growing up.” Arising at 6:00 A.M. daily, David studied early-morning seminary for four years. His mother, who has taught seminary for 13 years, taught his older brothers with him.

“My brothers set good examples and uplift me,” says David. The strong bond that is so obvious between the Brown brothers likely results from sharing the same room growing up. They wrestle and tease each other as brothers do, but their teamwork is apparent. They care for each other and desire to see each other succeed. One by one, his three older brothers have left to serve missions: Bryce to Oklahoma, Gary to London, England, and Paul to Leeds, England. As each brother graduated from seminary and left to serve a mission, the class became smaller. By his final year of seminary, David was the only student in his mother’s class. However, it didn’t stop him. He knew the importance of grounding his testimony firmly in the scriptures.

As his teacher and mother, Sister Brown has seen David’s testimony develop. “He’s got courage to live the gospel no matter what anyone else says,” she declares.

A favorite scripture that keeps David strong in the face of adversity is Doctrine and Covenants 82:10 [D&C 82:10]: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” David says, “I know that when I apply this in my life, everything else will fall into place.”

An area in which he has put the Lord first is in Sunday matches. Though football tournaments are often scheduled on Sundays, David decided at the age of 11 that he wouldn’t play on the Sabbath. His coach and manager respected him for this decision and worked around it with him. David relates how the Lord blessed him for his obedience. “In England, matches are often postponed because of bad weather. At the end of one season, all the Sunday matches that had been deferred were played midweek instead. I was able to play in all six games—and scored thirty-two goals.” This earned him the title of top scorer for the season and a reputation as “the boy who never plays on a Sunday.”

David enjoys spending the little free time he has relaxing at home with his parents and brothers. He says, “My best friends are my brothers.” They are all close in age: Bryce is 25, Gary is 22, Paul is 21, David is 18, and Stephen is 15. With no other priesthood holders between the ages of 15 and 20 in their ward, they encourage each other to be active in the gospel.

David finds a good balance between church and football. A key to success is hard work. His mum recalls how independent David wished to be as a boy. “He has always been a worker,” she says. “Whether it was homework or seminary booklets, he would just get on with it without being nagged. David coined the phrase in our house: ‘I’ll do it on me own,’ for which we always tease him. David has the ability to work hard at whatever he does.”

For others who are striving for success in their chosen careers, David offers the following advice: “Try hard in anything you want to do, and always put the Lord first.” His determination to be a star football player has set him on a course for greatness. He wants to develop the athletic talents he’s been given. By following the examples set by his brothers, parents, and team members, David will keep his eyes focused on his goals—both spiritual and physical.

He will do what he does best, stay on the ball.

I trust in God. I know He lives and hears my prayers. In order to know these truths, I immersed myself in the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
After I was baptized I felt the fiery darts of the enemy confuse me and cause me to put off attending seminary. A few days later I began reading the Book of Mormon with a prayer to our Father in Heaven. I felt a beautiful response in my heart that motivated me to attend seminary and apply each class to my life.
Now I understand that when I was baptized into the Church I gained many blessings. I feel very happy to have my testimony as a constant source of strength each day of my life.
María Marcela Vargas Del Águila,Santa Anita Ward, Lima Perú Santa Anita Stake

It was six years after my first awkward testimony when, at the age of 23, I found myself feeling like a visitor again, in a different ward. But I was patiently embraced by friends, neighbors, home teachers, and ward members who made me feel welcomed, who took me as I was, and helped me through my life’s challenges. They were not afraid to associate with me. They did their best not to judge me. Were there awkward moments? Of course! But I have come to believe that most of the judgements, inconsiderate statements, and misguided advice people make and give are generally not communicated out of spite or malice, but out of a struggle to understand, sympathize with, or even embrace that which might be considered “different.”

As humans, Christians, and as struggling Saints we sometimes make mistakes. And while we strive to hold Latter-day Saints to a “Visitors welcome” ideal, we also need to recognize human fallibility in that process.

The total love and trust of children has been an amazing sustaining power against temptation in my life. I remember vividly years ago when our oldest son Jeffrey sat on my lap during a stake conference in which President Kimball addressed the congregation. During President Kimball's address, I leaned down and whispered in Jeffrey's ear, "Jeff, you are listening to a true prophet of God. Not only that but he is a very good man."

Jeff looked up at me with his earnest little face and said, "Daddy, do you think he's better than you are?"

