Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago I attended a summer swim camp at Brigham Young University in Provo. Growing up in Tennessee, I didn’t have many LDS friends. I was so excited to fly west to meet other kids who shared my faith and passion for swimming. Little did I know that my decision to go to this camp would change my life.
Everyone attending the camp was given a dorm room and a roommate. My roommate, Sam, was on the water polo and swim teams at his high school in Southern California. He also just happened to be one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. Within five minutes of talking, I felt like we were best friends.
Sam talked to everyone. He radiated confidence and people were drawn to him. He made more friends in a few hours than I had made in my entire life!
That night, Sam and I were in our dorm room getting ready for bed. I was about to turn the lights off when Sam quietly knelt down beside his bed and offered a silent prayer. I was blown away! How could someone so popular and so good at sports be humble enough to get on his knees and pray at night? I turned the lights off and lay in bed thinking about what I had just witnessed.
The next day, I saw my friend in a whole new light. I wondered why he continued to kneel and pray at night when his parents weren’t there to make him. I started to have my own personal prayers. At first, I just prayed while lying in bed. Then I built up the courage to pray kneeling. I would turn the lights off, kneel, pray, and jump into bed in one fluid motion.
As I started to gain confidence in myself, my prayers grew longer and more sincere. My spiritual strength increased with every prayer. I realized what Sam had was spiritual strength. He radiated that strength with love toward other people.
By his example, Sam inspired me to pursue water polo, and I later had the wonderful opportunity to play for the University of Tennessee. But more importantly, through his simple example of praying each night, he inspired me to continually strengthen myself spiritually through prayer. (See Alma 37:6–7.)
Serving as a missionary in the Idaho Pocatello Mission, I pray more than ever before. Every time I kneel in prayer I remember my friend Sam, who taught me by example to “set my face unto the Lord God, to seek by prayer” His strength and comfort (Daniel 9:3). This is one way that I can achieve the divine potential that God sees in me.

William leaned his rake against the side of the house and plopped down on the grass. Raking the leaves was hard work, but he and his sisters, Chloé and Amelia, were finally done. Way up above the Alps mountains he could see a plane fly by. He wondered where it was going.
William loved his little town near the French-Swiss border. People from all over the world visited here. He thought about the places he wanted to go, the people he could meet, and the adventures he might have someday.
He was startled out of his daydream by whistling and the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps in the yard next door.
“Pat must be getting ready to rake his leaves,” William thought. “I’m sure glad we’re done with ours.”
“But if raking leaves was hard for three people, it must be really hard for one!” William thought. Pat’s wife, Pam, had just had surgery, so Pat would have to rake his leaves by himself.
Mum always said, “When we’re helping, we’re happy!” and William thought that probably meant helping Pat, even though they were already tired from raking their own leaves.
William looked over at Chloé and Amelia, who were building tiny twig houses in the grass. “Should we go help Pat?” he asked. “We can help him finish pretty fast.”
Chloé and Amelia agreed and followed William.
“Want some help?” Amelia asked as they walked around the bushes into Pat’s yard.
“I sure would! But you kids have been raking all afternoon. I bet you’re tired.”
“That’s OK,” William said. “We want to help. After all, when we’re helping, we’re happy!”
As they worked, Pat told the kids fun stories from his life. Pat was from India, but he had lived all over Asia and Africa.
After the leaves were bagged, William looked over and noticed the apples scattered around the two tall apple trees in Pat’s yard. Their work wasn’t quite done yet. William stooped down and started gathering apples. He sorted the rotten ones from the good ones as he went along. Chloé and Amelia ran over to put the apples in piles.
Pat rolled his old green wheelbarrow out from the shed. “Let’s put the rotten ones in here. Then you can take the good ones home with you.”
“That’s OK, Pat. We don’t need to take your apples,” William said.
“I want to give them to you,” Pat said. “After all, when I’m giving, I’m happy!”
That night during dinner, the children told Mum and Dad how much fun they’d had helping Pat and hearing his stories.
Suddenly William had an idea. “I know what we can do with the apples he gave us!” He jumped up and grabbed a copy of the Liahona from the bookshelf. “I think Pat and Pam would really like this,” William said, turning to a recipe for apple cake. “And like Pat said today, when we’re giving, we’re happy!”
“Let’s make a cake for our other neighbors too!” Chloé said.
William grinned. He thought about all the people he could meet and the exciting stories he could hear. And all that through just a bit of kindness. And a bit of cake.

What if some of our traditions don’t have a place in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ? Letting go of them may require the emotional support and nurture of another, as it did for me.

When I was born, my parents planted a magnolia tree in the backyard so there would be magnolias at my wedding ceremony, held in the Protestant church of my forefathers. But on the day of my marriage, there were no parents at my side and no magnolias, for as a one-year convert to the Church, I had traveled to Salt Lake City, Utah, to receive my temple endowment and be sealed to David, my fiancé.

When I left Louisiana and neared Utah, a feeling of homelessness swept over me. Before the wedding, I would be staying with David’s step-grandmother, who was lovingly known as Aunt Carol.

Here I was, a stranger to Utah, going to stay in a stranger’s house before being sealed—for eternity—to a family I barely knew. (Good thing I loved and trusted my future husband and the Lord!)

As I stood at the front door of Aunt Carol’s house, I wanted to shrink away. The door opened—I stood there like a scared rabbit—and Aunt Carol, without a word, reached out and took me into her arms. She, who had no children of her own, knew—her nurturing heart knew—that I needed a place to belong. Oh, the comfort and sweetness of that moment! My fear melted, and there came to me a sense of being anchored to a spiritually safe place.

