Gospel Story Finder

I had never struggled with my faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ until my older sister started telling me about how her views had changed. She had always had strong faith, so as I heard her words and saw that other friends were also leaving, I started wondering if the gospel really was true.
For the first time, I started to doubt what I had always believed in, and I was scared. I wasn’t sure where to turn. I would pray, read my scriptures, and seek guidance, but my faith truly felt shaken.
Soon, I had let myself drift away from the Spirit. I felt so far away from the Savior.
But seemingly out of nowhere, I was asked to organize a YSA conference for eastern European young adults and to serve as a counselor for FSY.
I was certain my stake president had chosen the wrong person—I was feeling so spiritually low. How could I uplift others when I was barely keeping myself afloat?
I didn’t want to, but I begrudgingly accepted the calling.
I learned a lot as I organized these faith-building events. What I loved most was reconnecting with young adult friends who helped me remember the faith I had before I was struggling to believe.
So many friends listened to my concerns and questions with compassion. They also shared their faith with me and kept reminding me how much my testimony had strengthened them in the past. They reminded me of how I once felt about the gospel, and I recalled profound spiritual experiences throughout my life.
I realized that while I had questions, I did want to have faith in Jesus Christ. I wanted to live the commandments, to attend the temple, to go to church, and to build and share my testimony.
When I was struggling, I had started believing that I didn’t need God. But my burdens have become lighter, and my path is much brighter as I’ve relied on Him and invited Him into my life again.
Accepting this calling was a blessing because I realized how much I had missed the Spirit in my life.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Peggy awoke on Christmas morning. She was excited to receive a fun new toy and eat a Christmas feast. But as she looked around, she knew this year would be different. Even though her father worked hard, money had been scarce for her family.
There were no signs of an upcoming Christmas feast. The vegetable trays were empty, and there was no food in the refrigerator.
Peggy and her brother, Malcolm, walked to the door of their parents’ bedroom and saw them kneeling next to their bed. They quietly listened as Mother and Father prayed that Heavenly Father would help the family have food.
“Come on,” Peggy said to Malcolm. “Let’s go outside.”
Peggy and Malcolm went out and collected some of the wild ferns that grew near the garden. Maybe there wouldn’t be any toys this year, but they could still make their home feel like Christmas.
They felt better after they decorated the house with green ferns, but there was still no sign of food.
“The Lord will provide,” Mother said. “Now let’s set the table.”
Father placed plates on the table while Mother set out forks and spoons.
The children looked at each other with confusion in their eyes. The table was ready, but there was still no food. Breakfast soon passed and lunchtime neared. Peggy was hungry! She wondered how her family would get food.
The clock ticked to 12:00, then 12:30, then 12:45. Still nothing. Then Peggy heard a knock on the door.
She rushed to open the door and was shocked to see the Kirk family standing there. They were holding ham, bread, chicken, salads, and sweets. Peggy couldn’t believe her eyes.
“We were just sitting down to eat our Christmas meal when we thought of you,” Brother Kirk said. “We hope you can use this food.”
Father shook Brother Kirk’s hand, and Mother began to set the food on the kitchen table. Peggy was still shocked. She looked with wide eyes at Mother and Father, but they looked like they expected this to happen.
Peggy knew the feeling she had in the morning was right. This Christmas was different. This was the Christmas that she learned that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. And that was the best gift she could have received.

From Florida:
“As I knelt in prayer, I expressed a sincere desire to share the gospel with someone and asked my Heavenly Father to please send someone to me.
“The very next morning there was a knock on my door, and it was a neighbor wanting to borrow a pan. Although she had lived by us for some time, we had not had much contact. Two days later both she and her husband came over to visit with us. During our conversation she mentioned that they had been looking for a church. I told her how my husband and I were once in that very same position and how our church filled that very special need we had. We invited them to church that Sunday, and they eagerly accepted. Afterward, we asked them if they would be interested in learning more by having the missionary lessons in our home. They told us that, indeed, they would be interested.
“On Christmas Day, my husband baptized and confirmed them members of the Church. They have grown so strong, and they set a shining example to all. They are looking forward to the day when they and their new baby girl can be sealed in the temple for time and eternity.”
Then, from far-off Buenos Aires:
“In our family prayers we began to include the names of nonmembers who had not yet joined the Church. My children prayed for them. Our prayers were different. We were changing our attitude toward missionary work from waiting for opportunities to share the gospel to asking the Lord to prepare specific people, by name, to receive the lessons.
“We have seen one person come into the Church who is now fully active. Three other families, chosen with the Lord’s help, have received the third discussion. All have been to church at least twice. All have been in our home for friendshipping and encouragement. They are receiving the opportunity to accept or reject the gospel message.”