I was stunned by his words and tears came into my eyes. Immediately I made a promise to Heavenly Father that I would never betray this little boy's trust. Certainly I was not equal with the prophet, but in the eyes of my son he saw me having the same stature. Most children see their parents longingly with those same eyes. To betray a child who has that kind of faith is to commit deep sin.

My father served in the military at the end of the Korean War. After a precarious agreement was signed between North and South Korea to stop hostilities until a peaceful agreement could be found, a buffer zone was created crossing the 38th parallel. This demarcation line between North and South Korea is called a demilitarized zone, even though it is the most heavily militarized border in the world. There has been no peaceful agreement to this day and this buffer stretches 160 miles long and two and a half miles wide. One of my father's responsibilities was to help dig trenches, bunkers, and reinforcements to help fortify this line. His stories have helped me realize the importance of fortifications and a layered defense in times of war.

When I was about nine years old, I had a bad toothache. The pain became unbearable, but we had no money to go to a dentist. At the time, I lived with my angel grandmother in Mexico.
With tears in her eyes, she asked me, “Do you believe in Jesus and that He can help you?”
I told her I did. She asked me to go to the next room, kneel, and pray for a miracle. I poured out my heart in prayer, but nothing happened. Frustrated, I put as much pressure as I could on my jaw and offered a second prayer. Soon the pain was gone! When I ran to tell my grandmother, I found her on her knees, pleading with God to help her little grandson. I have never forgotten that scene, and I am thankful to my grandmother.

Daniel Martuscello from Colorado, USA, had just finalized his divorce and found it hard to feel at peace with his new circumstances. Not only was he no longer married but he was also a new father and unemployed. He didn’t understand why this had happened—especially since he had always sought to be righteous.
Feeling alone and lost, Daniel turned to the scriptures. “I remembered the comfort I had felt in the past from reading the scriptures, so I made it a focus each day,” he says. Making time for daily scripture study meant he limited entertainment such as television and the Internet. But it wasn’t a sacrifice, he says. “As I read, I received comfort and guidance. Other things became secondary in importance. I didn’t just read to read, but I was looking for answers. I read with a purpose.”
Daniel found comfort in the scriptures as he realized that everyone experiences adversity. “The prophets and others were righteous but still had trials,” he says. “Reading their experiences helped me understand that at some point in life, we all suffer, but in that suffering we can draw closer to Christ.”
Additionally, Daniel says that reading daily lightened his burden because it was a way to include the Savior in his daily life. “As God spoke to me through the verses I read, I trusted that things would get better and that with His help, something good would come from this experience.”

Let me share with you a lesson learned in childhood. Our family has owned a summer cabin at Vivian Park in Provo Canyon for five generations. The months of July and August for me meant hiking; fishing; and swimming daily at the swimming hole, featuring a big rock from which we dived, and maneuvering through the swift current which roared by it and formed dangerous whirlpools. Most swimmers would plunge into the icy waters and swim with the current, rapidly passing the big rock, and be eventually carried to the slower waters and the welcome bank of river sand. That is, all but one swimmer. His name was “Beef” Peterson. His swimsuit carried the emblem of “Life Saver,” and his physical body reflected great strength. Beef would, like others, swim rapidly down the current through the whirlpools, then suddenly turn and swim back upstream. For a few feet, his mighty strokes carried him forward, but then the swiftness of the current held him steady as he pitted his strength against that of the river. Gradually Beef would tire, drop back, and then swim effortlessly to the bank, exhausted. Swimming against the current became Beef Peterson’s trademark.

My brothers and sisters, I’m certain our duty and responsibility is frequently to swim upstream and against the tide of temptation and sin. As we do so, our spiritual strength will increase, and we shall be equal to our God-given responsibilities.

