Gospel Story Finder

Second: Feasting in the Scriptures
One of the greatest sources of spiritual nourishment for all of us is the scriptures. Here again the Lord counsels us to feast rather than hurriedly rush through some verses to satisfy the requirements of a religion class or merely to complete a goal, like finishing a marathon.
There is strength and renewal in the Lord’s words. President Spencer W. Kimball said:
I find that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and the spirituality returns. [TSWK, p. 135]
President Kimball was talking about feasting and nourishment, as was President Ezra Taft Benson when he promised:
There is a power in the book [of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book. You will find greater power to resist temptation. You will find the power to avoid deception. You will find the power to stay on the strait and narrow path. . . . When you begin to hunger and thirst after those words, you will find life in greater and greater abundance. ["The Book of Mormon—Keystone of Our Religion," Ensign,November 1986, p. 7]
I hope you have experienced the fulfillment of that promise, as one student who, after spending time on a reading assignment in the Book of Mormon, reported:
This week I have four tests and two papers, and I have been neglecting my spirituality. This section [of reading] uplifted me a lot at a time I really needed it. I still have the same amount of work to do, but I feel relaxed and at peace.
That principle was reinforced in our family when, over a number of years, my wife suffered serious health problems that left her completely exhausted. The only way she could find the strength to continue on each day was to drink from the scriptures for 30 minutes to an hour every morning. Because she was so exhausted, she doubted that she would remember very many details of what she had read, but regardless of what she could remember mentally, she felt strength come to her to sustain her physically and emotionally throughout the day.
But the nourishment of the scriptures also feeds our minds, because the Lord has promised that the Holy Ghost would bring all things to our remembrance that he has said unto us (see John 14:26). Continuing with the story about my wife, after a number of years her strength began to return, and she was called to teach Sunday School, a position in which she still serves. To her delight, she experienced a fulfillment of the Lord’s promise, as the Holy Ghost does indeed bring to her remembrance scriptures that she read during that very difficult time when she didn’t think that she would remember anything at all. But the promise is a two-edged sword, for if we never read his words in the first place, there is nothing for us to remember.

Sophie helped Mama clean their home. The missionaries were visiting today. They were welcome visitors in Sophie’s home in Colombia. Mama prepared a special meal: tamales, rice, and corn with peppers.
The missionaries had taught Sophie’s family about Jesus Christ and His Church. Just two weeks ago Elder Kraig and his new companion, Elder Jessen, had baptized Sophie, her parents, and her two older brothers. Already, Sophie felt the difference in their family. There was more laughing, singing, and praying.
During the meal Sophie listened to her parents and brothers discuss the scriptures with the missionaries. After the dishes were cleared away, Elder Kraig said, “I will be going home next week.”
Sophie hadn’t realized he would be leaving so soon. Tears crowded the corners of her eyes. Sophie glanced at her brothers. They were near tears too.
Elder Kraig sniffled a couple of times. “I have something for you,” he said to Papa. He pulled a package from his backpack. “These are for you and your sons.”
Papa opened the box and pulled out six white Sunday shirts. For a long moment he was silent. “We cannot accept so fine a gift,” he said at last.
Sophie heard the regret in Papa’s voice. Their family did not have white shirts for Papa and the boys, and Sophie knew Papa wanted to show respect by dressing in white shirts when they went to church.
“I will not need so many shirts when I go home,” Elder Kraig said. “You will be doing me a favor by keeping them.”
“But I have nothing for you,” Papa said. He pointed to the Book of Mormon. “You have already given us the most precious gift. You brought us the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The next day Sophie decided to make something for Elder Kraig. After talking with Mama, she decided to make a small woven blanket called a serape. She borrowed her mother’s loom, chose the colors of yarn, and worked on it each day after school and chores. When her fingers fumbled, she carefully undid the strands and started over.
At last the serape was finished. She hoped Elder Kraig would like the soft browns and cream colors she had woven together. She wrapped the serape in brown paper.
On the day of Elder Kraig’s last visit to their home, Sophie presented her gift.
“Thank you, Sophie,” Elder Kraig said. Tears shone in his eyes. “I will never forget you or your family.”
“And we will never forget you,” Sophie said.

