Gospel Story Finder

My dad and I started early, loading the woodcutting equipment into the truck well before sunrise and pulling out of the driveway just as the stars began to fade. As we snacked on toast and fruit drinks, we sang Scout songs and laughed at silly things I had done as a child. But as the first rays of sunlight splashed across the pristine Arizona sky, our talk turned to my mission—just two weeks away—and to the realization that this would be our last chance to spend time together like this for two years.
The sun left the horizon as we pulled off the main road and ascended into aspens and pines. An hour later we reached our destination: a small clearing at the top of a cliff overlooking a valley camouflaged in the yellows, reds, and greens of fall.
As I climbed out of the truck and peered over the cliff, my thoughts turned to my mission. Would I see such sights there? Would anything be similar so far from home? The knot that had formed in my stomach the day I opened my call tightened.
My dad quietly stepped up behind me and dropped one of his well-worn hands onto my shoulder.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I knew he was talking about cutting wood, but I instantly thought of my mission. Was I ready? Would I be able to learn Spanish? Would I love the people? Was my testimony strong enough?
The questions gathered around my heart like a great weight, threatening to crush my spirit. And then the memory of the greatest lesson my father had ever taught me leapt into my mind.
Over the years, the memory of that hike and what my father had done for me had faded. But as I stared into the valley that last morning before leaving on my mission, it came rushing back.
In that moment, I saw that my father had shown me an incredible example of how the Savior works. He lets us live our lives and make our own decisions. He lets the weight of the world gather on our shoulders as we face choices and circumstances that test our faith and dedication. And then, when we can go no further, He reaches out with His strong arm and lifts our packs so we can continue on.
Staring into the valley now, I no longer feared the long journey ahead or the trials I would face on my mission or at any other time in my life. I knew that the Lord would always be close behind and that, when I had done all I could, He would reach out and lift my pack.

World population: six billion. Population of Duchesne, Utah: 1,500.
If you looked at a map of the world, you would need a strong magnifying glass to see this tiny mountain town tucked into the southern end of the Uintah Basin. Despite its high-desert beauty, most people just drive through Duchesne on their way to somewhere else.
But this small Utah town is important—so important it could change the world. And if those people driving through stopped for a while and really looked, they would see what’s so special about what they thought was just a dot on their map.
The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Going to the conference was easier for some than for others. “I thought I had better things to do,” said Jeff Foster of the First ward. But he decided to go anyway. By Saturday afternoon he had changed his tune. “My parents are going to say, ‘I told you so!’” Jeff says. “There are people who don’t want to go on missions because they don’t want to leave their stuff behind—like their jobs and their music or whatever—but it’s worth it!”
“Those are all things you have to give up if you want to go on a mission,” agrees Eric Peatross, who was just called to the England Leeds Mission. Eric has many scholarship offers that won’t wait for him to come back in two years. He’s also leaving behind a job he loves, as well as his band. He says, “It involves a lot of prayer. You really have to know the gospel is true before you can turn all of those things down.” A testimony won’t come all at once, Eric says. His didn’t. He says his testimony, and his determination to go on a mission, came to him bit by bit as he did the things he knew he should be doing to be obedient. In other words, he prepared.
The conference was added preparation for Eric. “These two days have been like spiritual boot camp,” he says.
The levels of preparation at the conference varied from young man to young man. In one class, only one of eight knew how to sort laundry.
Housekeeping details aside, these young men know spiritual preparation is the most important aspect of getting ready for missionary work. Brian Bleazard says, “If I’ve learned anything at this conference it’s that I’m not the greatest teacher. You need the Spirit. It’s the Spirit that teaches.”
“It all comes down to your personal worthiness,” says Eric. Being worthy and obedient means you qualify for the companionship of the Spirit. All the young men were interviewed by their bishops before they went to the conference. The interview gave them a good idea of the things they need to be doing to be worthy to go to the temple and ready to go on a mission.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
“When we went to teach the first discussion I was really nervous, but it was fun,” says Roy Poulsen of the Fourth ward.
Courtney Moon, who was just called to the Mississippi Jackson Mission says, “I’ve always known the gospel is true in my mind, but trying to explain it to someone else really opens your eyes.”
“You’re nervous,” says Cris Hoopes, “but it is a good experience. It’s hard to teach investigators. You have to rely on the Spirit.”
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”
So what exactly is so important about Duchesne? For one thing, it is the future missionaries preparing to serve the Lord. Their faith and missionary service will change the world one person at a time. And the person each missionary is planning to start with is himself.
“I throw out a challenge to every young man. … Prepare yourself now to be worthy to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. He has said, ‘If ye are prepared ye shall not fear’ (D&C 38:30). Prepare to consecrate two years of your lives to this sacred service. That will in effect constitute a tithe on the first twenty years of your lives. Think of all that you have that is good—life itself, health, strength, food to eat and clothing to wear, parents, brothers and sisters, and friends. All are gifts from the Lord.
“Of course your time is precious, and you may feel you cannot afford two years. But I promise you that the time you spend in the mission field, if those years are spent in dedicated service, will yield a greater return on investment than any other two years of your lives. …
“And above and beyond all of this will come that sweet peace in your heart that you have served your Lord faithfully and well. …
“And so, my dear young brethren, resolve within your hearts today to include in the program of your lives service in the harvest field of the Lord as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Ensign, Nov. 1995, 52).—President Gordon B. Hinckley
“Young men and women who serve missions are never the same. They return home with qualities and strengths that seem to come from no other experience. They know, as they never knew before, that this work is true and that it is the most important work on the face of the earth” (Ensign, Dec. 1986, 4).—President Gordon B. Hinckley

