Gospel Story Finder

Five years ago, I faced another health challenge. Doctors found a malignant tumor in my colon, and I had to undergo emergency surgery to remove 25 centimeters (10 in) of my transverse colon. During that time, I lost more than 15 pounds (7 kg) in two months. The chemotherapy treatments were so harsh on my body that I became extremely weak and couldn’t eat. Again, my family was told to prepare for the worst. I prayed if it was His will, I still wanted to see my youngest son go on his mission. A miracle happened by God’s great love, and I made it through. The tumor was removed entirely, and my youngest son is currently serving in the Maracaibo Venezuela Mission and is happy to share the gospel and help bring souls unto Christ.

A few years after I had been baptized, becoming better acquainted with some duties in the Church, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. My father, who had baptized me, had died in the meantime with a heart attack, so the bishop conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I remember that I had a wonderful feeling about that as he conferred the priesthood upon me, that I now had responsibilities and would be accountable for my actions and would have things to learn to do as I would progress through life. I did have a special feeling that I now was a little different, that I wouldn’t be exactly the same as friends who did not hold the priesthood or people that you would meet out in the world. I now had some responsibilities, things we would learn on Sundays in church as we would sit around the old coal stove down in the basement of the meetinghouse.

On Saturdays, we would clean out the church, fill the coal buckets with coal, and see that the building was ready for Sunday meetings. We had things to do in the lesser priesthood, in all the temporal affairs of the ward—collecting fast offerings and doing duties for the bishop. He and other leaders would teach us about the Aaronic Priesthood and the office of a deacon, then a teacher, and then, of course, a priest as we would advance in the priesthood. It seemed to me that I was developing an interesting understanding, a vision of the work to be done, and that I personally had some responsibility, even though I was just a young boy in a little country town. There was something very important about it.

As the mother of four small children, I didn’t seem to have a spare moment. During one of my busy and hectic days, our bishop called and asked if he could meet with my husband and me. To my surprise he called me to be Relief Society president.
I told the bishop I would have to pray about it. I just didn’t know how I would be able to fulfill such a time-intensive calling at that time in my life. Feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty filled my mind, and I cried off and on for two days.
One of my visiting teachers, who had no idea what turmoil I was experiencing, called and made an appointment to see me. During her visit she shared a story about Emma Somerville McConkie, who had served as a Relief Society president during the early days of the Church in Utah. A woman in Sister McConkie’s ward had several children, including a new baby. Because the woman’s family was poor, Sister McConkie went daily to the home, taking food and helping the mother care for the child.
The story filled my heart and soul with comfort and peace. I knew that the Lord was aware of my circumstances, that He wanted me to serve the sisters in the ward, and that He would bless me so that I would be able to fulfill all of my responsibilities. I accepted the calling.
I am still amazed that I was able to fulfill my calling while tending to the needs and wants of my family, and I am grateful for a visiting teacher who was inspired to share a timely message. Since then I have never hesitated to accept a call. I have a testimony that when we serve our Heavenly Father, He blesses us with the time, energy, and ability we need to fulfill our callings.

About a month later, my crew made another perilous medical evacuation, this time on the side of a 60-degree mountain slope under a double canopy of foliage. This meant that we had to maneuver our helicopter down through the first cover of branches and leaves and over to an opening in the lower canopy of foliage where a hoist could lower a litter for the wounded soldier. Our rotor blades were literally inches from the branches, and the rotor wash of air bouncing off the foliage made hovering critically unstable. Despite these obstacles, the mission was successful, and the crew felt it deserved special recognition. We were once again recommended for the DFC, but again it was lessened to an Air Medal.
I was furious! “Do those people know what it’s like to put your life on the line every day?” I fumed. “They must be crazy to think this kind of flying is part of normal duty!” But in the quietness of my quarters, I remembered the words of my patriarchal blessing, which reminded me that the Holy Ghost would guide me. I thought, “That’s right. The Spirit made this mission and all the other missions, as hazardous as they may have been, possible for me.” And I knew Heavenly Father had protected me. No crew members who had flown with me had ever been harmed. I realized I had a great deal to be thankful for.

During my first few years in Young Women, I was at a stage in my life where everything seemed confusing and hard to deal with. I had lost hope in the dreams and goals I had for my future. My vision became clouded by the many temptations and pressures of the world. While I was going through these trials I knew that my best source of strength was the Lord.
Knowing this, I decided to make Personal Progress a top priority in my life. In doing so I have received many wonderful blessings and have come to understand that only through helping and serving others can we find true happiness.
I completed the Personal Progress program at age 14. I’m so grateful for the experiences I gained from putting Personal Progress first in my life. I encourage Young Women all over the world to work on Personal Progress. It is an inspired program from God.
The Personal Progress program has brought me closer to the Spirit, and I have received great comfort, peace, and assurance in times of need. I have gained a greater love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and my testimony has grown stronger.