My missionary companion and I were eating a quick dinner at a member’s house one Sunday evening in December when we heard a knock on the door. There were the youth from the branch singing. We were serving in the Joliet Illinois Second (Spanish) Branch. It was nice to see the youth serving and to hear them singing familiar Christmas carols.
Later that evening we were visiting with one of our investigator families when we heard a knock on the door. To our surprise, there stood the same group of youth singing Christmas carols for our investigators.
I was impressed that they would think not only to visit people they knew from the branch, but also to visit the people the missionaries were teaching. I thought it was a wonderful way for the youth to get involved in missionary work.
Our investigators were impressed for a very different reason, however. After the youth left, they told us how amazed they were that a group of teenagers would give up their Sunday evening to bring others some Christmas cheer. They commented on how many youth today seem selfish and would not do such a thing but that the youth in our Church were different. They wanted their children to be like these young men and women.
Soon after Christmas this wonderful family decided to be baptized, and I know one of the influences on their decision to join the Church was the members’ testimonies and examples. They could also see the light in the members’ faces. I know they saw it that night when those youth gave of their time to spread the spirit of Christmas.

One of my friends, a successful merchant, shared with me the greatest secret of his personal success—and it’s not his selling ability. He discovered it one day when the phone rang while he was helping one customer with another waiting to be helped. The clerk said, “I think it’s your wife, Ralph.”
“Hello, Ralph,” said a voice on the other end. “How are you?”
“Fine, dear, but terribly busy. What’s wrong? Why are you calling me?”
There was a short pause. Then, unhappily Betty said, “I just wanted to hear a grown-up’s voice for a change. Sorry I bothered you when you were so busy.”
Ralph loved Betty, he said he loved her more than anything else in the world, but suddenly he realized that Betty was home with four children under the age of 5, chattering, playing, quarreling, but always needing her. She was busy too—and frustrated.
Wisely Ralph took time right then to apologize, and tell Betty how much he loved her, assure her she could call him anytime, and invite her to go out to dinner that evening with him.
Ralph’s discovery? “Since Betty is the most important person in the world to me, she also deserves first claim on my time. Since I’ve learned to give it to her, she’s happier. I’m happier, and both of us can do our jobs better.”
I’ve found through my own experience that busy men have to learn Ralph’s lesson or suffer the consequences in personal unhappiness and lower efficiency. As an obstetrician, I spent much of my professional time working with women and many of them have told me their feelings about how their husbands use time.
Bart, like Ralph, is a successful man; but his wife confided: “Bart’s gone all day and I understand that. But he might as well be gone at night too. All he does is come home, eat, and either rush off to a Church meeting or go to sleep in front of the TV. He’s really gone day and night. Maybe it’ll be different when he retires … but that’s ten years from now.”
In contrast is Ruth, whose husband, an energetic entrepreneur, had just opened another in a series of big stores. I asked, “But doesn’t this mean he’ll leave you alone much of the time? Does he ever have time for his family?”
“Al travels a lot all right,” Ruth conceded. “But when he’s home, we have such a glorious time together I don’t mind. He phones me often and he takes me or one of the children along when he can.” She looked up with an expression of enchanted anticipation. “And he’ll be back tomorrow!” Al has learned the lesson.

Budgeting and financial management need not be overly complicated or time-consuming. The story is told of an immigrant father who kept his accounts payable in a shoe box, his accounts receivable on a spindle, and his cash in the cash register.

“I don’t see how you can run your business this way,” said his son. “How do you know what your profit is?”

“Son,” replied the businessman, “when I got off the boat, I had only the pants I was wearing. Today your sister is an art teacher, your brother is a doctor, and you’re an accountant. I have a car, a home, and a good business. Everything is paid for. So you add it all up, subtract the pants, and there’s my profit.”

Salmon, Idaho, may have the friendliest fireplugs of any town in the U.S. As a community service project the Aaronic Priesthood youths and Young Women of the Salmon Idaho Stake volunteered to paint city fireplugs a shiny yellow with red caps. Once they got started the young people decided to add a little zest to the project, and several fireplugs wound up with “Have a Happy Day,” “Smile,” or “Howdy Do” painted on them.
Wayne Van Hoose, president of the Salmon First Ward youth committee, said the young volunteers, ages 12 to 17, divided into groups for the project, with the city furnishing the paint and the young people the brushes and the elbow grease.