I was born to a good Catholic family in 1949 on the Mediterranean island of Sardinia. There, I was given a Christian education and attended church regularly.
The people of Sardinia have always been quite independent, so it is not surprising that, despite being governed by Italy, they have kept their native tongue as their only language. Consequently, as I grew up, I spoke only Sardic, a language similar to Latin, until I started school at age six.
At school, however, all of our communication was in Italian. This new language fascinated me, and I tried hard to learn it. I was disadvantaged, however, because no one in my family had any books in Italian. All I had were my school books.
Other than having this unusual interest in Italian, I was a typical boy. After school, my five friends and I would play in town. One day we went to the city dump to look for bicycle parts. When we left the dump, we showed each other our “treasures.” I had found a steering wheel, and my friend Franziskeddo wanted it. He offered me in exchange an Italian book he had found. I immediately agreed, although the book was missing the cover and some of the first pages. I was very excited. Finally I had my first book in Italian—in fact my first book ever!
When I started to read it, I discovered religious stories of men I had never heard of—Lehi, Nephi, Alma, Helaman, Moroni. Though I knew nothing of the book’s origin, I had a good and safe feeling whenever I read it. By my 16th year, I had read the book at least 10 times, still without knowing its name. Then, about this time, I left Sardinia and settled in Italy. I eventually lost the book, but the stories and teachings stayed in my memory.
Years later, sometime in the 1970s, I moved to Germany and found a job in Hagen at a sugar-machine factory. One day an engineer with the company returned from a business trip to the United States. He brought with him a book in German titled Das Buch Mormon. Knowing I was interested in religion, he loaned it to me. Unfortunately, my language skills in German were not very good, and I understood very little of what I read—though somehow it seemed familiar.
A few years later, two young men came to my door in Hagen. They introduced themselves as missionaries and asked for a little time to introduce their church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I listened as they told the story of Joseph Smith. At the end of the hour, they gave me a book and asked me to read it. It was a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I immediately liked what I read, beginning with the first verse: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents … “I felt that the book was speaking to me, for I, too, had goodly parents.
As I continued to read, memories flooded into my mind. This was something I had read before! I marvelled at the miracle that had brought into my hands the book I had read so eagerly as a child. With the memories also came the same good, comfortable feeling I had always had while reading the book in my youth. The Lord’s hand in this situation was clear to me, and I found it easy to accept that this book was truly holy scripture and that the church of God was again on the earth. I soon became a member of his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I wonder who it was who threw that torn copy of the Book of Mormon on a trash dump in Sardinia in 1955. I would like to thank that person for introducing me to the treasures of Christ’s gospel.