Well respected as a leader, Brother Casablanca is the first to take his own advice. At Christmastime, he leads the high priests in his branch in a Puerto Rican tradition called parranda. The Casablancas gather several families together, along with a few guitars or other musical instruments, and sing Christmas carols outside another member’s home. They are soon invited in and spend an hour or so eating, singing, laughing, and dancing. Then the visited family joins the group, and everyone goes to another home. This progressive party goes on all night long and can end up with 50 to 100 people in the group. “We often visit less-active members so we can all join in the fun,” says Brother Casablanca.

But as I thought about how much God had helped me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to do more to share His gospel with others. I considered serving a mission—but what if I lost everything I had worked so hard to build?
One Sunday, I prayed and fasted about serving a mission. God had helped me know which path to take in my life before, and I trusted He could help me again.
I attended church with my cousin in a ward far away from where I lived. I was surprised to see a sister missionary there who I had befriended a year before. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I had run into her while I was fasting.
After church, I shared with her my fears about losing all the things that were going well in my life. My friend said, “I was in a similar situation before my mission. Everything felt too perfect to leave. But I knew the Lord wanted me to serve.”
After our conversation, the impression to serve grew stronger. I felt that Heavenly Father was helping me know once again which path to take—I just needed to act and trust Him. So, the next day, I started to work on my mission application.

A few weeks after the temple dedication, Louisa Pratt and her daughters started west with a company of Saints. Ellen was now fourteen, Frances was twelve, Lois was nine, and Ann was five. They had two yoke of oxen, two cows, and a wagon loaded with new clothes and provisions.

Before crossing the river into Iowa, Louisa called at the post office and found a long letter from Addison dated January 6, 1846—five months earlier. Addison reported that he was now in Tahiti with some Tubuaian friends, the married couple Nabota and Telii, on their way to help his fellow missionary Benjamin Grouard with missionary work on the nearby Anaa atoll. He had sent Louisa sixty dollars and loving words for her and the children.

Addison expected to serve among the island Saints for many years to come, but not without his family. “If you can get any books,” he wrote, “and have any leisure time, I think you and the children had better attend to the studying of the Tahitian language, for in my opinion you may have use for it within a few years.”32

The letter pleased Louisa, and she found her journey west surprisingly joyful. The spring rains had ended, and she liked riding horseback beneath clear skies while a hired man drove her wagons. She rose early every morning, gathered up stray cattle, and helped to drive them during the day. Occasionally she worried about how far she was traveling from her parents and other relatives, but her belief in Zion comforted her. The revelations spoke of Zion as a place of refuge, a land of peace. That was what she wanted in her life.

“Sometimes I feel cheerful,” she wrote in her journal on June 10. “The Lord has called us, and appointed us a place where we can live in peace and be free from the dread of our cruel persecutors!”33

Five days later, Louisa and her company arrived at Mount Pisgah, one of two large way stations the Saints had established along the Iowa trail. The encampment hugged the base of some low, sloping hills crowned with a grove of oak trees. As Brigham had envisioned, the Saints there lived in tents or log cabins and cultivated crops to supply food for companies who would arrive later. Other areas of the camp provided pastureland for the livestock.

Louisa selected a site in the shade of some oak trees for her family. The place was beautiful, but overhead the sun beat down on the encamped Saints, many of whom were exhausted from the rain and mud they had battled that spring.

“May the Lord reward them for all their sacrifices,” Louisa thought.34
Farther ahead on the trail, Brigham and the Camp of Israel stopped at a place called Mosquito Creek, not far from the Missouri River. They were hungry, two months behind schedule, and desperately poor.35 Yet Brigham still insisted on sending an advance company over the Rocky Mountains. He believed that a group of Saints needed to finish the journey that season, for as long as the Church wandered without a home, its enemies would try to scatter it or block its way.36

Brigham knew, however, that outfitting such a group would strain the Saints’ resources. Few had money or provisions to spare, and Iowa provided limited opportunities for paid labor. To survive on the prairie, many Saints had sold prized possessions along the trail or worked odd jobs to earn money for food and supplies. As the camp moved west and settlements thinned, these opportunities would only become harder to find.37

Other matters also weighed on Brigham. The Saints who did not belong to the advance company needed a place to spend the winter. The Omahas and other Native peoples who inhabited the land west of the Missouri River were willing to let the Saints camp there over the winter, but government agents were reluctant to allow them to settle on protected Indian lands for a long period of time.38