It was a hot day in early summer when the big black Labrador retriever appeared. They saw him trotting along the riverbank. Brad stopped eating his lunch. He glanced quickly at Kevin and Tom and Jill sitting in the shade of the maple tree near him. They were all staring at the dog too. Even baby Kristy was watching him.
“Come on, boy,” Brad coaxed softly. This time he was sure Heavenly Father had answered their prayers. The dog started down the path toward them. He came slowly, a few steps at a time, then hesitated before venturing closer. Brad glanced toward the house. He could hear the clink of jars from the kitchen. Mother was still busy making jam. The dog had gained another ten feet when Brad looked back at him. He wagged his long tail uncertainly.
“Here, boy,” Jill whispered. She raised her arm with a sandwich in her hand.
“Don’t throw it!” Brad warned quietly. “You’ll scare him.” Jill dropped her arm.
The dog trembled as he came closer, his eyes bright and eager and friendly. Brad got to his feet and held out his half-eaten sandwich. The dog sat down and swept the path with his wagging tail. Brad moved closer to the dog and dropped the sandwich in front of him. The dog wolfed it down and looked for more. Quickly three more half-eaten sandwiches landed in front of him. He gulped them down and licked his chops.
Little Kristy toddled over and stuck her sandwich under his nose. Brad held his breath. The dog was hungry—he could bite Kristy’s hand as well as the sandwich! But before Brad could move, the dog reached out and daintily took a corner of the bread between his teeth. He waited until Kristy let go, then swallowed the sandwich whole.
Kristy clapped her hands and laughed. Then she threw her arms around the dog’s neck. They all surrounded the dog and petted his dull, rough coat. Brad squatted beside Kristy and stroked the dog’s head and ears. The dog stood quietly for a few moments, then trotted off into the tall grass and brought back a stick. He dropped it at Brad’s feet and wagged his tail expectantly.
“He wants to play!” Brad said as he tossed the stick down the path. The dog raced after it and brought it back.
“It’s my turn!” Jill shouted. She snatched up the stick and threw it without taking aim. The stick landed in the river.
“Now we have to find another one,” Kevin said disgustedly.
But the dog was already leaping from the bank into the swiftly flowing water. His jaws closed over the stick, and he swam back against the current. He climbed up the bank and shook himself off. Then he trotted over to Jill and dropped the stick at her feet.
“Did you see that?” Jill cried.
The screen door slammed, and the children looked up to see their mother coming toward them. She stopped a safe distance away with her hands on her hips. “So that’s what all the noise is about. Where did that dog come from?” she asked.
Brad shrugged. “We don’t know. He just came to us.”
“He was hungry,” Tom added.
“And I suppose you fed him your sandwiches,” Mother said with a sigh. They all hung their heads and nodded. “Well now that he’s full, chase him away.”
“Can’t we keep him?” Kevin pleaded. “He isn’t wearing a license, and we’ve been praying to Heavenly Father for a dog for a long time.”
“He’s gentle too,” Jill added. “Please, Mom.”
“We’ll keep him outside,” Brad offered eagerly, “so he won’t track up the house.”
Mother shook her head. “I’ve been praying to Heavenly Father, too—but for help, not a dog.” She clapped her hands and shouted, “Shoo!” The dog streaked away along the riverbank and disappeared around the bend. Mother’s face softened. “You know we can’t afford to feed an animal with the new baby coming and your father out of work. Now hurry and pick that flat of strawberries for Mrs. Linden. She’ll be here soon. Jill, you help the boys while I take Kristy in for her nap and get started on the sewing for Mrs. Fredricks.” She picked up the baby and went back into the house.
The four youngsters picked up their berry carriers and started for the strawberry patch.
“I hope Dad gets that job today,” Tom said. “Then we can have a dog.”
Jill sighed. “No, we can’t. Mom is afraid of dogs,” she confided. “Grandma once told me that Mom was bitten by a dog when she was a little girl. She’s been afraid of dogs ever since.”
“Now we’ll never get a dog,” Kevin wailed.
“I guess we’d better get the strawberries picked,” Brad said.
Their carriers were half full when they heard Mother shout. They left the berries in the field and ran for the house.
“What’s the matter?” Brad called when they saw Mother hurrying down the path to the river.
“It’s Kristy,” Mother sobbed. “I was on the phone when I looked out the window and saw her heading straight toward the river. By the time I got outside, she had disappeared.”
They all ran to the riverbank.
“I don’t see her anywhere,” Brad said. He searched the swiftly moving water, hoping to catch sight of Kristy’s blue overalls.
“Maybe she’s already been carried around the bend,” Tom suggested.
“I’ll go look,” Brad said. He turned to run, then stopped and listened. “Did you hear something?” he asked.
From the bushes on the riverbank came a muffled, angry sob. The big black dog backed slowly out of the bushes, tugging a dry, struggling Kristy by the back of her overalls. When she was free of the branches, he let go of the little girl and nudged her toward her mother.
“No! Water!” Kristy cried and started off again before Mother could catch her. But the dog blocked her path.
Mother laughed and picked her up. “Heavenly Father works in mysterious ways,” she said. “I prayed for help, and you all prayed for a dog. We all got what we wanted when He sent us this ‘angel.’” She reached out and patted the dog.
“Angel?” they all asked, staring at her in disbelief.
Mother smiled. “Yes, because he must be a guardian angel,” she explained. “I’m not afraid of him, and Kristy certainly needs one. She might have drowned in the river!”
Kevin and Brad and Tom and Jill watched Mother walk back to the house with the dog padding along beside her. Then they turned back to look at each other.
“We’ve got a dog!” Brad whooped.
They skipped and laughed all the way back to the strawberry patch.