He, among the many that I have talked to, was not surprised at his call. It's one of the interesting common elements in the lives of most of our patriarchs that at some point in their lives there is a premonition, a herald, a whispering—this calling will come to you." I know even of one case where the General Authority walked in on a brother the morning of a Sunday and said, "Do you know why you're here?" And he replied, "Yes." "Are you willing?" "Yes." "Sit down." And he put his hands on him and ordained him a patriarch. He knew in advance.

My husband, Yves, was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1989. I was an atheist and had no understanding of the gospel. And even when I heard all the discussions with my husband, the teachings of the missionaries didn’t touch me in the least.
I soon realized that my husband was serious about the gospel. He had quit smoking and drinking alcohol; I waited to see how long it would last. Several years earlier he had tried to quit smoking, but he made it only three months before he started again.
After Yves’s baptism the missionaries came to our home every week to try to teach me the gospel and to read the Book of Mormon with me. But they didn’t have much success.
Then one day I was reading the Book of Mormon by myself. I was smoking at the same time. Because I wasn’t able to concentrate, I put my cigarette down and gathered my thoughts. I began reading again, and this time I was able to understand what I was reading. Not only did I understand, but I wanted to know more.
That night I had a strange but marvelous dream. I believe the Savior was inviting me to join His Church. When I woke up I had a smile on my face and I felt very good.
The months passed, and my husband continued to live the Word of Wisdom. I told myself he must have a good reason to do so, but I didn’t make any changes in my own life.
At the beginning of 1990 I became close to two sister missionaries. They fasted and prayed that I too would be able to quit smoking. It was extremely difficult for me because I had smoked for 22 years and smoked about 40 cigarettes a day. Finally I told them that when I finished the pack, I would quit and would be baptized.
I quit smoking on 1 April 1990, and I was baptized a week later. I am very happy to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am grateful to my husband who changed his habits for good and showed me the way.

I was born in Fontana, California. Both my mother and father struggled with substance abuse, and they divorced when I was 18 months old. As I grew up, I found fellowship and safety in each of the four Christian churches within walking distance of my home. When I was 13, I watched an advertisement for a free Book of Mormon and decided to order it. This eventually led to my baptism in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My parents didn’t seem to care one way or the other about my joining the Church.
About a year later, I attended a special youth fireside where the stake patriarch spoke about patriarchal blessings. I had never heard of them. I was only 14 at the time, and I figured it would at least be another two years before I was mature enough to even think about getting mine.
Two weeks later, Brother Clark, my neighbor, was driving me to early-morning seminary and said, “Thomas, Sister Clark and I have been thinking about you and wonder how you felt about the patriarchal blessing fireside.”
“Getting a patriarchal blessing sounds wonderful,” I said. “I hope to get one when I’m mature and ready!”
“You could start thinking about getting one sooner,” he said. “It can really help you through difficult circumstances.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I replied, “but I’m afraid if I got it too soon, it wouldn’t be everything I wanted it to be.”
A few days passed, and Brother Clark brought it up again. “I know we’re only your neighbors and don’t have the right to receive revelation for you, but we believe you should get your blessing.”
Though I was touched by his thoughtfulness, I was still unsure. However, the following Sunday, my bishop called me into his office and said, “Thomas, Brother Clark has told me his feelings about your blessing. I have prayed about it, and I agree with him. I feel very strongly that you should get your patriarchal blessing. Please reconsider.”
With all the courage I could muster, I said, “OK, I’ll do it. I hope I’m ready.”
“I’m glad,” the bishop replied, “because I made you an appointment with the patriarch this evening.”
The blessing was a sacred experience, and Heavenly Father exceeded my desires that day. But this isn’t where my story ends.
Five days later, I received the hard copy of my blessing in the mail. That same day, my mother and stepfather sat me down and informed me that they had made some decisions. In the time since my baptism, they had built up a great dislike toward my membership in the Church. They told me they were sending me to my dad’s house in Las Vegas and handed me a bus ticket.
The following day, I arrived at my dad’s. The first thing I did was look up the nearest meetinghouse for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But my dad yelled, “You are no longer a Mormon! Got that? John Smith was not a prophet, and the bronze plates are a hoax!” He then took my scriptures and Church magazines and wouldn’t allow me to talk to anyone from the Church.
I went to my room devastated. But I suddenly remembered the envelope I had tucked into my jacket pocket the day before. My patriarchal blessing! My parents had taken a lot of things, but they didn’t know anything about patriarchal blessings. I was overjoyed.
For the next three and a half years, I wasn’t allowed to set foot in a Latter-day Saint building. Having my patriarchal blessing was crucial for me during this time.
I know that God could foresee the struggle I would have in the coming years in high school and beyond. I am so glad I did not put off receiving my blessing because of my fears and assumptions. My patriarchal blessing truly is a great blessing from my Father in Heaven.
The author lives in Virginia, USA.