When I first got to know the Church in 2016, it was a strange thing for me to have received the gospel through my two classmates, who today also serve in the same mission as I do. I waited a year to be baptized since my family was Catholic and it was a difficult thing for me, but thanks to prayer, the Lord supported me, and I was baptized in July 2017. I was in fifth grade, and I was the only member of the Church in my family, and in my neighborhood. I had to walk at least nine kilometers every Sunday to attend sacrament meeting, which from the start was difficult for me.
After my baptism, I lost the job that I had, and I began to go through a difficult moment. I applied the advice given in Deuteronomy 31:6, only if I was not afraid, the Lord was going to help me, and with His help I brought one of my best friends to Church who was the second person in my neighborhood to join the Church, and who also serves a mission today in Liberia.
After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.
In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.
When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.
I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.
I am happy to serve Him in this time, I know that our Heavenly Father knows us personally and prepares us with the means to serve Him in his time by the tools He himself prepares to help us get there. Fervent prayer is the only way that can bring us closer to Him and help us prepare to become more like the Savior Jesus Christ.

Roger: I remember hearing a story about a young man and his wife when they were just newlyweds. The husband was convinced he had married an angel - she was "practically perfect in every way." However, after several weeks of marriage he discovered that his bride had a few idiosyncrasies that irritated him a little. He decided that rather than point them out to her every time something happened (ceaseless pinpricking, as President Kimball called it), he would keep a little card in his pocket to record his notes on and prepare for an opportune time to sit down with her and share his observations. When he felt he was ready, he invited his wife to join him. After he let her know how much he loved and appreciated her, he also told her that he had noticed a few little things that he thought she could work on. He then pulled the card out of his pocket and started to go through his list. You can imagine how well that went over! He said that as soon as he did that, she pulled a long list of her "issues" out of her pocket and let him know some of the things she had observed about him. He was shocked to think that someone could find some faults in him! He decided he had better go for a walk and think about what she had said. As he was walking, he reflected on three important lessons: (1) Walking is good for a relationship - whether you do it alone or together. Either way, when there are intense emotions involved surrounding an issue, it is a good idea to let a little time and distance pass before addressing the matter so both can focus on resolving the issue and not get carried away in the emotion of the moment. (Fuel, heat, and hot air are the elements needed for creating a fire!); (2) It's a good idea to remember the sage counsel of Benjamin Franklin, who said, "Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, half shut afterwards"; and (3) You cannot change another person, you can only change yourself. This young husband reported that when he started working on the things that he needed to do to make himself a better companion for his wife, all the little idiosyncrasies he had noticed before seemed to disappear. Now, I am sure that the wife was working to make herself a better companion for her husband as well. If we focus on being the right person and becoming better rather than trying to change our companion and hoping they will become better, our relationships will be much happier.

As prophet, President David O. McKay traveled with his son Llewelyn to Europe. He dedicated temple sites and tried to greet as many Church members as possible.
Llewelyn: Father, you don’t have time to greet all these children. Aren’t you tired?
President McKay: Son, never hurt a child. I can take time to meet these youngsters—I wouldn’t disappoint them for anything.
Girl: President McKay, could you sign my autograph book?
President McKay: Do you think I can write plainly enough for you to read it?
Just then, someone tapped President McKay on the shoulder and whispered to him for a moment. When he turned back to sign the little girl’s book, she was gone.
President McKay: Llewelyn! Please find the little girl in the blue dress. I’m afraid she thinks I didn’t want to sign her book.
Others helped Llewelyn search, but the little girl was nowhere to be found. On their way to London, Llewelyn and President McKay traveled with a group of missionaries. President McKay told them about the little girl in the blue dress.
President McKay: I wish we could have found her.
Missionary: President McKay, we think we know who she is. We’ll talk to her branch president, and he’ll phone you this evening.
President McKay: Wonderful!
President McKay talked to the little girl’s branch president, apologized for what had happened, and arranged for the autograph book to be sent to his office in Salt Lake City. When it arrived, he eagerly signed it and mailed it back.

My first-grade teacher at Beaumont Elementary School in Knoxville, Tennessee, was Miss Ready. At the beginning of the school year, she asked me to sit beside and help a blind boy named Josh. At first, I was a little nervous because I had never been around anyone with a disability before. I tried to remember how kind and loving Jesus was to all people. By the end of the year, Josh and I had become best friends.
Josh lives with his grandmother and rarely gets to go anywhere, so I invited him to the zoo. We had a lot of fun feeding the animals and stuff. I also took Josh swimming in the pool where my mom works in the summer. He’d never been to a pool before. In the spring, I invited Josh to go with us to sing for a senior citizens center. It was our Primary’s Easter service project. Josh made lots of new friends. We sang for the seniors, and then we went back to the church and had an Easter egg hunt and played games.
One of my mom’s favorite memories is of when she brought cupcakes to share with my class on my birthday. Josh was with his special education teacher in another classroom down the hall and around the corner. Miss Ready asked me to go get him. I was so excited that I told Josh, “Let’s run!” With Josh holding my arm, we ran for all we were worth. When we got to the classroom, we were out of breath, and Josh said, “That was so much fun! Can we do it again?” I realized then that Josh never gets to run.
Josh’s teacher came huffing and puffing into the room, her eyes big and round from fright. She calmed down when she saw that Josh was OK and that I had been careful and hadn’t bumped him into anything as we ran.
During a field trip toward the end of our first-grade year, Miss Ready separated Josh and me and put me into another group. She told my mom that she hadn’t realized until then how isolated I had been, taking care of Josh all year and that she felt bad about it. But both Mom and I feel that it was a very rewarding year.
I have gone on to second grade now. Josh stayed back in first grade. I miss him a lot, but every couple of days or so we talk on the phone. I’m going to invite him back to church with me and pray that his grandma will let him come. I know that Heavenly Father loves Josh, and I pray that he will find someone else in his class to care for him with love and kindness. In the meantime, I’ll find someone in my second-grade class who needs a friend, because I’m trying to be like Jesus.

The Holy Ghost recently helped Camila make an important decision about her standards. “I wanted to dance in a presentation,” she says, “but the costumes all the girls were wearing were short skirts. I talked with my mother, and she said to pray about it and choose the right. I thought a lot about it and talked with my dance teacher. She said I could wear a longer skirt, and my grandmother made me one. As I danced I felt happy, and I felt the Holy Ghost with me. I was the only girl wearing a longer skirt, but nobody made fun of me. Some of my friends said they were learning from me.”

