Gospel Story Finder

I first heard about the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program when I was in India. Most Church members were enrolled in this program. I was surprised that the Church offered the program in other countries but not my home country of DR Congo. But I could not join BYU-Pathway at that time due to my intense graduate studies, but my prayer was that the program could one day be offered in my home country and that I could join and learn more about it.
In 2019, the program was approved, and I was among the first generation of students in Kinshasa to be enrolled. The beginning was difficult for me, because I had a full-time job and lived in a different area from the meeting location. But I had the support of my family and my friend Patrick Kalambayi. We both walked a long distance to attend the meetings and returned home late. Sometimes we didn’t have electricity. We were looking for places with electricity to charge our computer.
At one point, the government authorities shut down internet due to some political issues. My friend and I went to the local UN agency for help, telling them we had to send our school assignments and we needed connection to the internet to do our homework. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father puts people in our path to support and help us in times of adversity, such as electricity and internet access shortages.
After completing PathwayConnect, I decided to enroll in the public health program at Brigham Young University-Idaho. I completed a certification in public health planning and implementation, health method evaluation and epidemiology. I have learned to support the world in disease prevention and developed a pandemic health program. I was very happy to support my country during the COVID-19 breakout in Kinshasa. People were amazing. I learned more skills about how to control this disease in my community.
The BYU-Pathway Worldwide program helped me to understand that we must be faithful and improve our skills to establish the kingdom of our Savior on the earth. This program increased my knowledge of the Savior and motivated me to gain more skills and to become more faithful.
Instead of dwelling on difficulties and struggle, I have learned to trust the Lord and to pursue my education at famous universities across the world. Today I am proud to say that I earned three university degrees: one from my country, one from India, and one from the United States. As a result, I have increased my income, my faith in Jesus Christ, and my skills in the field of public health.
The skills that I learned during my journey have helped me to build a health nongovernmental organization and work in mental health awareness in the DRC. My recent experience, when I was applying for a new job as a public health specialist at the Center for Disease Control in DRC, the human resources team was surprised that I have an American degree and I live in Congo, and it was easy for them to verify this from my diploma.
The hiring process was interesting and each step I went through, I learned to be ready due to the PathwayConnect program, preparing my CV and cover letter, enjoying the interview, and showing people my unique qualifications. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the opportunity He gave me to join the team of the Center for Disease Control in DRC to prevent, detect and control disease in my country.
As an African, we are blessed to have an American degree, serve our community, and strengthen the Church in our local area. BYU-Pathway Worldwide blesses my life, my family, and my country in this specific time. The program helped me to understand the principle of working hard quietly and to let your success be your noise.
Whatever level you are in life and whether you have a degree or not, please join the program and work hard, the Lord knows your effort and will assist you to gain a new degree and develop more skills and the world will pay you based on your education and skills.

In Japan I witnessed a 21-year-old man accept the gospel. After baptism, he was the only member of the Church in his family. He completed the family history work for his deceased grandfather so he could perform ordinance work vicariously for him, literally doing something for his grandfather that his grandfather could no longer do for himself. As this young man came up out of the baptismal font, he had tears in his eyes. He said, “Now I know and feel, I have a witness, that I am not the only member of this Church in my family.” These ordinances strengthened his relationship with his family and brought a new closeness into his life.

