Gospel Story Finder

Michael: “When I started going to school, I had a hard time with it because my parents told me about God, but everybody around me—students and teachers—tried to tell me there was no God at all.”

Peter: “In citizenship classes in school we were taught atheism as official policy. They made fun of religion in class and said if you belonged to a religious organization, you were working against the government. The government was more or less worshipped.”

Parents taught one thing; society often taught the opposite. Like LDS teens everywhere, the Lehmann brothers had to find out for themselves. “We had a really good home,” Peter recalls. “I kind of recognized the importance of doing what my parents wanted me to do. Still, with all of the experiences I had in school—people and teachers gave us a hard time and wanted me to get up and deny God—I said to myself, ‘We’re doing all this stuff. Why? There’s got to be something.’ I got on my knees and said, ‘I want to know for myself. I want to have the feeling in my heart.’

“I prayed and studied the Book of Mormon, and I got a testimony at that time, a little testimony that grew.”

For example, when I was younger, I really wanted to play school basketball. I practiced and practiced. One day the coach pointed to our 6-foot-4-inch (1.93 m) all-state center and our 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) all-star forward and said to me, “I can put you on the team, but you’ll likely never play.” I remember how kindly he then encouraged, “Why not try out for soccer? You’d be good.” My family cheered when I scored my first goal.

A young man once came to Socrates and said, “Mr. Socrates, I have come sixteen hundred miles to talk to you about wisdom and learning.” He said, “You are a man of wisdom and learning and I would like to be a man of wisdom and learning. Would you teach me how to be a man of wisdom and learning?”

Socrates said, “Come, follow me.” And he led the way down to the seashore.

Then they waded out into the water up to their waists. Then Socrates seized his friend and held his head under the water. His friend struggled and kicked and bucked and tried to get away but Socrates held him down. Now if you hold somebody’s head under the water long enough he will eventually become fairly peaceable, and when this man had quit kicking, Socrates carried him out on the bank and laid him out to dry, and he went back to the marketplace.

After this man had thawed out a little bit he came back to Socrates to find the reason for this rather unusual behavior, and Socrates said to him, “When your head was under the water, what was the one thing you wanted more than anything else?”

And he said, “More than anything else I wanted air.”

Then Socrates said, “When you want wisdom and learning like you wanted air, you won’t need to ask anybody to give it to you.”

During a sacrament meeting in Piura, Peru, in 1972, a speaker who was discussing the importance of family history work kept looking at me. At the end of his talk, he surprised me when he announced, “I know that Brother Rosillo is going to do this work.”
I had been a member of the Church for less than a year, but I set a goal to get started on my family history—not because of what he said but because I felt a desire to do so. I obtained a four-generation pedigree chart and started by interviewing my parents and relatives to find out what they knew. Each time I worked on my family history, I prayed and asked the Lord for help.
To find the death dates of my maternal great-grandparents, I traveled to the town of Zorritos, in northern Peru, where they had been buried. The cemetery was on the outskirts of town, and most of the dead had been laid to rest in vaulted compartments.
I entered the cemetery and started looking, but I didn’t find anything. I then decided to go to town to ask a cousin if she was sure that our great-grandparents had been buried there. When she said yes, I told her, “Then I’m not leaving until I have those dates.”
I returned to the cemetery and began a methodical search, walking down every vault aisle and reading every inscription. I still couldn’t find their vaults, so I knelt and asked the Lord to help me. Then I searched again—but with the same results. I was tired, it was getting late, and I needed to leave so I could do other research I had planned.
“Well, I did my part,” I thought to myself. I would have to leave without accomplishing my goal.
Ready to leave, I turned toward the front gate. But just as I took my first step, I felt two hands take hold of my head from behind and turn it toward a certain spot. My eyes rested on a small, dirty headstone that was level with the ground. I looked behind me to see who had grabbed my head, but no one was there.
I walked to the headstone, lay on the ground, and cleaned off the inscription. With great gratitude, I read the information I was looking for: Isidro Garcia Rosillo, died August 1, 1934. Francisca Espinoza Berrú, died January 31, 1954.
My ancestors’ long wait to receive their saving ordinances ended in 1980. That was when my wife and I went to the São Paulo Brazil Temple to receive our endowments. At the temple I was sealed to my wife and baptized for my deceased loved ones.
As I entered the baptismal font, I remembered the small headstone at the cemetery. I went down into the calm waters knowing the Lord had guided my steps as I searched for my ancestors.