After graduating from Utah State University, I obtained my first teaching job. My first year was extremely difficult, but after a few years I was enjoying my job and my students. I began to feel impressions that I should return to school for a Master's degree. I resisted these impressions. I explained to Heavenly Father that graduate school wasn't really necessary since what I wanted was to get married. Why take the time and money to get another degree when I was perfectly happy to wrap up my career and get married? Like Tommy, all I could hear was "you aren't going to get your gumball."

Well, finally I stepped away from the gumball machine and returned to school and the moment classes began, I knew I was where I needed to be. Now I'm here at BYU-Idaho, something I could not have done without an advanced degree, and I'm working on my PhD at Idaho State University. This is not the life I planned for myself, but it is a deeply rewarding life that has brought me a lot of happiness. When God asks us to step away from the gumball machine it is often to give us other blessings...things that he knows will make us happy and help us to grow.

I had been on my mission only a few weeks when I was awakened in the middle of the night by a rumbling sound. It started in the distance and grew louder as it approached. Soon our entire house was shaking. Fairly quickly the pounding ceased, and the roaring sound faded. Fortunately my companion had warned me that earthquakes were common. Since everything seemed fine, I rolled over and soon went back to sleep.
Several weeks after my middle-of-the-night wake-up, I heard people talking about an earthquake earlier that morning. I wondered what was wrong with them, since I hadn’t heard or felt anything. Confused, I finally asked when the “earthquake” had occurred. Realizing that I was exercising or showering at the time mentioned, I couldn’t believe it had really happened. The first earthquake had woken me up, so surely if there had been another when I was awake, I would have noticed.
But this was just the first of many supposed earthquakes. I never felt them, so I wondered if people were confused as to what an earthquake was like.
After eight months of what I thought were pretend earthquakes, my Sunday School teacher paused midsentence to say, “Feel that? There was an earthquake.” Everyone nodded in agreement—except me. I didn’t understand. There was no rumble or roar. My chair didn’t shake. The walls didn’t rattle. How could there have been an earthquake?
Then I tried to remember what I had felt when the teacher mentioned the earthquake. It was an ever-so-slight dizziness—almost as if I had just spun around. Could that subtle feeling be an earthquake?
Because of my teacher, I started to be aware and to know that the supposed earthquakes were real. I realized that I hadn’t felt them when I was exercising or showering or sleeping because they were just a subtle shake. But gradually I became more aware of a dizzy feeling or a slight sway, recognizing it as evidence of an earthquake.

