Gospel Story Finder

• In Otavalo, you step off a dirt road at the edge of town and walk through a patch of corn to a tiny, two-room home. Juan José Muñoz, second counselor in the presidency of the Otavalo Ecuador Stake, lives here with his wife, Laura, and their four children. Sister Muñoz is Relief Society president in their ward.
In 1986, the Muñoz family traveled to the Lima Peru Temple to be sealed. They could not have made it without the Lord’s help, President Muñoz says. For more than a year, they had put aside half of his earnings to help pay the cost; they sold some of their meager possessions and borrowed twenty dollars to scrape together the last of the money. In 1988, they repeated the trip, after the same kind of struggle.
Latter-day Saints must go to the temple to understand the full blessings of the gospel, President Muñoz says: “That’s why we are looking forward so much to having a temple in Ecuador.”

About two years later, I was praying one night when a thought entered my mind: “What about a mission?” I dismissed the idea as impossible. After all, I had signed a contract and was enlisted to serve in the army for a set amount of time. The next night the same thing happened, and I shrugged it off again. But when the thought came back for the third consecutive night, I decided to ask Heavenly Father about it.
“If I really am supposed to serve a mission, help me know what to do,” I pleaded.
About 10 minutes later I was lying in my bunk when someone knocked on the door. It was my elders quorum president, looking a little uncomfortable.
Somewhat sheepishly he said, “I’m not exactly sure why, but for the past three nights the Spirit has prompted me to tell you that you are supposed to serve a mission. Tonight the prompting was so strong that there was no way I could ever think of sleeping without telling you.”
I knew my answer, and so I started to act on it. I knew it’s extremely hard to get permission to take a two-year break from the army, but after much effort and many small miracles, I was finally granted leave for two years to serve a mission. I received my call to the Alaska Anchorage Mission, where I’m now serving.

Just for a moment, suppose that it’s your turn; you’ve received the large white envelope from 47 East South Temple Street with the title “Elder” before your name. It’s signed by President Harold B. Lee and you are “hereby called to be a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to labor in the Samoa Mission.” (It could be any mission in the world, but since Samoa is the only one with which I am intimately familiar, let’s use it.) “Samoa!” You look it up and find that it’s about 2700 miles south of Hawaii and 13 degrees below the equator in the South Pacific. “Wow, the South Pacific! How lucky can a guy get!”

The Language Training Mission for the South Pacific and the Orient is at the Church College of Hawaii. Your assignment there is to get a good grasp of the foreign language and memorize most or all of the missionary discussions in that language. This is to be done in eight weeks, studying a minimum of ten hours a day. Meanwhile you are being weaned from family, girl friend, and dragging Main Street.

It’s a terrific challenge, a task that seems too tremendous for you to handle by yourself. In fact, you try your hardest to learn the sounds, structure, and sequences—and fail. It’s discouraging; you wonder if perhaps a mistake has been made, if you have been sent to the wrong mission. Then part of the magic starts to unfold as you become humble and teachable and go to the Lord for help. He’s ready to help you, and you are now prepared to receive his help. A few things begin to fall into place. Once in a while you recognize a verb. A few of the nouns become familiar, and the sounds begin to have meaning, and progress is being made.

Finally the day comes when you arrive in your field of labor. It is a land of beautiful beaches, breathtaking sunsets, pinnacled volcanic mountains, crystal clear rivers, swaying palms, and green, perpetual green, everywhere. All is there in majestic splendor, but for many months you hardly notice because you are preoccupied.

The food takes some getting used to. You had visions of exotic dishes, fresh fruits, South Sea delicacies. Instead your main diet consists of breadfruit, baked taro, boiled green bananas, canned mackerel, and a dozen other things whose names you can’t even pronounce.

You thought your language was pretty good, but now you find that the people talk too fast, and you can hardly understand a word they are saying. When they laugh, you think they are laughing at you because you said a word wrong. You probably did and they probably are.

You thought it would be fun to sleep on a mat in a fale (native house)—until you find that there is nothing under that mat but rocks, and your mosquito net does a better job of keeping the varmints in than out.

The heat and humidity are stifling. It’s so humid that rain or shine you’re soaked at the end of the day.

