Gospel Story Finder

When I was 14 years old I was living comfortably as the youngest child in my family—the only one still at home with my parents. We lived in the southern Utah town of St. George, a place steeped in the traditions of its pioneer founders. With both my father and mother born of this stock, I grew up with a strong sense of our pioneer heritage. The stories I heard growing up all centered on our community and the people who lived there. This wonderful heritage was at the center of who my parents were.
So it was a great surprise to me when my parents announced their intention to move. My father didn’t have a new job to go to. He didn’t have business contacts where we were going. But we were going to move from a place that had anchored our family for generations. We were going to leave an extended family of aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, and friends, and we were going to move to a larger city.
The reason my parents wanted to move was to live in the same city as their married children and grandchildren. They did it because my father and mother believed nothing was more important than being with and nurturing their immediate family.
We moved when I was a young teenager. I didn’t know anybody at school. I didn’t know anybody at church. I moved out of a small town into a big city. I trusted my parents, but I was a little bewildered as to why we really needed to move. Over time I came to see, and I see even more clearly since I’ve become a father, the great commitment my parents had to our immediate family.
Knowing how committed my parents were to our family made it easier for me to make this difficult transition as a teenager. I came to realize that many of the temporal things I thought were important to my father were not. I came to realize that nothing was as important to him as his family and the eternal covenants that bound us together. My father and mother would go wherever they needed to go and do whatever they needed to do to continue nurturing their relationships with children and grandchildren. Knowing this was of immense comfort to me.
In our small town, I had felt sheltered and protected. It was difficult leaving everything I knew, everything I was comfortable with. I felt lost moving into the city, but I trusted my parents. They had always given me every reason to know that they loved me, cared for me, and wanted me to be happy.
By the end of my first year, I decided I could make it in this new place, and I started to reach out to other people. I made good friends, and I started to fit in and feel comfortable. The best place I found help (besides my family) was at church. I started to come out of my shell because I started to participate more with the youth of the ward. They helped me feel good about who I was and what I was doing. They welcomed me and helped me feel a part of a church family—like the church family I had left in St. George.

We were studying the Book of Mormon in seminary, and I had learned many things. I read every night. At first I read just because I was supposed to. Later on it was a habit, and then I was reading because I wanted to.
I learned more from the scriptures during that time in my life than I had ever imagined. I was almost finished with the Book of Mormon, and I knew the big question would be coming soon: Is the Book of Mormon true?
Late one night I finished reading the Book of Mormon. I had read it cover to cover. I knelt down beside my bed and asked with a sincere heart with a desire to know the answer to that one question. After I finished my prayer, I sat there for a minute and waited. Then it hit me. The warm, peaceful answer. Right then I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I ran upstairs to tell my parents. I stood in their doorway, and I started crying because I knew in my heart the Book of Mormon was the true word of God. That was the happiest night of my life. I cannot deny the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
Jennifer Harrison,Wellsville First Ward, Wellsville Utah Stake

Originally from Fiji, Reena Naidu’s family moved to Sydney, Australia, when she was young.
She discovered her gift for art in high school when an assignment required her to submit a self-portrait. “At about the same time, I read a Church talk about developing our talents and I felt inspired to develop my artistic skills,” Reena says.
She followed that inspiration to the National Art School in Dalinghurst, Sydney, where she earned a master’s in fine arts. Today she is a manager for an art supplies company where she helps others select the right materials for their art projects.
For her own work, Reena prefers ink, watercolour and acrylic paints.
“My subject matter includes, but is not limited to, landscapes, seascapes, portraits and more. I also have a strong desire to create works that are inspired by my faith and look forward to creating more religious and spiritual art.”
Her selected work is called “The Sacred Grove.” It is based on a photo given to her by a missionary couple who had visited the Sacred Grove in New York. Reena began work on this piece in 2020 while watching a general conference talk about young Joseph Smith’s experiences there.
“As I listened, I got lost in the moment and I was drawn into the photo . . . I felt the Holy Spirit guiding my hand.”
For Reena, the grove is a reminder that God loves and hears His children. “The Restoration of the gospel, beginning with the appearance of Deity in that wood, provides a way for all of humanity to receive God’s blessings.”