As the sun set on another Sunday in 1948, I found myself walking down the side of the Trent River in Nottingham, England. As a 20-year-old missionary, I had recently been called as district president. It had been a long, exhausting day filled with meetings and ministering, but I was happy and satisfied in the work.
As I walked along the river, I said a prayer in my heart. Hoping to feel some guidance from the Lord, I asked, “Am I doing what You want?”
An overwhelming feeling of peace and understanding came over me. At that precise moment, I came to know that Jesus Christ knew me and loved me. I didn’t see a vision or hear a voice, but I could not have known of Christ’s reality and divinity any more powerfully had He stood before me and called out my name.
This sweet and tender experience has shaped my life. From that day to today, every significant decision I have made has been influenced by my knowledge of the Savior. Over the years and throughout most of the world, I have testified that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, the Light of the World. It is a privilege for us to come unto Him, to follow Him, and to feel His light in our lives.

How do you stand out in a field of very qualified students? That was the question facing Liberty Belleza, a native of Muntilupa City, Philippines.
Her hometown was conducting a search among the city’s 15 high schools to find the ten most outstanding students based on scholarship, talent, and extracurricular activities, and Liberty was a finalist.
Liberty, 17, a member of the Las Pinas Second Ward, Las Pinas Stake, was interviewed, given an IQ test, and asked to perform in the talent presentation segment. But it was in the interview portion, with a group of dignitaries as panelists, that Liberty did something surprising. Instead of talking about academics, she changed the focus.
“I introduced myself as a Latter-day Saint, and after that their questions were almost all related to our religion,” Liberty says. “I told them about the Book of Mormon, and I told them about the Word of Wisdom and the Young Women values.”
In the end, Liberty was one of the ten selected, and she is now a freshman at the University of Philippines. “It was a good experience for me, especially when I bore my testimony. It felt good to share the gospel,” she says.