At the sunrise of my life, I was raised as a faithful Catholic girl. I always knew of a certainty that there was a God, who loved me and that he was always with me, wherever I was. Then, in my senior year of high school, I met a young man, who on our first date asked me “what church do you belong to?” I thought that was a strange question, wasn’t everyone who was serious about church a Catholic? His reaction surprised me, when I told him that I was a Catholic. Then I asked him, “What church do you belong to?” He said that he is a Mormon. I have never heard of a Mormon or The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Days Saints, at least he knew what a Catholic was! No matter, he would become a Catholic before we got married, and so will the two young men that he sent to my house to teach me. Well, he is sitting right there and here I am.

One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of this gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived as many of you do, in a world of too many demands and too little time.

One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford, head down, struggling with the blue books and papers that bear down on your professors as much as they do on you. The door was open into a hallway. It must have been late because the hall was dark, and I expected no one. Suddenly I sensed someone was standing motionless in the doorway. I looked up and saw two people. They were standing side-by-side, looking at me and smiling. I remember to this hour that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were smiling, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me.

After a few awkward minutes of trying to talk with them through Bob, they left. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.

Within a few years I left Stanford for Idaho. I’d heard little of Bob, except that he had graduated from Stanford and had been accepted at the University of Utah medical school. Then I got a phone call from a Stanford friend. He told me Bob had been killed. He told me that Bob’s parents would grant me the chance to say a few words at his funeral. Just before the service I met with friends, Bob’s and mine. I asked to know more about how the accident had occurred.

Bob had been killed mountain climbing, climbing through clouds and storms to find a way of escape for his companions on the mountainside. I felt impressed to ask one who had been there, “What was he doing in camp on the climb?” He said Bob had taken his missionary lessons, in Japanese. He’d studied them again the night before his death. Now, of all the things you might decide to study at night, on a mountain-climbing trip, in the summer before medical school, why would you choose that? Well, I think I know why Bob did. I think he would have heard the words of President Benson and known they were true, the words he lived by: “You have been born at this time for a sacred and glorious purpose.”

I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who introduced me mentioned I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.” Just a few months ago I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who made it. He was introduced, and then he said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment I learned again, in my heart as well as in my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise who believes the promises can invest it—even just a little of it—to produce returns for eternity.

I come from a small city in eastern Colombia. It was there that I was taught about the Church and was baptized, and it was also there that the desire to go on a mission was born. I was the only member of my family to accept the gospel.
I remember going out with the missionaries almost every night to help them in the work and at the same time to gain experience in the field. When the missionaries asked me where I wanted to serve my mission, I told them, “Anywhere but Venezuela.” My response was such because this was a time of great tension between my country and Venezuela, and I had little love or appreciation for the Venezuelan people.
Time passed, and I had my interview with the mission president. One of his questions was, “Brother, will you go where the Lord calls you?”
I responded without hesitation, “Yes, President.”
He then leaned forward, looked me in the eyes, and said, “And if the Lord calls you to Venezuela?” I knew then that the president knew my thoughts. After a short time I was able to tell him that I would go where the Lord sent me, but still inside of me I felt as if I could not accept those people.
Finally the day arrived when the mailman brought the large white envelope containing my mission call. I opened it. I was called to serve in the Venezuela Mission. That night I knelt and asked the Lord not to make me go to that country. After talking to him for some time, I said that I needed his help. I got up, turned on the light, and began to leaf through the Doctrine and Covenants. I stopped in the 53rd section. There was the answer from the Lord to me:
“Behold … I have heard your prayers; and you have called upon me that it should be made known unto you, of the Lord your God, concerning your calling …
“Take upon you my ordination, even that of an elder, to preach faith and repentance and remission of sins, according to my word, and the reception of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands;
“And also to be an agent unto this Church in the place which shall be appointed by the bishop …
“And again, I would that ye should learn that he only is saved who endureth unto the end.” (D&C 53:1, 3–4, 7.)
I closed the book and knelt once again, this time in the spirit of humility. The tears burned my cheeks, and in my prayer I asked the Lord to forgive me for telling him his will.
Now I was ready to head for Venezuela, this time in a white shirt and tie. I met many people who needed to be saved, and I had to fight for them. I learned to love them with all my heart, persons who today have gone to the temple, who are the leaders of the Church in Venezuela, and others who are missionaries themselves.
I received a great deal of love and satisfaction from the Venezuelan people, and I came to learn why I was sent to that part of the Lord’s vineyard. My greatest blessing came shortly after being released as a missionary when I saw my own mother enter into the waters of baptism. I know the joy that the Lord promises to those who bring others into his kingdom. I know that this is the work of Jesus Christ because I have felt his direction. I know that it is for us to bring the message of the restoration to the millions who are waiting. And I know that one of the best ways to do this is to serve a full-time mission wherever the Lord would have us to go.