Carla and Tim* moved into a new home about two years ago. Since that time their relationships with their neighbors have deepened. They’ve noticed, however, that as they become more familiar with their new friends, they also see more of their friends’ shortcomings. Apparent flaws in everything from the upkeep of their homes to their child-rearing practices seem more glaring all the time. They have begun to dwell on their neighbors’ faults in their conversations, and sometimes as they lie in bed at night they find themselves talking about the little things that bothered them that day.
Elsewhere two families in a small rural ward began feuding years ago. Although the exact circumstances are difficult for anyone to remember, it had something to do with a remark made by one father to another. The original observation was innocent, but it was misunderstood, and within days several variations of the story had spread. Feelings were hurt, sides were taken, and for years bitter feelings have chased the Spirit from them at activities and gatherings. Local leaders have tried to provide counsel and encouragement. Often those actions have been misunderstood as well. Today members of an entire family, including children and grandchildren, refuse to attend church largely because a simple observation blew up into a fire of faultfinding and criticism.
Modern prophets and the scriptures warn us that finding fault and judging others—whether in a single relationship, a tight-knit neighborhood, or a ward setting—can be spiritually hazardous.
Faultfinding distorts our perception in a number of ways. First, we inaccurately see ourselves as superior. When we become preoccupied with the weaknesses of others, our attention is distracted from our own faults. We develop a kind of spiritual farsightedness, focusing our vision on the faults of others, and our spiritual eyes may begin to play tricks on us as we see right through what is much closer—our own faults.
In Matthew 7:3 [Matt. 7:3], the Savior describes this curious condition: “Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”
Though we may see ourselves as better than those we criticize, in reality they are as precious in the Lord’s sight as we are, as the prophet Jacob makes clear:
“And now, my brethren, I have spoken unto you concerning pride; and those of you which have afflicted your neighbor, and persecuted him because ye were proud in your hearts, of the things which God hath given you, what say ye of it?
“Do ye not suppose that such things are abominable unto him who created all flesh? And the one being is as precious in his sight as the other” (Jacob 2:20–21).
If we find ourselves feeling superior to our neighbor, we likely have forgotten that we also have “sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Rom. 3:23).
In finding fault with others, we are liable to mistake appearance for substance. Unable to discern the thoughts and intents of our neighbors’ hearts, we base our judgments solely on what we can see or erroneously infer. President Spencer W. Kimball commented that “we often judge wrongfully if we try to fathom the meaning and motives behind [the actions of others] and place on them our own interpretation” (The Miracle of Forgiveness [1969], 268).
We may compare favorably with those who bear obvious signs of sin, because many of our foibles remain private and hidden. This appears to have been the case with the scribes and Pharisees, who wanted to stone the woman who was caught in adultery. But when Jesus said to them, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her” (John 8:7), the accusers silently left.
While it’s easy to condemn the hypocrisy of the scribes and Pharisees, we may not be all that different today. Consider the growing number of tabloids and television shows that have joined the hunt for the “dirty secrets” of celebrities, politicians, and everyday people. Perhaps the popularity of these magazines and shows comes of our desire to find a shady character against whom we might appear to be glowing saints. Our own imperfections fade from our notice as we watch the sins of others paraded before us. Then, following condemnation of the designated villain, we see no need to work on our own imperfections, which seem to have diminished into insignificance.
If we ridicule others, content in believing that our sins are hidden from them, we become hypocrites like the scribes and Pharisees, whom Jesus likened to “whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness” (Matt. 23:27).
Finally, when we criticize and find fault with others, our perception can be distorted because we often see our own weaknesses in others. The Apostle Paul warned of this tendency: “Thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things” (Rom. 2:1; emphasis added).
If we project our flaws onto others, perhaps our attitude toward them is a barometer of our own imperfect performance. This advice found in the hymnbook is instructive:
Should you feel inclined to censure
Faults you may in others view,
Ask your own heart, ere you venture,
If you have not failings, too.
(Hymns, number 235)
A second hazard of faultfinding is that it stalls our personal and spiritual progress. This earth life is a time for us to prepare ourselves to meet God (see Alma 34:32), and focusing on the faults of others distracts us from that task. The danger in the practice of judging others unrighteously lies not only in what it keeps us from seeing—our own faults—but also in what it keeps us from doing—working to correct those faults.
Perhaps that is why the Lord abhors hypocrisy. Feelings of self-righteousness and complacency are deceptive, for if we are satisfied that our problems aren’t as serious as someone else’s, we tend to forget that how we measure up against other people is not the criterion for gaining eternal life.
The hare in Aesop’s fable provides a classic illustration of such pride and complacency. A hare and a tortoise agree to race. The hare scampers off, leaving the tortoise plodding slowly behind. Eventually the hare becomes tired and, sure of victory, decides to stop and rest. He falls asleep, and the steady tortoise quietly passes by, going on to win the race.
The hare’s problem was not that he lacked the ability to finish the race. Far from it. His problem was that he thought he had the race won. If we, like the foolish hare, think we have it made, there’s no need to keep working.
However, we haven’t crossed the finish line yet. If we stop now and go to sleep, no matter how far along the path of spiritual progress we have come, we’ll stop short of the finish line. As soon as we start focusing on how far behind our spiritual competition is, we divert energy needed to further our own progress and are liable to forget the whole purpose of the race.
The hare’s pride and complacency are like those of the Pharisee who found fault with the publican.
“The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican.
“I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess” (Luke 18:11–12).
Without realizing it, the Pharisee had overlooked the beam in his own eye—he had spiritually gone to sleep. In the next verses, we learn that the publican, apparently having recognized and confessed his sins to God, was at that time better off spiritually than the proud Pharisee.
“And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner.
“I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other: for every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted” (Luke 18:13–14).
Like the Pharisee and the hare, when we think we have it made, we emphasize our supposed superiority over others instead of working on overcoming our own weaknesses. If we find ourselves becoming pacified, thinking all is well because we seem better than others, let us remember Nephi’s warning that this is a way Satan “cheateth [our] souls, and leadeth [us] away carefully down to hell” (2 Ne. 28:21).
Finally, when we are harsh in our judgment of others, we are not able to receive compassion and mercy ourselves.
After I had served four months as a full-time missionary, my initial enthusiasm and zeal for the work had waned considerably. I found myself having a hard time understanding and being compassionate with my companion and was discouraged that we weren’t succeeding in the work. I lacked all the confidence I had felt so strongly just a few months earlier.
Alone in an interview with my mission president, I expressed my feelings of inadequacy and discouragement. “How do I develop more confidence in my work as a missionary?” I asked.
His response could not have surprised me more. He didn’t try to boost my confidence by telling me what good work I was doing. He didn’t teach me about the power of positive thinking. Instead he asked me how I felt about other people, especially those with whom I worked.
“I don’t have much patience,” I admitted. “I was so eager when I started my mission, and it’s frustrating when things don’t go as I anticipated.”
Before I left on my mission, I honestly thought I could get along with anyone. However, in the midst of adversity, I found that I was often critical and judgmental of others.
The president then read a familiar scripture:
“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. …
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion” (D&C 121:45–46).
The relevance of this scripture to my situation was immediately apparent. As a missionary, I had lacked confidence, and this scripture promised enough confidence to wax strong in God’s presence. I lacked self-assurance, and this scripture promised the Comforter as a constant companion.
And the key to that kind of assurance, courage, and confidence? In addition to continually virtuous thoughts, I must have “charity towards all men.”
In my appraisal of others, including my companion, I had been critical and judgmental. By failing to have charity, I had cut off my potential source of confidence. I learned an invaluable lesson that day. I had long known that I hurt others when I criticize and find fault, but for the first time I realized how my judgmental attitude was harming myself as well. Since that discussion, I’ve noticed many times that when I am charitable toward others, I feel more confident and less limited by my own faults. In short, the harder I try to be forgiving, the easier it is to feel forgiven.
The Christlike attributes of charity and compassion simply cannot be selectively applied in our lives, and we cannot expect to feel confident and assured in our self-appraisals when we pick at the slightest defects in those around us.
Perhaps part of the reason we all experience difficulties, weaknesses, and shortcomings in this life is so that we might have an opportunity to be more compassionate with others. What a tragedy if we overlook our common humanness and point an accusing finger instead!