Opening night—that magic moment when the lights are dimmed and the audience is waiting for the first note of music.
It is just such an opening night for a group nervously waiting to go on stage, but instead of a cast of adults, the actors and stagehands are children ages 6 to 12. Their director and the mastermind behind the idea of presenting a full-fledged musical at the elementary school level is 15-year-old Braden Bell. And now, at opening night, he is giving last minute instructions to his cast, offering encouragement, and speaking into his headset, “Let’s go! All lights out.”
A youngster with a headset larger than his head looks at the clipboard he carries and flips the switch to start the show. A minute later, “Mary Poppins” walks down the aisle at the Knowlton Elementary School in Farmington, Utah.
When Braden approached his favorite elementary school teacher with the idea of producing Mary Poppins, at the school, she agreed. They approached the principal with the idea, and he gave them permission to use the school facilities. “I prayed a lot about doing the play and I always had a good feeling about it, so I knew it was the right thing to do,” Braden said. But even he was not prepared for the 350 students who auditioned to be in it. He had no idea that there would be such an interest in the production.
Managing a cast of first through sixth graders takes a lot of time and a lot of diplomacy. Braden organized mothers, fathers, and other students into committees to help him. This night the audience can see that the production is full of his imagination. He has taken simple things and solved set design problems. The toys in the bedroom were wired so that stage crew could just pull strings and have the toys magically “spring” onto their shelves.
“I can almost sit back and watch the play and be objective about it because I know that we had our Heavenly Father’s help,” Braden said. “I was just the tool he used to put it all together.”
Braden is no stranger to the stage. He started taking creative drama classes when he was nine. He was a member of the Academy of Gifted and Talented Entertainers sponsored by the local school district. In high school he was part of the drama team putting on plays and musicals. While he was heading up the Mary Poppins production, he was simultaneously rehearsing for a school play and his ward’s road show. “That was one of the happiest times of my life. I just went from one rehearsal to another.”
A burst of applause signals that the play is over. The curtain calls begin. At first people are just applauding, but then they stand on their feet clapping wildly. Finally Braden comes onto the stage. The audience knows that they have witnessed a small miracle and clap louder.
The crowd leaves and the auditorium is again in semidarkness when Braden finally finishes putting the last chairs away. He looks around and can still see the people, the performers, the magic. This is theater, a lot of hard work for that one moment when the lights dim to a golden glow and someone whispers, “Let’s go.”