Cindy swung open the door of the Middleton post office and went inside. “Hi, Mrs. Tyler, remember me?” she asked the tall woman standing behind the counter.
“Why of course, Cindy. My, how you’ve grown!”
“No more standing on my toes to buy stamps.”
“No, indeed.” Mrs. Tyler opened a half-door in the counter. “Come in so I can give you a big hug. How’ve you been? Do you like your new home?”
“It’s not new any longer,” said Cindy. “I’ve been living in Rockville for three years now. I love it.” She stepped behind the counter. “It seems so long ago when Dad was transferred and we had to move away from Middleton. I thought I’d never be happy again.”
“I remember that. When you came here to say good-bye to me, I never saw a more somber-looking child. By the way, there’s the African violet you gave me that day.”
“You still have it?”
“Of course. After all, you gave it to me so that I wouldn’t forget you.”
“I know, but it was such a puny thing. I’m surprised it lasted this long.”
Mrs. Tyler picked up the plant. “Can you believe all these violets are blooming? Every year it gets bigger and better.”
“Then I guess my leaving was just the thing it needed,” Cindy joked.
“Now, now—you remember how sad we all were to see you go.”
Cindy remembered the good-bye party her parents had had. She’d invited all her school friends and Mrs. Tyler and Mr. Nealy. That reminded her. … “Mrs. Tyler, I went by the train station to see Mr. Nealy, but it was closed.”
“Oh, they changed the hours again. But you wouldn’t have seen Mr. Nealy, anyway. He retired as stationmaster the year after you left. You and he were good friends, weren’t you?”
“I saw him every school day when I was in third grade.”
“Why was that?—I don’t remember.”
“The train station was where the school bus stopped. Mom couldn’t get back from taking care of Grandma until four-thirty, so I spent about an hour waiting at the station until she came. Have you seen him lately?”
“Yes, and you need to know that he’s very sick. He has Alzheimer’s disease. Do you know what that is?”
Cindy nodded slowly. She thought of Mrs. Clark, her friend Linda’s grandmother. Cindy’d seen Mrs. Clark once. She was hunched over in a rocking chair, staring at the wall. She didn’t answer Linda’s questions but just sat there, constantly rubbing the chair arms with her hands. Linda had said that her grandmother seemed happiest when she sat in the rocker. It bothered Cindy; she never visited Mrs. Clark again.
“I’m sure Mrs. Nealy wouldn’t mind your seeing him,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I have their number. You can call from here.”
“That’s OK. I think I shouldn’t bother them.”
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Tyler busied herself with some packages.
She sees all right, Cindy thought. She sees what a chicken I am. I don’t care—I can’t bear to see Mr. Nealy be like Linda’s grandmother.
As she watched Mrs. Tyler place stamps on the packages, Cindy thought about the first time she saw Mr. Nealy. She’d been too shy to talk to him, and the time had really dragged while she waited for her mother. But after Mr. Nealy made friends with her, that hour flew by. Later she realized that Mr. Nealy enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his. Between three and four o’clock was a slow period when there were few travelers. She helped him sweep the floor, wash the windows, check for burned out light bulbs. He talked about trains, and she talked about school.
He was fond of black licorice and often asked her to go to the nearby store and buy him a package of it. She remembered how he always said, “Black licorice, Cindy. Not red. And not the shoestring kind, either.” And he always gave her extra money to buy candy for herself.
As the memories flooded her mind, Cindy saw him standing very tall, with beautiful silver hair and a thick mustache. He was strong, picking up cargo as if the crates were empty. That Christmas she gave him a conch shell that she’d found in Florida while on vacation, and he gave her a pin in the shape of a caboose. She still had the pin.
Thinking of that shell made Cindy smile. Mr. Nealy kept it at his office, where it lay among the forms and tickets and stamps. It looked out of place, but he never moved it, except to put it to his ear sometimes and listen to the sound of the sea. “That’s where I should be right now,” he’d say, “lying on a beach, loafing my life away.” Then they would laugh.
