Gospel Story Finder

“I hope they call me on a mission when I have grown a foot or two …”
Jay was standing and singing to the congregation with the other Primary children. He liked to sing that song because when he was old enough, he wanted to go on a mission.
When the song was over, the children sat down, and it was brother Davis’s turn to speak. “I want to thank the children for their beautiful song,” he said. “It reminds me of the words of one of our prophets who said that each one of us should be a missionary, no matter how old we are.”
Jay didn’t listen to the rest of the talk very well. He was busy thinking about what Brother Davis had just said. If Brother Davis is right, I could be a missionary right now. I won’t have to wait until I’m older. But how can I be a missionary? he wondered.
On the way home from church with his family, Jay was still thinking about being a missionary. “Dad,” he asked, “how can each one of us be a missionary?”
“We can help other people to understand the gospel, and we can be good Latter-day Saints so that perhaps they will want to learn more about our Church,” Dad replied.
“Which people?” Jay wanted to know.
“People who don’t belong to our church.”
“I know lots of people like that. But it will take a long time to tell all of them.”
Dad laughed. “Yes, that would take a long time. Why don’t you choose one person who is special to you and try to help him?”
“Who?”
“Whom do you really care about?”
Jay thought for a moment. “I love you and Mom and my brothers and sisters. And I love Grandpa. He isn’t a member. I’m going to talk to him about the Church.”
Dad was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Maybe you should, Jay. I’ve tried for a long time to interest him in the Church, but I haven’t had much success. Maybe you can reach him.”
The more Jay thought about telling his grandfather about the gospel, the more excited he became. Since Grandpa was coming to live with them soon, Jay knew he would have many opportunities to talk with him.
The day Mom and Dad went to get Grandpa was exciting. It seemed like forever until Dad drove the car back into the driveway. When he finally did, Jay ran out of the house with his brothers and sisters to hug Grandpa and welcome him. Grandpa seemed glad to see them, but he looked very tired.
“Careful, children. Grandpa isn’t completely well yet,” Mother cautioned. “You can talk to him later, when he’s resting on the couch.”
They all hurried to carry Grandpa’s things to the room prepared for him. There were suitcases and boxes and an old leather-covered trunk. When Jay asked about the trunk, Dad explained that people used to carry their clothes in trunks instead of suitcases but that not many people used trunks anymore.
It was fun having Grandpa living with the family. He couldn’t run and play hide-and-seek anymore, but he could still tell funny stories. And he always listened when anyone had a problem or a secret. Often at night before going to bed, Jay and one or two of the other children would sit on Grandpa’s trunk to listen to his stories. Sometimes they laughed so hard they almost fell off the trunk.
The best times for Jay, however, were when Grandpa took his daily walks. The doctor had said that slow walks would be good for Grandpa’s heart. Since Jay was the oldest and could help support Grandpa, it was his job to walk with him. Jay had Grandpa to himself then, and they talked about all kinds of things.
But there was one thing that Grandpa would not talk about, and that was religion. Jay learned that if he said anything about the Church, Grandpa would quickly change the subject. Each day Jay became a little more discouraged. Boy, what kind of a missionary am I? he thought. I can’t even get someone who loves me to listen to what I have to say. Then a grin started to curl the corners of Jay’s mouth. That’s it! he thought. Grandpa loves me.
The next Sunday when Jay’s Primary teacher asked for a volunteer to give a talk the following week, Jay said that he would do it. He knew just what he wanted to talk about—and whom he wanted to invite!
Jay worked hard on his talk, and he practiced saying it again and again. He was pleased that he had written it himself.
On Saturday when Jay and Grandpa were taking their walk, Jay said, “I’m going to give a talk, and I wrote it myself.”
“That’s fine, Jay,” Grandpa said. “I’m proud of you. When are you going to give it?”
“Tomorrow in church. Would you like to come and hear me?”
Grandpa didn’t answer right away, and for a while Jay thought Grandpa was going to change the subject the way he usually did. Then to his surprise Grandpa answered, “I guess so.”
Jay skipped ahead. He turned around and grinned at Grandpa. “Good. It will make me feel better to know that you’re there.”
When Jay stood up to give his talk on Sunday, he was scared. He looked at the back of the room where his parents sat. With them was Grandpa. He smiled at Grandpa, and Grandpa smiled back.
“I am thankful for many things,” Jay said. “I am thankful for the food I eat and the clothes I wear. I am thankful for my parents and for my grandpa who has come to live with us. I am thankful that I can live with them now, and I am especially thankful that it is possible for me to live with them forever.
“When I was little, the missionaries came to our house and taught us what Heavenly Father wanted us to do. My parents were baptized. Then our family went to Heavenly Father’s house, the temple, and we were promised that we would be together forever if we obeyed His commandments. That is called being sealed. When I grow up, I want to be a missionary so that I can help other families be together forever.”
When Jay went back to his chair, he saw that his parents were smiling at him—but Grandpa was staring at the floor.
After church Grandpa wasn’t there. Dad explained that Grandpa had asked to be taken home right after Jay’s talk. Jay felt a lump in his throat. Grandpa didn’t like my talk, he thought sadly.
When Jay got home, he went to Grandpa’s room. The door was closed, so he knocked.
“Come in,” said Grandpa.
Jay opened the door and stopped in surprise. Grandpa’s usually neat room was a terrible mess, and what was even more amazing was that Grandpa was sitting next to his trunk taking things out of it. Jay had never seen the trunk open before. Now he could see that it had been filled with things that were very old.
“Look,” said Grandpa as he held up a photograph. “This was taken when your father was little. And this is the necklace I gave your grandmother on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”
“Were all these things in the trunk?” asked Jay.
“Yes,” Grandpa answered, “but I haven’t looked at them since I put them here when your grandmother died. It hurt too much to look at them because I thought I would never see her again. I kept the hurt locked up inside of me just like I kept these things locked up in the trunk.”
“Why are you getting them out now?”
“It’s because of your talk, Jay, because of what you said about the promise in the temple. I never let anyone tell me about your church before, but now I think that maybe I ought to learn more about it. I’m sure your grandmother would want me to. Do you think your father would mind asking the missionaries to come and teach me?”
Jay hugged his grandfather. “I don’t think he’d mind at all!”