My family was going camping that weekend, and I had a problem. My big brother, Neil, told me that toy rabbits are not allowed to go on camping trips, and I always sleep with Mr. Long Ears.
Neil said that stuffed bunnies are for babies. He said to take a flashlight instead. But a flashlight isn’t cuddly like Mr. Long Ears.
My little brother, Benjy, is almost two years old. Neil said Benjy could take his blanket because he’s a baby. Sometimes Benjy borrows my rabbit. But he always puts him back in my room at bedtime.
At breakfast Neil told me all about camping. He’s been camping with his friend Jeff.
“Is it dark in the tent at night?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Neil, “like the inside of the darkest cave.”
“That sounds very dark,” I replied. I decided to hide Mr. Long Ears in my backpack. His body fit OK, but when I closed the pack, his ears stuck out. I thought Neil would be suspicious.
“What else do you like about camping?” I asked Neil after school.
“The wild animals come out at night,” answered Neil. “You can hear them chomping all around the tent.” Neil bit into his apple and made loud chomping sounds.
I imagined wild animals eating a hole in the tent, and then I went to my room and took Mr. Long Ears from my backpack and rolled him up in my sleeping bag. There was a funny lump on one side. I thought Neil would be suspicious.
At dinner I asked Neil, “What happens if you want a drink of water in the middle of the night?”
“You crawl out of the tent and walk down the long, dark path to the water pump,” Neil explained. “You have to shine your flashlight all around first so you don’t step on a moose’s foot.”
I tried to think of a better place to hide Mr. Long Ears.
On Friday morning the backyard was covered with boxes and bags full of camping gear.
“Put your parka in the duffel bag, Josh,” said Mom, “just in case it gets cold tonight.”
I found my parka, and when I opened the duffel bag, Dad’s huge orange parka was right on top. A rabbit, even one with long ears, could fit inside that orange parka nicely. I ran and got Mr. Long Ears and zipped him inside Dad’s parka. I thought, When Dad gets his parka out, I’ll say, “What a surprise! How did Mr. Long Ears get in there?”
We drove for a long time, and Dad kept saying, “We’re almost there.” I was squashed in the backseat between Benjy’s car seat and Neil. Benjy had his blanket, and I had a flashlight. Neil had his popgun, his canteen, two flashlights, his toy camper truck, his baseball and bat, his cowboy hat, and his Frisbee.
Finally we arrived at Avalanche Creek. We started to help Dad put up the tent, but Benjy kept tripping over the ropes.
“Will you boys take him away?” Dad asked.
First we played sheriff and outlaws. We arrested Benjy and put him in the Avalanche Creek Jail (the tent). Then we played prospectors looking for gold, and the tent became the Avalanche Creek Mine. Next we played Indians, and the tent was a wigwam. We had a wonderful time all day.
After dinner we roasted marshmallows over the campfire coals. I roasted two at once—one for Benjy and one for me. It started getting very dark. Neil wanted to tell stories about the ghosts of old prospectors and outlaws still wandering around Avalanche Creek. I wanted Dad to get his parka.
“Aren’t you cold, Dad?” I asked.
“No,” Dad replied.
It looks like Mr. Long Ears will have to sleep in the car, I thought.
Mom took Benjy into the tent to put him to bed. Suddenly Benjy started to bawl.
“Maybe there’s a snake in Benjy’s sleeping bag!” Neil shouted. We rushed over to the tent to see what was wrong.
“Benjy lost his blanket,” said Mom.
“Don’t worry,” Neil told her, “we’ll find it with our trusty flashlights.” We started into the dark woods. I could hear Avalanche Creek gurgling. It sounded like a giant drinking from a huge water bottle. I kept shining my light all around to make sure no wild animals were lurking anywhere. We looked everywhere but couldn’t find Benjy’s blanket. Benjy was still crying when we got back to the tent.
“Maybe we’ll have to go home now,” said Mom, “instead of in the morning.”
“No, we can’t go home!” cried Neil. He was really disappointed.
Suddenly I had an idea. “Will you unlock the trunk of the car?” I asked Dad. Standing on the bumper, I shined my flashlight inside the trunk, opened the duffel bag, unzipped Dad’s parka, and pulled out Mr. Long Ears. I ran over to Benjy and put Mr. Long Ears in his arms. Benjy hugged Mr. Long Ears and stopped crying.
“You saved the day,” said Dad, giving me a hug.
“You mean, ‘the night,’” said Neil with a happy grin.
When we crawled into our sleeping bags, Neil didn’t say anything about Mr. Long Ears being in Dad’s parka. Instead, he showed me how to use my flashlight and my hand to make fun shadows on the tent walls.

While serving as young missionaries in Chile, my companion and I were walking down a street in the city of Los Andes. Across the way, a lady leaned out of her window to shake a blanket and said, “Good morning, elders.” She then disappeared into her house. I was surprised by her greeting. I walked up to the door, knocked, and when the woman answered, I asked, “How did you know us?”

She invited us in and explained that she and her husband had been two of the first people baptized in that community many years earlier. They had loved the Church until they had been offended. They now attended another church. “Now we know the Mormon Church is not true,” she said, retrieving a book titled something like Everything You Want to Know about the Mormons and written, of course, by a non-LDS author.

I glanced at the first few pages. I wasn’t an expert in Church history, but I knew Joseph Smith did not claim to see two angels named Urim and Thummim! “Not all this is true,” I said to the woman. “Look, if you want to know about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, talk to us. We’ll help you.”

That was the beginning. In the weeks that followed, my companion and I watched the members of this family add to their testimony tanks through study. They became active in the Church, but relying only on experiences in the Church was not enough to see this sister and her family through when the going got rough. Now, because they had also studied hard and found answers on their own, they each could say, “I know.”