You discover that your legs weren’t designed for sitting crosslegged on the floor for hours on end. But your companion tells you that it’s improper in the Samoan custom for you to stretch your legs out while sitting. And don’t stand while drinking. Don’t ever whistle, don’t sing while walking, and never, never run in a village. And a thousand other don’ts, just because “it looks bad for a missionary,” and “it’s not proper custom.”

Then there’s your companion. He’s a little different (so are you, but that realization hasn’t sunk in yet). Besides, any odd little habits he may have are magnified out of proportion because of your closeness. He might visit a family two or three times before presenting a discussion. Anyone knows that these are the last days, and we don’t have time to waste on people. We’ve got to get in there, give our message, call them to repentance, give them their chance, and then move on to the next house.

Occasionally you wish you were home. Home—Mom’s cooking, security, hot water, electricity, mattresses and box springs, four seasons, an occasional drought, and indoor showers.

Again you are faced with a challenge. It’s a challenge of a different nature, but the solution is much the same. Humble yourself; become teachable; turn to the Lord; commit to do your part. The scriptures take on new meaning to you as you read of great missionaries: the apostle Paul, Alma the Younger, the Sons of Mosiah, and many others. You think to yourself, “Wow, they really had it rough. Come on, Elder, toughen up!”

Once again you begin to make real progress. Not overnight, mind you, but step by step, day by day, one obstacle at a time. One day you give your first discussion to a contact. You get nervous halfway through and your companion has to bail you out. The next time you make it all the way, and you feel great.

After several months of improvement, the moment you’ve been striving for arrives. The mission assistants pull up to your fale one morning and say, “Pack your box, Elder, you’re transferred.” You are now in a new area, and your new companion has been in the mission field for three days. That means you’re in the driver’s seat, the senior companion, charged with directing the work of the Lord in your area.

This is your big opportunity to do things your way. A wave of fear sweeps over you as you realize that you really are in charge, and your new companion looks at you like, “Well, what do we do now?” You fight off your fear, “gird up your loins,” and go out to preach repentance to the people.

A month passes, maybe two. You’re putting in the hours, working the area, giving discussions, making out the reports. All the physical essentials of proselyting are there, but something is missing. People are polite. They let you into their homes and let you give a lesson if you wish. But they seldom ask you back, and you can tell that they aren’t really interested. Their custom prescribes that they receive you cordially, and they honor their custom.

You begin to do some real soul-searching and pray earnestly to understand how to get through to the people. And then the words of counsel that your father gave you before you left focus sharply in your memory: “Son, unless you really love those people, nothing else you do matters.” The words ring true. You ask yourself: “Do I? Do I really love these people?” And your own conscience gives you the answer.

The next time you go out to proselyte, your methods are changed. Instead of just preaching, you begin to listen—not only to what people are saying, but you fine-tune your spirit to the feelings behind the words. It’s a revelation to you as you begin to understand that these people have real problems, joys, hopes, and fears just like everyone else.

One Sunday one of the sisters in the branch approaches you and asks you and your companion to bless her baby who is critically ill. Your faith wavers, but hers doesn’t. The blessing is given, and a life is saved by a mother’s faith. You are left with a deep respect for the faith of a people who, when one of theirs is sick, go to the elders even before they seek medical help.

You visit a nonmember family. As is often the case, they prepare a meal for you before you leave. This is common, and you had not taken much note of it before. This time you pay particular attention. The little red rooster that had been crowing when you arrived is now boiling in the pot. The last bunch of bananas is plucked. Enough money is found to buy a can of corned beef. You look around. The house is small, the roof needs patching, there are many children in the family, and they have little clothing. Yet they give you the best they have, and the only reward they hope for from you is your blessing, as a servant of the Lord, upon their family. As you leave there is a lump in your throat and mist in your eyes. You are humbled with the realization that you are charged with teaching the perfect gospel to a people who know and live the principles of true Christianity. You find there is much to be learned from them as you teach them the restored gospel.

A change in your sources of motivation now begins to take place. Language and language study become tools to better communicate the feelings of the Spirit, not just to impress your fellow missionaries or to send tapes home in a foreign language to impress Mom and Dad. Your fasting and prayers change from an emphasis upon your own needs to those of your contacts. Gospel study changes from a mere accumulation of theological facts to a sincere application of those truths in your own life. A whole new realm opens up to you now. Experiences that seem natural in themselves become revelations of truth.