To see him like Linda’s grandmother—Cindy shuddered at the thought. Turning now to go, she said, “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Tyler.”
“You, too, dear.” Mrs. Tyler gave Cindy a good-bye hug. “Come back to visit.”
“I will.”
As Cindy passed the train station once more, she tried to not think of Mr. Nealy. But the thoughts kept coming.
The store had not changed. Cindy quickly found the black licorice at the candy counter. Maybe he won’t be as sick as Linda’s grandmother, she thought. Maybe he just started getting that way. And I don’t have to stay long. She fumbled with the licorice, trying to make up her mind. Should I go? She saw a pay phone on the wall. Should I call?
Fifteen minutes later she pushed the doorbell of the Nealy house. Patting the package of licorice in her jacket pocket, she felt good about her decision.
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Cindy,” Mrs. Nealy greeted her. “Henry will love seeing you again.”
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Of course not. As I told you when you phoned, we love to have company. Come in.”
Cindy felt a little strange. She’d never pictured Mr. Nealy having a regular house. The station had seemed like his home—he’d cared for it and cleaned it as if he lived there day and night.
“Mr. Nealy doesn’t get many visitors anymore. At first he might look strange to you, but it will pass after a little while. He’s in the living room.”
Cindy followed Mrs. Nealy toward the sound of a TV. She could see the back of Mr. Nealy’s head as they entered the room. He was sitting in a swivel chair in front of the television.
Mrs. Nealy bent over the chair. “Henry, look who’s come to see you. It’s Cindy.”
Cindy watched the chair swivel toward her. Mr. Nealy was hunched over, his eyes showing no recognition. He pushed the chair around and around, and each time he passed her, his eyes remained blank.
“Sit here, Cindy.” Mrs. Nealy pointed to the sofa. She asked Cindy questions about her new hometown, her school, and her new friends. After most of Cindy’s answers, Mrs. Nealy said, “Isn’t that nice, Henry?” or “Did you hear that, Henry?”
As she watched the retired stationmaster circle that green chair round and round, Cindy thought that it was hopeless to even pretend that he knew what they were saying. Seeing him was worse than seeing Linda’s grandmother, because Cindy could not forget how he used to be. As she talked to Mrs. Nealy, memories of his deep laughter, his wide smile, his stories and silly jokes swirled within her until she could no longer bear the sight and sound of his chair. “I have to go, Mrs. Nealy. It’s getting late.”
She pulled the licorice from her jacket. “Would you give these to Mr. Nealy. He used to like black licorice.”
“He still does. He’ll be pleased.”
“Mrs. Nealy, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“In his way, he knows. Please—you give him the candy.” She got up, and Cindy followed her to the swivel chair. “Henry, Cindy has a present for you.” She stopped the chair.
“Mr. Nealy, these are for you.” Cindy waved the candy in front of him, trying to catch his attention.
When he saw the licorice, he grabbed at it. Close to him now, Cindy saw that he wasn’t so different, after all. He still had the lovely silver hair and thick mustache, his eyes were still deep blue, and he still wore his railroad ring.
“Cin, Cin,” he uttered, staring at her.
“Yes, Mr. Nealy. It’s me, Cindy.”
He raised a hand, and Cindy stooped to let him touch her face. He smiled, then pointed to a table. Cindy could not understand his words, but she recognized the conch shell.
“You still have this?”
Cindy picked it up and took it to him. But when she tried to place it in his hands, he pushed the shell back to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Nealy. It will remind me of you.”
He smiled, and Cindy decided that somehow he understood. Then he ripped open the licorice and started his chair whirling again, and she knew that he was back in his own world. She turned to Mrs. Nealy. “It hurts to see him this way—is he in pain?”
“No, Cindy. He isn’t in pain.”
“He isn’t, but we are.” Cindy put the shell to her ear and listened to the sound of the sea. She looked up again at Mrs. Nealy and managed a brave smile. “I’m glad that at least we have some happy memories.”