Brigham also knew the sick and impoverished Saints in Nauvoo were depending on the Church to take them west. For a time, he had hoped to assist them by selling valuable property in Nauvoo, including the temple. But so far this effort had been unsuccessful.39

On June 29, Brigham learned that three officers from the United States Army were coming to Mosquito Creek. The United States had declared war on Mexico, and President James Polk had authorized the men to recruit a battalion of five hundred Saints for a military campaign to the California coast.
The next day, Brigham discussed the news with Heber Kimball and Willard Richards. Brigham had no quarrel with Mexico, and the idea of helping the United States galled him. But the West could become American territory if the United States won the war, and assisting the army could improve the Saints’ relationship with the nation. More important, the enlisted men’s pay could help the Church fund its westward migration.40

Brigham spoke with the officers as soon as they arrived. He learned that their orders had come after Thomas Kane, a well-connected young man on the East Coast, had heard about the Saints’ plight and introduced Jesse Little to important officials in Washington, DC. After some lobbying, Jesse had met with President Polk and persuaded him to help the Saints move west by enlisting some of them in military service.

Seeing the benefits of the arrangement, Brigham endorsed the orders wholeheartedly. “This is the first offer we have ever had from the government to benefit us,” he declared. “I propose that the five hundred volunteers be mustered, and I will do my best to see all their families brought forward, as far as my influence can be extended, and feed them when I have anything to eat myself.”41

Drusilla Hendricks was furious with Brigham’s decision to cooperate with the United States. Her husband, James, had been shot in the neck during a skirmish with Missourians in 1838, leaving him partially paralyzed. Like others in camp, she still resented the government for not helping the Saints at that time. Even though her son William was old enough to volunteer for the battalion, she did not want to let him join. With her husband’s paralysis, she depended on her son for help.42

Recruiters visited the camp daily, often with Brigham or other apostles. “If we want the privilege of going where we can worship God according to the dictates of our conscience,” Brigham testified, “we must raise the battalion.”43 Many Saints swallowed their resentment and supported the endeavor, but Drusilla could not bear parting with her son.

Sometimes the Spirit whispered to her, “Are you afraid to trust the God of Israel? Has He not been with you in all your trials? Has He not provided for your wants?” She would acknowledge God’s goodness, but then she would remember the government’s cruelty, and her anger would return.

On the day of the battalion’s departure, William rose early to bring in the cows. Drusilla watched him as he walked through the tall, wet grass, and she worried that her lack of faith would do him more harm than good. He could get hurt traveling on the trail with his family just as easily as he could marching with the battalion. And if that happened, she would regret having made him stay.

Drusilla started breakfast, unsure what to do about William. Climbing onto the wagon to get flour, she again felt the Spirit’s whisper: Didn’t she want the greatest blessings of the Lord?

“Yes,” she said aloud.

“Then how can you get it without making the greatest sacrifice?” the Spirit asked. “Let your son go in the battalion.”

“It is too late,” she said. “They are to be marched off this morning.”

William returned, and the family gathered for breakfast. As James blessed the food, Drusilla was startled when a man interrupted the camp. “Turn out, men!” he shouted. “We lack some men yet in the battalion.”

Drusilla opened her eyes and saw William staring at her. She studied his face, memorizing each feature. She knew then that he would join the battalion. “If I never see you again until the morning of the resurrection,” she thought, “I shall know you are my child.”

After breakfast, Drusilla prayed alone. “Spare his life,” she pleaded, “and let him be restored to me and to the bosom of the Church.”

“It shall be done unto you,” the Spirit whispered, “as it was unto Abraham when he offered Isaac on the altar.”

Drusilla searched for William and found him sitting in the wagon, his head buried in his hands. “Do you want to go with the battalion?” she asked. “If you do, I have had a testimony that it is right for you to go.”

“President Young said it is for the salvation of this people,” William said, “and I might as well have a hand in it as anyone.”

“I have held you back,” Drusilla said, “but if you want to go, I shall hold you no longer.”44

Once I received a text from my Young Women leader that really changed my perspective. My brother had just gotten married and I had posted a few pictures on Instagram. My leader said:
“I’ve been thinking about you. I see comments that people make on your Instagram. They say things like ‘you’re gorgeous,’ and ‘you look so perfect.’ Jill, please remember, NO ONE is perfect, and you don’t have to be.”
Then she talked about the things that really matter and wrote:
“Being ‘gorgeous’ has nothing to do with how you look but with who you are. Look up 1 Samuel 16:7. Don’t pay too much attention to what people say about how you look. Listen to those who care about your heart.”
This was the best advice I have ever received. It made me think about how important it is to remember the things that really matter and to not get consumed with the things that don’t matter. And it also helped me to not let things like people’s comments about my looks affect how I view myself, but instead to listen to the people who care about my heart.