“Are we going to make this marriage work, or not?” he asked.
Seven months married, six months pregnant, I sat on the bed, tears streaming down my cheeks and spotting my nightgown. I couldn’t give my husband an answer!
Jim, a nonmember, and a lieutenant junior grade aboard a U.S. destroyer, sailed out of San Diego, California, harbor every other week. He loved his duty, his friends aboard ship, and coming home to his sweetheart. But I was miserable! Because I was alone every other week and living in a strange city with no friends, no family, and (since I was inactive) no Church affiliation, I sank often into a state of despondency. Morning sickness, nausea, and a growing waistline did not improve my attitude. I felt trapped!
At the end of each “out to sea” week, Jim would return, ever the optimistic, expecting to find a happy, smiling wife. But after too many days of lonely vigilance, I was anything but sunshine. A dark gloomy cloud settled over our little rented bungalow. Doubts assailed me. I wasn’t sure I loved him. He didn’t seem to understand me or my needs. Was this what wedded bliss was supposed to be like? We had tried to talk it out before, but each time we satisfied only surface deficiencies, never the real problem.
Now we sat facing each other across the bed, our relationship teetering seriously. What were we going to do? The word divorce arose. Is that what we wanted? It carried a sound of finality, of permanency, and made us involuntarily shudder. But how could we change?
We sat in silence, pondering. Then Jim looked up. “Judith,” he said, “I think our problem is one of selfishness. Are you willing to make an honest effort to try an experiment? For the next thirty days, I’ll think only of you and your needs, and you think only of me and my needs. If at the end of that time our marriage has not improved, then we’ll talk about … about another solution.”
I agreed. I wanted—hungered for—happiness.
“But we must guard against one thing,” Jim warned. “We must not predetermine each other’s actions judging them against what we would like. Our wants may be out of proportion to what we receive, and disappointment may occur. This is to be a total concentration of what we can do for each other.”
The next morning I slipped out of bed early, fighting nausea and bleary eyes. Jim loved large hot breakfasts; I preferred sleeping later, with a light morning snack. Nevertheless, I cooked a large breakfast for him. Jim smelled the food and came into the kitchen smiling. So much for sleeping in! Even though every morning I still fought nausea, I cooked special breakfasts.
“Honey, I can hardly wait to get up in the morning just to see what exciting menu is on the table,” Jim said. “You’re a marvelous cook and I love it!” With this encouragement, my breakfasts continued to improve—and so did my willingness to prepare them.
The second big change came during those week-long assignments when Jim was out to sea. I took walks every day, started conversations with the local grocer and his wife, immersed myself in uplifting books and music, and shut every thought of self-pity out of my mind. Fridays required long preparation. I knew his optimism envisioned me running out the door and into his arms—so I ran! And then I led him back into the house to a carefully prepared meal. Romance blossomed again!
One night he said, “I feel like seeing a movie. Would you like to go?” Actually, I was tired and thinking about retiring early, but I remembered the commitment and grabbed my coat. Perhaps the hardest part is doing what you don’t feel like doing, without minding. The key, I’ve found, is attitude. Discomfort becomes insignificant when you have a genuine desire to please each other.
Of course I didn’t do all the changing in our marriage. Jim, too, kept his part of the commitment—and he did it in ways he knew would be most meaningful to me. His largest contribution was personalized attention. Five-minute rubdowns to my aching limbs and back expanded to an hour, soothing my nerves as well as my body. He provided more opportunities for talk and relaxation—taking me away from our four walls on weekends into the sunshine, to the beach, or to the park for archery or picnics. And he listened more attentively to what I was feeling and going through. He perceived how easily my feelings of confidence could fail, and so he reminded me of my positive traits during those periods to bolster my ego.
Even though he was only twenty-three years old, Jim commanded one hundred men aboard ship—men who saluted and followed his orders daily. Sometimes I had suspected he unconsciously desired the same behavior from me. But, happily, during our thirty day experiment, that harsh edge disappeared. In a matter of two weeks, I began to feel cherished, appreciated, and loved.
Our “extreme” commitment meant keeping each other’s needs always in the background of our thoughts; it meant asking ourselves each day “What can I do for him/her? How can I show I care?” It meant—for both of us—literally eliminating the feelings and thought of “I demand!” and “What about me?” and “Why doesn’t he/she … ?”
At first changes in our marriage were changes of attitude, but they were based upon the true principle of unselfishness, and our understanding and acceptance of the principle dictated our actions. We paid the price to please each other, and in that process discovered the beginnings of true love. All it took was to give instead of take; to be thoughtful instead of thoughtless; to desire to please rather than be pleased.

The first day I saw Frances, I knew I’d found the right one. The Lord brought us together later, and I asked her to go out with me. I went to her home to call on her. She introduced me, and her father said, “‘Monson’—that’s a Swedish name, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Good.”

Then he went into another room and brought out a picture of two missionaries with their top hats and their copies of the Book of Mormon.

“Are you related to this Monson,” he said, “Elias Monson?”

I said, “Yes, he’s my grandfather’s brother. He too was a missionary in Sweden.”

Her father wept. He wept easily. He said, “He and his companion were the missionaries who taught the gospel to my mother and my father and all of my brothers and sisters and to me.” He kissed me on the cheek. And then her mother cried, and she kissed me on the other cheek. And then I looked around for Frances. She said, “I’ll go get my coat.”