“Yatchaih gong,” our MTC teacher, Sister Tong, said. “Jyu.”
This was our cue to say the word Jyu—meaning “Lord”—together as a class.
“Jyu,” we repeated in unison.
“Yatchaih gong,” she said again. “Jyu.”
We went through this listen and repeat drill on the word Jyu for several minutes. See, this word is one of the more common errors foreign missionaries in Hong Kong make. In Hong Kong, we speak Cantonese, the second-most common Chinese dialect. And Cantonese has seven tones. That means you can often say the same sound in two different tones, and it will mean completely different things.
Take this word Jyu, for instance. If you say it as a rising tone, it means Lord. But if you say it as a high-falling tone, it means pig. So you can see why this was such a big deal to the MTC teachers.
Now Sister Tong had each of us repeat the word Jyu individually. All 10 of us got it right, except my companion, Elder Heywood.
“Jyu,” he said, with a high-falling tone. We all snickered, but Sister Tong didn’t find it amusing. She was concerned about Elder Heywood. And for good reason. He just couldn’t get those tones down. And if you can’t say the right tones, nobody in Hong Kong will understand you.
I met Elder Heywood my first day at the MTC when we both went to our assigned dorm room to unpack. That’s when I discovered he was going to be my companion for the next two months.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“New Mexico,” Elder Heywood said. “How about you?”
“Philadelphia. Ever been there?”
“Nope. Been to the west coast a few times but not to the East.”
Oh boy, I thought. Here we go. My older brother had warned me about companion problems. He said there would be elders I just wouldn’t get along with because we’d have nothing in common. So this was my first test.
That was the beginning of our relationship.
Later that first day in the MTC, we went to dinner in the cafeteria.
“So, tell me, Elder Heywood,” I said. “What did you do before your mission?”
“Ranched. Sheep, you know. New Mexico has lots of open spaces.”
“How about you?” he asked.
“I played ball. Basketball. Started at power forward for my high school team in Philadelphia. We had four players sign on with Division 1A schools this year. Me? I was offered a scholarship at St. John’s. But I passed it up so I could serve a mission.”
We finished our dinner and went to our first classes. Afterward we walked back to our dorm.
It seemed to me that Elder Heywood and I were about as different from each other as two people could be. We stayed together—as missionaries are supposed to—but we didn’t talk much. We just didn’t have much in common to talk about.
We spent most of our time in class, practicing our Cantonese sounds and tones. So a good part of our time was spent each day drilling our sounds and tones over and over and over again. When we weren’t drilling them with our teacher, we were using a cassette tape and headphones.
After four or five weeks, most of us in my MTC group had our tones down pretty well. But not Elder Heywood. He would massacre them. No matter what, it seemed, he just couldn’t say the words right.
After two months in the MTC, we boarded the 747 to fly to Hong Kong. It was the first time Elder Heywood had been on an airplane. In a way, I kind of felt sorry for the guy. There was no way he would be successful in such a far-off, exotic place as Hong Kong. I knew it and the rest of my MTC group knew it. The only problem was, Elder Heywood didn’t know it.
Once we arrived, we were assigned senior companions and went to our new apartments. I quickly forgot all about Elder Heywood and the problems he must have been having.
Months passed, and soon I was made a district leader—the first level of leadership in the mission. Just one month later, I was made a zone leader, a Z.L., as we called them.
When I had six months left on my mission, the president called me into his office. I knew what was about to happen.
“Elder Goodman, I’m releasing you as zone leader,” President Wong said. “I’m calling you to be an assistant to the president.”
I did it. I finally had what I saw as the most important position a young elder could have. I would have a desk. An office. Direct access to President Wong. I couldn’t wait to write home about this.
Well, I’m here to tell you that being A.P. isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
For the next three months, I spent most of my days dealing with problems missionaries were having. Illnesses. Expired leases on apartments. Lost keys. Lost companions. I started to long for the days when I was out among the Chinese people teaching the gospel. But I didn’t dare admit to myself or anyone else that what I really wanted was to be released as A.P. and sent back out as a normal, everyday missionary.
One day, I had a great idea to spice things up. I approached my companion.
“You know, we have some missionaries who are extremely successful, and others who are not,” I said to Elder Johnson, the other A.P. “I think I’m going to put together a profile of a successful missionary. What do you think?”
“Well, that depends,” Elder Johnson said. “What do you mean by the term ‘successful missionary’?”
“Obvious. Somebody with lots of baptisms.” I could tell Elder Johnson didn’t like this idea.
“What’s the matter?” I said, confronting him.
“Uh, as long as you have the time, I don’t mind if you do this. You’re an agent unto yourself,” he said, quoting scripture.
That afternoon, I started listing all the qualities I thought a successful missionary in Hong Kong must have: strong language skills, an understanding of the culture, social skills, a sense of humor, ability to extract referrals from Church members, ability to eat local cuisine, a sound understanding of Chinese history, and a robust doctrinal background. Of course, language skills were at the top of my list.
I showed my list to Elder Johnson.
“Interesting,” he said. “But are you really going to show all this to President Wong?”
“Why not?”
“Well, it just seems, well, like you’re not focusing on godly attributes.”
“What do you mean, godly attributes? Like what?”
“Like faith, charity, and enduring to the end.”
“But you can’t quantify those,” I protested. “Besides, those are things you’re born with. These other things—like social skills, speaking skills, that stuff—you can learn.”
“But what is most important, what really defines a successful missionary, is his faithfulness to the Lord. To the mission rules. To himself. You know that as well as I do.”
He was right. I did know all that. But I continued my argument anyway.
“See,” I said, still trying to make my point and convince my companion, “if we identify what makes a first-class missionary, then we’ll be able to shape, to form, to mold new elders and sisters when they first come to the mission field.”
“Okay, okay. If you really feel this strongly, go ahead with your project,” Elder Johnson said. “But remember, I’m not with you on this one.”
Neither was the Spirit. Not even close. And you know what? I knew it! I didn’t let my heart yield to the promptings of the Spirit.
The next day, after reviewing my list of qualities, I set out an action plan. First, I would go through the mission records and pick out the missionaries who have had the most baptisms since they’ve been a senior companion. I would give extra points to those who baptized adults, because it seemed tougher to baptize them than it was to baptize teenagers. And I would give the most points to those who baptized entire families.
Once I had those figures tabulated, I would then set out to determine retention rates. See, it’s one thing to baptize, but another thing to keep those converts active in the Church.
And when all that was done, I’d present my work to President Wong. I was certain he’d be so proud of me.
Well, it took four days to go through the mission records. I tallied the results like a bomber pilot tallies direct hits. And it got pretty exciting, at certain points, to see which missionaries were taking the lead over other missionaries. In a perverted kind of way, it was actually kind of fun.
But then the fun stopped. I was shocked.
Guess who had the most baptisms as a senior companion during the past year.
Elder Heywood.
This didn’t make any sense. Elder Heywood’s Chinese was horrible. So I reworked the numbers, just to make sure they were correct.
They were.
And not only did Elder Heywood have the most baptisms, but he had the most families baptized and the most adults baptized as well—and he had only been a senior companion for eight months.
I was stumped. I showed the results of my research to my companion, Elder Johnson. He didn’t seem surprised. But he questioned my motives.
“You were trying to prove Elder Heywood isn’t a good missionary, weren’t you?” he asked. “Is it really that difficult for you to admit that, baptisms or not, he’s doing a great job? Elder Heywood’s humble, he works hard, and from everything I can see he’s enduring to the end. So even if he didn’t have any baptisms, I’d still rank him pretty high on the success chart.”
I was embarrassed. Big time. In China, we call it losing face. I lost mine to the point that I thought I would never find it.
“It looks to me like Elder Heywood wouldn’t score too highly on that worldly list of yours. But according to your own research, he’s the best we’ve got. Give that some thought.”
I followed Elder Johnson’s advice: I thought! My thoughts led me to the scriptures and the teachings of the living prophets about missionaries and their work. I discovered that my conclusions about being a successful missionary were just not true, so I fasted and prayed for forgiveness.
After about another week, I knew what I had to do. I went in to see the president.
“I know you’re not supposed to aspire to callings,” I began. “But I believe I know what the Lord wants me to do.”
“Yes, Elder Goodman? What would that be?”
“I need to be released as your assistant,” I said, my voice cracking and my eyes welling with tears. “I have two months left on my mission, President. I want to have a second chance. I want to end my mission the way it began.”
“You want to go back to the MTC?” President Wong asked, half joking.
“Well, in a way. I want to learn how to be a real missionary. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and, well, I’ve discovered that I really don’t know all that much about how to be a good missionary. And to do that, I’d like to go back to my MTC companion. I’d like to be released and made junior companion to Elder Heywood.”
Two days later I was gone from the air-conditioned mission office and sleeping on the top bunk with Elder Heywood below.
For two weeks I did nothing but observe. I listened. I watched. I followed. And my heart began to soften. Then one morning during companion prayer, the secret to Elder Heywood’s success dawned on me.
It was Elder Heywood’s turn to pray. “And please bless us as we work with
Thy chosen people in Hong Kong,” he prayed. “They are Thy children. They are our brothers and sisters. We love them, and all we want to do is bring these sheep into Thy safe fold.”
He paused. It seemed like he was listening to a prompting from the Holy Ghost. “And please bless Elder Goodman,” he continued. “Help him to know how much I love him. He’s a good man. He wants to do good works. He wants to find the sheep. Please bless him that he’ll have the desires of his heart, that he will be led, that we will be led together to the lost sheep up in the dark mountains that we may bring them to Thy fold. But most of all, please bless Elder Goodman to know I love him.”
Tears flowed from my eyes. What he said touched my heart. His words took away my breath. He was so genuine. So real. I could tell he meant everything he said. This was no canned prayer. It was really from his heart.
Elder Heywood closed the prayer. I cried. I kept my head buried in my hands so he couldn’t see me—although I knew he could hear my weeping. He put his large, rough hand firmly on my shoulder.
“You’re a good missionary,” he whispered. “I’m glad we’re companions again. I always did look up to you.”
He patted my back again, then left the room. He closed the door softly behind him. I prayed for several minutes more, silently and vocally, begging for forgiveness, for humility, for charity, for strength.
I felt the Spirit overcome me in a way that had never happened to me before. I was overwhelmed with emotion, with love for God and man.
I came out of the bedroom to find Elder Heywood sitting at the table, his language book open and his headphones on. Here he was, less than two months away from going home, practicing his sounds and tones. Everyone else in our MTC group must have stopped working on those a year ago. But not him. He loved the Chinese people too much to stop practicing.
Several weeks later we found ourselves at the mission home having our final supper in Hong Kong. President and Sister Wong hosted our MTC group. Following dinner, we had a testimony meeting.
When it was Elder Heywood’s turn to speak, he expressed love for his Heavenly Father, his family, his friends, and most of all, he said, for his companions. Especially his current one, Elder Goodman.
Then it was my turn to speak. I shared my feelings about Hong Kong. I bore testimony of the Savior and His gospel. I testified the Book of Mormon is the word of God. Then I expressed my love for the Chinese people, for President and Sister Wong, and for my companion.
“I just need to tell you that Elder Heywood has taught me a lot about finding lost sheep in the mountains,” I said. “It takes love. And he’s an expert at that, you know.”
To this day, we’re still best friends.