You find that the Spirit of the Lord can be as powerfully present in a grass hut as in the nicest chapel; that the greatest gift with which a missionary can be blessed is to teach effectively and with the Spirit, to be sensitive and perceptive of the feelings of others, to discern their needs and wants; that the most productive and rewarding hours of your proselyting day are the “overtime” or “extra-mile” hours given in service when the body says, “I’m tired; let’s go home,” but the greater desire within you says, “One more house—maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a receptive spirit”; that the true fruits of your labors consist not in how many but in what kind of baptisms result—be it one or one hundred—and the feeling of grateful joy you receive when the Lord permits you to be a partner in the miracle of conversion.

The end of your mission nears. You are now an old timer among your fellow missionaries. On one of those last days, 9:00 A.M. finds you and your companion, as usual, walking to your first appointment of the day. Buried in your own thoughts you think of how the sun made a golden highway across a glassy sea as it rose that morning; how the storm of the day before made the rivers and waterfalls swell and the green foliage seem so much deeper and brighter after the clouds receded a little and the sun broke through; how the sunset over the tops of the mountains was reflected from one cloud to another until the whole sky was filled with shades of purple, yellow, pink, and blue; of the night breeze that cleared away the clouds and caused the palm leaves to clatter and the roar of the breakers to be carried clearly across the beach and village green long seconds after appearing as silver crests of reflected moonlight, tumbling one on the other against the coral reef hundreds of yards from the shore, to become mere lappings upon reaching the sand. All of this is but a fitting stage on which some of God’s choicest children have been placed.

As you continue up the trail, the now familiar lump again rises in your throat and the mist comes to your eyes, accompanied by a prayer in your heart that in some way you have given as much as you have received.

So, future missionary, be it the South Pacific, the Orient, South or Central America, Europe, Scandinavia, or the USA, the conditions and challenges may differ, but the key to success is love, the love you feel for your Father in heaven and the love you have for his children.

After sacrament meeting, Jake followed his mother out of the chapel. “Oh no,” she said. “I forgot my scriptures.” Struggling to hold his squirming sister, she turned to Jake. “Would you please get them for me?”
Jake went back into the chapel. Everywhere he looked, papers littered the floor and the benches. “What a mess!” he muttered, picking up the book and hurrying to his mother.
In Primary, he forgot all about the litter until Sharing Time, when Sister Ranzenberger talked about feeling reverence for the Savior. “Love for the Savior includes respect for Him and His house,” she said.
Jake knew that the litter in the chapel showed a lack of respect for Jesus Christ. As he walked to class, he thought about what he could do to help. An idea came into his mind that made him smile. “Brother Vargas,” he said as the class sat down. “I’d like to call a special Blazer Patrol meeting for just a few minutes after class. Is that all right with you?”
Brother Vargas looked at him curiously. “Sure—you’re the Patrol Leader. I guess I can stay a few minutes.”
“Good,” Jake said. “We’ll meet in the chapel.”
After the lesson, the boys eagerly walked down the hall to the chapel. Bud shoved Jeff, knocking him into a picture of the Savior. Tim bounced a small rubber ball off the ceiling, and John ran his hand along the wall.
Inside the chapel, the boys formed a circle around Jake.
“What’s up?” Bud asked, casually dropping a gum wrapper on the floor.
Jake motioned with his hand as he said, “Look around you.” The patrol noisily looked around.
“It’s the chapel,” Tim said. “So what?”
“Look again. Really look.”
The boys quieted down and looked around the room.
“It’s kind of messy,” Bud said softly, stepping on his gum wrapper to hide it.
“That’s right,” Jake said. “So the Blazer Cobra Patrol is going to take five minutes now to pick it all up. Then it’ll be neat when the First Ward comes in.”
Tim headed for the door. “My mom’s waiting for me. I have to go.”
Jeff grabbed his arm. “She’s talking to Sister Williams, and you know how long that takes.”
The boys set to work picking up paper and straightening books. With Brother Vargas’s help, the job was finished in a few minutes. Afterward they stood in the back of the chapel, looking it over.
“It looks a lot cleaner,” John said.
“It looks good,” Jake agreed. “So good that I think we ought to do it every week.”
Brother Vargas smiled at him. “I think that sounds like a great idea—and though I need to clear this with the bishop, I’m sure that he’ll be delighted.”
Tim groaned. Some of the other boys rolled their eyes, but no one said anything. As they walked out the chapel doors, Jeff noticed the picture of the Savior and straightened it.
For the next few weeks, the Cobra Patrol tidied the chapel after class. One Sunday as they worked, Tod Tapu from the First Ward walked in. “What’s this?” he sneered. “The mighty Cobra Patrol picking up paper?” He laughed. “Maybe we ought to call you the Paper Patrol.”
“You’re just sore because we won all the awards at Blazer Camp,” Jake answered.
“Sure—keep thinking that. But you won’t catch our Wolf Patrol picking up paper.”
Brother Vargas picked up a tissue lying at Tod’s feet. “That’s too bad. I’ve seen the chapel after your ward’s finished, and it could use some picking up too.”
After Tod left, Tim muttered, “Paper Patrol! It’ll be all over the stake. Everybody’s going to call us the Paper Patrol.”
Jake started laughing. “What’s wrong with that? Let’s be the Paper Patrol. This is our chance to make a difference.”
As word of the Paper Patrol spread through the ward, something unusual began to happen. Children and adults started picking up paper as they left the chapel for their classes. Each Sunday there was less and less clutter for the boys to pick up. The halls and classrooms were cleaner too. Even the reverence in the chapel seemed better.
People stopped them in the halls to thank them. “Good job, Blazers,” Sister Ranzenberger said, beaming at them. “You’ve made a difference to the whole ward.”
One Sunday the bishop came in and gave them a hand straightening up. “Everybody needs to do his part in showing respect for our church buildings,” he said as they worked. “If everyone followed your example, the whole ward would be more reverent.”
Two weeks later, Jake had an interview with the bishop after church. When he arrived at the building, the First Ward was just leaving. He decided to see if the chapel was as messy as Brother Vargas had said. He opened the door and peeked in, then quickly shut it. Inside, Tod Tapu and the Wolf Patrol were picking up paper.
He stood in front of the closed doors for a moment, just smiling. Looks like there’s a Paper Patrol Two in the stake! he thought.