It was a noisy evening in my dormitory at the University of Ibadan in Nigeria. There was a downpour outside, and a cool breeze blew through the window. Music of different sorts came from many rooms on my floor, and girls were singing and calling to one another.
My older sister had gone to visit friends, but I chose to stay and prepare supper for myself and my roommates. I couldn’t explain why, but I had a strong feeling that I should stay behind.
As I began making soup, Ifeoma came in. She was a missionary for a church that met on campus. A discussion ensued between Ifeoma and my roommates. She preached to them for some time and invited them to attend her church. My roommates willingly accepted her invitation.
I was disappointed because my invitations for my roommates to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had been unsuccessful. The first time I invited them, they ridiculed me and the Church. Subsequent attempts during the following three years were also failures. I felt like a poor member missionary. But a voice within me insisted, “Don’t give up.” So I often fasted and prayed to meet someone in school who would listen to the gospel.
“Hello!” Ifeoma said, turning her attention to me. “Would you mind listening to me while you cook?”
“Not at all,” I answered.
“Are you born again?” she asked.
“Yes, if you mean by ‘born again’ what Jesus taught Nicodemus,” I said (see John 3:1–21).
“That’s interesting,” she said. “May I know which church you attend?”
“I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I answered.
“The Mormons?” she asked in amazement. “I understand they use a different Bible.”
“It is not a Bible but the Book of Mormon,” I explained. “It is another testament of Jesus Christ.”
“Would you tell me what your beliefs are?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I answered with confidence. I told her about the Articles of Faith and the Book of Mormon. I told her about faith in Jesus Christ, repentance, and baptism. She listened quietly. Then I bore my testimony and gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon I had intended to give to someone else.
“You mean I can keep this?” she asked.
“Yes. It is a gift from me to you,” I said. Then I asked her to open the book and read 2 Nephi 25:26. She did so gladly: “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”
When Ifeoma finished reading, her countenance had become sober. I sensed she was convinced that what I had said was true.
“And I thought members of your church didn’t believe in Christ,” she said softly.
I invited her to attend church with me the next Sunday, and she agreed. “Thanks, Ngozi,” she said. “I have never felt such a warm feeling as I did today while talking with you.”
She left, and I understood why I had had the strong impression to stay rather than go with my sister. I had been led by the Spirit and had at last succeeded in sharing the gospel with someone who was willing to listen.

Penny Edwards was in the ninth grade when she realized that someday she wanted to work in the business world. The process was simple enough: she took some business classes. Since she was also interested in the law, but didn’t want to become a lawyer, it occurred to her sometime in high school that perhaps legal secretary would be the ideal occupation. And that meant getting some higher education.
Penny’s high school grades were good (mostly A’s and B’s), but she never looked into scholarship possibilities, and she really didn’t save any money for college. So, after graduation, Penny went to work.
It’s easy to just keep working, especially when you have car payments to make, and it took a few years before Penny realized she wasn’t getting any closer to what she really wanted. If you have to work for a year to earn enough money, that’s one thing. “But,” she says, “I waited too long. If you know what you want to do, just do it. Start. Jump in. No one’s going to do it for you.”
So Penny took the leap and enrolled in LDS Business College. There, she began to learn the essentials of being a legal secretary. Yet she knew from experience that there’s more to a job than the technical skills you get in school. For example, one of the things Penny did after high school was to set up a successful business doing artificial nails for women. “It was boring,” she says. “You sit and you are a psychiatrist to all of these women.” She had learned that the working atmosphere and the personality requirements are just as much a part of the job as the technical skills.
That’s why Penny jumped at the chance to get a good, close look at her chosen career before graduation. LDS Business College’s “co-op” program placed her in a paying part-time job with a local real estate/law firm. There, Penny works in a real job setting. She meets regularly with her boss to set goals and objectives. Evaluations from her boss, the program coordinator, and her student adviser become the basis for her grade. Best of all, she knows first-hand that the job is something she will enjoy doing full-time.
“You can sit in class,” Penny continues, “and you can read the information in a book, and you can even give the right answers on tests. But there is no way to know how you are really going to feel in a work environment until it happens to you, day in and day out.”
Whether it’s in a co-op program like the one Penny’s in, or in an internship of some kind, Penny notes that “It’s very beneficial to work in an environment before you graduate to see if you really want it.”