The fresh mountain air cooled my lungs as I laced up my boots. Next to me, my horse whinnied impatiently.
“I know, girl. I’m coming,” I said soothingly, as I stroked her reddish-brown mane.
I finished fastening the saddle, mounted, and was off. As I rode up the mountain, I thought of all the troubles that were weighing on my mind. I was a junior in high school—worried about friends, sports, final exams, and where to apply for college. Hundreds of thoughts swirled around in my brain. There were simply too many problems; I would never be able to solve them all. That’s really why I had come to the mountains. I needed to escape for a while.
After a time, I arrived at my favorite spot—a small out-of-the-way clearing that overlooks a mountain valley. I stopped my horse and said a small prayer in my heart.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I am so tired and so overwhelmed. Please give me some comfort. I just need a little peace.”
The answer came almost immediately. “Look up.”
As I raised my eyes, I was met with a scene of such astonishing beauty that I could scarcely breathe. All of my problems seemed to melt away as I soaked up the view. The farms in the valley were laid out like squares in a patchwork quilt, and on that day in May many of the fields had come to life in brilliant shades of green. What struck me most, however, was not the green. Throughout the fields of green were generous smatterings of the most vibrant yellow I had ever seen. The effect was mesmerizing, and it sparked my curiosity because I knew that there weren’t any local crops of that color.
I rode faster on the way down, eager to get to the valley floor and discover the source of that captivating yellow. When I reached the fields, I was astonished to find that the beauty that had so enchanted me didn’t come from anything exotic. The fields were filled with simple, unassuming dandelions.
I picked one small dandelion and brought it close to my nose. It was amazing to me how much difference perspective had made. From high above, I was quite taken in by the beauty of something that most people on the valley floor would call a weed. I would never have recognized its worth if I had not been prompted to look up and find the beauty in it.
I realized that I sometimes treat people the way most people treat the dandelion I held in my hand. I decide that they aren’t really worth my notice, without pausing to get to know them better or to think of how greatly the Lord values them. God knew that the dandelion was beautiful in its simplicity, even when most people couldn’t see it.
It occurred to me that I was much like the dandelion. Small and imperfect—but important and cherished in the eyes of my Heavenly Father. Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1926–2004) once said that “sometimes with smudges on our cheeks, dirt on our hands, and shoes untied, stammeringly but smilingly we present God with a dandelion—as if it were an orchid or a rose! If for now the dandelion is the best we have to offer, He receives it, knowing what we may later place on the altar” (That Ye May Believe [1992], 100).
Since that day I have never looked at a dandelion the same way. When I look at those little yellow flowers, I don’t see something to be stomped on, plucked up, or sneered at. I see effortless charm and loveliness. I will be forever grateful for the lesson I learned on that day—never judge someone or something until you have tried to see them from the Lord’s point of view, because the Lord, from His perspective high above mine, has a far better view and can much more easily judge the worth of flowers and of souls.

I was called to serve as a counselor in the Relief Society in my family’s new ward. During our presidency meetings, we would go over a list of names of Relief Society sisters in our ward and consider how to help them and their families.
I was drawn to a sister in the ward named Mirta. She had been a member of the Church for many years, but for some reason, Mirta had not been attending for several years.
I noticed that her husband was the elders quorum president but that their children, who were members, did not attend church either. Each Sunday I would see her husband attend alone.
I felt that we needed to help this family return to church together and enjoy the blessings that the Lord wanted to give them. During the following presidency meetings, I shared my hopes of helping Mirta return to church. We planned activities in which we could include her in a special way, and we identified a few assignments we could give her.
When we visited her, she accepted each one of the assignments and afterward fulfilled them perfectly. We noted that she would eagerly wait to be picked up by one of us for Relief Society activities.
When we organized the visiting teaching companionships as a presidency, I asked the others to consider the possibility of Mirta and I becoming companions. Each month, without fail, Mirta and I would go visiting teaching. Every time we went out to visit the sisters was an opportunity to talk and get to know each other more.
Each time I invited her to attend church, she would merely say, “When I feel like I’m ready, I’ll go.” I didn’t understand, but I respected her decision. Eventually her answers became, “Maybe I’ll go on Sunday.”
I would wait for her anxiously every Sunday. She never came, but I continued to keep her in my prayers. A sudden move caused my family to return to where we had previously lived, and I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to Mirta. When we left the ward, she still had not returned to church.
Some months later I was told that Mirta had returned to church and was a counselor in the Relief Society.

I recently gave my first talk in sacrament meeting. I had just read the article “An Example to Nonmember Friends” (Oct. 2010) and knew that I should use that as my topic. I liked that people shared experiences in their lives. It helped me understand more about being an example to those around me. One way I can stand as a witness is by magnifying my priesthood responsibilities. A few weeks ago a few other deacons in my ward and I went to a rest home. We take turns preparing and passing the sacrament with the other wards in our stake. While I was there I felt very peaceful and happy inside. I knew that I was doing what the Savior would have me do and would be doing Himself if He were there. I am thankful for the examples of others I read about in the magazine and hope I can also set a good example to those around me.
Spencer G., Utah

Many years ago I would visit an older widow named Mattie, whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been. My heart grieved at her utter loneliness. A precious son of hers lived many miles away, and for years he had not visited his mother. Mattie spent long hours in a lonely vigil at her front window. Behind a frayed and frequently opened curtain, the disappointed mother would say to herself, “Dick will come; Dick will come.”