One day, a shy student came crying into Julie’s history class. After listening to the young woman’s feelings, Julie gave her some Church pamphlets to read. The girl trashed them. A short while later, the friend suffered severe family problems and ran away. Julie and her family invited the girl to stay at their home for a few days. “I tried to share the gospel with Maura, but she didn’t seem interested,” comments Julie. “Then I volunteered to help her at her job in a stable. In familiar surroundings she could sense how much I thought of her.”
Julie continues, “Maura felt discouraged about life and down on herself. She would ask, ‘Why would God let these things happen?’ Heavenly Father inspired me with answers to her questions. It was amazing how she changed when she started the discussions. She came to know she was a child of God and to believe in herself. I could not believe my joy the day of her baptism,” exclaims Julie.

“Why not just a little?” That was the question David asked after his early-morning seminary teacher had finished an entire lesson about protecting yourself from sin. “I’m not talking about doing anything big,” David continued. “I just want to know why I can’t have a sip of beer—just to taste it and know what it is like. Why not just one cigarette or one night with a girl so my friends will stop bugging me?”
Before the teacher could even start giving him the usual answers, David outguessed him and blurted, “And don’t tell me that alcohol kills your brain cells and that cigarettes cause cancer. Don’t tell me about AIDS.” He didn’t want to hear the typical “scare” stories. David continued, “I know men who used to drink and smoke, and they’re bishops now.”
It was true. David knew many people who had repented and been forgiven of their sins. “So,” he looked directly at his teacher and repeated his original question, “why not just a little?”
By now nearly every young person in the room was nodding and saying, “Yeah, why not?” The seminary teacher knew he had to say something—quickly. He swallowed hard, said a silent prayer, and offered, “Try looking at it like this: Isn’t the Holy Ghost a member of the Godhead?”
“Yes,” answered David, “but what does that have to do with anything?”
The teacher explained, “Well, ‘no unclean thing can dwell with God’ (1 Ne. 10:21; Mosiah 2:36–38). Maybe that’s why we must be baptized—completely cleaned—before we receive the gift of the Holy Ghost” (see D&C 68:25; D&C 84:64).
The room was quiet. Despite the fact they had already sat through one lesson that day, David and his friends were listening to their teacher. “In scriptures we are told that the Spirit won’t always strive with men (see Gen. 6:3; Ether 15:19; D&C 1:33).
“The immediate consequence of any sin is withdrawal of the Spirit of the Holy Ghost. So one cigarette may not be enough to give you cancer, but it is enough to alienate you from the Spirit. One can of beer may not make you an alcoholic and leave you homeless, but it is enough to leave you without the Spirit. The same thing for a premarital sexual experience.”
Most of the class was agreeing with their teacher now, but David still wasn’t completely convinced. He said, “So the Spirit leaves. So what?”
Class time was over. The students needed to go to school. “Let’s pick this discussion up tomorrow,” said the teacher, and they did. Over the next few days the class studied the fruits of the Spirit. What David had not considered was that when we lose the Spirit we automatically lose some other things as well.
The seminary class was glad David had asked, “Why not just a little?” In the course of their discussions and study, David and his friends had come to some important conclusions. One student summed it up like this: “Why not just a little sin? Well, why not just a little touch on the burner of a hot stove? Sure, you may heal in the long run, but not without going through a lot of unnecessary pain and suffering.”