When we respect the confidences granted us, our friends can speak of their inner feelings or reach out for help. Marie and Heather shared this kind of trust. Heather had four children and demanding home responsibilities. Marie was often prompted by the Spirit to call just when Heather needed to confide. Heather said, “I couldn’t hide my feelings from her question, ‘How are you doing?’ I’d cry and explain, and she would listen, and I’d feel better. I knew my words would go no further. I thank the Lord for Marie.”

For example, in wartime missed messages between commanders and soldiers at the front have resulted in great confusion and serious loss of life. In World War I the 308th Infantry was ordered to the front in a desperate attempt to take and hold part of the Argonne Forest at any cost. The battle was so fierce that the supporting troops on the right and the left of one battalion withdrew, and the battalion was surrounded and isolated. Because headquarters lost communication with them, they became known as the Lost Battalion.
The battalion communicated with headquarters by carrier pigeons that flew from the battalion’s location to headquarters with messages. However, as soon as these pigeons were released, they were shot down by the opposing forces. The Lost Battalion’s own artillery, not knowing where they were, opened fire on their position and inflicted heavy casualties. The battalion ran out of food and water, but they held their ground and did not surrender despite their great losses. Finally, one carrier pigeon called Cher Ami, even though it was shot, got through to headquarters carrying the message that identified the battalion’s location. The survivors of the battalion were rescued because that one crucial message got through.

On a beautiful September afternoon, my husband and I were in the temple awaiting the opportunity to participate in temple ordinances. Chris, a friend of ours, entered the room. It was great to see this young man, who had recently returned from a mission to Russia.

As the session was about to begin, a lovely young woman sat next to me. She was radiant, smiling, and filled with light. I wanted to know her, so I quietly introduced myself. She whispered her name, Kate, and I recognized her last name as a family that had lived in Michigan, where my family once lived. Kate was their grown-up daughter, who five weeks earlier had returned from her mission to Germany.

During the session the thought kept entering my mind: “Introduce Kate to Chris.” I put this prompting aside, thinking, “When, where, how?” As we were preparing to leave, Chris came over to tell us good-bye and I seized the opportunity. I pulled Kate over and whispered, “You are two virtuous young people who need to know each other.” I left the temple satisfied that I had acted upon my prompting.

Kate was seeking a holy place the night I met her in the temple. Desiring to weave tightly the eternal relationships that come through temple service, she followed the pattern set by her parents of regular temple attendance.

Not much happened the night I introduced Kate to Chris, but in seeking another holy place the following Sunday, Kate saw Chris amid hundreds of young single adults at an institute devotional. There they found out more about each other. A few weeks later, Chris invited her to watch general conference with him. They continued seeking places that invited the Spirit throughout their courtship and were eventually sealed in the temple, the holy place where they were introduced. Both are now fulfilling the sacred responsibility of parenthood, weaving their testimonies of the plan of salvation into the lives of three little boys, showing them the way on the covenant path.

But on Sundays, Alba takes on a role unlike most other 14-year-olds. Stop by her Spanish-speaking branch in Ogden, Utah, and you may find her sitting in a side pew, whispering English words into a tiny microphone attached to headphones atop her head.

Even at 14 Alba isn’t a newcomer to the world of interpreting. In fact, Alba has been interpreting for everything from sacrament meeting to stake conference since she was just 11 years old. And long before that, Alba was interpreting for parents, teachers, and students at her elementary school.

Eventually Alba started translating for her Spanish branch. In the beginning, she would sit behind English-speaking visitors (such as the stake Young Women presidency), and whisper the translation to them. It wasn’t until a few years later that the branch started using headphones with microphones.

Learning Church words in English was like learning a whole new language for Alba. “It was totally new for me because as a child I had never read the scriptures in English. I had never done anything that had to do with the Church in English—only in Spanish,” she says. “So it was really weird for me to learn all these English words—like the different levels of the priesthood—all these words I had never heard before.”

For the first few years, Alba really struggled with some of the English terms. But now she is in an English seminary class and has read the Book of Mormon in English. She says this has really helped.

Even though she still makes mistakes once in a while, Alba has overcome a lot of the self-consciousness she used to feel. She says she still gets nervous for the big events, but mostly she thinks it’s fun and exciting that she can help out.

Alba loves helping other people feel the Spirit and better understand the messages in sacrament meeting. She also thinks that interpreting for her Spanish branch has helped her stay in tune with the Spirit.

“It has really helped me a lot, because in sacrament meeting, sometimes it’s easy for my thoughts to wander,” she says. “But now I pay attention more, I am more focused, and I understand what the speaker is trying to say.”