The magazine left behind by an American serviceman in his shop was a little worn-out, but the young Filipino still found it inviting to read.
As if by design and not by pure chance, his fingers flipped the pages to an article about a prophet who died a hundre years before. In 1946, during the early days of the Republic of the Philippines, any story about as modern-day prophet would sound preposterous, but not for this young Pampango who became oblivious to the passing of time as he became deeply engrossed with the article on Joseph Smith and the Mormons who were, to him, a strange and unknown people.
The story he read lingered in his mind and there were searching questions he wanted to ask. There was the compelling need to know more about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had to find out, but there was no way to do it. … and nobody to turn to for enlightenment.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, he noticed an American captain from Clark Air Force Base who appeared to be completely different from the others during off-duty hours in matters of pleasure and other mundane activity.
The thought raced in David’s mind that the captain could be a Mormon, and he debated with himself on whether to ask him or not. How embarrassing it would be if the captain was not a Mormon and be offended by his impertinence. But an unseen force seemed to direct David to him, and he slowly approached the captain with faltering steps.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?” David shyly asked. The officer nodded. “Are you a Mormon?” he continued.
The officer’s lips broadened to a wide smile, and David almost shrank with shame with the thought that he had asked a silly question.
But the chance meeting and the unikely question proved to be the turning point in David’s life. The captain was a Mormon!
A strong bond of friendship was immediately struck between them—and, not long thereafter, David became a convert to the Church.
This episode came to life again on Sunday morning as Elder Gordon B. Hinckley highlighted the May 29, 1977 Special Combined Conference at the Philippine International Convention Center.
Elder Hinckley’s opening statement was a vividly recounted narrative on how David came as the only Filipino member early in the morning of May 28, 1961 to the American Battle Memorial Cemetery at Fort Bonifacio, where a small LDS group led by Elder Hickley gathered to initiate missionary work in the Philippines.
As he listened to Elder Hinckley’s testimony about him, tears welled in the eyes of David, recalling that thirty-one years before, a worn-out magazine and a chance meeting ushered into his life the greatest moment of truth.
This is the story of David D. Lagman of San Fernando, Pampanga and how he found it—the truth—long before we did.—P. Ocampo, Jr.

If this really works, it is the greatest source of happiness to be found on earth. Let me cite one more example as it was written in a recent Ensign magazine.
“In the summer of 1953 I was a sixteen-year-old apprentice actress. … Our lead actress was a pretty red-haired girl who had won the lead role in a competition (so I understood) in New York. … She and I shared a suite of rooms, and every morning when I woke up I saw [her] sitting on her bed reading. I awoke to that sight, no matter what the hour, for four months.
“The news quickly spread that she was a Mormon, and in an environment where morals simply did not exist, she was as pure as snow. No drinking, no smoking, not even in plays, and no men in her room. She loved everyone, and she was so gentle and friendly even though she was the “star.” And always in the morning she was reading and reading, not her scripts, but some other books and magazines that she had brought with her.
“She never talked to me about her religion, and I never asked her. But I never forgot her.
“Many years later, after I had married and already had two children, my husband and I became dissatisfied with our spiritual lives. We took religion courses and went to all kinds of churches, but we still were not satisfied.
“Then I remembered [her]. She had been, they said, a Mormon. We had no idea what a Mormon was, and I didn’t remember even talking about them in school history. So I went to the public library in the little Alabama town of Opelika, and checked out the only thing I could find: ‘Mormon, The Book of.’ In the back was a list of mission homes and I wrote to the nearest one, which was in Georgia, and asked if they accepted converts. The rest is part of our family history.
“I’ve never been able to find that young lady to tell her that, because she lived her religion in a way that I could not forget, thirty-seven people on both sides of our families are members of the Church. Countless others in the spirit world also have been given the opportunity.” (Ensign, Dec. 1977, p. 62.)