Everyone in Grant’s family is musical, and they love to perform, especially together. When Grant was a child, he saw how music about the Savior could touch others’ lives. “The very first time we were asked to perform as a family was for the Church,” says Lucie, Grant’s mom. “We did our first show on Temple Square, in Salt Lake City, and had a very spiritual experience. A man came off the street who had never heard of Jesus Christ. A sister missionary, who was acting as a hostess, took our children aside and said, ‘This man was introduced to Jesus Christ by you kids.’”
Lucie says that from that point on, Grant and his siblings were hooked on touching other peoples’ lives through gospel music. But they certainly aren’t the first ones in their family to be devoted to music.
Grant comes from a long line of musicians. His grandfathers on both sides of his family were music educators and music store owners. His mom, Lucie, has a father who focused his career on band and choir. Grant’s dad, Barry, has a father who spent many years performing in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. And together Lucie and Barry own a recording studio in Utah where many of their family’s albums have been created. So it was no surprise that Grant, who is the fifth out of seven musical siblings, would also be gifted with music.
Grant’s musical talent started to show when he was only five years old. Because his four older siblings would play the piano and sing all the time, he decided that he wanted to join in the fun. Although Grant was only in kindergarten and could not yet read music, he says, “I started playing the piano by ear and would pick out melodies on the piano.”
Michael, his brother, adds, “One thing Grant is good at is that he can listen to a difficult piece of music and be able to pick out all the parts on the piano.”
Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.” But the brothers will have to put future goals of making another CD on hold for a couple of years because Guy Richey, who goes by both his first and middle names, recently left to serve a full-time mission in Toulouse, France. In this family of musicians, serving the Lord is more important than music.
“Even if we had a top record in America right now, we would still go and serve the Lord. We know that serving is the most important thing,” Michael says.
Making the mission a priority is an example to Grant, who says that his brothers and dad have paved the way for him. Grant wants to serve a mission, too. “Michael’s decision process to go on a mission started with our father, who went on a mission. We look up to our father so much. He’s such a great example to us that we have all felt that going on missions was the right thing to do,” Grant says.
Michael gives Grant his best advice for serving a mission: “Go out with a smile every day and talk to as many people as you can. Be selfless and bring joy into other peoples’ lives. If you’re concerned about other peoples’ needs, the stresses and sacrifices of serving a mission will not be a big deal.”
In three years, when it comes time to serve a mission, Grant will have no doubt that giving up his musical career for two years to serve the Lord is the right thing to do. He is already preparing for that by following the Holy Ghost and building his testimony.
Although Grant can play by ear a song he hears on the radio, he’s also working on training something else—his spiritual ear. “When I feel spiritual promptings, I follow them,” Grant says. “Because I follow them, I’m able to recognize those promptings easier. I try to be better at listening to the Spirit.”
And why does he want to follow the Spirit? Because Grant has a testimony of the gospel. “Ever since I was little, my parents have taught us about the gospel,” he says. “The more I learn about it, the more I know it’s true. My testimony is always strengthened when I’m trying to live more like Christ.”
One way that Grant is able to live the gospel is by listening to good, wholesome music. When asked what advice he would give to teens who struggle with inappropriate music, he answers, “Just know that inappropriate music is what Satan wants you to listen to, and it doesn’t please Heavenly Father when we don’t listen to uplifting things. We don’t always have to listen to Church music, but it has to bring a good spirit.”
Michael agrees. “Music is so spiritual, and it’s so connected to our soul that when we listen to music that is destructive, uses bad language, or even has a feeling that is inappropriate, we know that it’s the wrong music to listen to,” he says. “Finding music that makes your soul and spirit feel good is very important.”
Grant’s mom, Lucie, says that good music is always playing in their home, and that creates a loving atmosphere. “It’s never quiet in our home; somebody is always singing or playing the piano,” she says. As if on cue, the family sings “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294) in perfect harmony. No, it is never quiet in the Gibbons’ home, but a spirit of love resides there. Music is a big deal to Grant and his family, but serving the Lord always comes first.

“Grandma, is your dad really old?” Katie asked. Katie’s great-grandpa was coming all the way from Hungary to stay with them. This would be her first time meeting him.
“Compared to my age, he’s not that old, but compared to your age, I guess he is,” Grandma said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I was just wondering,” Katie said. “I bet he has lots of good stories.”
“He does,” Grandma said with a smile. “But he doesn’t speak English. I’ll have to translate for you.”
Katie hadn’t thought about that. “Well, can’t he learn English?”
“Learning a new language isn’t easy. It can take a long time,” Grandma said.
I have time, Katie thought. “Maybe I could learn Hungarian! Would you teach me, Grandma?”
Grandma smiled. “I would be happy to.”
“How do you say, ‘Grandpa, I love you?’”
“Nagypapa, szeretlek. Na-dj Pa-Pa, ser-et-lek,” Grandma pronounced slowly.
“Nagypapa, szeretlek,” Katie repeated until it sounded right.
Katie had a Hungarian lesson every day for a month. She learned how to say Hogy vagy? which means “How are you?” She learned köszönöm, which means “thank you.” Grandma was right. Learning a new language was hard work! She didn’t know enough Hungarian to have a conversation, but at least she could tell Great-Grandpa she loved him.
At the airport Katie bounced on her feet. She stretched her neck, trying to see when Great-Grandpa would come through the gate. Next to her, Katie’s grandma bit her lip and twisted her hands. She hadn’t seen her father in 40 years. They had been separated during World War II. Katie had heard the story many times. Eventually her Grandma was brought to the United States, while Great-Grandpa had stayed in Hungary. At last they would be reunited.
Finally, a tall silver-haired man walked toward them. When he saw them, his face broke into a wide smile. “Lányom,” he said to Grandma. They were both crying as they hugged. I know that word! Katie remembered. Lányom means “my daughter.”
Soon Great-Grandpa stood in front of Katie. He leaned down to hug her. He had blue eyes just like Grandma’s.
“Nagypapa, szeretlek,” Katie said in her best Hungarian.
Great-Grandpa’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t expect my great-granddaughter to tell me she loves me in my own language. I love you too.”
Katie stared at him in surprise. Great-Grandpa was speaking English! “Grandma told me you couldn’t speak English,” she said.
“Your grandma didn’t know,” Great-Grandpa said. “I always prayed that one day your grandma and I would be together again. So when I found out she was in the United States, I began to study English. I was preparing for when we would be reunited.”
Great-Grandpa had learned English because he loved his daughter, and Katie had learned Hungarian because she loved her Great-Grandpa! She took a deep breath. This was the hardest phrase she’d learned. “Örülök hogy, el tudtál jönni,” she said. “I’m glad that you could come.” It seemed to make Great-Grandpa happy to hear his own language.
Great-Grandpa smiled. “Me too.”
“I don’t know how to say very much in Hungarian,” Katie said, a bit shyly. “Would you teach me more? Maybe we could have language lessons together.”
“I’d like that very much,” Great-Grandpa said.

My brother Gary was very committed to raising a righteous family. He didn't let his education, career, or other interests distract him from that commitment. He worked hard and sacrificed to provide for his family. After a full day's work, he proactively helped his wife care for the children. When they were little, he changed their diapers, bathed them, and put them to bed. When they grew older, he helped with their schoolwork and supported them in their activities. He loved his children. He was concerned about their welfare and development. He taught them the gospel and helped them live it. He fasted and prayed for them. He made sure that family scripture study and prayer were a daily practice. He was a great example of a true family man. Finally, after 40 years of active and successful parenting, his last child was married in the temple.