Living the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ just makes us happy! Listen to the conversion story of Dr. Richard Huang, a former atheist and a medical doctor from New York. He works as a pathologist and described himself as being logical and rational. He is a believer in facts. And yet he stated: “I was never really sure about my life. I knew that I live in this world, I knew I existed, but there wasn’t really a certainty as to the purpose, as to why, and as to what’s going to happen to me. Since I wasn’t happy and I wanted to change my life, I thought I should probably do something I had never done before. The opposite of atheism is theism, so that’s something I decided to explore.”[35]
So, he went to the internet and started his research with the book of Christianity, the Bible. And because the Church of Jesus Christ gives Bibles away for free, he requested one. A couple of days later, two sister missionaries stood at his door to deliver the Bible. They started teaching him, and a friend from medical school invited Richard to his home and to church. Richard was skeptical, but his friend invited him just to come and see and observe. He went for the experiment and was totally surprised at what he found. He describes it in the following way:
“These are people who are extremely happy, right? They always have a smile on their face, and they’re just laughing all the time. And to me, it was like watching a beer commercial without the beer.
“When I was looking for my faith, I was expecting a miracle to help me see the light, but God knew that I would not have believed in miracles, so what He did was put people in my life to show me the truth of the gospel. And I believe in people. It was like this big moment of clarity when I realized that if everything that I have heard is wrong, if everything is not true, then why are these people so happy?
“Everything they do is guided by their principles. And because I saw the fruit of them living the gospel, I was able to reason that the principle they live by must be true.
“I never thought I would ever end up being [a member of the Church]. Um, I am eating my words now. What I have found is I have a sense of purpose. It is to become better, to become more like Christ. And now, to me, my faith is everything, and I am so happy that I made that realization.”[36]

The unique qualities possessed by these men and women whom I have mentioned can be of invaluable assistance to us as we face the problems and the trials which lie ahead. May I illustrate by mentioning the experience of the Jerome Kenneth Pollard family of Oakland, California.
This past May, as Elder Taavili Joseph Samuel Pollard was traveling to the mission office on the last day of his mission in Zimbabwe, the mission car he was driving somehow spun out of control and hit a tree. A passerby was able to rescue Elder Pollard’s companion, but Elder Pollard, who was unconscious, was trapped in the car, which burst into flames. Elder Pollard perished. His mother had passed away eight years earlier; hence, his father was rearing the family alone. A brother was serving in the West Indies Mission.
When the news of Elder Pollard’s death reached his father, this humble man—who had already lost his wife—called the son serving in the West Indies Mission to let him know of his brother’s death. Over that long-distance telephone line, Brother Pollard and his son, no doubt grief stricken and heartsick, sang together “I Am a Child of God.” Before concluding the call, the father offered a prayer to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for His blessings and seeking His divine comfort.
Brother Pollard later commented that he knew his family would be all right, for they have strong testimonies of the gospel and of the plan of salvation.

“Are you crazy?” Erroll Bennett’s father raged when he heard of his son’s intention to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Have you gone mad? You’ll have to give up everything—everything you’ve worked for. You can’t possibly know what you’re doing!”
Waving aside his son’s protestations, he insisted: “If you do this, I don’t want to know you. Take everything in this house that belongs to you and don’t ever set foot across this door again.”
Driving with his wife to his parents’ home that evening in 1977, pondering how he would break the news, Erroll reflected on the recent events that had begun to change his life so dramatically.
Yet none of this pressure had been as difficult to cope with as the prospect of facing his own father, whom he loved and respected deeply, and who was passionately proud of his son’s sporting accomplishments.
To hear Brother Bennett recreate the scene today is to recognize that the experience touched him deeply. He had always been close to his parents, but now his father was adamant. “You have erected a wall between us. I want no more to do with you.” And, he added, he would not want to see his son’s third child—the baby his wife was then expecting.
Erroll and his wife left his parents’ home that evening in tears, desperately unhappy, yet knowing they could not reject the gospel. The depth of their conviction would now have to prove equal to whatever pressures were brought to bear.
Erroll’s first action, though he still was not a member, was to seek out his friend, Bishop Terooatea, for counsel. The footballer fondly recalls how the bishop listened, then urged Erroll to make the first step in reconciliation, to put aside the question of baptism until he had made this final attempt. He then explained the principle of priesthood blessings and of how priesthood authority could be used to help him.
That evening, Erroll received a priesthood blessing for the first time, with longtime LDS friend and fellow soccer enthusiast Noel Tarati acting as voice. Brother Tarati quietly promised Erroll that the difficult problem would be resolved, and that his father would receive him if he returned, even though some strong things had been said.
The next day, Erroll again drove out to his father’s home. As he approached the house, he could see his father standing by the gate to the front garden. There were tears in his eyes. “I want you to forgive me, Erroll,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it. If you hadn’t come here first, I would have come to you.”
Then he continued: “You know that thousands of people will be disappointed in you. It will mean the end of your career if you won’t play on Sundays. You know that Napoléon Spitz isn’t going to change the entire football league schedule just to accommodate you. Still, this is your decision. All I ask is that you don’t raise the subject again. It’s closed.”