One day at school, a friend and I were choosing a book to read together. The book my friend wanted to read was a ghost story. When we had read a few pages, I had an uneasy feeling because I remembered that my mom had told me not to read that book. My brother Ben had read it earlier, and it had bad things in it. After that we chose a different book. I was glad that the Holy Ghost had helped me remember.Laura Jossie, age 9Wichita, Kansas

George T. Johannesen, Sr., of the Kalamazoo Ward, Lansing Michigan Stake, tells a story of his college classmate, Pete Cavallo, who wanted nothing more than to earn his letter, even though he was barely five feet tall and weighed scarcely more than a hundred pounds. Cavallo (the name means “horse”) decided to try cross-country running.
The first year, Pete finished the race, but only long after the stadium was empty. The next year he did a little better, and by the third year he had improved enough to finish while spectators were still left in the stands. By the fourth year, people were saying, “Sure do wish those little Cavallo legs could make it this year!” But nobody thought they would.
Still, there was an aura of expectancy. All eyes were on the hill leading to the stadium, hoping to see Pete Cavallo at the front of the pack of runners as they made the final dash to the stadium. Then one of those big, long-legged runners charged into view, and a sigh of disappointment went up. Fans started leaving.
But suddenly there was little Pete driving over the hill. The stadium became pandemonium, everyone shouting, “Come on Pete! Come on, Little Horse!” The winner was forgotten as if Pete had come in first. And perhaps in a way he did, because people still remember today his example of working to do the best he could.

When it was announced on Sunday that the young men in my ward were going to do baptisms for the dead, I thought to myself, Too bad I can’t go. I never gave it another thought because I knew it would be too difficult for me to go. I have cerebral palsy.
After my mom picked me and my brother, Beau, up from school on the day the young men were going to the temple, she said we needed to hurry. The bishop would be picking us up at 5:30 P.M. I didn’t pay attention because I thought she was talking only to my brother.
Then she said, “Bart, you need to hurry and eat and get showered and into your Sunday clothes.”
I said, “What? I’m going?”
She told me the bishop didn’t want me to be left out. He thought it would be nice if I went and watched the other boys do baptisms for the dead. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to the temple!
As we hurried to get ready, I couldn’t quit smiling; just the thought of going to the temple made me happy. Rick Hansen, my teachers quorum adviser, drove me to the temple in his van. My wheelchair fit inside just fine.
The temple was beautiful. I had heard people say how strong the Spirit is in the temple, and they were right. As I watched the other boys being baptized, I wished I could be baptized, too.
Just then Bishop Homer came over to me. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you dressed.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant or where we were going. He took me back to a special dressing room for temple workers, and he and Rick tried to figure out how to get the baptismal clothes on me. They did a pretty good job. I looked down at myself and thought how wonderful it was to be dressed in white.
Then a temple worker gave me a card with my name on it. The bishop took me into the baptismal font area, where I waited for my turn. As I sat and waited, a special feeling came over me, I kept looking up at the ceiling and thanking my Heavenly Father for this chance he had given me. I also thought about the people I would be doing the baptisms for. I wondered what they would think about me being baptized for them.
Then my turn came. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I felt as if all eyes were on me. The bishop scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the baptismal font. It took both the bishop and Rick to baptize me because of my floppy trunk and stiff limbs. After the ordinance for each name was completed, the bishop made sure I was still breathing all right. I did a total of five baptisms. The bishop and Rick then dressed me and placed me back in my wheelchair, and the bishop even combed my hair with his comb. Beau told me that when the bishop pushed me out of the dressing room he had sweat coming down his face. I’m not sure the bishop realized how much work it was going to be to dress me.
As we went over to do the confirmations, I felt warm all over. I thought to myself, How could people not know that the Church is true? I am grateful my bishop cared enough to give me the chance to be baptized in the temple. It’s so beautiful inside the temple. The powerful feeling inside helped me know the Church is true.