On a beautiful October morning, our family gathered in a sealing room at the Newport Beach California Temple. My father performed the sealing ordinance for Gary's daughter Andrea and her husband, Trent. After the ceremony, Gary expressed deep satisfaction and joy. He felt that raising his children and seeing them married in the temple had been his most important work on earth. Considering his single-minded effort and devotion to raising a righteous family, it was clear why he felt that way.

Three months later, almost to the day, we received the shocking news that Gary had been killed in a car accident. Following his memorial service, we gathered in the living room of his home. His daughter Julie was inspired to read Gary's patriarchal blessing to us. The blessing spoke of the great work the Lord had appointed and prepared him to fulfill. It promised him that his life would be protected until it had been completed. These inspired blessings and promises given to Gary as a 19-year-old now comforted his family. We felt that he truly had fulfilled his work on earth.

A few months ago I joined a group of friends for a long awaited reunion. We had not seen each other for many years. Many of the group had changed dramatically: some had lost their hair, others were heavier, a few were even thinner. It was interesting to note, too, the apparent emotional and spiritual changes.
I was particularly intrigued by one woman. In high school she had been a very shy person, not particularly popular with the men. Now she appeared as a strikingly attractive, enthusiastic woman. Her spiritual and emotional were equally obvious. Throughout the evening I observed the interaction between this woman and her husband, and it soon became apparent why she reflected such a peaceful and beautiful countenance. She had been blessed with a partner who was positive and supportive, and both of them had developed through the years into extremely mature and happy people.

“I’m hungry,” Becky grumbled as she plodded along behind the wagon.
“Me, too!” Jonathan said. “Do you think Pa would mind if we stopped to pick some berries?”
Becky shook her head. “We’d better not. Pa says that if we don’t keep up with the rest of the wagons, we won’t be able to get down the mountain.”
“I wish Ma were here.” Jonathan’s eyes filled with tears. “She’d find us something to eat.”
From the front of the wagon came the sound of music, and Jonathan perked up a little. “Jacob’s hungry, too,” he said. “He always plays that harmonica when his stomach growls.”
Laughing, they hurried along. Sure enough, Jacob Brewster was tapping his foot and playing as hard as he could. With one hand he guided the oxen; with the other he played “Old Dan Tucker” on his mouth organ.
Jacob Brewster was seventeen years old and an orphan. He had asked to join the wagon train in North Platte, and Pa had offered him meals and a place on their wagon if Jacob would help with the oxen.
Soon the signal came to stop, and Becky made a thin gruel from a small handful of cornmeal sweetened with a few drops of carefully hoarded molasses. Pa cut each of them a small piece of hardtack, and they dipped the pieces of tough biscuit into the gruel.
“Brother Snow says that we’re almost there,” Pa said. “He thinks that we’ll make it in the next two days.”
Jonathan jumped up and down. “Really, Pa? Does he really mean it?” Pa just smiled and nodded.
The noon meal over, Becky and Jacob quickly repacked the wagon and stomped out the small campfire.
Just after the family had left Omaha, Nebraska, Becky’s mother had taken a bad fall from the wagon. Within a week she had died. Now fifteen-year-old Becky had to fix all the meals, take care of the wagon, and help young Jonathan get over their mother’s death. It wasn’t easy when she still missed Ma terribly herself.
Hurriedly Becky filled the water cans from the small stream. With a gentle touch she watered the lilac slips that her mother had so carefully tended. In her mind she could hear her mother’s sweet voice tell Pa: “Why, it won’t be home without lilacs around the door! Don’t you worry, Becky and I will take care of them.”
“Time to go, Becky.” Pa’s shout broke into her reverie.
“I’m ready, Pa. Jonathan, why don’t you ride for a while.” She helped her seven-year-old brother into the back of the wagon, knowing that in a little while he would be asleep.
The trail up the mountain grew steeper, and the pace began to slow. Anxiously Becky watched the darkening sky. A thunderstorm is one thing that we don’t need today, she thought.
The huge clouds grew darker. The slight breeze gusted fiercely, then became a stiff wind. From the north came the first flashes of lightning.
“Becky! We’ll have to lighten the load if we want to get up this mountain.” Pa’s words were all but lost in the wind. “Wake Jonathan and unload everything that we can possibly leave behind.”
“Yes, Pa.” Becky hurried to obey.
Out went the extra washtub and the small chest of linens that her mother had so carefully packed for Becky’s hope chest. Jonathan tearfully dumped his precious rock collection, and Becky resolutely removed the extra bedrolls and cooking pots.
What a loss! she thought as she carefully set the pots on the ground. We’ll never be able to replace them.
“What about these?” Jonathan asked.
Becky turned to see the bucket of lilac slips in the young boy’s hand. “No, not those, Jon!” she cried. “I promised Mama that we’d plant those by our new home.”
Pa put his arm around Becky’s slight shoulders and gave her a hug. “Yes,” he said. “The lilacs stay.”
The sky became an angry black, and the thunder rolled from mountain to mountain.
“We’ll have to pull off and stop, Brother Webster,” Jacob called. “The trail will turn into a slippery mud slide as soon as the rain hits.”
Looking around, Jacob spied a level clearing off to the left of the trail and guided the wagon over to it. The other wagons followed.
As if on signal, the rain began. Great, heavy drops splattered here and there at first, then came down in a torrent. The north wind blew the rain in sheets, the thunder roared, and the lightning blazed continually across the sky.
Inside the wagon the four shivered as they listened to the storm. Jonathan’s eyes were round with fear, and Becky held him close. They could hear trees being split by the lightning, and the wagons creaking with the wind.
Suddenly the tether holding the oxen snapped. The freed animals took off, heading for the meadow below. Pa and Jacob leapt from the wagon. “Stay here with Jonathan, Becky!” Pa called. “Jacob, you go straight down, and I’ll circle around behind them.”
The men disappeared into the driving rain. Becky and Jonathan anxiously waited. Finally the rain began to lessen, and the thunder grew more distant. When Becky peered from the wagon, she saw limbs strewn like kindling and several trees completely uprooted. Although most of the other wagons had weathered the storm well, some of the smaller ones had lost canvas. There was no sign of Pa or Jacob.
Night was approaching, and Jonathan was hungry. “When’s Pa coming, Becky?”
“He’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.” Becky tried to sound calm, but inside she trembled at the thought of a night alone. There were other wagons nearby, but those folks had troubles of their own, and Becky knew that Pa would want her to stay put.
She gave Jonathan some beef jerky and tried to bed him down for the long night ahead. It was chilly in the wagon with its damp canvas, and Becky wished that she still had the discarded bedrolls. Finally she managed to get Jonathan to sleep.
Overhead the stars gleamed brightly. All traces of the thunderclouds were gone. Samuel Walker came over to check on them and, when he found them alone, wanted to take them back to his wagon.
“No, thank you, Brother Walker,” Becky said bravely. “Pa told us to stay here. He’d be worried sick if he came back and we were gone.”
Around midnight Jacob returned, leading one of the oxen. “I had a terrible time getting up the mountain in the mud,” he said weakly. “Where’s your father?”
“He hasn’t come back yet. Oh, Jacob, do you think he’s all right?”
Jacob could see the worry in Becky’s face. “He probably holed up when it got dark,” he said consolingly. Then he added as he slumped wearily onto the wagon floor, “Be sure to wake me when he comes.”
Morning brought no sign of Pa. Search groups were hastily organized, with Jacob leading the main one. “We’ll find him,” he said, patting Becky gently on the arm. He gave Jonathan a loving hug and was on his way.
At midmorning Jonathan spotted the first searchers returning. “Here they come, Becky. Do you see Pa?”
Becky squinted into the bright sunlight and carefully scanned each group as it appeared. The men were downcast and returning slowly. Suddenly she spotted Brother Snow’s brown mare being led by Jacob. Across the saddle, like a huge rag doll, lay the form of a man.
“No! Oh no!” she cried and broke into a run with Jonathan right behind her.
“Pa, Pa,” Becky moaned. “Oh, Jacob, how did it happen?”
Jacob’s eyes were red with grief. “Lightning.” He held Becky close. “At least it was quick.”
Becky gazed at the still form, then quietly slipped to the ground in tears.
Pa was buried near the edge of the small clearing. Becky planted two of the precious lilac slips near the makeshift marker, just as they had planted two on Ma’s grave a few weeks earlier.
Becky stood in the mountain sunshine with Jacob and Jonathan as the simple service was completed. Tears streamed down her face as she held Jonathan’s hand. Jacob’s hand under her elbow steadied her. “Oh, Jacob,” she murmured. “What will I ever do? How can we manage without Pa?”
“Don’t you worry, Becky. I’ll take care of both of you.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent repairing the damage wrought by the summer storm. Wheels were mended and canvases tightened. Bedrolls were laid out in the sun to dry.
About dusk one of the scouts arrived leading the other ox. “Found him a good three miles up the trail,” he said.
Jacob gratefully tethered the animal next to its mate. Women from other wagons prepared a dinner from their own precious food stores for the grieving trio.
As Becky helped Jonathan prepare for bed, she watched Jacob bank the fire and check the wagon. We’ll arrive in the valley the day after tomorrow, she thought. She didn’t know what the future would bring, but she didn’t fear. She had faith that Heavenly Father would watch over Jonathan and her. As she carefully watered the remaining lilacs, she thought, Soon we’ll have a home, and these lilacs will remind us of Mama and Papa. She pulled her shawl tighter around her slim shoulders and went to sit with Jacob in the glow of the dying campfire.