Marie Michelle and Assoné Blanc are known in their area as a family who have shown great faith in their Savior Jesus Christ. At the beginning of the 2000s, they felt a strong inspiration to seal their marriage in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple, which had recently been dedicated. However, the travel from Port-au-Prince to Santo Domingo cost more than 300 American dollars. It was impossible for them to find such an amount of money at that moment. What was to be done?
As the days went by, it became more and more difficult for the family to save enough money to undertake the travel to Santo Domingo. Even with their many prayers and fasting, they still struggled to find the way towards the temple. The Blancs had as their sole source of income a small truck with which they operated passenger transport as a public service in the Metropolitan area of Port-au-Prince. Then they hit on an idea: to sell the truck to get money for the travel. Some friends and relatives who heard about this idea said that it would be a very unwise decision. Indeed, selling the truck meant for them that the Blancs would agree to cut the very branch they are sitting on. Selling the truck meant compromising their ability to provide food, healthcare, education for themselves and for their children.
Finally, Assoné and Marie Michelle Blanc sold the small truck and went to the temple to be sealed. What was the rationale behind a so perilous decision? Marie Michelle explained that exaltation is far more important than food and education. She said that they could not miss the opportunity to show the Lord that they trusted Him and that He could rely on them.
Source: https://catalog.churchofjesuschrist.org/record?id=bf98017f-07db-4508-afb3-3b4ccc8502b7&view=browse

President Monson recalls an act of priesthood service that changed his life.
I recall the time when I was ordained a deacon. Our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized were proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out. As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told how we should assist Louis McDonald, a brother in our ward who was afflicted with a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.
How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Brother McDonald sat. I was fearful and hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a small piece of bread and pressed it to his lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Brother McDonald made better deacons of us all.

A vivid example of the position of members of the Church in relation to the world was portrayed to us one evening in our sacrament meeting, now many years ago, when a man named Brother Smith came to speak. He told us of his experience in working to rehabilitate men in the state penitentiary. A mother had asked him to reach out to her boy who was in prison.

In approaching the young man, Brother Smith was rudely rebuffed: “Leave me alone,” was the tone. However, Brother Smith noticed a rather crude painting in the prison one day and on inquiry learned that this young man had drawn it. This inspired a new approach:

“Did you paint that picture?”

“Yes, I did it.”

“I was impressed with it. I wonder if you would paint something for me.”

“I don’t know. What picture do you want?”

“I have never seen it,” said Brother Smith. “I have only read about it.”

“Where is it?” inquired the young man.

“It is here in this book,” responded Brother Smith. “The Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi, chapter 8. Will you read it and see if you can see the picture?”

Later Brother Smith inquired if the young man had read it.

“Yes, I read it,” he said.

“Did you see the picture?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Will you paint it for me?”

“I don’t know if I will or not.”

Brother Smith then obtained the necessary materials for painting a picture and presented them to the young man, who for the first time responded with warmth and appreciation to be able to use good equipment, and he painted the picture. Brother Smith brought it with him to our sacrament meeting, and so I have seen it. It is, of course, the picture of Lehi’s dream.

Now, will you try to see the picture in your own imagination? All you who have read 1 Nephi, chapter 8, will recall the scene. If you have not read it, I wish you would do so and get the feeling and the vision of this picture.

The description is as follows: First, Lehi wandering through a dreary waste, then coming to a spacious field; the tree with the most desirable fruit to be happy, the love of God; Lehi’s desire to share the fruit with his family; the rebellion of two of his sons; the pressing forward of many people to receive the fruit; the mists of darkness, which arose to obscure the path; the river of water along the path, which could mean destruction; the rod of iron, which represented security in staying on the path; the huge building across the river filled with scoffing people; the susceptibility of those who had followed the path to succumb to the scorn and pride of those of the world; and the wandering away of those who had partaken of the fruit of the tree of life into forbidden paths of destruction.

I know of no more graphic description of the condition of those who call themselves Latter-day Saints in relation to the influences of the world than this great vision. This story is reality. It is a great prophesy. It is a vivid warning.

Let me complete the story of the young man in prison. Brother Smith pointed to an angel the young man had painted hovering over the chasm of filthy water and asked him: “Where did you get that angel? I don’t remember any angel when I read about the picture.”

The young man replied: “I know. I put it there. It is my angel. As I painted the picture, I began to realize that God had placed an influence in my way which could bring me to safety and redeem me from the course I have been pursuing.”

This experience, of course, was the beginning of his recovery.