I went through a rough patch my senior year in high school when I wasn’t making great choices. I remember seeing my mom crying, and I wondered if I’d disappointed her. At the time, I worried that her tears meant she’d lost hope for me, and if she didn’t feel hope for me, maybe there wasn’t a way back.

But my dad was more practiced at zooming out and taking the long view. He’d learned from experience that worry feels a lot like love, but it’s not the same. He used the eye of faith to see that everything would work out, and his hopeful approach changed me.

When I graduated from high school and went to BYU, my dad sent letters reminding me of who I was. He became my cheerleader, and everybody needs a cheerleader—someone who isn’t telling you, “You’re not running fast enough”; they’re lovingly reminding you that you can.

Dad exemplified Lehi’s dream. Like Lehi, he knew that you don’t chase after your loved ones who feel lost. “You stay where you are and call them. You go to the tree, stay at the tree, keep eating the fruit and, with a smile on your face, continue to beckon to those you love and show by example that eating the fruit is a happy thing!”

This visual image has helped me during low moments when I find myself at the tree, eating the fruit and crying because I’m worried; and really, how helpful is that? Instead, let’s choose hope—hope in our Creator and in one another, fueling our ability to be better than we are right now.

Valerie Walters and Becky Warnick, dressed in white robes with sparkles in their hair, were participating in an angel choir, singing about the birth of Jesus Christ. Seated between Valerie and Becky was Chelan Feller, also dressed as an angel. Chelan needed the comforting shoulder of Becky and the kind touch of Valerie to be able to participate. Chelan attends the American Fork Special Education Seminary, and she, along with 40 of her fellow students, were participating in the first of what they hope will be their annual Christmas pageant. Serving the American Fork Training School in Utah, the seminary has classes geared to the levels of their special education students.
Valerie and Becky, 18, were just two volunteers from the Alpine Utah 11th Ward who volunteered to help the Special Education Seminary stage their pageant. Each special needs teen was assigned a helper to assist in putting on costumes over everyday clothes, to be by the sides of the students as they spoke or sang their parts, and to accompany them as they entered and exited.
It turned out to be an exciting evening. With parents and families crowding the seminary building, the age-old story of the Savior’s birth was presented. But more than the story, the example of kindness and unselfishness that represented the Savior’s life also filled the room.
Becky said, “Many of the students can’t bear their testimonies in words, but when I look into their eyes I see that they know Christ.”

Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light which stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.

Years ago I attended a sacrament meeting where a young man was speaking prior to leaving on his mission. He came to the pulpit and said, "Brothers and Sisters, I have written out a talk, but I decided to leave it at my seat so that I could speak by the promptings of the spirit." Then followed a long uncomfortable pause after which he looked at the congregation and said," I think the spirit is prompting me to go back and get my talk."

Yes, it is by grace that we are saved, but only after all we can do. We must work at reaching our righteous goals. As students, we must work hard in our class assignments and preparation. As children of God, we must work hard at keeping the commandments.