From a young age, I was always captivated by the enthusiasm of the missionaries. During one sacrament meeting in my small branch in Minas, Uruguay, a missionary bore his testimony and expressed his feelings about his mission. His words stayed in my mind and my heart.
“One day,” I said to myself, “I will serve a mission.”
Sometime later, as a priest, I had the opportunity to accompany the missionaries on lessons. It was an unforgettable experience to be a missionary at 16 years old!
When I turned 18, several young people from my branch returned from their missions, including my sister Ana, who had returned from a mission in Argentina. Their experiences and testimonies also touched my heart.
As my 19th birthday approached, I wanted to give my name to go forth and proclaim the Savior’s gospel and serve in His vineyard (see Doctrine and Covenants 75:2). I prepared and sent in my mission papers. When my call arrived, I opened the letter signed by President Spencer W. Kimball and read that I would serve in the Uruguay/Paraguay Mission. I was going to serve in my own country! I was happy for the chance to proclaim “glad tidings of great joy, even the everlasting gospel” (Doctrine and Covenants 79:1).
I arrived at the mission office after traveling two hours by bus to Montevideo, Uruguay. The mission president set me apart as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and assigned me a companion. By that afternoon, we began knocking on doors.
In the beginning, there were times when the mission wasn’t as exciting as I had imagined it would be. Thankfully, I had an obedient and hardworking companion who helped me discover the joy of losing myself in the Lord’s service. His example blessed me throughout my entire mission.
But my preparation to be a representative of the Savior Jesus Christ had begun long before.
In January 1962, when I was six years old, missionaries arrived at my father’s jewelry store looking to replace a tie clip one of them had lost. While there, they heard someone playing the guitar. When they asked about it, my father invited them to come in and meet his friend.
During their conversation, my father and his friend asked the missionaries if they played guitar. One elder said he played a little. My father’s friend passed his guitar to him and asked him to play. He began to play some songs while his companion sang.
The missionaries’ simple search for a tie clip led to my family’s introduction to the gospel of Jesus Christ. We became good friends with the missionaries and began listening to the lessons. The gospel seed was planted, and it began to grow, first in my mother, Elsa, and my sisters, Ana and Stella, and then in me.
Since that day, a love for missionary work has grown in my family. I served a mission, my sons have served missions, and now our grandchildren are beginning to prepare for and serve missions, creating a third generation of missionaries.
It is not always easy to be a missionary. It takes preparation before a young man or woman is ready to go to the mission field. This is where parents, family, and Church leaders can be good examples and work as a team to prepare youth at an early age.
One way to help them prepare is to share practical skills with them. Skills such as saving money, washing and ironing clothes, sewing, shining shoes, cooking, talking to others, and serving others will help them on their missions. Participation in seminary and institute also helps in that preparation and complements what they learn at home and in their quorums and classes.
Our support should continue while they are on their missions. It is beautiful to hear the wonderful experiences our missionaries have almost daily. We can also be a part of those experiences by reaching out to those they teach. For example, the mother of one of the missionaries who taught our family contacted my mother and wrote to her for many years, helping my mother stay on the covenant path.
As we help future missionaries prepare, we should remember that missionary work is much more than a tradition in the Church—it is an invitation and command from the Lord (see Matthew 28:19). In the beginning, Adam and Eve were taught the gospel. They then taught the gospel to their children (see Moses 5:6–12). “And thus the Gospel began to be preached, from the beginning, being declared by holy angels sent forth from the presence of God” (Moses 5:58).
This preaching continues now with an army of more than 71,000 missionaries. But we need more, many more, on the front lines—an army of missionaries and members.
While on my mission, I became accustomed to missionary work and began thinking more deeply about our message. I had always felt that the gospel was true, but I had a strong desire to know that it was true. I prayed, fasted, studied, worked, and then waited for an answer.
During a lesson one day, I shared Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision:
“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me. …
“When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (Joseph Smith—History 1:16–17).
In that moment, I could feel the Holy Ghost confirm to me that what I was teaching was true. The Prophet Joseph Smith had indeed seen the Father and the Son, and the Book of Mormon is the word of God and, with the Bible, testifies of our Savior. What peace this brought to my soul. Even decades later, it still warms my heart.
My mission was like obtaining a spiritual master’s degree. What young men and young women learn on a mission will bless their lives forever. Among many things, they learn:
How to study, pray, teach, and apply gospel principles daily.
How to live with a companion 24 hours a day.
How to take care of their health.
How to plan.
How to improve leadership skills.
How to properly relate to other people.
How to seek, listen to, and be guided by the Holy Ghost.
Young men and young women who serve missions will be strengthened and prepared to face life’s challenges as they continue to apply what they learned while on their missions.
Our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, has taught:
“There has never been a time in the history of the world when knowledge of our Savior is more personally vital and relevant to every human soul. Imagine how quickly the devastating conflicts throughout the world—and those in our individual lives—would be resolved if we all chose to follow Jesus Christ and heed His teachings.”
Today is the day for us to show character and courage and to share the gospel of Jesus Christ. Today is the day for our young people to prepare to serve in the Lord’s battalion on a teaching or service mission. The world needs you! There are knees to strengthen, hands to raise, and truth to preach (see Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).
May the following invitation from the Lord move us to action and to raise the banner of truth with power:
“Behold, I say unto you that it is my will that you should go forth …
“Lifting up your voices as with the sound of a trump, proclaiming the truth according to the revelations and commandments which I have given you.
“And thus, if ye are faithful ye shall be … crowned with honor, and glory, and immortality, and eternal life” (Doctrine and Covenants 75:3–5).