Illustrated by Don Seegmiller
Early in the year 1884 the beautiful Mormon temple in Logan, Utah, was almost ready to be dedicated. …
While the temple was being built, Bishop Henry Ballard, who had worked on the Temple from its beginning, prayed earnestly that in some way he would receive names of ancestors who had lived in far-off England.
On the day before the dedication of the Temple and while several of Bishop Ballard’s daughters were playing …
Two strange men suddenly approached!!!
Illustrated by Don Seegmiller
One of the men gave the oldest girl a folded newspaper saying … “Give this to your father and to no one else, go quickly and don’t lose it.”
The girl hurried to take the paper …
… to her father.
It was the Newberry Weekly News, printed in his hometown in England just three days before. One full page was filled with birth and death dates of people buried in the Newberry cemetery.
The Temple President said, “Bishop Ballard you are authorized to do work for these people, you received the record through messengers of the Lord.”

In a very memorable sacrament meeting, I felt the truly universal nature of the gospel. The sacrament was administered in French and German. Talks were given in Italian, English, and Portuguese. A verse of “I Am a Child of God,” was sung in ten languages—Japanese, Korean, German, Spanish, Italian, French, Tongan, Samoan, Dutch, and English. The whole congregation was touched through the spiritual language of the soul.
Unusual as it seemed to me at the time, this kind of sacrament meeting would become more familiar to me for I had recently been called to serve as branch president at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah. I realized that this would be a unique experience.
The missionaries in my branch came from many nations. On one occasion, we had missionaries from eighteen different countries brought together by the common cause of testimony and love for the Savior.
The excitement of seeing missionaries from many countries, interviewing them, and trying to help them, lasted throughout the time I served at the MTC. Most of all, I enjoyed getting to know the missionaries. Learning from their experiences and watching them grow in the gospel was a blessing that overwhelms my feelings and occasionally still brings me to tears when I think or speak about them.
As I interviewed missionaries and heard them speak, I learned something about their spiritual maturity, their degree of preparation, and their dedication to service. I found great variety among them. Some missionaries were well prepared, while others were not. Some were spiritually mature, and others were not spiritually minded at all. Some were very dedicated in their service, and others were not so dedicated. As I listened to them, I heard them use the words sacrifice and privilege.
I noticed that every missionary used at least one of these words and sometimes both to describe his or her feelings about serving a mission. Some said they were happy to sacrifice two years of their lives, possessions, and girlfriends in order to serve the Lord. Others said they felt it to be a privilege to serve him. I heard these two words so often that I began to watch how the missionaries matched their words to their actions.
An elder from Germany told me how he had “always known” that he did “not know the truth.” He described how he sometimes “prayed to God” to find it. After leaving the military service, he was employed in Switzerland. One day, living alone and feeling lonely, he prayed again, “Please God, send me the truth.” A few days later when he was walking down the street, a stranger approached him and said, “Young man, I am supposed to talk with you, but I don’t know why.” In this missionary’s words, “I looked into his face and knew he had the Spirit of God. His face was beautiful.” The stranger was a Church member who had been walking down the same busy street and felt inspired to speak to a young man he didn’t know. This new elder spoke of his mission as a privilege.
A sister from Spain had already completed one full-time mission and immediately went to work as a nurse in order to earn money for another. At first the local Church leaders would not let her go, but she persisted in her attempts until they finally consented. She was called to serve in Chile.
An elder from Mexico happily showed me a picture of his family. “Look,” he said, “my father saved for two months to buy me these shoes. My branch contributed money so I could have this suit.” They both described their missions as a privilege. One elder arrived from Samoa. When he introduced himself for the first time he walked to the front of the congregation holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon. He said, “I am here because this book is true.” He was one of fifteen children. He had been told by his father before leaving home that other men, Church leaders, would be his father for the next few years. He was to obey them. He thought his mission was a great privilege.
Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.
An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a refugee camp near Seattle, Washington. While trying to learn English so he could live in the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and an address on it. He kept it for some reason. Later, when he was asked where he wanted to live he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to live with a Latter-day Saint family in Salt Lake City where he learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he showed the card he had been given in the refugee camp. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.
The privilege of serving the Lord on a mission is felt and demonstrated in many ways. One missionary had struggled with family problems since he was a boy. While still young, he was expelled from his home and went to live with another family who introduced him to the Church. The gospel gave him direction in life where his natural parents had not. A few years later, after becoming one of the best players on a college football team, he decided to serve a mission. Before leaving on his mission, he gave copies of the Book of Mormon to his friends at school. This included his team coaches, fellow players, and teachers. He distributed more than 200 copies before entering the Missionary Training Center.
The missionaries who looked upon a mission only as a sacrifice were often honestly dedicated to the Lord’s service. However, I found they had not experienced personal revelation and inspiration. They were usually less informed about the Savior. But as they studied their scriptures and came to know Him better, their hearts seemed to soften and enlarge. They began to more deeply feel His love and know of the importance of missionary work as a continuation of this love extended to others. Many of those who began by telling of their sacrifices left the Missionary Training Center talking about privilege.
During my last sacrament meeting at the MTC, an elder stood who was older than most missionaries. He apologized for his poorly-spoken English, but hoped that he would be understood. His voice was deep and strong. He told of growing up in Cracow, Poland. He felt uncomfortable attending his family’s church and said that he “instinctively” knew some of its practices were not correct. He stopped going to his church and instead began to study the Bible. As he grew he became increasingly unhappy with the government, and at age eighteen he asked for political asylum in Austria. It was granted, and he left his home to start a new life. He spent nine very difficult months in the refugee camp near Vienna before seeking permission to migrate to the United States. Once he arrived he was contacted by missionaries from many churches. “They were nice,” he said, “but I could tell they did not have the answers I was looking for.” One day he saw a television program on the Mormons. He felt good about what he saw, and he decided to learn more of the Church. He met the missionaries, heard and accepted the gospel, and at age twenty-five was serving a mission. “It is a privilege to be here,” he said softly in his deep Polish accent. “I have been looking for a long time.”
It is a wonderful privilege for anyone to serve the Savior. It is a privilege to have any part in the great missionary work of the Church. I have thought about young men who have an easy life, or who do not know of the Lord, or who are afraid, or who are uncaring. I wish they would come to understand that it is a privilege to study the words of eternal life, to learn about their Redeemer, and seek opportunities to serve him by serving their fellowmen.