To begin with they were all in the same ward, but then the wards were split. Melissa ended up in one of the new wards, and Marny and Nancy were in the other.
“After they split the wards, and we figured out who wasn’t going to be where, we all started crying,” Nancy remembered.
But there were still chances to get together. There are plenty of excuses in this beautiful land, whether on river, bayou, lake, land, marsh, swamp, or sea.
And if none of those places work out, there is one even better spot. Sometimes on a Sunday morning when they get a little lonely for one another, the three friends get together at church. “Sometimes I just stay and go to their ward’s meetings after mine are over,” Melissa says. “And sometimes they’ll come early and go to mine before going to their own.”

Consider another individual weighing the consequences of her pregnancy. She was beyond the normal age for bearing children. She announced to her doctor that her husband was an alcoholic with a syphilitic infection. One of her children had been born dead. Another child was blind. Another had tuberculosis. Her family had a history of deafness. Finally she confessed that she was living in abject poverty. If this true historical situation were posed today, many would recommend abortion. The child born from that pregnancy became the renowned composer Ludwig van Beethoven.

Four-thirty in the morning seems awfully early to some people, but not to Alisa Jan Blackburn, a Laurel in the Bowie Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. She got up at that hour every school day, without fail, for the past four years, achieving 100 percent attendance at her 5:30 A.M. seminary class.
Alisa says that setting goals and sticking with a plan is what helped her achieve four years of perfect attendance. It also helped her earn her Young Women Recognition award. It didn’t hurt in her position of co-chair of the stake youth committee, either. Alisa is currently attending Ricks College.

Before I left on my mission to Pennsylvania, USA, I started experiencing anxiety. My mission plans were put on hold as I worked to address what I was feeling. My mission president wanted me to be in a good place mentally because missions can trigger a lot of stress and anxiety.

I worked to address my mental health and then left on my mission after I was given clearance from a counselor.

Everything was fine until I arrived in my third area. From not getting along with my companion to struggling to find people to teach, my anxiety spiked to the point where I could hardly get out of bed in the morning. I had moments where I felt so anxious that I could barely breathe, and I was experiencing situational depression. I eventually reached out to my mission president, who lovingly suggested I speak to my mission’s mental health counselors. Talking to them helped, but it didn’t take care of the problem entirely.

What did help me get back on track were the tools and the practices I had learned from counseling. I used them to maintain my mental health. They didn’t take away my anxiety entirely, but they made it manageable enough to be able to continue my missionary service.

These small and simple practices had a huge impact on my ability to serve the Lord with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. Struggling with your mental health is nothing to be ashamed of, and there is always hope through Jesus Christ to find strength, hope, and healing. Heavenly Father has given us many tools to keep our minds, bodies, and spirits healthy. We just have to be willing to use them.

Faith Ferguson, Idaho, USA

Another example of his self-mastery was his determination to become a good penman. His penmanship was so bad that when two of his friends looked at it, one said, “That writing looks like hen tracks.” “No,” said the other, “it looks as if lightning has struck an ink bottle.” This, of course, touched young Heber Grant’s pride. While he was still in his teens as a policy clerk in the office of H. R. Mann and Co., “he was offered three times his salary to go to San Francisco as a penman. He later became a teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping at the University of [Utah]. In fact, with a specimen he had written before he turned seventeen, he took first prize in a territorial fair against four professional penmen.”