Anya lives in Russia. When she was only 14 years old, she was being taught the gospel by the missionaries. One day in her school class, the teacher was saying false things about the Church and about the Book of Mormon. There were no Latter-day Saints in the school to defend it; but little Anya, who was not even a member, only an investigator of the Church, knew that what the teacher was saying was wrong. She stood up in front of the whole class and defended the Book of Mormon and the Church. What courage! She told them that what they were saying was not true and that she knew the Book of Mormon was true, and if anyone wanted to know the truth for themselves, she invited them to read it like she had done. Then Anya went home and told the missionaries she was ready to be baptized. I love Anya’s courage as she stood as a witness at an important time.

Like perhaps some of you, in going back to school I felt woefully inadequate to compete at the high level that was expected of me. I leaned on the worldly philosophies of "fake it til you make it" and even suffered at times with the imposter syndrome. It was in my second year of grad school (where I was affectionately known as “the old guy”) when I had a profound experience that changed me and my confidence level. I was beginning my clinical rotations and had a mock counseling session with a fellow classmate. At first, she played the part of the client in need, but soon the act gave way to heartfelt emotional reveals and vulnerable disclosure that was real, very real- and that needed my full attention. She didn’t mean for the discussion to lead down a difficult and unsettling journey of transparency, but there we were, staring reality in the face. I leaned on my academic learnings, clinical experience, and proven interventions to help this new friend in need. I felt inadequate, unprepared, and completely out of my league. It was then the power of this scripture came to me:

“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God, and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distill upon thy soul as the dews from heaven."
"The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means, it shall flow unto thee forever and ever.” 1

At that moment, I needed confidence. I needed to know that I belonged there. I needed guidance from the power of God to distill upon me dews of wisdom from heaven. And He did. In that instant I realized it wasn’t about me- it was about Him and how he wanted to help this young woman who, by professed belief, knew little of Him. Words came to my mouth that led to clinical mending and spiritual healing. After the tears dried and class ended, she reached out to me (she DM’d me) to say that she felt something she had never felt before. I knew what it was- and so do you. Brothers and sisters, because of Him and his majesty, I knew I belonged there!

Alex’s testimony was strengthened further following a dream he had in which he was called on a full-time mission. He began preparing but didn’t wait until he was 19 to begin sharing the gospel, starting with his own family.
“Alex always prayed for and encouraged his family,” says Bishop Sayas. “And he would always encourage his older brothers to attend church. The effort to bring his family back succeeded because of Alex.”
“It was Alex who was always working with us and with ward members on our behalf,” Carmen says. “They told us he was always praying for his parents to return to church. We’re grateful he didn’t give up on us.”
If Latter-day Saints are good examples, Alex says, others will eventually take notice. “If we are happy and content in the Church, others are going to want to partake of our happiness. If we endure and move forward, miracles can occur.”