Thomas B. Marsh, once one of the Twelve, left the Church. His spiritual slide to apostasy started because his wife and another woman had quarreled over a little cream! After an absence from the Church of nearly nineteen years, he came back. To a congregation of Saints, he then said:
“If there are any among this people who should ever apostatize and do as I have done, prepare your backs for a good whipping, if you are such as the Lord loves. But if you will take my advice, you will stand by the authorities.” (In Journal of Discourses, 5:206; see also Gordon B. Hinckley, in Conference Report, Apr. 1984, pp. 109–12; or Ensign, May 1984, pp. 81–83.)

Sometimes you wonder, “Do I really have much power to encourage others to serve?” You have more power than you think. Let me give you an example. Several years ago I had a stake conference assignment in a small mining town.

As I visited with the stake president prior to leaving, he said, “Do you have time to visit with a young man? This young man is a good young man. He always planned on going on a mission. But just recently he said he isn’t going. We’ve talked to him, and we can’t seem to make any difference. Would you talk to him?” I said I’d be happy to.

The young man had grown up active in the Church, but he had seen his father in and out of work in the mines. Just before this young man turned 19, he had a job in a store. The manager was so impressed with him that he said, “If you’ll take this job right now, I’ll make you the assistant manager, and in a couple of years you’ll be the manager.”

“I was planning on going on a mission,” he said.

The manager said, “Well, you can do whatever you want, but you’ll lose this job. I need you right now.”

Well, he thought about it. He had a girlfriend named Jill. And he thought, “I really love Jill. If I get this job, I won’t have to work at the mine. We can get a house. We can get married and have a family.” So he made up his mind that he wasn’t going on a mission because he had this tremendous opportunity.

He talked to his father, and his father did everything he could to persuade him to go on a mission. He couldn’t persuade him. The father asked his son to talk to the bishop. The bishop couldn’t persuade him. The stake president couldn’t persuade him. I talked to him, and I couldn’t persuade him. He was determined to work at this store.

Finally, when it became evident that he wasn’t going to go, his father said, “Well, what are your plans?”

“I’m going to marry Jill.”

“What does Jill have to say about it?”

“Well, I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“How do you know she’ll even marry you?”

He had just assumed that she would.

His dad told him, “You’d better talk to Jill.”

So he explained to Jill about this great job and how he would make good money. Finally, he said, “You know, with this job we can buy a house. We can start a family.”

Jill asked, “Are you proposing to me?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so.”

“What about your mission?”

“I’ve already told you that if I go on a mission, I’ll lose this job. If I lose the job, we won’t have the income. We won’t be able to get married. We won’t be able to have a home.”

Now, remember, four priesthood brethren—father, bishop, stake president, and General Authority—couldn’t sway him.

Jill looked at him and said, “No mission, no Jill.”

He was in the bishop’s office the next day filling out his papers to go on his mission.

He served a mission, and while he was serving, Jill married someone else. But he had been out on his mission long enough that he had gained a solid testimony.

When this elder came home after serving a wonderful mission, he went to his folks and said, “I’ve decided I’m going to go on to college.”

They almost fainted and said, “No one in our family has gone to college. How can you do that?”

“I don’t know, but I talked to my mission president, and he said he thought it was a good idea and, if it was right, the Lord would prepare the way.” And the Lord did prepare a way. He was a smart young man. He eventually became a dentist, married a wonderful woman, and they raised a great family.

Now the sequel to this story is that not very many years after he had started his dental practice in a different area—guess what happened? They closed the mine, in effect, closing the town. And the store that was such a big thing to him years earlier closed. It couldn’t stay in business.

What if he had followed the dictates of man or just his own feelings? He might have married Jill, and they would have had a mortgage they couldn’t have paid and a house they couldn’t have sold.