“I hated this challenge and didn’t want to do it. I thought of several people, but I got so nervous that I talked myself out of each one. Yesterday morning I knew I’d better get moving. Then something funny happened.
“I go to ballet on Saturday. As we trudged into the dressing room after class, sweaty and tired, I mustered all my courage, took a deep breath, and said to no one in particular, ‘What do you know about Mormons?’
“Tanya, who’s never serious about anything, replied, ‘Are Mormons those guys who ride bikes wearing white shirts and name tags?’ She smacked her forehead, giggling. ‘The guys wear the shirts, of course, not the bikes!’
“‘Some Mormons do that,’ I eagerly explained, ignoring her joke. ‘The ones who are full-time missionaries.’
“‘I see them every so often.’ Tanya giggled again and rolled her eyes. ‘So you’re one of them. Weird.’
“I flopped down on the nearest bench, my face beet red, and pulled off my slippers. I wished I’d never said a word! Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Virginia?’
“I jerked about in surprise. It was Eva, the best student in the class. I didn’t think she knew I existed.
“‘Are you a Mormon?’
“‘Y—Yes,’ I stammered, not sure what to expect.
“‘Good! I’ve seen those missionaries, too, but they never stop at our house. I’ve always wanted to talk to them.’
“My heart thumped wildly. ‘I can arrange it for you,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Wednesday evening, say, at my house?’
“Eva smiled. ‘Sounds good. I’ll bring my mother, too, if that’s all right.’
“So they’re coming to our house this Wednesday for dinner and the first discussion!”
“Sometimes people we’d never think of as potential investigators turn out to be interested,” Sister Searle said.
“As a continuing class challenge,” Virginia proposed, “can everyone help friendship Eva and her mother?”
“That’s a great idea!” Sister Searle exclaimed, and the other girls nodded enthusiastically.

After the sacrament, Sister Stevens, a recently returned missionary, gave the first talk.

“One day, about halfway through my mission, I was having a really bad day,” Sister Stevens said. “Nothing was going right.”

“Fortunately,” Sister Stevens continued, “my companion wouldn’t let me stay in a bad mood. She suggested that we make a gratitude list. We listed all kinds of things, like peanut butter, soft beds, and letters from home.”

“By the end of the day, I’d forgotten why I had been in a bad mood,” Sister Stevens said. “It was the best day my companion and I had ever had. We decided to make a gratitude list every day.”

A true story from Costa Rica.
“Whoa!” Ethan said. “Did you see that one?”
“Yeah, look at its cute little tail!” said Lily.
Boston looked up, but he only saw shadows.
“We’ve already seen three monkeys today!” Ethan said.
But Boston hadn’t seen any! His family was visiting a rainforest to see wild monkeys. But the monkeys were too far away for Boston to see.
Boston was blind. He could only see things very close to him. Usually, he didn’t mind being blind. He could still do lots of cool things. He could read Braille with his fingers and walk with his cane in the dark. And he could find people by listening to their voices.
But sometimes, Boston didn’t like being blind. Like today.
Boston sat on the ground and sighed. It’s not fair! he thought.
A few minutes later he had an idea. Heavenly Father, please help a monkey come close enough for me to see, Boston prayed in his mind.
Boston couldn’t see any monkeys yet. Then he heard a noise from far away.
“Did you hear that?” Boston asked. “I think it was a monkey!”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Ethan said.
“Neither did I,” said Dad. “You have good ears!”
Boston heard a monkey run through the bushes by the trail. He pointed toward the sound. “Over there!”
Then he heard another one, and another. Sometimes his family could see the monkeys once he pointed them out. But none of the monkeys got close enough for him to see.
Soon it was time to go home.
“I’m sorry you didn’t see any monkeys,” Mom said as they walked to the car.
Boston shrugged. “It’s OK. I wanted to see one, but I got to hear lots of them instead.” Then he thought about his prayer. “It kind of reminds me of the Holy Ghost.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asked.
“When I stopped to listen, I realized they were all around me. I could hear them even though I couldn’t see them. It’s just like how I can hear the Holy Ghost when I listen.”
“That’s a great lesson,” Mom said.
Boston heard something in the bushes next to him. Then something ran out onto the trail—right in front of him! It had reddish hair and a long tail. It stopped and looked right at him. Then it ran into the trees again.
A monkey! He got to see one after all!
Boston smiled. Being blind was hard sometimes. But today, it helped him learn about the Holy Ghost. And that was pretty cool.