As a young missionary I was assigned as a district president to administer the affairs of the Church and preach the gospel in a group of fifteen small, scattered islands. We traveled almost exclusively by sailboat and learned to rely not only on the winds and the currents of the usually friendly seas, but especially on the love of our Father in heaven, as we sailed week after week and month after month from island to island to island. It was a glorious time, full of the normal challenges of seasickness, becalmings, strange languages, foods, and customs. But mostly it was a time of spiritual closeness to our Father in heaven, whose love and goodness so far overshadowed any temporary pain or problems as to make the latter shrink into obscurity.
On one occasion we received word that a missionary was very ill on a somewhat distant island. The weather was threatening but, feeling responsible, and after prayer, we left to investigate the situation. Extra heavy seas slowed our progress, and it was late afternoon before we arrived. The missionary was indeed very ill. Fervent prayer was followed by administration, during which the impression came very strongly to get him back to the hospital on the main island, and to do it now!
The weather had deteriorated to the point of a small gale. The seas were heavy, the clouds were thick, the wind was fierce, the hour was late, and the sun was sinking rapidly, betokening a long black night ahead. But the impression was strong—“Get back now”—and one learns to obey the all-important promptings of the Spirit.
There was much concern expressed and much talk about the darkness, the storm, and the formidable reef with its extremely narrow opening to the harbor we were attempting to gain. Some found reason to stay behind; but soon eight persons, including an ill missionary, a very experienced captain, and a somewhat concerned district president, boarded the boat and the spiritually prompted voyage to home base began.
No sooner had we made our commitment to the open seas than the intensity of the storm seemed to increase sevenfold. The small gale now became a major storm. As the sun sank below the horizon, bringing with it darkness and gloom, so also did my spirit seem to sink into the darkness of doubt and apprehension. The thick clouds and driving rain increased the blackness of our already dark universe—no stars, no moon, no rest—only turmoil of sea and body and mind and spirit. And as we toiled on through that fearsome night, I found my spirit communing with the spirit of the father of an afflicted child in the New Testament, as he exclaimed, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” (Mark 9:24.) And He did, and He does, and He will. That I know.
As we rolled and tossed closer and closer to the reef, all eyes searched for the light that marked the opening—the only entry to our home. Where was it? The blackness of the night seemed to increase; the fierceness of the raging elements seemed to know no bounds. The rain slashed at our faces and tore at our eyes—eyes vainly searching for that life-giving light.
Then I heard the chilling sound of the waves crashing and chewing against the reef! It was close—too close. Where was that light? Unless we hit the opening exactly, we would be smashed against the reef and ripped and torn by that thousand-toothed monster. It seemed that all the elements were savagely bent on our total destruction. Our eyes strained against the blackness, but we could not see the light.
Some began to whimper, others to moan and cry, and one or two even to scream in hysteria. At the height of this panic, when many were pleading to turn to the left or to the right, when the tumultuous elements all but forced us to abandon life and hope, I looked at the captain—and there I saw the face of calmness, the ageless face of wisdom and experience, as his eyes penetrated the darkness ahead. Quietly his weather-roughened lips parted, and without moving his fixed gaze and just perceptibly shifting the wheel, he breathed those life-giving words, “Ko e Maama e” (“There is the light!”).
I could not see the light, but the captain could see it. And I knew he could see it. Those eyes long experienced in ocean travel were not fooled by the madness of the storm nor were they influenced by the pleadings of those of lesser experience to turn to the left or to the right. And so with one last great swell we were hurtled through the opening and into calmer waters.
The roaring of the reef was now behind us. Its infamous plan of destruction had been foiled. We were in the protected harbor. We were home. Then and only then did we see through the darkness that one small light—exactly where the captain had said it was. Had we waited until we ourselves could see the light we would have been dashed to pieces, shredded on the reef of unbelief. But trusting in those experienced eyes, we lived.
As I think back, I thank the Lord for that wonderful Polynesian captain who saved my life and the life of the sick missionary I was charged with. I am eternally grateful for his experience (much of which, I am sure, was not pleasant). I am grateful for his wisdom, for his eyes, for his not yielding to the fury of the moment, but steadfastly holding the true course to safety.
I felt at the time that he was more than himself—he was more than the sum total of all of his experience. In some marvelous way at that moment of desperate need, he drew upon a power and a strength from generations of faithful, seagoing people that only those who know Polynesians well can begin to understand. My admiration and love for him and all other faithful descendants of father Lehi knows no bounds.

One of my earliest memories is of attending Sunday School class as a five-year-old in the basement of our old ward meetinghouse. I recall one day watching the dust particles move in the shafts of bright sunlight as our teacher read to us the story of how Joseph Smith prayed and our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ came and stood before him. I can still feel myself sitting there, looking and listening, surrounded by the towers of sunlight. But most of all, I remember the warm feeling swelling within me when I heard about Joseph Smith seeing and talking to our Heavenly Father.
Later that day at home, I found a book of my father’s that looked like the one my teacher had read from. I didn’t know at the time that it was a copy of the Triple Combination. I couldn’t read it, but just holding the book in my hands and looking at its pages recaptured for me what I had felt in Sunday School.