Her dad is the bishop of the Arue Ward in the Pirae Tahiti Stake, is a sealer in the Papeete Tahiti Temple, and is a trusted employee of the Bank of Tahiti, so he is a very busy man. Yet he remembers twenty-six years ago, when he was a young father and the sister missionaries came to teach him the gospel. He refused to take the missionary discussions but agreed to let the sisters come and hold family home evenings. They came, and along with the prayers, the songs, the fun, and the refreshments, they taught him the gospel. Family home evening has held a special place in his heart ever since. He has not let a single week pass without holding a family home evening since he was baptized in 1968.

Caliana McMurtrey of Big Thompson Ward, Loveland Colorado Stake, shows this spirit in her own way. Caliana knows what it is to give of herself. To celebrate her ninth birthday, she decided to have her first real haircut.

The hairstylist, Jill Harris, also a member of Big Thompson Ward, braided Caliana’s hair from the middle of her back to her hips, then cut 15? (38 cm) from the 30? (76 cm) length. Caliana donated her hair to an organization that makes wigs of real hair for children who have lost their hair because of cancer treatments, burns, or other medical problems.

Before the big moment, Caliana had never had a real haircut, just trims and snips. She decided to donate her hair after her mother told her about seeing a television program on charities that make children’s wigs.

“I want to do that because I have such long hair,” Caliana said.

Eleven-year-old Beth Burroughs pulled the reins gently but firmly to the right and guided her horse, Ebony, down the side of a rocky dry wash. The homemade wreath of flowers she had slung over the saddle horn bounced as she maneuvered her animal down the little zigzagging ravine. By taking this route, Beth would save herself a good mile and a half of riding time on the road. She had to get to Heaven’s Gate Cemetery and back home so that she could help her mother with the wash.

The predawn light had turned the mist that hung over Hampton Lake into silver lace as Beth galloped along its south shore. Her horse was starting to show signs of strain, so she decided to pull up and let him rest.

Looping the reins about a large dead limb that protruded from other woody shore rubble, Beth knelt at the water’s edge and gazed at her rippled, distorted reflection. If it had been someone’s first view of her, she thought, she would have been as badly misrepresented as Rebecca had been.

Ebony lifted his dark head, shook his mane, and went back to drinking. Beth gazed fondly at him a moment, then her eyes returned to the rippling water. She remembered her father talking about the worth of the individual soul, about how each person that ever was, is, or ever would be is a child of God and therefore special in his or her own way. He said that no one should judge anybody else by appearance because his character, like his soul, is inside and can only really be seen by Heavenly Father.

But somehow, Beth painfully recalled, her father’s teachings had been hard to put into practice whenever Rebecca was around—until the day of the field mouse. …

Ebony lifted his head again, his thirst now satisfied. Beth lingered a minute or two, watching her reflection clear and sharpen in the settling water. Then she remounted Ebony and continued down the road.

Mr. Flannagan chugged by in his Model T, waving and honking as he traveled in the opposite direction. Such a noisy, happy machine, Beth thought, then decided she was wrong. Machines might be noisy, all right, but they didn’t have feelings. People could feel happy. She had been happy, very happy in the time she had spent with Rebecca after the day of the mouse’s burial. Beth had made more and more visits to the yellow house on Banberry Road. She and Rebecca had helped Sister Johnson bake cookies, walked the fence in the big grassy field just down from Tucker’s Mill, and lain on their backs, watching the clouds sail wildly by in the yellow sky.
Rebecca had a smile for everyone, a smile, Beth was sure, that could light up the world. She was like a little child. But had not the Savior Himself taught that “of such is the kingdom of heaven”? Beth hadn’t minded the funny looks some of her old friends gave her every now and again after she became friends with Rebecca. Her real friends respected her for her feelings. Besides, she knew Heavenly Father approved, and He was her most valued friend.