But Dick didn’t come. The years passed by one after another. Then, like a ray of sunshine, Church activity came into the life of Dick, one of my former Aaronic Priesthood boys, who now lived in Houston, Texas, far away from his mother. He journeyed to Salt Lake to visit with me. He telephoned upon his arrival and, with excitement, reported the change in his life. He asked if I had time to see him if he were to come directly to my office. My response was one of gladness. However, I said, “Dick, first visit your mother and then come to see me.” He gladly complied with my request.

Before he could get to my office, there came a phone call from Mattie, his mother. From a joyful heart came words punctuated by tears: “Bishop, I knew Dick would come. I told you he would. I saw him coming through the window.”

Not many years later at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

The young women around the world have taught me so much about seeking Christ and gaining a daily, personal witness of Him. Let me share the wisdom of two of them:
Livvy has watched general conference her entire life. In fact, in her home they traditionally watch all five sessions as a family. In the past, conference for Livvy had meant doodling or drifting into the occasional unintended nap. But this past October general conference was different. It became personal.
This time, Livvy decided to be an active recipient. She silenced notifications on her phone and took notes of impressions from the Spirit. She was amazed as she felt specific things God wanted her to hear and do. This decision made a difference in her life almost immediately.
Just days later her friends invited her to an inappropriate movie. She reflected, “I felt the words and spirit of conference return into my heart, and I heard myself declining their invitation.” She also had the courage to share her testimony of the Savior in her ward.
After these events she stated, “The amazing thing is, when I heard myself testify that Jesus is the Christ, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm it again for me.”
Livvy did not skip like a stone over the surface of conference weekend; she dove in, mind and spirit, and found the Savior there.

Latter-day Saint Charities, a humanitarian arm of the Church, worked with another charitable organization to help restore a fishing boat that returned 27 fishermen in Banda Aceh, Indonesia, to the seas, allowing them to provide for their families.
Because of the tsunami in 2004, the fishing boat Bolivia was damaged and sank in the Krueng Aceh River. After the boat had been submerged for two months, the United States Army and the Australian army helped to pull it from the water. There the boat remained untouched for a year.
Latter-day Saint Charities and Austin International Rescue and Relief Operations (AIRO) initiated a restoration project of the large fishing boat. The restoration was completed in November 2006.
Following a short ceremony held at the waterfront, the boat was officially launched.
The original owner of the boat and his spouse perished during the tsunami. Their three children survived and will now receive 50 percent of the profits from the fishing boat.

An interesting experiment in social psychology investigates how much the judgments of others influence the way we see things. A psychologist built a small machine containing a bright light which could be switched on in pinpoint bursts. When one views a small burst of light in a dark room, the light appears to move, even though the machine producing the light is stable and doesn’t move at all. This is called the autokinetic (self-movement) effect, and it plays an important role in this experiment.
During the first stage of the experiment one person, let’s call him Bill, is led into a dark room and instructed to judge how far the tiny pinpoints of light move each time he sees a burst of light. His judgment is two centimeters the first time, three centimeters the second time, and four centimeters the third time. After several trials he settles on three centimeters as his average judgment.
Bill is then excused from the room, and Susan is invited to be seated several feet from the light machine. She then voices her judgments each time she sees a burst of light. She begins with three centimeters, then two centimeters, and she finally begins to repeat estimates of about one centimeter.
After her judgments have been recorded, Bill is then invited back into the room with Susan, and both of them are instructed to voice their individual estimates of another series of light bursts. After the first burst Bill says, “three centimeters,” and Susan counters with “one centimeter.” On the next trial Susan says, “one and a half,” and Bill replies, “two and a half.” After several subsequent trials, they concur that the light moves two centimeters each time.
The interesting conclusion to this experiment may appear, at first, to be trivial, but in many regards it is profound. The light never moves. It is only our perceptions of the light that change. As we associate with others whose opinions differ from our own, their judgments often influence how we view things, and we, in turn, influence their view of the world.