During my service as a bishop and as a stake president, I worked with a number of young men and women who came to more fully appreciate and understand the atonement of Jesus Christ and the principle of repentance. I recall one young man who had to repent and overcome some individual and personal weaknesses before he could worthily enter the temple to make sacred covenants and become a full-time missionary. We counseled together on a number of occasions over a period of many months. The anticipated dates for receiving his mission call and departing for the MTC came and went. This young man had to face the awkwardness of people asking him why he had not yet received his call and left for his mission. In one of our conversations this young man asked me why he had to wait so long? “Would it not be better,” he asked, “to overcome my personal weaknesses in the mission field and in the service of the Lord?” I responded: “Service as a missionary is about teaching the restored gospel, bearing testimony, and inviting investigators to receive the ordinances of salvation. You must have the companionship of the Holy Ghost to accomplish that work. You certainly should not expect to be perfect before you can serve. But you must overcome your particular, personal challenge if you are to be worthy of His spirit. If you truly repent with real intent and a sincere heart, then as you make sacred covenants in the temple, as you enter the MTC, and as you serve in the mission field, you will not have to wonder if you belong there! If you do not now learn how to repent properly, how can you possibly help your future investigators to repent? Your repentance and the resulting forgiveness will bring a peace of mind that will enable you to serve with great faith and diligence and inspiration. You deserve the spiritual assurance and confidence that come from true repentance. You will not have to wonder if you belong there!”

Eventually this young man worthily did enter the House of the Lord. He did enter the MTC, and he served as a valiant missionary. After he had been in his assigned field of labor for about six months, he asked his mission president for permission to call me on the telephone. The mission president permitted the call, and late one evening this elder and I had a wonderful conversation. He joyfully told me about his investigators and his experiences in the mission field. He expressed his appreciation for the atonement, and for the principle of repentance, and for the personal lessons he had learned. As we concluded our conversation, he said, “President, I am glad I had to wait. I have never once wondered if I belong here. Thank you for your help.”

Liliana was excited to go to Primary. She wanted to show Sister Lee her new dress.
I’m a princess!
I’m a princess too!
You both are beautiful princesses. Heavenly Father loves you, and we are His children.
Then Sister Lee showed the class some paper crowns.
These crowns say “I am a child of God.”
The children said the words together and then sang “I Am a Child of God.” It was one of Liliana’s favorite songs.
Sister Lee placed the crowns on their heads, one at a time.
Liliana is a child of God.
Liliana felt warm and happy inside.
Liliana couldn’t wait to show Mama and Daddy her crown.
Now I’m really a princess because I am a child of God.
When it was time for bed, Liliana looked everywhere for her crown. She wanted it by her while she slept.
I can’t find my crown! I want to be a child of God!
Mama sat down and pulled Liliana onto her lap.
How do you feel when you sing “I Am a Child of God”?
Happy.
Me too.
Are you a child of God?
Everyone is a child of God, even without a crown. Always remember, you are a child of God—no matter what!
Mama hugged Liliana, and Liliana smiled as if she knew a special secret.

But Joseph did more than use soft words guided by the Spirit to show love and compassion for his enemies. His kind treatment of two spiteful persecutors is one example.
On order from the governor of Missouri, two agents, Reynolds and Wilson, arrested Joseph in Nauvoo in June 1843. They cruelly abused their prisoner, punching his sides with their pistols, threatening his life, and taking him away before he could see his family.
The tables were soon turned on the two officers when they were forced to return to Nauvoo to be tried for threatening the lives of Joseph and another Church member. Joseph had a feast prepared in celebration of his safe return, and among his guests were Reynolds and Wilson.12 That afternoon, in a speech to Nauvoo’s citizens, Joseph reported, speaking of Reynolds and Wilson:
“I have brought these men to Nauvoo, and committed them to her from whom I was torn, not as prisoners in chains, but as prisoners of kindness. I have treated them kindly. I have had the privilege of rewarding them good for evil. They took me unlawfully, treated me rigorously, strove to deprive me of my rights, and would have run with me into Missouri to have been murdered, if Providence had not interposed. But now they are in my hands; and I have taken them into my house, set them at the head of my table, and placed before them the best which my house afforded; and they were waited upon by my wife, whom they deprived of seeing me when I was taken.”13

When he was a boy, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf loved watching airplanes. He imagined flying one of those big airplanes.
Someday, I want to be a pilot.
But Dieter’s family didn’t have much money. They had been refugees and had to leave their home twice to go to a new country.
While other children played, Dieter worked as a delivery boy to help his family.
Sometimes he felt like his dream was impossible!
But as he grew up, Dieter worked very hard to reach his dreams. He had faith that Heavenly Father would help him.
He joined the air force and trained to be the best pilot he could be.
Finally he reached his dream. He flew big airplanes for many years!