When Kathy and I were married and sealed in the Logan Utah Temple, then-Elder Spencer W. Kimball performed our sealing. In the few words he spoke, he gave this counsel: “Hal and Kathy, live so that when the call comes, you can walk away easily.”

Initially, we did not understand what that counsel meant for us, but we did our best to live our lives in such a way that we would be prepared to leave to serve the Lord when the call came. After we had been married nearly 10 years, an unanticipated call did come from the Commissioner of Church Education, Neal A. Maxwell.

The loving counsel given by President Kimball in the temple to be able to “walk away easily” became a reality. Kathy and I received a call to leave what seemed an idyllic family situation in California to serve in an assignment and in a place that I knew nothing about. However, our family was ready to leave because a prophet, in a holy temple, a place of revelation, saw a future event for which we were then prepared.

From the time I was a little girl living in Brazil, I dreamed of accomplishing great things. But I was very shy and insecure. I felt incapable of doing anything important. Because of my shyness, I was often misunderstood by others and failed at most projects I attempted.
As the years went by, I felt an increasing urgency to leave the anonymity in which I had hidden myself. I knew that God expected something of me, but I did not know what. And though I sensed that there was a way—a path—out of my inadequacy, I did not know where to find it.
When I married and gave birth to two sons, I became even more worried about finding that path; I had my children’s future to think of now, too. What would they do when they grew up? What could I teach them? All I had to share were the experiences of a shy person who had failed many times.
Then came the day that two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door. As they taught us, I began to see a path to a better future. But I still had to find out if it was the right path. It was a difficult decision because, in the beginning, my husband didn’t want to join the Church. After we had received the discussions, we decided to wait to be baptized. But we still continued attending the Church’s activities.
Two years later, my older son was in an accident, and I was reminded how fragile life is and how important it is to prepare for eternity. I decided that I was going to join the Church. When my husband realized I had made a firm decision, he also decided to be baptized. And thus, on 26 June 1976, the four of us were baptized members of the Church.
I had found the path I had been looking for. I knew I had a Heavenly Father who had given me talents and wanted me to develop them. I found myself loved by people who accepted me the way I was and who taught me how to grow as a person, as a mother, and as a wife. I knew that I had a Father who expected something from me and that I could no longer hide behind my shyness.

The next morning I found my father in the kitchen again.
"What shall we do today?" he asked.
"Let’s go to church," I said.
"Aw, no one at church wants me there," he replied.
"I do," I said.
He looked at me for a few moments, then smiled. "Okay. Let’s go."
I slipped on the dress my father had bought me the day before and brushed my hair.
My father whistled when he saw me. "You look pretty as a picture. All the boys in the ward will be glad I came today and brought my daughter."
I laughed.
When we entered the foyer at the church, a short stocky man came forward to greet us. "Hello, John," he said, extending his hand to my father.
"Hello," my father replied. "This is Cathy, my daughter. Cathy, this is my home teacher, Brother … ah …"
"Richardson," the man said. "Nice to meet you, Cathy."
"Nice to meet you, Brother Richardson," I replied.
The man disappeared in the crowd but reappeared a few minutes later with a pretty brunette woman about my father’s age.
"John," he said, "I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Myrna Wilson. She’s a widow," he said meaningfully.
Myrna Wilson blushed noticeably, and my father sputtered out a "Nice to meet you." I suppressed a giggle.
I teased my father about it later that day when we were home from church. "You have to watch those Mormons," I grinned. "They’re always trying to marry someone off. But I have to admit, Widow Wilson wasn’t bad, was she?"
He laughed. "Yes, you Mormons are always trying to marry someone off."
"Would you do me a favor?" I asked suddenly serious.
"What?"
"Would you quit smoking?"
My father’s face fell. "I’d like to, Cathy, I really would. I’ve tried a hundred times, but I can’t."
"I’ll help you this time. Brother Richardson probably would too." Then I grinned. "I’ll bet even Widow Wilson would help."
He grinned back. "Okay. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try."
"Good," I said. "I just know you can do it." Outside a car horn honked. "There’s your mom," my father said. "You better not keep her waiting. I’ll call you, okay?"
"Okay," I said. Then I hugged him.
"Good-bye, Cathy," he said.
"Good-bye, dad," I answered. Halfway out the door I turned back. "Tell Widow Wilson hello from me."
I could hear him chuckling as I shut the door and headed for the car where my mother was waiting.