Al and I were married in 1959. A decade later we had three children and were living in a small town in Canada. Al ran a construction business, and I was a stay-at-home mom who sometimes helped with the business. On the weekends, Al and I partied with our friends, always with alcohol. My dad had been an alcoholic, so I hated that drinking was such a big part of our lives, but it had become our way of socializing.
That year, 1969, I realized my life was going nowhere and that our children deserved better than what we were offering them. One night after another drinking party, I got down on my knees and prayed, “Dear God, if You are there, please help me change my life.” I promised Him I would never drink alcohol again, a commitment I’ve honored ever since.
That was the first memorable prayer, and it was answered quickly. My sister-in-law’s daughter, my niece, had been invited to attend Primary with a Latter-day Saint friend. As my sister-in-law learned more about the Church, she felt inspired to send me a subscription to the Church magazines, which arrived within a month after I had said that first prayer. I didn’t know what a Mormon was, but I loved the messages the magazines contained and read them cover to cover. I decided to investigate the Church and therein found my answer. I did change my life, and I was baptized on June 19, 1970.

Mary Fielding Smith remained faithful to the end of her life. She paid tithing, even in her poverty. When someone inappropriately suggested she not contribute a tenth of the potatoes she had grown that year, she responded, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? … I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it.”2 She established a farm in the Salt Lake Valley and taught her children the gospel. President Joseph F. Smith later said, “She taught me honor, and virtue, and truth, and integrity to the kingdom of God, and she taught me not only by precept but by example.”3

After I was baptized and confirmed, my grandmother said, “You have the Holy Ghost now, and it’s important that you have a testimony of the prophet.” Soon I went to general conference for the first time—the October conference of 1949.
It was quite an adventure. I slept over at my grandparents’ house. I remember getting up very early on Saturday morning and riding the bus to downtown Salt Lake City with my grandmother. We walked over to Temple Square and stood in a line for a long, long time. When we got to the Tabernacle, we sat in the back corner.
Just before the meeting started, there was a hush and everybody stood up. Then President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) walked in. I could see President Smith and his counselors. I’ve never forgotten how I felt when I first saw the prophet. I felt something very, very special. I knew he was the Lord’s prophet.
That was a very important event. I feel the same way when I see the President of the Church now. I have served as a General Authority now with three Presidents of the Church. And when the President walks in, I still have that testimony: “He’s the prophet.”

After several unsuccessful visits and discussions with the missionaries, I came to recognize the fact that the Church was true, but I had a problem: The Book of Mormon. I did not accept the idea that there was another scripture besides the Bible that would testify of Christ. I had a keen interest in reading and my supposed broad knowledge of the Bible and other philosophical books did not facilitate my discussions with missionaries.
Finally, I began to read the Book of Mormon. At first, I read it just out of curiosity, but once I started, I could not find the strength to stop. After a full reading in a month, I began to feel something deep inside me, a warm feeling in my heart, a light in my mind, a transformation, a voice.
At night, I could not close my eyes because my mind was revealed about the sacredness of the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in February 2010. As a result, I served a full-time mission and married Prisca Ebi, a lovely daughter of our Heavenly Father!