At first it was very hard for the missionaries to preach the gospel in Mexico for the people were controlled by the dominant church. And when the priests told them not to listen to the Mormon missionaries, most of the Mexican people did not dare to disobey.
About the time the Mexico Mission was established, the poor people of Mexico rose up against their rulers to demand their rights as Mexican citizens. A revolutionary war that lasted for many years made it unsafe for missionaries to be in Mexico.
On three different occasions, the missionaries were withdrawn from that mission. Each time they returned to Mexico they found that the members were more faithful than before and that more of the people were prepared to receive the gospel.
Once when the missionaries were withdrawn from Mexico, a man named Rafael Monroy called on the mission president, Rey L. Pratt,* to say goodbye.
“President Pratt,” Brother Monroy asked, “what will we do in San Marcos? All of the branches have leaders except San Marcos. No one there has the Melchizedek Priesthood.”
“Brother Rafael,” the president answered, “we will ordain you an elder and set you apart as president of the San Marcos Branch. There you will be responsible to teach the gospel to every member of your little branch.”
President Monroy not only taught the members of his branch, but he also taught his nonmember neighbors and friends. During the time the missionaries were not allowed in Mexico, the San Marcos Branch doubled in number of members. Rafael Monroy eventually was shot and killed because he would not deny the gospel.
When the mission was reopened, thirty members of the small branch at Cuantla were waiting at the train station to greet the missionaries when they returned. Twelve children and some young adults began singing songs of welcome. Afterward they shouted, “Qué viven los misioneros!” (long live the missionaries), as they showered the elders with confetti.
The missionaries were then taken to a home that had been decorated with beautiful flowers and cedar boughs in honor of this special occasion. Following a delicious dinner, a meeting was held.
President Pratt in his report to the brethren in Salt Lake told of the joy of the people in welcoming the missionaries. Even the children had planned for a program during the evening. President Pratt said, “It was wonderful to note the progress of the children of the branch along lines of study upon which they had been started by the missionaries. Little tots that were babies in arms when the missionaries left got up and recited one or more of the Articles of Faith.”
Nor was this the only group that had been active. The Church members in the little branch of San Pedro were proud to show the missionaries a meetinghouse they had built. President Pratt described it as “a humble house where the Spirit of the Lord can dwell.” He said, “Only those who have experienced it can know the joy of meeting these dear people after so long an absence. Their faithfulness through seven long years, during which time they have passed through untold suffering, is wonderful.”