“Wow! Imagine living like that!” I’ve thought many times as I’ve traveled and lived abroad. I was 12 years old the first time I lived overseas. I went to Germany as a foreign exchange student, and there I learned that individuals and families in other places lived differently than I did.
Life-styles were different, food was different, transportation was different, languages were different. I was a stranger in a strange place, and I wondered how to respond. A big part of me wanted to surround myself with familiar things which would make the differences feel farther away. But there was also a part of me that wanted to completely submerge myself in the new culture and absorb it. I suppose I found a happy medium, leaning sometimes more towards one culture, and sometimes more towards the other.

New Era: How does a leader express disapproval if someone isn’t performing well?
Gifford: It helps if you are willing to admit it when you make a mistake. I’ll go into the huddle when we’ve got the ball back after an interception and say, “I’m sorry. That last one was my fault.” And just to show you the wonderful kind of guys I play with, they usually say something like, “We’re together in this. It’s the fault of all of us. Now let’s forget it and take the ball down the field.”

Excitement thundered through Mariano Palermo’s veins as he and his teammate rowed past the 1,000-meter mark in first place. They were halfway to his dream of winning the 2003 Argentine national rowing championship in men’s pairs and a shot at participating in qualifiers for the 2004 Olympics in Athens, Greece.
They had settled into a great rhythm—their strong strokes catching the water in perfect harmony and propelling them ahead of the competition.
However, a few hundred meters later, Mariano’s excitement chilled when fatigue began to slow his teammate’s pace.
Mariano eyed the second-place boat not far behind. Would the lead they had built up be enough to get them to the finish line first?
Mariano’s twin sister, Lucía, had her own doubles race to concentrate on a little later that day, but she made sure she was there to watch her brother compete. She was thrilled when his team leaped out to such a quick lead. But her heart sank when she saw their pace drop off.
The Palermo twins have always been very close. Being the same age and involved in many of the same activities, they have always spent a lot of time together.
“Mutual, seminary, school,” Lucía lists. “Now that we’re older, it’s a little different, but we still train together.”
The twins, members of the Pacheco Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Litoral Stake, are also united by other interests. They both enjoy working with their hands—Lucía doing handicrafts or sewing and Mariano working on cars.
“I love to cook,” Lucía adds.
“And I like to eat, so we’re a good team,” laughs Mariano. “I like to cook with her. I’m not very good at it, but it’s fun.”
While the two get along really well—“We can talk about anything,” says Lucía—Mariano says most people don’t realize they’re twins. The two don’t look alike.
“And we don’t know what the other is thinking,” Lucía says, joking about how twins are sometimes portrayed. “But we’re very affected by what happens to the other, whether in school or in competition. We are very united. It’s a beautiful thing.”
When Mariano felt his teammate’s pace slowing, he knew it didn’t matter how strong he felt. If Mariano pulled his oar harder or faster than his teammate did, the unbalanced effort would send the boat off course.
He matched his teammate’s pace and watched as the competitors started gaining on them.
As twins, Mariano and Lucía share many things. Among them is a fierce drive to train hard and give their best individual effort to reach their goals. But in team rowing, individual effort alone won’t get you across the finish line first. The twins have learned that if you aren’t in sync with your teammates, you won’t win.
“The effectiveness of the boat depends on unity,” Mariano says. “We’ve got to be thinking the same, whether it’s a team of two, four, or eight.”
“If we’re not working together—” begins Lucía.
“Precisely,” Mariano interjects.
“—the boat won’t work,” she finishes.
It’s a principle the two understand not only as rowers but as twins and as members of the Church.
“When the team is focused on the same objective, it’s much easier to obtain,” Mariano says. “It’s the same with our family. We have the same goal to be together forever. That helps a ton.”
The two understand that working together is essential not only in rowing but in reaching our ultimate goal to become like Jesus Christ and return to our Heavenly Father’s presence. The Lord said, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine” (D&C 38:27).
Once we’ve learned that life is not a singles competition but a team event, each of us faces a very important spiritual decision.
As the second-place team pulled alongside Mariano’s boat, it took real discipline for him not to give in to the temptation to row as hard as possible. The finish line was so close. But Mariano knew that rowing at his own pace could be disastrous. At best it would only slow them down; at worst it would send them off course and possibly out of the race.
This choice to follow someone else’s pace rather than our own in order to reach our goal is an important principle when applied to life on earth. We cannot return to our Heavenly Father’s presence on our own (see Romans 3:23).
Fortunately, the Savior was willing to put Himself in our boat through the Atonement (see Alma 7:11–12), providing the way to the finish line, where our Heavenly Father is.
But as in rowing, in order to win the prize we must be willing to give up anything that would keep us from rowing in harmony with the Lord. Atonement means to be reconciled or restored to harmony. Achieving harmony requires being willing to give up all our sins (see Alma 22:18), put off worldly desires, and do the Lord’s will (see Mosiah 3:19).
That’s not always easy, but the Savior knows the “race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1), and He knows exactly what we need in order to return to our Father’s presence.
If we choose not to follow Him, preferring to do things our own way, we are out of sync and in danger of slowing our progress or even putting ourselves out of the race.
In life as well as in athletics, some would rather set their own pace, believing that individuality is the way to true freedom. They choose to row through life alone, not realizing that with Jesus Christ, they could achieve so much more (see Mark 10:27).
In the rowing world, it is well-known that “a team working together can go much faster than an individual,” Lucía explains.
On the standard 2,000-meter course, a good time for a single male rower at his best pace is under seven minutes (the world record is 6:35.40). On a team of eight, however, that same rower, even though he may be matched with slower individual rowers, could go even faster. The world record for a team of eight is 5:19.85.
Just as it would be difficult for a single rower to beat a unified team, without the Savior, we cannot obtain our eternal goals.
Mariano and his teammate refused to give up. But shortly before the finish line, they were passed, leaving them in second place.
Lucía was at the boat ramp when Mariano pulled his boat out after the race. She had her own race coming up to think about, but when she saw his disappointed tears, she broke down herself.
“I knew how hard he had worked,” she says. “I couldn’t bear seeing him so disappointed. I had never seen him like that.”
Together, the twins sorrowed in Mariano’s disappointment. Finally, Lucía’s coach separated them, worried that she wouldn’t be able to focus on her own race. But when the time came, Lucía and her teammate won their pairs race and later the South American championships, earning the right to compete in the 2004 Olympics.
And just as they had shared sorrow in Mariano’s disappointment, they rejoiced together in Lucía’s success.
“I was so excited when she won the opportunity to compete in the Olympics,” Mariano says. “She earned it.”
At the Olympics, Lucía and her teammate ended up ranked 17th. Like Mariano’s results, her finish wasn’t exactly all she had dreamed about. Still, their goals remain high. In the short-term, they want to qualify for an Olympic medal. In the long run, they want to qualify for eternal life.
Both goals will require sacrifice and a willingness to work as one with someone else.
But while the world rewards only one winner (see 1 Corinthians 9:24), no matter how united each team is, the prize the Lord offers can be obtained by all who qualify. Nephi said that “many of us, if not all, may be saved in his kingdom” (2 Nephi 33:12; emphasis added), but we must first “be reconciled unto Christ” (2 Nephi 33:9) by sacrificing our worldly desires in order to follow Him.
The Palermo twins are united in the hope that their faith and sacrifices will be enough to win the one race that matters most of all.