Let me tell you about Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. Her event was the skeleton. Imagine traveling headfirst with your face inches above the ground down a winding, icy track at 90 miles (145 km) an hour, all on a small sled! In the Olympics, Noelle had only four minutes—four 60-second runs—to win her medal.
For Noelle, this was not the first time she’d tried for the Olympics. In 2006 she broke her leg and couldn’t compete in the Olympics. In 2010 she missed winning a medal by one-tenth of a second. But she didn’t give up. She trained for hours, days, weeks, and months. In the 2014 Olympics, her runs were flawless! She won the silver medal!

We won the championship after a very interesting playoff game. I drew the assignment to pitch. In the top of the eighth inning the score was nothing to nothing. The first batter against me singled sharply to right field and took second on a fielder’s choice. Have you got the picture? One out, winning run on second. The batter I was now facing hit .326 for the season. I worked him to a two-two count. He fouled several pitches and then I got the ball too close to the center—a horrible mistake.

He singled sharply to left center and the ball went out there like a bullet, hit the ground on one bounce, and went to the center fielder. Normally that would score a runner from second very easily, but the ball carried such velocity I am sure the runner did not understand it. We had a great center fielder; he took the ball on one hop, threw a perfect strike to the plate, and caught the runner by a good six inches. The umpire hollered, “You’re out!” This man got up—and I had never heard such foul language in my life. I was back behind the catcher by this time, the normal position for the pitcher on a throw to the plate.

The umpire bellowed, “You’re out of the game! Out!” And he ejected him, which he should have. As I was walking back to the mound, the umpire—not a Mormon—about ready to replace his mask, turned to me and said, “Paul, forgive him; he doesn’t understand.” How grateful I am to be a Latter-day Saint.

There may be times in our lives when it feels like the gospel process isn’t working the way we expected. What do we do then? We may have questions like “Why do none of my efforts seem to make any difference? How can I know I’m on the right path when nothing is happening?” As I’ve thought about trusting the process and how it can help answer these kinds of deep personal questions, I remembered an “ah-ha” moment I had years ago while living in Nauvoo.

One morning, from the shore of the Mississippi River, I could see almost the entire length of a one-mile-long train that was stopped on the tracks on the opposite side of the river. While sitting there, I heard the engines of the train start to rumble to life. The sound got louder and louder, reaching a deafening volume that could be heard across the river, even causing a vibration in my car. I curiously watched as the stationary train was straining for all it was worth in order to get moving. Yet I saw nothing—not even the slightest twitch of the train for quite some time. It took several long minutes of great energy from the loud revving engines before the train inched ever so slightly forward. A continual enormous amount of effort was required for the train to overcome its resting inertia. All of that energy, time, and hard work in the beginning was required before any movement was perceptible. Eventually, the train slowly picked up speed and many minutes later the caboose finally left my view.

The Lord taught me a lesson about trusting the divine process as I watched the train. Sometimes in our lives, we might feel like we are putting in an incredible amount of effort to do all the right things, but we can’t seem to see any results. We feel like we are at a complete standstill or spinning our wheels. We question if the process works. My experience with the train taught me that every effort we exert in the process of becoming more like the Savior is making a tremendous difference in our ability to move down the path. In some cases, it takes time and a lot of patience before our actions start picking up enough momentum to be noticeable.