Daily study of the scriptures is another important family activity. I remember when my son was seven years old. He was taking a shower one night during a storm when we lost the power in our home. My wife called to him and told him to hurry to finish his shower and to then take a candle and come slowly downstairs for our family prayer. She warned him to be careful to not drop the candle on the carpet because it could start a fire and the house could burn down. Several minutes later he came down the stairs struggling to hold the candle in one hand, and with his other arm he was carrying his scriptures. His mother asked him why he was bringing his scriptures. His answer to her was, “Mom, if the house burns down, I must save my scriptures!” We knew that our efforts to help him to love the scriptures had been planted in his heart forever.

Photographs courtesy of Sherry LaBoon
A troop of Latter-day Saint Boy Scouts from Georgia, USA, were on their way to a high-adventure campout when they came across a family in need of some extra muscle. A mother, father, and their five kids had been out on a hike when the mom had fallen and broken her leg only five minutes before the Scouts showed up.
The family was a mile and a half away from their car. They were also outside cell phone range. The only solution was to carry the mother back to the car. The Scouts immediately put their own plans on hold to help the family. One of the Scouts had a cot in his car, so two Scouts made the three-mile round-trip run to bring the cot back to the injured mother. The troop members took turns carrying the injured woman over rough terrain for an hour and a half.
The young men don’t believe it was merely chance that they showed up at the right place at the right time. “I know we were supposed to be there,” says Alex J., one of those involved in the rescue. “God put us in that place at that time so we could help her.”

The Mike and Shaz Kramer family of Garwood, New Jersey, USA, held a party earlier this year to which several non–Latter-day Saint families were invited. One family arrived early so the husband could ask a question about the Church. A minister friend of his had indicated that Mormons didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. Brother Kramer said, “I simply reached over and picked up the March Ensign, with Christ’s picture on the cover, and asked, ‘Does this look like a church that doesn’t believe in Jesus?’ ” The man took the magazine with him and met with the missionaries later that week to ask more questions.

A few years ago, my family moved back to the United States. We were excited to attend church here after 26 amazing years in smaller, more isolated units. I was called as a ward missionary. We had a great ward mission leader and were doing exciting things and teaching wonderful people. I asked to attend a ward council meeting to observe and to get their help with the friends we were working with. I was surprised when all that was discussed was an upcoming ward activity. I approached the ward mission leader afterward and opined that he didn’t get the chance to return and report on our people. His response? “Oh, I never get to report.”
I contrasted that with a branch council meeting in Lahore, Pakistan, that I had attended just weeks before. This little group sat around a small table together, and all they talked about were people. Names. Each leader reported on their stewardship and the individuals and families that they were concerned about. All had the chance to add their thoughts on the best ways that they could bless those being discussed. Plans were made and assignments given. What a brilliant lesson in counting and accounting by name from our first-generation brothers and sisters.
In the Church of Jesus Christ, we have been instructed by prophets past and prophets present—and by the pattern set by our Savior—how to minister. We take names, we remember, and we counsel over the welfare of souls. Leaders who do this will never run out of agenda items in their council meetings! The principle of counting and accounting works. It is the Lord’s way. We can do better. To God, who created the universe and rules over all, this work—His work and glory—is very personal. And so it should be for each of us, as instruments in His hands in His amazing work of salvation and exaltation. Miracles in the lives of real people will result. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Where I grew up, just outside Buenos Aires, Argentina, soccer is very popular. When I was 10 or 11 years old, the boys in my neighborhood would get together to play in an empty lot on a corner where the truck and bus traffic was heavy.
One day as I sat on my bike at the curb watching some older boys play, I heard a voice say, “Jorge, scoot over.” I looked around, but there wasn’t anyone there with me. I was alone.
But I paid attention. I moved my bike just around the corner of the lot and went on watching the game from the curb of the other street. No more than a minute later, two trucks collided in the intersection and slid into the curb where I had been standing.
If I had stayed there, they would have smashed me. But someone told me—and I know who it was—that I should move just around the corner.