Many years ago it was my privilege to provide a blessing to a beautiful 12-year-old young lady, Jami Palmer. She had just been diagnosed with cancer. She learned that her leg where the cancer was would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up a rugged trail was out of the question, she thought.
Jami told her friends they would have to hike without her. I’m confident there was disappointment in her heart.
But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”
“But I can’t walk,” came the reply.
“Then we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.
None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.

In 1996, at age 45, Ron was in the middle of a successful career when the call came to serve as mission president of the New York New York North Mission. Like the Apostles of old, he “straightway left [his] nets” (Matthew 4:20).
“Accepting the call took only a microsecond,” Elder Rasband says. He said to the Lord, “You want me to go serve; I’ll go serve.”
Ron took along a great lesson he had learned from his professional experience: “People are more important than anything else.”5 With that knowledge and his honed leadership skills, he was ready to begin full-time service in the Lord’s kingdom.
Ron and Melanie found missionary work in New York City both challenging and invigorating. Ron was quick to delegate responsibility to the missionaries—inspiring their loyalty, and teaching, building, and lifting them in the process.
In 2000, a short eight months after Ron and Melanie had completed their mission, Ron was called to the Seventy, where his preparation, experience, and many talents have blessed the Church. As a member of the Seventy, he served as a counselor in the Europe Central Area Presidency, helping to oversee the work in 39 nations. Though he left college more than 40 years ago, he remains a serious student, welcoming ongoing mentoring from his senior Brethren as he supervised the North America West, Northwest, and three Utah Areas; served as Executive Director of the Temple Department; and served in the Presidency of the Seventy, working closely with the Twelve.
Recently, Elder Rasband observed, “What a great honor and privilege it is for me to be the least among the Twelve and to learn from them in every way and in every occasion.”6
Mormon Preachers, First Missionaries in Denmark, by Arnold Friberg (based on a painting by Christen Dalsgaard, 1856); Dan Jones Awakens Wales, by Clark Kelley Price
Two paintings adorn the walls of Elder Rasband’s office. One is of Mormon missionaries teaching a family in Denmark in the 1850s. The second is of early missionary Dan Jones preaching from the perch of a well in the British Isles. The paintings remind Elder Rasband of his own ancestry.
“These early pioneers gave their all to the gospel of Jesus Christ and leave a legacy for their posterity to follow,” he has testified.7 What pushed Elder Rasband’s ancestors forward amidst adversity and persecution is what most qualifies him for his new calling: a knowledge and a sure witness of the Lord and His work.
“I have so very much to learn in my new calling,” he has said. “I feel very humble about that. But there’s one aspect of my calling I can do. I can bear testimony ‘of the name of Christ in all the world’ (D&C 107:23). He lives!”8
As a great-grandson of pioneers, he adds: “What they felt, I feel. What they knew, I know.”9
And what they hoped for in their posterity is embodied in the life, teachings, and service of Elder Ronald A. Rasband, who is following their example and honoring their legacy as he goes forward as one of the Lord’s special witnesses.