“He always says ‘I love you’ at least ten times during the evening whenever the family gets together—his family always comes first,” said a granddaughter of this great man. “He helps us set a goal and then buys us a book about it. When the goal is reached, he buys us another book. Grandpa promised my brother John that if he attended all his priesthood, MIA, and Sunday School meetings for seven years, he would pay for his mission. John worked hard to reach that goal. He sacrificed vacations when there would not be an opportunity to attend all of his meetings. John reached his goal, was called to serve a mission in France, and Grandpa happily paid for his mission.”

Last October my wife and I accompanied Elder and Sister Neil L. Andersen for the groundbreaking of a new temple in Córdoba, Argentina. As is customary, a press conference followed the ceremony. A journalist, not a member of our Church, commented that she had observed how well the men treated their wives. Then she unexpectedly asked, “Is that real or fiction?” I am sure that she saw and felt something different among our members. She might have perceived the desire of our members to follow Christ. Members all over the world have such a desire. At the same time, millions who are not members of the Church also have a desire to follow Him.
Recently my wife and I were impressed by the people we saw in Ghana and Nigeria. Most were not members of our Church. We were happy to see their desire to follow Christ expressed in many of their conversations in their houses, on their cars, on their walls, and on their billboards. We had never seen so many Christian churches next to one another.
As Latter-day Saints, ours is the duty to invite millions such as these to come and see what our Church can add to the good things that they already have. Any person from any continent, climate, or culture can know for himself or herself that the Prophet Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son in a vision. He or she can know that heavenly messengers restored the priesthood and that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. In the words of the Lord to Enoch, “Righteousness [has been sent] down out of heaven; and truth [has been sent] forth out of the earth, to [testify of the] Only Begotten [of the Father].”
The Savior has promised, “He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” Followers of Christ pattern their lives after the Savior to walk in the light. Two characteristics can help us recognize to what extent we follow Him. First, followers of Christ are loving people. Second, followers of Christ make and keep covenants.
The first characteristic, being loving, is probably one thing the journalist in Córdoba noticed among our Church members. We follow Christ because we love Him. When we follow the Redeemer out of love, we are following His own example. Through love the Savior was obedient to the will of the Father under any circumstance. Our Savior was obedient even when it meant great physical and emotional pain, even when it meant being whipped and mocked, even when it meant that His enemies would torture Him while His friends abandoned Him. The atoning sacrifice, which is unique to the mission of the Savior, is the greatest expression of love ever. “The chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.”
As Christ followed the Father under any circumstance, we should follow His Son. If we do so, it matters not what kind of persecution, suffering, grief, or “thorn in the flesh” we face. We are not alone. Christ will assist us. His tender mercies will make us mighty under any circumstance.
Following Christ may mean forsaking many dear things, as Ruth the Moabite did. As a new convert, out of love for God and Naomi, she left everything behind to live her religion.
It may also mean withstanding adversity and temptation. In his youth Joseph was sold into slavery. He was taken away from everything he loved. Later he was tempted to be unchaste. He resisted the temptation and said, “How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?” His love for God was more powerful than any adversity or temptation.
Today we have modern Ruths and Josephs all over the world. When Brother Jimmy Olvera from Guayaquil, Ecuador, received his mission call, his family was struggling greatly. The day he was leaving, he was told that if he walked out the door, he would lose his family. With a broken heart he walked out that door. While he was on his mission, his mother asked him to stay longer in the field because they were receiving so many blessings. Today Brother Olvera serves as a stake patriarch.