I recently had the opportunity of attending Especially for Youth. Youth from all over the country gathered together for a fun and spiritually uplifting youth conference. My personal favorite activity was the service project. At that time, something happened to me that definitely changed me for the better.
On Wednesday, my group sat on the lawn, anticipating what activity was in store for us. We tried to guess what the counselors had planned. My group looked up to see one of our counselors holding the hand of a young person who was clumsily skipping toward us. As they got closer, we realized that our counselor was holding the hand of a young boy with Down’s syndrome. A contagious smile stretched across the boy’s face, letting us know that he was excited to be with us. We immediately noticed a name tag, Hello! My name is Mike. We were asked to play games with Mike and have a good time. The boys in the group asked Mike what his favorite game was. “Kickball!” he shouted, so we gathered some bases and a ball and began to play.
While waiting in line to kick, I was approached by the director of my EFY session, Brother Buckner. We started talking and laughing. I told him that Mike was extremely polite and fun to be around. I also mentioned how much I loved doing service for others and how great it made me feel.
Brother Buckner smiled, then asked, “Have you ever met anyone guaranteed to be in the celestial kingdom?”
Puzzled, I replied, “You mean Mike?”
With a slight nod of his head, he responded by saying, “Yes, so who is serving whom?”
His question surprised me, and I began to think. I realized that, since we are not from the same place, the next time I would see Mike he will most likely be in perfect form without flaw. His constant smile made me think that somewhere inside of him, he knows it too. I also realized that Mike taught me more about life and how to enjoy it in 30 minutes than I had learned in my previous 16 years.
I think of Mike every day, and I thank Heavenly Father for allowing me to have the opportunity to meet him and learn from him.

My experiences on this campus started many years before my employment here. Let me explain. My parents came to this part of Idaho in 1962 with the oldest two of their six children. My father was a recent graduate of BYU in Provo and took an opportunity to move to Southeast Idaho to work as a seminary teacher. With guidance from a loving Heavenly Father, my father was given an opportunity to work at what was then Ricks College. He worked for over thirty years in the Austin Building as a professor in Construction Management.

Dad was a skilled carpenter and woodworker; he loved working with his hands and creating all kinds of things out of wood. He especially loved working on the lathe and created some very unique and beautiful pieces of art. I recall spending many hours as a youth in the wood shop of the Austin building, where I watched, admired, and learned so many things by watching him.

Dad had an eye for potential, I was always amazed at what he could see in a piece of wood that may not have been noticed by an untrained eye. He had a vast knowledge of what species or grade of wood could potentially produce the most durable product or the most eye-catching grain pattern.

As I returned from my mission and experimented with my first college classes, some of them, of course, being taught by my dad, I thoroughly enjoyed once again being mentored by him in the wood shop and attempted to learn some woodworking skills.

At that point in my life, I had my eyes opened to see other qualities that my dad possessed: he saw the potential and beauty within people, students and co-workers alike; Dad loved people. It became more obvious to me that the time my father had spent working on this campus had helped him become a better disciple of Jesus Christ.

As I watched my father eventually finish his career on this campus and also his earthly mission, I reflected on the words of King Benjamin in Mosiah 2:17: ”I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” [1]

Dad loved building things out of wood, and Dad loved building people. He served many students over the years and gained lifelong friendships with them and the other people he was blessed to work with. More importantly, my father set a lifelong example of the importance of always building upon good things, with discipleship of Christ as the goal. My dad understood the mission statement of BYU-Idaho “to develop disciples of Jesus Christ who are leaders in their homes, the church, and their communities.” [2]

In the late 1970s the Mauclairs moved back to metropolitan France, first to Auch (pronounced Osh) near Toulouse. In 1978, they moved to the Versailles ward, where the Mauclair and Giraud-Carrier families became good friends, and a young Christophe met an even younger Isabelle. That childhood friendship grew into dating, courtship, engagement, and marriage. After some time in the same ward and stake, the families moved apart, but Christophe’s and Isabelle’s developing romance continued to grow as they courted by regular letters, occasional phone calls and quarterly in-person connections.

Just weeks after Christophe returned from the Canada Montreal Mission, the two, who had met as children 10 years before, became husband and wife on July 16, 1988 in Cholet, France. Three days later, at the Bern Switzerland Temple, they became a forever union. Christophe was 22 and Isabelle was 21.