It was a hot July afternoon, and the chapel was filled for stake priesthood meeting. There was a young priest sitting on the stand in “contained nervousness,” and after the hymn the stake president announced him as the next speaker.
He spread out his notes, and as he did so his quivering hands betrayed his fear. He began to speak, but soon his speech quickened to a gabble, his words wild and repetitive. Worse followed as he began to stammer and then stopped speaking altogether.
A heavy silence settled on the room. Who has not felt the terror of standing before an awesome audience? Everyone thought he would sit down, but no, he stayed on his feet, his head down. A few ominous seconds ticked by, and then he squared his shoulders and blurted out: “Brethren, I ask for an interest in your faith and prayers, that I might have sureness of speech.”
Then he went back to where he had left off, speaking quietly but clearly. Soon his voice rose to its natural resonance, and he delivered his message to its full conclusion. It was not so much his message that thrilled those who were there. It was the image of that young man, unflinching even though he felt himself teetering on a precipice of fear, taking up the banner of courage and rallying himself for the cause of truth. (See Wayne B. Lynn, Lessons from Life, 1987, 51–52.)

In a small country town lived a boy named Willard. Willard collected everything imaginable. In fact, his room looked like a junkyard. But Willard knew that one day he would build something truly magnificent with all the junk he’d collected.
Willard started keeping all his junk in his room after his parents told him that he couldn’t leave it scattered throughout the house.
In one corner of his room Willard had an assortment of cardboard boxes. The smaller ones were stuffed inside the bigger ones to save space. Dangling from his doorknob were old shoelaces and pieces of string and yarn. Willard had shoe boxes full of different-size wheels from broken toys. Old wagon wheels were propped against the wall. Piled here and there were old inner tubes, Popsicle sticks, bottle caps, milk cartons, stacks of pictures from magazines, crayons, pencils, and all kinds of tape. And on his dresser he had soda cracker boxes piled to the ceiling.
One evening when Willard’s mother tried to get into his room to say good night, she could barely squeeze through the doorway. “Willard,” she said, “this mess is getting to me.”
When his father pushed into the room, he ordered, “Willard! This stuff has to go. You have until the weekend to get your room cleaned out. That’s it!”
Willard didn’t sleep much that night. He couldn’t possibly throw out all his magnificent junk. He knew that the time had come for him to build something truly magnificent.
It took Willard two days to carry all the junk from his room to the backyard. On the third day he started building. First Willard threaded some heavy wire through an old bicycle inner tube and nailed it to a tree. “A truly magnificent basketball hoop,” he said, pleased with himself.
Then he cut shorter pieces of heavy wire and shaped them into small hoops. “A truly magnificent ringtoss,” he murmured.
Next he built a pushcart, using some discarded wagon wheels. He made a seat for it and oiled the wheels. “Truly magnificent,” he said, beaming.
Willard took the tops and bottoms off all his cardboard boxes. He laid them end to end, forming a maze. He crawled through the boxes and pasted his collection of pictures on the inside walls. A truly magnificent fun house, thought Willard.
Willard stacked some milk cartons on a crate, then called it a day.
On the fourth day Willard still had lots to do. He made airplanes and little houses out of his piles of Popsicle sticks. He made kites out of newspapers and used his yarn collection for tails. Finally he built lots of his favorite toy—cracker-box trucks. He cut down one end of each box a little, folded down the flaps to make the cab, and taped the folds in place. He punched holes in the sides of the box, pushed dowels through for axles, snapped on wheels.
On the fifth day Willard put up a sign in his front yard:
WILLARD’S MAGNIFICENT CARNIVAL
ANY GAME OR RIDE—ONLY 5 PRETTY ROCKS
MAGNIFICENT PRIZES
Curious, all the children in the little town came to his carnival. They played ringtoss and basketball and knocked down milk cartons with balls. There was always a line of kids waiting to ride the pushcart.
One girl came out of the fun house and said, “Willard, this is the best fun house I’ve ever been in—it’s not even scary.” One boy said, “Willard, this is great. I have enough rocks to spend the whole day here.”
Willard gave prizes to the game winners. They could choose an airplane, a house, a kite, or a cracker-box truck. Like Willard, their favorite was the cracker-box trucks. “These are really nifty,” they said. Everyone wanted one, even the girls.
After two days of fun and games, Willard was out of prizes. So he asked for everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming to my carnival. You may take home anything that you see here.”
Some children took bottle caps, some took boxes, others took wheels and odds and ends until everything was gone. Soon Willard’s backyard was clean and quiet and back to normal.
All during the carnival, Willard’s parents had looked on in amazement. Now his father said, “I’m really proud of Willard for having this carnival. He got rid of all his junk and provided a great time for all the kids in town.”
“He certainly did!” said his mother.
But when they walked into Willard’s room to tell him how proud they were of him, they were stunned. All over the floor, and in every nook and cranny, were boxes and sacks filled to the top with pretty rocks!

F. Melvin Hammond, an emeritus General Authority Seventy, says that genuine ministering has always been about looking for those opportunities. At age 91, he serves in the temple, teaches once a month in elders quorum, and stays updated on local and national sports teams so that he can find common ground for conversations with younger men in his ward.
He knows all of his neighbors and visits them often. He tries to follow the Savior’s example, who spent time with people from all walks of life. “I like visiting with people regardless of their situation or gospel allegiance,” Elder Hammond says. “One neighbor is a recovered alcoholic, another neighbor hasn’t been to church for years, while another has dementia and his wife asks me to sit with him while she runs errands. We both like cowboy shows, so we watch them together.”