Truly loving Christ provides the required strength to follow Him. The Lord Himself showed this when He asked Peter three times, “Lovest thou me?” After Peter reaffirmed his love for Him out loud, the Lord told Peter about upcoming difficulties. Then the admonition came: “Follow me.” The Savior’s question to Peter can also be asked of us: “Lovest thou me?” followed by the call to action: “Follow me.”
Love is a powerful influence in our hearts in our effort to be obedient. Love for our Savior inspires us to keep His commandments. Love for a mother, father, or spouse can also inspire our obedience to gospel principles. The way we treat others reflects to what extent we follow our Savior in loving one another. We show our love for Him when we stop to assist others, when we are “perfectly honest and upright in all things,” and when we make and keep covenants.
The second characteristic that followers of Christ have is making and keeping covenants, as He did. Moroni pointed out that “the shedding of the blood of Christ … is in the covenant of the Father unto the remission of your sins, that ye become holy, without spot.”
The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that even before the organization of this earth, covenants were made in heaven. Ancient prophets and patriarchs made covenants.
The Savior Himself gave the example. He was baptized to fulfill all righteousness by one with the proper authority. Through His baptism, the Savior witnessed unto the Father that He would be obedient in keeping all the Father’s commandments. As in days of old, we also follow Christ and make covenants through priesthood ordinances.
Making covenants is something that millions who are not members of our Church can add to the very good things that they already have. Making covenants is an expression of love. It is a way of saying to Him, “Yes, I will follow Thee because I love Thee.”
Covenants include promises, “even of life eternal.” All things will work together for our good if we remember our covenants. They must be made and kept to fully receive the promises they provide. Love for the Savior and remembering our covenants will help us keep them. Partaking of the sacrament is one way to remember them. Another way is to attend the temple often. I remember a young married couple in South America who wanted to separate because they could not get along. A priesthood leader counseled them to attend the temple and pay specific attention to the words and promises of the covenants made there. They did so and their marriage was saved. The power of our covenants is greater than any challenge we face or we may face.
To those members who are not active in the gospel, please come back. Feel the blessing of remembering and renewing covenants through the sacrament and temple attendance. Doing so is an expression of love and shows a willingness to be a true follower of Christ. It will qualify you to receive all the promised blessings.
To those who are not members of our Church, I invite you to exercise faith, repent, and qualify to receive the covenant of baptism in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. By doing so, you will show your love to our Heavenly Father and your willingness to follow Christ.
I testify that we are happier when we follow the teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As we strive to follow Him, the blessings of heaven will come unto us. I know His promises will be fulfilled as we make and keep covenants and become true followers of Christ. I testify of His great love for each one of us, and I do so in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My father was a farmer and put in long hard days of labor, much of it with animals. If any earthly trial I know of can drive a man to profanity, it is working with animals, and there are many men on whom it has had exactly that effect. My father wasn’t one of them. I’ll never forget a lesson he taught me one day while he was milking a cow that was sick with milk fever. Father had cracked his ribs not long before, and they were excruciatingly painful, but as if that weren’t enough, the cow in her sickness suddenly collapsed and fell right on top of him. It would have been a funny sight, him lying there in the spilled milk with a cow on top of him, if it hadn’t been for his white-faced agony as he struggled to rise. Although he was sick with pain, he didn’t call the cow any bad names. He got out from under her and onto his feet with difficulty and then helped the cow up. Then he ran his hand gently along her side and said, “You poor dear, I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