Our seventeen-year-old son wanted to attend a movie that some of his friends had already seen. We read the newspaper review which commented on the “sex, profanity, violence, and vulgarity,” portrayed in the movie.
“So what if it is?” he said. “It can’t be any worse than what I see and hear every day at school.”
“That may be true,” I answered, “but that doesn’t mean you should see the movie.” I then said that according to the newspaper review, the movie was pornographic.
“It’s not pornography, Dad,” he argued. “The newspaper says it’s a teenage comedy, and I’m a teenager.”
“Yes,” I said. “But you’re not just any teenager. You hold God’s priesthood. Please don’t go.”
He didn’t go.

New Era: Besides the change in your life, has the gospel had an influence on your baseball career?
Brother Killibrew: Yes, in many ways. One of the most dramatic was demonstrated when I ruptured the hamstring muscle in my left leg in an all-star game. There was a real question as to whether I would ever play again. I was using crutches. Two bearers of the priesthood administered to me. After that I no longer needed the crutches, and my leg healed up very nicely. The next year was the year I got the Most Valuable Player award.

The afternoon I came home from my mission I paused before the plaster cast goshawk on the buffet in our dining room. Something fierce, unrelenting, in its eyes held me. Exquisitely wrought, the bird looked as if it were alive. I was home seven months early; a medical situation had cropped up, and the doctors thought I should live near Salt Lake for remedial treatments. The decision to cut the mission short was mine. The oncologist in Portland assured me I would not die. He said the chemotherapy should be administered near home where I could rest and be watched over by our family doctor. The situation was, the doctor in Portland insisted, in remission. The specialist at the University of Utah said it would be better in the long run not to step into another missionary experience near home right off, maybe in a few months or more. So the decision to come home early had left me shaken.
Everything in American Fork was the same: the steady whoosh of traffic on the freeway, our unfolding lawn, the orange-covered wicker couch in the sunken TV room—even Mom’s smile and Dad’s sport shirt. Yet the goshawk affronted me with what I thought was contempt. I touched its cold, beaked head.
“He’s about the size of a small Cooper,” said Dad, our resident ornithologist, “yet this bird has to flap his wings all the time. The larger hawks soar. These guys are not well known, but I like this kind of hawk, don’t you?”
“Never heard of one before,” I said.
“These little critters are tough. They’re survivors.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
“There’s not many around. They’re not endangered or anything. Mostly you’ll find these birds up in Canada. Mr. Crafton, the old man, made it for me. Do you like it?”
“Sure, but the eyes don’t let up on you.”
“Don’t you catch a real sense of dignity about it?” Underneath, the goshawk was whitish, its preened wings specked with dashes of blue, green, and white, its ebony eyeballs intense.
In his disarming way, Dad said, “There’s something special about it.”
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
“You know, they have to keep flying all the time.”
“So do I,” I thought.
Two weeks later I sat in the same place I did that afternoon I came home. I sat on the veranda in the white wrought iron chair under the magnificent spreading honey locust tree. At times I would figure I had it made. At other times it was like being in a dark woods without any path out. I had made the tough decision to come home—I knew it was right—but now I had to live with it. When I left the mission, I was a few weeks into leading a zone in Gresham, Oregon. The missionaries in the zone threw a small party: in one of the apartments the elders strung crepe paper streamers and the sisters cut two cherry pies. It was over in 20 minutes. At one point the whole mission had fasted and prayed for me. But under doctor’s orders I couldn’t fast. I did not get tired of sitting under the locust tree and remembering the past months. For days as I passed the goshawk I let it catch my eye, its stare still fierce, wise, penetrating.
One evening Dad and I lounged around in the TV room without much to do. Nothing was on TV. He hadn’t said much since I came home. Lying back in his recliner Dad balanced his ice cream bowl on his lap and watched me. Behind him, in the other room, above him, sat the goshawk in the dim shadows.
“A little over a year, Dad. That’s all I was out. I feel incomplete, unfinished, without direction.” My own half-eaten bowl of ice cream melted beside me.
“You’re at loose ends,” he said.
“There’s no way to make up seven months.”
Spooning his ice cream carefully, he kept an eye on me. “Your mission was—and still is—to save souls, not to spend a certain amount of time.”
“Yeah, I have my whole life ahead of me. Sure. I know.”
“Well, you do, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“President Terhune called me, and we talked for quite awhile. He said you were a good missionary and had it in you to see this thing through. You’ll be a lot better off for facing up to it.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I looked up. The goshawk peered at me. His eye caught me, brought me to attention. His presence became a kind of conscience, reminding me of all that was left undone.
Dad spoke of the missionary experience as if it were a leaf that fell off a tree and was left on the path. I had loved the sense of certainty in living the mission rules. I wanted to do everything the right way. It irked me when a companion came up with ways to make himself comfortable with the rules. I eventually learned to relax and let down on preparation day. But as I became more fatigued, it was hard to be limited and not able to do it all.
Finally the end of my mission had come to a heart-rending session with President Terhune in the Church parking lot at North Vancouver. There I had made my final decision. I had to do it myself. I hadn’t been able to fast, but I had prayed a lot. President Terhune didn’t say anything, for which I was grateful. He had held me a long time in his embrace, then simply said, “You’ll continue on.”
“In life or death,” I thought. There was no running from it. Osteosarcoma. The word sounded like poetry—a lethal poetry of death in my bones. It was okay now, but it could get worse. Why does Father allow dark woods?