Elder Perry: We should never forget the value of partaking of the sacrament. I recall another experience I had in the military. I was part of a group that was able to stay together for a time. We held sacrament meeting every Sunday I was in the service. Sometimes the water came from a canteen cup and the bread was a biscuit from our K rations, but we partook of the sacrament. Friends who were separated from us, who did not have the opportunity to take the sacrament for a long time, seemed to be not as sure in their faith because of it.

May I share with you another true story and example of this kind of love that I again witnessed at this university. A few years had passed since the previous story. I was now serving in my first year as the bishop of a campus singles ward. If I needed the Lord=s help before while our bishop regained his health, my need was now ten-fold. I felt so keenly the need for the Lord=s direction as I often struggled to know how to serve and teach and counsel the young people in my ward.

Brothers and sisters, may I once again bear my personal witness to you that our Heavenly Father sustains, leads and guides those imperfect and weak vessels He calls to serve in His kingdom. Something very real happens when priesthood hands are laid on an ordinary man=s head and the sacred mantle and keys of a bishop are bestowed.

We are each so blessed to always have close in our lives, our own bishop. Listen to his teachings. Follow his counsel. He has been given special keys designed to bring down the blessings of heaven upon those whom he serves, if they will sustain him. If you will, throughout your entire life, always follow the counsel of your bishop, no matter who the man happens to be at any given time, I know blessings will come into your life that you will otherwise miss. I know such blessings have come into my life in direct proportion to the measure in which I have sustained and followed my own bishop.

Well, the Lord certainly blessed and sustained me as a new bishop as I wrestled with knowing how to help and serve the members of my ward. In particular, I remember pleading with the Lord to help me know how to help one specific sister. I=ll call her Susan. Understand that Susan was not a bad person, but a history of family conflicts and interpersonal crises had resulted in some difficult challenges that often surfaced in Susan=s life. Susan often felt alone, and her actions and attitude did not always bring harmony into her apartment.

In fact, it was often just the opposite. It seemed that Susan would always test anyone=s offered care and concern by pushing back, and pushing back hard. As some of you will know, such apartment situations can be very challenging and difficult for everyone involved. Towards the end of the first semester, Susan=s roommates had reached the end of their patience. While I know they each loved Susan, things came to a head because of some unwise choices Susan had made which resulted in a trip for everyone to the Dean=s Office.

It seemed that a solution just could not be found to this difficult situation other than having Susan withdraw from school the next semester. Shortly thereafter I was visiting one day with another sister in the ward. I=ll call her Mandy. During the course of our interview, Mandy shared with me an experience of a few days earlier. In the middle of the afternoon, Mandy had come home from school to her apartment, something she rarely did.

While home, she did something even stranger for her, something she had never done before in the middle of the day. She decided to go to the commons area of her apartment complex and shoot some pool. Mandy was not the type of girl one would normally find shooting pool in the middle of the afternoon at the end of a semester with finals rapidly approaching. But something impressed her to do so on this day.

When she arrived, there was no one else in the area, except a girl she recognized from the ward but had never spoken with, Susan. At Mandy=s initiative, a conversation ensued during which Susan, for some reason, felt comfortable sharing much of what was happening in her life. This was unusual for Susan. She usually shared very little with anyone, including her bishop.

Something impressed Mandy to come home that afternoon, go to the Commons, and approach a stranger. Brothers and sisters, you and I know what that something was. It=s the same something I asked you to listen for today. Something that may impress you to be someplace or to do something for a Awayfaring@ brother or sister who Amay pass your way;@ more probable, one whom the Lord will put in your way.

Mandy had followed the impressions of the Spirit. A trust quickly developed in only a matter of days. She continued to follow impressions, including a challenging one that she volunteer to switch apartments with Susan=s current roommate. Due in large part to the effects of this selfless act of love, Susan was able to stay in the apartment complex and in school for the remainder of the year.

Mandy made this switch knowing that challenges would certainly follow, and much to the amazement of her many friends in the ward. Several knew something of the difficult situation she was entering. Was the next semester easy and trouble free? Certainly not. However, both Susan and Mandy=s lives were changed for the better. Both became more like the Savior whom they loved because Mandy lived what the Lord had taught when he said:

Love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:12-13)

I kind of think of prayer as the cream of the gospel but since I am working on my wellness challenge and I am trying to make healthy choices I am going to compare it to non-fat milk for this story. For those that are lactose intolerant you can substitute soy or almond milk for your own analogy. I came back from the gym one morning ready to make and eat my oatmeal. I was looking forward to eating this as I hungry from my workout and I had cut up bananas and walnuts to put on top. In trying to hurry to get ready for work I grabbed it and started walking upstairs to finish getting ready. As I took a bite I thought, something is missing. I took another bite and thought this is bland. It was then that I discovered in my hurry I had completely forgotten the milk. I was surprised at what a difference it made. Now you can substitute any cereal you normally eat like Fruit Loops or Captain Crunch but you can understand that you need milk with your cereal. Or maybe you might like to compare it to eating an Oreo and not having milk to dunk it in. So I say to you “Don’t forget the milk” meaning don’t forget to pray. The gospel is so much more flavorful and delightful with your spiritual milk or prayer each day.