That may sound absurd to anyone accustomed to salving all wounds with violent words, but it seemed to me an expression of reason, kindness, and self-control far better than the string of oaths he could have spit out at a poor, dumb animal. I really don’t believe his ribs would have felt any better had he sworn, nor would he have felt any better about the experience. I don’t believe it anymore when someone tells me there are times when a person can’t help swearing.

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our next visit was at the home of two single sisters, women of great faith. One sister has a son preparing for a mission. The other sister is receiving treatment for cancer. In times of discouragement and despair, they remember the Savior’s Atonement and are filled with faith and hope. They both need the additional blessings and power available through temple ordinances. We encouraged them to join the future missionary in their home in preparing to receive those ordinances.
In each of the three homes we visited, a wise priesthood leader asked each sister if she had received a priesthood blessing. Each time the answer was no. Each sister asked for and received a priesthood blessing that day. Each wept as she expressed gratitude for the comfort, direction, encouragement, and inspiration that came from her Heavenly Father through a worthy priesthood holder.
These sisters inspired me. They showed reverence for God and His power and authority. I was also grateful for the priesthood leaders who visited these homes with me. When we left each home, we counseled together about how to help these families receive the ordinances they needed to progress on the covenant path and strengthen their homes.

In our home, when the bells first rang, we would sit at our brightly covered table and listen as Father read about the birth of our Lord. Then, as Mother had taught us, we three children laid our small, homemade gifts under the Christmas tree. Everyone was remembered—grandparents, uncles, and aunts. Even the birds got better food, and the dog got sausage.
As the bells rang on Christmas Eve, we would go for a walk. The snow glistened from the Christmas lights; it seemed as though we were walking in a sea of stars. The pine trees in front of all the homes were covered with candles. Carved wooden miners and angels, each holding a candle, peered at us from windows. Christmas displays depicted scenes surrounding the birth of the Christ child: shepherds in the fields, Wise Men coming to worship Him, Jesus resting in the manger, Mary bending over Him, Joseph protecting the small family, donkeys and sheep and shepherds kneeling.
After our walk, we would come home with eyes lit up by the winter night. Inside, we would be greeted by the smell of pine boughs. Cookies Mother had baked would be waiting for us.

It was during Janet 5, after I had written a thoughtless letter that hurt a friend, that I wrote in my journal: “Through the many confusing voices that ring through my mind, one calming voice pervades and tells me the whole matter will be of no consequence.” After writing about that “calming voice,” I listened to it more carefully. The “voice” was right; when I later asked the friend to forgive me, he said he already had.

By Ana Rodriguez Ramirez, Spain

One day on my mission, my companion and I were prompted to visit a sister in the ward. We cut out paper hearts and wrote loving messages on them to remind her of her worth.

We arrived at her house, thinking she wouldn’t be home. As we were setting up the paper hearts, her car pulled right up to the house. My companion and I tried to hide to keep up the friendly surprise, but to no avail. She saw us.

The sister got out of her car with tears on her face. She hugged us and said, “You two are my angels. You’re always there when I need you most. Thank you.”

She invited us in and told us of the long day she had dealing with a serious family situation. We just listened to her. We shared how much God loves her and that He didn’t forget about what she was going through. We read scriptures with her, and her home was filled with the Holy Ghost when we left.

Disciples of Jesus Christ are “willing to … comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). He trusts us to be part of His great work—higher and holier ministering. When we take the time to get to know people and listen to them, we are more equipped to be God’s earthly angels.

About 20 years ago I was assigned to go to Montevideo, Uruguay, to tour the mission and dedicate the first chapel built in that city. During the previous year President David O. McKay had broken ground for that chapel, hoping that he could return and dedicate it. Other duties prevented his doing so, and hence I was sent.
After our dedicatory service an Italian sister came up to shake hands. Before doing so she held out her right hand and asked me to look at it. I did but saw nothing unusual about it. Then she called my attention to a scar in the palm of her hand and explained:
“When President McKay was here to break ground for our chapel,” she said, “I had a cancer in the palm of my hand. The doctors could not help me, and the cancer was spreading. I felt impressed by the holy Spirit that if I could just touch President McKay’s hand, my cancer would be healed.
“Many people went forward to greet the President, and because there were so many, I became discouraged. But my prompting continued. I felt it was the Holy Spirit urging me on. I did meet the president. My right hand was heavily bandaged, so I had to shake hands with my left hand.
“When I returned home I took the bandage off and to my great delight saw that the cancer was already drying up. I now show you this right hand, all healed, and I want you to tell President McKay about it.”

During my mission, whenever I felt discouraged or thought I couldn’t go on, I prayed for help. So I knew I could rely on Heavenly Father again to help me adjust to this new life transition.
I got the impression that I needed to serve. Service had always helped me feel like I had a purpose. I went to see my bishop and told him about my desire to serve. He called me to be the Young Women secretary.
A few months later, I told Heavenly Father I wanted to progress and learn more in my life, and I asked for His help. The very next day, I was called as second counselor in the stake Primary presidency.
Being able to serve the young women and the children in Primary really helped me adapt to life after my mission. I was able to focus on helping them turn toward the Savior instead of focusing on my challenges. Over time, adjusting became easier as I strived to serve.

Some time ago I read the following Associated Press dispatch in the newspaper. An elderly man had shared, from early manhood, a one-room cabin near Canisteo, New York, with his brother. At the funeral for his brother, he disclosed that following a quarrel in their young manhood, they had divided the room in half with a chalk line, and neither had crossed the line or spoken a word to the other since that day—62 years before. What a powerful and destructive hidden wedge.