In 1987, Marcella, the older of my two daughters, saw two young men with name tags on a bus in Tiradentes, Brazil. A conversation ensued, and the missionaries asked if she would like to know more about the Church.
Marcella was interested, but she knew that my opinion of Latter-day Saints was very unfavorable. She made arrangements to be taught at the home of a member, and in time she was baptized. She was 19 years old. I did not go to her baptism because I was still radically opposed to the Church.
Meanwhile, I was going through a very difficult period in my life. One day I decided to look through some magazines in our magazine rack. Among them were several issues of A Liahona (Portuguese). I found what I read interesting.
The February/March 1986 issue contained an article about Si Peterson, a young man from Canada who is a quadriplegic (see Jeannie Takahashi, “Typical, but Unique Latter-day Saint,” 22). I was particularly impressed by the faith and perseverance of Si’s mother.
About that same time, January 1988, my younger daughter, Monica, suffered an appendicitis attack and was in terrible pain. The doctor said she needed emergency surgery. Marcella and I took her to the hospital and comforted her the best we could. At the hospital I remembered the examples of faith I had read about in A Liahona. I thought especially of Si’s mother, Anita Begieneman.
Marcella and I held Monica in our arms. We prayed with all the faith we had. Soon we noticed the color returning to her cheeks, and she stopped crying. Amazingly, the doctor told us a mistake had been made. Monica didn’t need an operation. The three of us went home happy and grateful.
Monica and I decided to receive the discussions, and we were baptized on 19 March 1988. Marcella later served a full-time mission to Switzerland and is now married.
The examples of faith in A Liahona showed me that my former ideas about the Church were in error and gave me strength during a difficult time. In the years since these events occurred, reading the magazine has continued to strengthen my testimony.

Well, that service ended, and there wasn’t one person I knew who slept that night. And there wasn’t much talking going on. You held your rifle and reported to your boat team station, and at 5:00 when that whistle went off, we prepared to embark. I was assigned to the seventh wave that morning. Unfortunately, the first six waves didn’t even get ashore. Completely blown out of the water. Thousands of lives sacrificed for you, for me, for the defense of this country. And I remember how I felt as I was put on shore on that little coral reef; by then the tide was in and I had to wade to shore in water clear up to my chest, rifle extended, and I had to push through the dead bodies of my friends and those I had trained and associated with. Don’t tell me you don’t ask questions. Why was that wonderful kid, 19 years old, face down in the water? Why? As I crawled ashore, and finally made a little progress about ten feet up the beach and dug a little hole there, I took off my helmet and started to ask the Lord why. Why, Lord, why should I be out there?
I’d never prayed like that before. I’d been a Latter-day Saint all my life. I’d watched my mom and dad get on their knees in family prayer. May I confess again, mine was an attitude at ages 16 and 17, “Let’s get this over with, folks. My gosh, my folks are fanatical. Pa, do we have to pray tonight?” You know those feelings. I find that others feel and think this way in our society, and it’s because our vision is short; we haven’t been able to see enough to ask penetrating questions.
I remember kneeling a number of times with my father and listening to him pour out his soul to his Heavenly Father. My dad was a sharp, capable businessman, respected by the community, a great leader from whom others sought counsel, and yet in his own humble way he would often kneel and say, “Lord, here’s my problem. Help my boy Paul, and my sons Bob and David,” or “There’s a difficult area in my business. What’s your counsel, Lord?” And I watched time after time as my father got off his knees with a tear or two in his eyes, and looked heavenward, and gave thanks and appreciation.
Up to the time I went ashore at Guam, I had never known God. But one thing I did know as I waded ashore on that fateful day was that my dad knew that God lived, and my dad got answers. And as I dug in, I knew that I could do exactly what my dad did, and I’ll be eternally grateful for his guidance and teaching. As I knelt down with my head bared, even in the danger of cross fire, I asked my Heavenly Father very simply, “Do you live? Are you real? Is Jesus Christ really the Savior? Was Joseph Smith a prophet of the Church, like I’ve heard all of my life and can’t understand?” And then it came. That sweet inner commitment and verification. Spirit touching spirit, saying in a silent voice, “It is so.” And so complete was that feeling within my heart on that July day that I could actually have gotten up out of my hole, I felt, and walked unharmed across that battlefield. The peace and the security were that great.
A testimony was born, because I had asked with real intent. I had prayed a thousand times before in a mechanical way because the pressure was on from family and church. But now I really wanted to know. Are you there, Lord? Will you tell me? And he did. And since that day, I have given my life to him. And I’ve had verification upon verification that this church is true, that Joseph Smith was called and ordained to restore the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Family is very important to Carolyn. When Grandmother Fox passed away, Carolyn knew that her grandma was OK and that she would see her again. The family planned to do Grandma’s temple work as soon as possible—one year after her death. But Katie had a strong desire to be baptized for her grandmother, so the family waited an extra six months until Katie turned twelve, the age when you can be baptized for the dead.
The Saturday before Mother’s Day, they went to the Washington D.C. Temple. Katie did the baptism, and her parents did the rest of the temple ordinances for Grandma. “It was really special,” Sister Fox explained. “It helped my children see that although we’re the only members in the family right now, because of Heavenly Father’s plan, our extended family can still be together forever.”
Carolyn couldn’t go into the temple because she isn’t old enough. “I felt left out,” she said. “But that’s OK, because in two years, if I live right, I can go to the temple and do baptisms for some of my other ancestors.”
She knows that many of her ancestors are waiting for her and her family to find them and do their temple work. As Carolyn learns the history and stories of her ancestors—who they were and what their lives were like—she learns to love and appreciate them. She wants them all to have the full blessings of the gospel.