I stared at my crooked tie in the mirror. “Do I have to go to Primary, Dad?”
“I thought you liked Primary, Brandon.” Dad poked his head into my bedroom.
“I used to, but not anymore.” I sighed. “Not since Justin moved away. Now there isn’t anybody in my class except Tyson, Kenny, and Derek. Nobody wants to sit next to Tyson because he’s a troublemaker. And ever since Kenny and Derek started going to the same school, they don’t even bother talking to me. I don’t have any friends in Primary now.” I swallowed at the growing lump in my throat.
I waited for Dad to tell me that he understood how awful it could be to not have any friends in Primary, but he just straightened my tie and said, “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Me? What can I do? I can’t make Justin move back—his dad got a new job about a million miles away.”
“But isn’t there some way you could make friends with the other boys?”
Hadn’t Dad been listening? “I could never be friends with them,” I said, my voice wavering. “They don’t like me, and I don’t like them.”
“One of the reasons we go to church is to become more like Jesus Christ,” he said. “What do you think He would want you to do?”
I rolled my eyes. Dad was always saying stuff like that. But I glanced at the picture of Jesus above my bed. His kind, brown eyes seemed to look right at me. I knew that Jesus would love everyone. But then He’s never had Tyson, Kenny, and Derek in His Primary class, either, I thought stubbornly. “I don’t know, Dad. What would Jesus do?”
Dad opened my Bible to John 13:34 and asked me to read it out loud.
“‘A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.’”
I was getting even more discouraged now. “How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even like them?”
“The same way the Savior showed His love and the way we show love in our own family,” Dad said. “By doing things for each other—love and service go together. Remember the stories I’ve told you about when I served a mission in Texas?”
“Sure, Dad.” I gave him a big smile. “You’ve always said how much you loved it.”
“That’s right.” Dad’s smile was just as big. “And there’s a reason why it’s called ‘serving’ a mission. I spent two years serving hundreds of people I didn’t even know. But the more I served, the more my love for the people in my mission grew. You could do the same thing in your class.”
“You mean do things for the boys in my class? Why would I want to do anything for them? Tyson tripped me last week, and the other two act as though I’m not even there.”
“But if you did,” Dad said, staring me straight in the eye, “their feelings would change—and so would yours. You could think of it as your mission to your own Valiant class if you want to.”
I gulped. I wanted to be a regular, full-time missionary when I was older, but “go on a mission” to my Primary class? “I don’t know, Dad,” I muttered. “It sounds more like a ‘mission impossible.’”
“Maybe.” He smiled again. “But would you think about it?”
I thought about it all the way to church. I finally figured that if I didn’t do something, I’d be miserable forever—or at least until another boy my age moved in. And in a small town like mine, who knew when that would be? But what exactly can a Primary missionary do? I wondered.
I got my first idea when I opened the big glass doors of the church and saw Elder Richards and Elder Martinez smiling and shaking hands with people in the foyer. If I was going to be a Primary missionary, I knew I’d have to try that, even though just the thought of it made my stomach leap as if I’d swallowed a dozen tree frogs.
I walked to the Primary room as slowly as I could, half hoping my entire class would be out of town. When I opened the door, Kenny and Derek were already huddled together at the end of the row, whispering and giggling. Tyson was tipping back in his chair, blocking the row with his feet.
Normally I would have plopped onto a chair by the wall and ignored everybody. But this time I couldn’t—not if I was going to be a missionary.
I took a deep breath and forced my legs to march to my row. “Er, … hi, Tyson,” I mumbled. Our eyes locked for a second, my mouth forming an awkward smile. “Can I sit down?”
He looked startled—like he’d never seen me before. Then, after a moment, he dropped his feet and chair to the floor. “Yeah, go ahead.”
I stepped around his feet, just in case he was thinking of tripping me again, and sat on a chair in the middle of the row. Then I turned toward the other two and waved. “Hi, Derek. Hi, Kenny.” You would have thought from their reaction that I’d just announced their name over the microphone or something.
But after a quick “Oh, hi” back, they were again hunched over a piece of paper Kenny had fished out of his pocket.
So much for being a missionary! I thought glumly. I couldn’t think of anything else to do until Sister Reynolds called for volunteers to read some scriptures she’d written on the board. I shot my hand into the air. Missionaries definitely read scriptures.
But just when I thought Sister Reynolds was going to pick me, she called on Tyson instead. He hadn’t even raised his hand.
“What?” he said, fumbling for the books under his chair.
Sister Reynolds frowned slightly. “Would anyone else like to read Alma 17:25?”
Then, just as I was going to shoot my hand into the air again, I got another idea. I pushed my own Book of Mormon onto Tyson’s lap and pointed to the verse. “It’s right there,” I whispered.
“It’s OK—I’ll read it,” he said, taking the book. He read about Ammon, a Book of Mormon missionary who served the Lord by becoming King Lamoni’s servant and watching his flocks.
When he finished, he slipped my Book of Mormon back on my lap. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m not very good at finding scriptures.”
“No problem.” I just shrugged. But inside, I was feeling as good as if I’d read the scripture myself. Suddenly Tyson didn’t seem like such a troublemaker. Was this what Dad had been talking about?
Later, in class, I sat by Tyson and Kenny. It was so fun listening to Brother Duncan’s lesson that I forgot I was even on my mission until he asked for volunteers to play a drawing guessing game. Kenny and I jumped to the edge of our seats, waving our hands. Then I remembered. “Go ahead, Kenny. You can go first.”
“Hey, thanks,” he said.
I found out that he could draw pictures better than anybody in the whole class. “Where’d you learn to draw like that?” I asked after the closing prayer.
“Oh, nowhere,” he said, his eyes shining. “I draw all the time—see?” He pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded a picture he’d drawn of a really cool scooter with heavy duty shock absorbers.
“Wow!” I said. “It’s the same kind of scooter that I’ve been saving for.”
“I’m going to get one for my birthday,” Derek chimed in. “Except it’s still three months away.”
Kenny stuffed the picture back into his pocket and headed for the door. “Well, I better go, Brandon. See you next week.”
“Yeah, see you next week,” I said. Then I rushed down the hallway to find Dad. Making friends in my Valiant 10 class was not only possible—it was fun. Primary was going to be better than ever.