When I was young and new to the Church, I was assigned to minister to an elderly man who lived by himself. He lived on the edge of town in an old motel room that had become an extended-stay residence for those who couldn’t afford apartments. He didn’t appear to have many possessions or family in the area and lived a lonely life. During one visit, he told me about the child who was stillborn to him and his wife. I marveled that he was brought to tears by the recollection of something that must have happened at least 50 years before. It would only be a brief time before I better understood his feelings.
Two years later my wife and I drove past the scene of a car accident. I realized that no police or ambulance had arrived yet. I had just completed an emergency medical technician course, so I stopped to see if I could help. When I made my way through the crowd, I saw an overturned vehicle with a small child lying nearby on the ground. There was no one giving her any care. I kneeled beside her and began to assess her condition, which was serious.
As I did, I heard someone call my name. I looked up into the face of a man in our ward who was less active. I realized this was his young daughter, who had attended our Primary. A nurse arrived, and we began CPR. When the ambulance crew took over, I returned to my friend’s side. I learned later that his child had ended up partially under the vehicle and others had pulled her out before my arrival. Her injuries were internal, and she did not survive.
Less than a year later, we were expecting our fourth daughter, and my wife carried her the full nine months. My wife woke me early one morning, saying her water had broken. We went to the hospital. After I parked the car, I went to her room and was told that the baby had died. I didn’t immediately understand, since we had only just arrived. When the doctor did his initial check, he couldn’t find a heartbeat. We never knew why. Instead of enjoying a newborn, we found ourselves planning for her funeral and taking down the nursery items.
Less than a year after that, a two-year-old boy in our ward was run over and killed by a service truck in the parking lot where he lived. I visited the family and spoke at his funeral. The mother mentioned he had been unusually cuddly that morning, almost as if he were saying goodbye.
Our ward had experienced the deaths of three young children in just over one year.

In junior high school, pitching quarters was the game that dominated the perimeter of the schoolyard, always out of view of adults. However, our fetish with this game eventually found its way into the classroom. As soon as the teacher turned his or her back, our quarters would fly toward the wall, and the person with the quarter closest to the wall won, taking everyone else’s quarter. This game became very detrimental not only to our studies but also to our relationships. Friends were pitted against friends, and fights occasionally broke out. I remember people who lost several days’ lunch money in a matter of a minute. Five or six bad tosses and you were one broke eighth grader.
In high school, quarters became merely small change. Our attention was drawn to larger sums of money with bigger wagers, usually around big-ticket sporting events. Every week there seemed to be a big game, and betting circles were frequently established. Obviously, the more people there were contributing to a pot, the greater a winner’s takings would be. I remember one student who kept a notebook with the particular bets, the odds, and the individuals involved. Between and sometimes during classes he would approach you, asking if you would like to bet.
Unfortunately, the gambling scene pervaded other high school activities and went beyond school boundaries. While traveling with my baseball team, both on the bus and in the hotel rooms, card games took over much of our spare time. I recall watching a card game where two teammates had $120 on the line, with the luck of a particular card deciding the fate of the game. Someone won that day, but I don’t remember who. What I do remember is the chaos, the screaming and vulgar language, the laughing at someone else’s expense. Most importantly, I remember feeling void of the Spirit. It’s a dirty, ugly feeling.
Near my home was a hotel we often went to that had an arcade, a bowling alley, and a good restaurant. I spent many fun times bowling with my brothers and our friends. To get to the bowling alley, we had to go through the hotel’s casino. There is a distinct image in my mind to this day of the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke and the dropping of coins into the metal basins from the slot machines. The image of countless people sitting in the same place for hours playing cards or pulling levers on slot machines seems to be a constant reminder to me of the shallow habit of gambling.
One day a friend of mine, while leaving the bowling alley, tried his luck at a game of chance they called “Megabucks.” The winnings were well over a million dollars. You had to play several dollars at a time to have a chance at winning. Of course, he lost, and he kept on losing. Within five minutes he lost $60, and the only thing he had to show for it was his contribution to the grand total that would eventually go to someone else. My friend lost $60, yet I gained a greater distaste for the gambling habit and a greater resolve to keep the Lord’s commandments. Like other occasions in my life, this became a defining moment that strengthened my resolve to put my occasional past blemishes behind me and turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart.
Through a loving Heavenly Father and the guidance of exemplary parents who avoided the practice of gambling, I was able to put my lapses with games of chance behind me. Far too many friends and acquaintances didn’t stop at pitching quarters or playing cards. Gambling and the other bad habits it leads to are overtaking far too many of Heavenly Father’s children. With an unresolved determination to avoid it, you can become a victim very quickly. Gratefully, two years before I became “legal” in the eyes of the state of Nevada, I was “about my Father’s business” preaching the gospel in the Washington D.C. South Mission.
You may need courageous fortitude as the world thrusts the acquisition of riches and the madness of materialism upon you before you’ve even graduated from school. Understanding true doctrine and living by the principles taught in the scriptures and by living prophets will strengthen you. With this strength, you can refuse and conquer any behavior offensive to the Spirit.

I had an experience when I was in the southern states that helped me to realize what I think the Lord meant. I received a letter from a good brother from Phoenix, Arizona. He was quite an elderly man. He said that his grandfather was one of the first converts in the state of Mississippi back in 1840. He said, “Since that time my father and his descendants have given over 100 years worth of missionary service to the Church.” There were then 15 in the mission field, and we had three of them in our mission.

I told that story in a missionary meeting after I was appointed Presiding Bishop in 1940—just 100 years after the grandfather joined the Church. His grandson happened to be in that meeting and I didn’t know it. He came up to me after and said, “Brother Richards, it is now 165 years of service.” When you get to adding 10 to 15 years at a time, it doesn’t take long to add another 100 years.

This was my thought: If that missionary who waded through the swamps of Mississippi back in 1840, when they traveled without purse or scrip and many of them contracted malaria fever, had only brought that one man into the Church, he might not have thought that he had done much. But in 100 years there was 165 years of missionary service from that one man and his descendants, without counting all the converts he had made and all the converts they had made. How can you “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal” (Matt. 6:20) in any better manner than by performing a service like that?