When my parents first told us that we would be moving from Utah to Georgia, I was very nervous. I didn’t want to leave my home, my extended family, or my friends. We knelt down as a family and asked Heavenly Father to bless us with comfort during our move and to help us find friends. I felt the Spirit, and I knew everything would be OK.
Moving across the country took four long days! We drove from Utah through Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, and finally into Georgia. Georgia is completely different from Utah. Utah has beautiful mountains and deserts, cold winters and hot, dry summers. Georgia is very green with tall trees and plants that cover everything. Birds sing in the forest, and frogs croak in the creek behind our new house. My two homes couldn’t be more different. But do you know what is not different? The gospel!
The day after we moved in, we went to our new ward. It was fast Sunday. I was feeling a little shy when we walked into sacrament meeting for the very first time. But everyone was so nice and made us feel so welcome, just like my ward back in Utah. They bore testimonies of Heavenly Father and Jesus and the Book of Mormon. I even got up and bore my testimony that Heavenly Father helps us through our trials. I know He blessed me to find peace in our new home. Before too long I felt like I had always been a part of our new ward. I made many new friends.
I still miss my friends in Utah, but I love my new home in Georgia. I am thankful that Heavenly Father blessed me with such a beautiful place to live and with my new ward family and friends!

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

How helpful this experience was for me twenty years later when my wife and I stood outside an emergency room in our home town. We had waited for hours as several doctors examined our sixteen-year-old daughter. She had been in an automobile accident and had been seriously injured. Our bishop and his wife joined us, along with the stake president and his wife.

When a doctor stepped out of the X-ray room, his voice choked as he told us that our daughter’s spinal cord had been severed and that she would never walk again. My sweetheart and I embraced while she wept, “Oh, no, no!” Our friends wept with us.

Later, as we drove home, we wondered how we could break the news to our daughter. We wondered, too, whether it would have been better for our Heavenly Father to have taken her out of this life. A few hours later, we returned to the hospital. As I leaned over to explain to our daughter, I could not contain my tears.

She opened her eyes, thrust out her arms, and exclaimed, “Don’t cry, Daddy. Look, I’ve got my arms, I’ve got my heart, I’ve got my mind, and I have all eternity to run around in.”

Joseph and Janice Clark were blessed with two sons, Jacob and Andrew. Five years ago, Joseph was stricken suddenly and, in effect, became a hospitalized quadriplegic. There, supine Joseph’s sons would often be cradled in his arms. Joseph would always smile even when he could not speak audibly. In the eyes of the world, his was a catastrophic illness. Nevertheless, Joseph, his saintly wife, and their two boys, and with strong support from parents and families, coped remarkably for five years. Because they trusted God as to what was really going on, like Job they did not "[charge] God foolishly” (Job 1:22).

Amid all the incessant and difficult problems, many of us watched Janice and Joseph apply King Benjamin’s words by showing that they were “willing to submit” to what had been inflicted upon them (Mosiah 3:19). Radiant Joseph died recently. The very day after his death, prescient, nine-year-old Jacob, who knew firsthand of his father’s loving and outreaching nature, said, “Mom, I’ll bet Dad already has a lot of friends in heaven!” A few days later, seven-year-old Andrew struggled with a computer assignment at school but later reported to his mother, “I just thought of Dad, and he helped me.”

A few years after my wife and I returned home from our mission, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) asked us to meet with him. During that meeting, he extended a call to me to serve as a General Authority. He reflected on my experiences as a young missionary and as a mission president and told us that although there were many people who were qualified to be General Authorities, the Lord would use me because of my previous experiences and decisions.

Since President Thomas S. Monson announced the change in the missionary age, young people have been asked to counsel with their parents, counsel with their bishops, and counsel with the Lord through prayer. When you know it is the right time to go, then you should go. As you have patience and exercise faith, I know that the Lord will make His will known unto you.

I testify that as you are obedient to the will of the Lord, you will be blessed beyond measure.