The New Era has been a tremendous help to us missionaries. Recently our six-elder district got together with a stack of old New Eras and cut out all the pictures and photographs that depict the youth of the Church throughout the world engaging in fun, clean, activities. Our labors have resulted in a very useful and colorful display that introduces to the world the programs outlined by our Father in heaven for strengthening the youth of Zion. The New Era is a missionary in and of itself.

My wife and I, and two of my colleagues and their wives, recently participated in a Jewish Shabbat (Sabbath) at the invitation of a dear friend, Robert Abrams and his wife, Diane, in their New York home. It commenced at the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath on a Friday evening. The focus was honoring God as the Creator. It began by blessing the family and singing a Sabbath hymn. We joined in the ceremonial washing of hands, the blessing of the bread, the prayers, the kosher meal, the recitation of scripture, and singing Sabbath songs in a celebratory mood. We listened to the Hebrew words, following along with English translations. The most poignant scriptures read from the Old Testament, which are also dear to us, were from Isaiah, declaring the Sabbath a delight, and from Ezekiel, that the Sabbath “shall be a sign between me and you, that ye may know that I am the Lord your God.”

The overwhelming impression from this wonderful evening was of family love, devotion, and accountability to God. As I thought about this event, I reflected on the extreme persecution that the Jews have experienced over centuries. Clearly, honoring the Sabbath has been “a perpetual covenant,” preserving and blessing the Jewish people in fulfillment of scripture. It has also contributed to the extraordinary family life and happiness that are evident in the lives of many Jewish people.

By August 1830, Parley P. Pratt had moved to Ohio, married, and worked hard to turn his land into a beautiful farm. But in studying the scriptures, Parley began to feel that the Lord wanted him to become a preacher. He and his wife sold their farm and headed by boat for Albany, New York, where they had friends. While on board, Parley felt a need to leave the boat and travel by foot.
At Newark, New York, he set off, leaving his wife to continue to Albany alone. He soon met a Mr. Hamblin, who told him of a book said to have been discovered and translated by a young man named Joseph Smith. The next morning Parley went to the Hamblin home to see the book. He wrote, “I read all day; eating was a burden, … I preferred reading to sleep.
“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true. … I soon determined to see the young man who had been the instrument of its discovery and translation.”
Immediately Parley went to Palmyra, New York, to find Joseph Smith. When he got there, he learned that Joseph had moved to Pennsylvania. Parley met the prophet’s brother Hyrum, however, and talked with him throughout the night about the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel. A few days later Parley P. Pratt was baptized in Seneca Lake.

Maria Sanchez also has a story to tell. “When I was in secondary school,” she says, “I was very sad. I felt inferior to my friends. I was timid and didn’t like to stand up and speak in front of my classmates, although I studied hard and always knew the material. I had to make a class presentation one day, and I was very frightened, so I prayed to my Heavenly Father and said, ‘Today I have to speak in front of the class, and I’m scared. Please help me.’ I prayed with all the faith I had, and when my turn came, I stood up and started talking. I can’t remember what I said or how, but they all told me afterwards that my presentation was the best in the whole class. Since then I’ve known that I can always conquer my fears with the help of the Lord.”