A few months ago I was having trouble keeping the commandments. One morning as I was reading my scriptures, I read 1 Nephi 10:18: “And the way is prepared for all men from the foundation of the world, if it so be that they repent and come unto him.”
That verse gave me the courage I needed to speak to my bishop. Because of my example one of my closest friends, who also was struggling, spoke to her bishop, as well. Then we were able to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead.
I know that our Heavenly Father loves us and that His Son Jesus Christ atoned for our sins. I’m grateful for this knowledge.

When I was young, I too wanted to prove myself through some heroic gesture. My great-grandfather David Patten Kimball was one of the young men who rescued and helped carry members of the Martin handcart company across the Sweetwater River. That sounded like the kind of consecration for which I was looking. Later, as I visited with my grandfather Crozier Kimball, he explained that when President Brigham Young (1801–77) sent the men on their rescue mission, he instructed them to do everything they possibly could to save the handcart company. Their consecration was specifically to “follow the prophet.” My grandfather told me that consistent, faithful, righteous dedication to one’s duty or to a principle is to be much admired.

As heroic as it was for David Patten Kimball to help rescue the pioneers, it would be equally heroic today to follow the prophet by adhering to his counsel in reducing social media use, studying the Book of Mormon, and particularly helping to gather scattered Israel on both sides of the veil. If we help gather scattered Israel, we will be rescuing the souls of mankind—just as my great-grandfather helped to rescue the lives of the handcart company.

Danetta Blackwelder, Tallahassee, Florida—I remember that my first-quarter psychology professor took special delight in mocking the “superstitions” of religion. “Man,” he said, supported by his interpretation of scientific facts, “is not spiritual but merely physical and mental,” and all physical and mental processes result from environmental stimuli. Man has no control over himself; he only thinks he does. The professor mentioned once or twice two of his colleagues who are members of the Church. Their inconsistency in claiming scientific professionalism and being active men of faith was beyond his understanding. Then one day he came to class and apologized to any he might have offended. Someone had taken the time to explain certain things, he said, and he felt impelled to acknowledge that he could not deny the existence of anything with which he had never had personal experience. He said he had experienced some things—love was one—that he couldn’t see or touch but whose evidence was in some ways more real than anything else. He had never before made this application, but by extension, without experiencing religious faith personally, he said he would have to concede that such experiences were possible, even though they could not be recorded electronically or measured scientifically. Suddenly my faith was renewed in the reality of the light of Christ in all men, and I could see that his truth can penetrate anyone, if we will only give it a fair chance.

For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered American football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it, too.
Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is 1.88 meters tall, and at the time he was a relatively lean 91 kilograms.
“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on. I was still only 93 kilograms, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.
That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 113 kilograms. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for Brigham Young University. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.
“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “Nothing was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”
And that included the glamour of playing college football.
Says Elder Moleni: “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”
Now Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and football player.
“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’m having a successful mission.”