My wife, Sister Birita, and I were called to serve as couple missionaries in Nabeina, a small island in the Pacific. The moment we arrived, we felt a profound sense of peace and purpose. After much prayer, we sought permission from our mission president, President Kendall, to spend our year-long mission in Nabeina. Our request was approved, beginning a journey of faith, service, and community building that would forever change our lives and the lives of those we served.
Nabeina has a predominantly Catholic and Protestant population, with very few Latter-day Saints. Sharing the gospel was a challenge, but we felt deeply called to serve the people. We observed their resilience and resourcefulness, particularly the men who were skilled fishermen. However, their ability to provide for their families was hindered by a lack of proper fishing equipment. Witnessing their struggles, we felt a strong desire to help.
One evening, while reflecting on the needs of the community, we felt inspired to seek assistance from the Church Humanitarian Fund. We envisioned a project that would empower the fishermen to provide for their families and support their children’s education. With guidance from Elder and Sister Redmond, we proposed the idea of supplying fishing gear, a wooden boat, and an outboard motor. To our joy, the proposal was approved, and funding was secured. This marked the beginning of a transformative project.
Working with the local branch president, President Mweea Mweea, we established a community-based fishing initiative, officially registered as Nabeina Green Market Incorporated. More than just an economic endeavor, this initiative fostered unity and self-reliance among the people of Nabeina.
The fishing nets arrived first, and the community immediately put them to use. While awaiting the wooden boat, I lent my personal fiberglass boat to the fishermen. On February 9, 2025, the wooden boat and engine finally arrived. A special dedication ceremony brought the community together in gratitude and prayer. The moment was deeply spiritual, reaffirming our testimony of the Lord’s hand in this work.
The success of the Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project relies on teamwork. Each week, fishermen retrieve and repair nets while holding meetings to discuss fishing activities and community well-being. During these gatherings, many expressed how the project had blessed their lives. One fisherman, with tears in his eyes, said, “This boat is not just a boat; it is a gift from God. It has given us hope and a future.”
The people of Nabeina are deeply grateful for the Church Humanitarian Fund’s support. The fishing gear and boat have answered prayers, providing families with the means to sustain themselves. During meetings, many shared testimonies of how the aid had strengthened their faith. One woman said, “We have always prayed for a way to provide for our children. Now, with this boat and these nets, we can see God’s hand in our lives. He has not forgotten us.”
Though most of the community is not of our faith, Sister Birita and I have always believed in serving all of God’s children. Our goal was not to impose our beliefs but to demonstrate Christlike love through action. This project brought people together regardless of religion, and we are grateful to have been instruments in the Lord’s hands.
The Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project is a testament to the power of faith, service, and community. Through the Lord’s guidance, humanitarian aid, and the dedication of the Nabeina people, a sustainable livelihood has been established. The blessings extend beyond economic opportunity, fostering unity and self-reliance.
Sister Birita and I have witnessed the Lord’s hand at every step, from the initial inspiration to the final dedication of the boat. We know this is just the beginning for Nabeina, and we look forward to seeing how the Lord will continue to bless them.
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:35).
The Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project embodies this scripture as the community unites to uplift one another through faith and service.