The young man sprang to his feet immediately after the bishop turned the time over for testimony bearing. At the same moment another young man, Bob Dickenson, stood up on the other side of the chapel. The deacon who was carrying the microphone was standing near Bob, so he handed it to him first.
Bob was getting married in a month, and he gave a beautiful testimony about temple marriage. Meanwhile, the other young man remained standing, obviously anxious to speak.
As I looked at him, I wondered who he was. I didn’t recognize him, but he did look familiar. He was college age, tall, blond, and tanned.
Bob finished speaking. The young man looked across the chapel, expecting the deacon to bring the microphone to him.
However, Bob did not see the young man standing, and he handed the microphone to his fiancée, who was sitting beside him. When she finished speaking, she handed it to her mother, who was sitting next to her.
By now the young man was looking concerned. He was still standing, and those of us who were sitting near him sympathized with his dilemma. When the mike was handed to still another member of the Dickenson family, he took a deep breath for courage and walked across the chapel to stand in the aisle close to the Dickensons. He was determined to bear his testimony.
When Brother Dickenson finished speaking, the microphone was finally handed to the young man. Just as he raised it to begin speaking, an elderly man, sitting directly behind the Dickensons, apparently assuming that the young man in the aisle was the deacon, reached out and took the microphone from his hand.
With a smile and a rueful shake of his head, the young man again stood patiently and listened as Brother Moulton spoke of the faith he had gained during a recent illness. When he concluded, he turned with a gentle smile and handed the microphone back to the young man, still thinking him to be the deacon assigned to that task. Everyone in the congregation felt a great sense of relief.
The young man stared at the floor for a moment; then he looked directly at the congregation.
“I have never borne my testimony before, because I never had one. Then this year I went away to school. Because of my great roommates, and through a lot of study and prayer, I found this wonderful burning feeling inside of me. And I know the Church is true.” He paused, searched for words, and simply added, “That’s what I’ve come home to tell you. I’ve told my dad how I feel, and he has come to church with me today. I’m so grateful for him, and I know that he will gain a testimony too.” There was another long pause. “I love the gospel. I want you to know that we have got a lot of problems, but if we stick to the Church, I think we’re going to make it.”
He sat down as abruptly as he had stood up. We were moved by the strength of his conviction. But I was still mystified! Why couldn’t I place him?
I intended to go up right after the meeting to thank him for his testimony and introduce myself, but by the time we had gathered all the family, I just wanted to go home. So much for good intentions.
At home I was putting on an apron when Julia, home for summer vacation, came into the kitchen to help.
“Mother, do you know who that fellow was who gave his testimony this morning?”
“No, I meant to ask someone.”
“Well,” she said in a voice that told me I was about to hear an incredible announcement, “He was the ‘Not-Here’ Craig Pinsey!”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“The Not-Here Craig Pinsey. All through my years in Sunday School and Primary, he was a name on the roles. Year after year the teachers would read out the names and Craig Pinsey was always ‘not-here.’ Some of the boys knew who he was, but to most of us he was just this ‘not-here’ name. Every time the roll was read out loud, we’d all get ready to shout ‘Not-here!’ when the teacher got to his name.”
She explained that it got to be sort of a class joke. “Sometimes, when we had a substitute who didn’t know all of us, one of the boys would say he was Craig Pinsey. Every time the teacher would call the wrong boy ‘Craig,’ we’d all die laughing!”
Julia shook her head with wonder. “Can you imagine? I’ve known his name all these years, and I’ve never met him. When he stood up this morning, Don leaned over and said to me, ‘That’s Craig Pinsey. I met him at school last year.’
“Mother I nearly fainted! I looked at him in amazement for a minute. Then I thought to myself, ‘Well, what do you know! Craig Pinsey … here!’”
As Julia told me this story, I realized that I knew who he was too. Of course, the Pinsey family! Why we’d given up on the Pinsey family years ago. Everyone knew that they weren’t interested in the Church. They were just too busy with their own lives, and nothing anyone could do would ever change them. So the visiting teacher’s messages were given briefly on the doorstep (because we knew we weren’t welcome), and we’d stopped calling to pick up the boys for church activities (because they always said “no thanks” anyway), and no one called Brother Pinsey for priesthood assignments anymore (because they knew he wouldn’t do them). After all, everyone had done his best.
But this morning, there sat Craig Pinsey and his father in church.
“Julia, that really proves you should never give up on anyone. No one should have a permanent ‘not-here’ attached to his name. If everyone would just …”
“Yes, mother,” she said. “It’s like Craig says, ‘If we really live the gospel, we all will make it!’”