When my dad passed away, the thing that helped me the most was my faith in Jesus. Before my family joined the church, we were Catholics. I didn’t like to go to church, but my mom was super faithful. After my dad passed away, I remember my mom saying she didn’t want to believe anymore.
My mom had a friend who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and he brought the missionaries into our home. We had lessons together and started going to church. I started to believe in Jesus and God and my faith started to grow. Even though my father had died, I had faith that we will someday see him again. We can live together in heaven because of Jesus Christ.

For a long time, it seemed like nothing was working out in my life.
I have attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and always struggled in school, so I didn’t know what to do next with my schooling or work. I’d also drifted away from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.
I often thought, “Why is nothing working? Everyone else seems to have their life figured out.”
At my lowest point, I turned to Jesus Christ. As I came to know Him better and experienced His love, I developed a deep desire to follow Him. I started to do things that brought me closer to Him, like reading the Book of Mormon daily, praying, and going to church every Sunday. I strived to live by higher standards, even when it took a lot of courage to live differently than my friends.
And when I decided to put Christ first, everything else began to fall into place.
For example, I discovered a course that taught me business management principles and gave me the courage to start my own business. My newly revived faith helped me have the strength to try a new path and overcome my fear of failure.
And Heavenly Father guided me in my relationships. I lost some friends, but I was blessed to make new friends in the Church. I grew closer to my parents and younger siblings, and I also had better dating experiences. I experienced the truth of the Lord’s promise: “Be believing, and all things shall work together for your good” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).
I felt like I was finally content with my life. My business was doing great. I found a good apartment to live in. My relationships were thriving.

During a visit to a juvenile detention home some months ago, my attention was drawn to three young girls who were visiting with each other just prior to our religious service. They appeared to be ten to twelve years of age. I found later they were being detained for a few days to see if some problems could be resolved. As I was waiting to participate with them and others in the services, they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. “What could they be talking about?” I wondered to myself. My curiosity prompted me to step closer to them for a chance to catch a few of their words. I was moved when I heard one of the girls raise this question to her friends: “I wonder if someone will come today who will want to take me home. It would be fun to live with someone who wants me.”
Here was a ten-year-old who wasn’t wanted. Her parents had given the impression to those in charge that they were pleased when she was confined, because they were then free from putting up with her. What a pleasure it was later to learn she had been placed by licensed social services agents of the Church in a new home, adopted, loved, and was receiving parental direction. Loving foster parents are now helping her find her way in the warmth of family unity and oneness.

On one of those trips, we asked him a question something like this: “Elder Richards, after all the years you have lived, all the places you have been, and all the things you have done, what do you consider to be the most significant experience of your life?” We thought that maybe he would refer to an outstanding spiritual experience such as with the Brethren in the temple or something like that.

He didn’t hesitate for a moment in making this enthusiastic response: “Why, it was my first mission to Holland!” He then proceeded to share with us some of the choice and challenging experiences he had when he left home and arrived in Holland without knowing a word of Dutch. He said that even the dogs understood the language but he didn’t. But he supposed if the dogs could learn to understand Dutch, he probably could also—and that he did.

In his journal Elder Richards described some of the experiences he had at the end of that first mission:

In the evening meeting I spoke first to give my farewell. As I walked into the pulpit and viewed the faces of the brothers and sisters . . . , a feeling came over me that I had never had before. To think how I had preached them the word of the Lord with all the power the Lord had given me. . . . I had learned to love them, and they in turn placed me far above what I really am. . . . I never in my life felt happier than under the influence of the Spirit present this evening. [Lucile C. Tate, LeGrand Richards: Beloved Apostle (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1982), p. 52]

Before leaving his mission, Elder Richards went to the home of a woman who, with her family, had come into the Church as a result of his missionary efforts. His biographer described the occasion:

She was so short that she had to look way up to him. . . . When he went to leave, tears rolled down her cheeks and she said, “Elder Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it is much harder to see you go.”

He went to bid another convert good-bye, a man who stood erect in the uniform of his country. This friend got down on his knees and took the elder’s hand in his, hugged and kissed it, and bathed it with his tears of gratitude for the gospel the missionary had brought. Elder Richards said upon leaving him, “I wept all the way from Amsterdam to Rotterdam, thinking that I might never see those friends of mine again. It was much harder to leave them than it was my own family when I left on my mission.” [Tate, LeGrand Richards, pp. 52–53; emphasis added]