As Beth’s horse clip-clopped past the bright red covered bridge a half mile from Heaven’s Gate Cemetery, she couldn’t help but think about Rebecca’s death a year ago. Rebecca had disappeared into a neighbor’s burning house and lowered a small child out a window into someone’s waiting arms just before a section of roof collapsed on her, burying her beneath the fiery timbers.

Beth laid the homemade wreath of flowers on Rebecca’s grave. A couple of minutes later she again climbed onto Ebony’s back and rode out of Heaven’s Gate.

The sun seemed to perch on top of the mesa as horse and rider turned up the little treelined path toward home.

“Did you have a good ride, honey?” Beth’s father asked as he stepped from the barn, leading a plow horse.
“Sure did,” Beth replied, walking her horse toward him. “There’s a lot to see when the sun comes up. First you see a little of this, then a little of that. Pretty soon everything is all lit up as pretty as can be. As pretty as a good memory. As pretty as Rebecca Johnson.”

“My dad is mission president, and they’ve had some baptisms from the open house,” said Kent Edman. “But the temple’s influence has been more than that, because it’s sparked a lot of interest.

“The people I work for live on the same road as the temple, and when they found out I was Mormon they were really interested. The lady wanted to know if she could have her daughter married in the temple, even though they’re Jewish. I’ve taken them some literature about the temple. The temple has helped the missionaries a lot because it’s a good door opener. People want to know more about it.”

I think of dear Sister Amy Gent, whom I was privileged to visit for several years as branch president, home teacher, and friend. The first time I visited her, she was 87 years of age. Widowed twice, she was the only member of the Church in her extended family. Was she lonely? Never!

She read the scriptures every day. Once she asked me to bring her some missionary tracts, which I thought were to vary her reading. I gave them to her saying, “You will enjoy reading these, Sister Gent.”

“Oh, they are not for me,” she replied. “I visit an old lady, and I want to share the gospel with her!”

Reaching out, helping, serving, this is the way we overcome the fear of loneliness.

The next morning, July 24, 1847, Wilford drove his carriage for several miles down a deep ravine. Brigham lay behind him in the carriage, too feverish and weak to walk. Soon they traveled along a creek through another canyon until they arrived at a level bench of land that opened to a view of the Salt Lake Valley.
Wilford gazed with wonder at the vast country below. Fertile fields of thick green prairie grass, watered by clear mountain streams, stretched for miles before them. The streams emptied into a long narrow river that ran lengthwise down the valley floor. A rim of tall mountains, their jagged peaks high in the clouds, surrounded the valley like a fortress. To the west, glistening like a mirror in the sunlight, was the Great Salt Lake.
After a journey of more than a thousand miles through prairie, desert, and canyons, the sight was breathtaking. Wilford could imagine the Saints settling there and establishing another stake of Zion. They could build homes, cultivate orchards and fields, and gather God’s people from around the world. And before long, the Lord’s house would be established in the mountains and exalted above the hills, just as Isaiah had prophesied.32
Brigham could not see the valley clearly, so Wilford turned the carriage to give his friend a better view. Looking out across the valley, Brigham studied it for several minutes.33
“It is enough. This is the right place,” he told Wilford. “Drive on.”34
Brigham had recognized the spot as soon as he saw it. At the north end of the valley was the mountain peak from his vision. Brigham had prayed to be led directly to that place, and the Lord had answered his prayers. He saw no need to look elsewhere.35
Below, the valley floor was already alive with activity. Even before Brigham, Wilford, and Heber Kimball descended the mountain, Orson Pratt, Erastus Snow, and other men had established a base camp and begun plowing fields, planting crops, and irrigating the land. Wilford joined them as soon as he reached the camp, planting half a bushel of potatoes before eating his evening meal and settling in for the night.
The following day was the Sabbath, and the Saints gave thanks to the Lord. The company met to hear sermons and partake of the sacrament. Though feeble, Brigham spoke briefly to encourage the Saints to keep the Sabbath, take care of the land, and respect each other’s property.
On the morning of Monday, July 26, Brigham was still convalescing in Wilford’s carriage when he turned to Wilford and said, “Brother Woodruff, I want to take a walk.”
“All right,” Wilford said.36
They set out that morning with eight other men, traveling toward the mountains to the north. Brigham rode in Wilford’s carriage part of the way, his hands clutching a green cloak around his shoulders. Before they reached the foothills, the ground leveled off into a plain, and Brigham stepped out of the carriage and walked slowly over the light, rich soil.
As the men followed Brigham, admiring the land, he stopped suddenly and thrust his cane into the ground. “Here shall stand the temple of our God,” he said.37 He could already see a vision of it in front of him, its six spires rising up from the valley floor.38
Brigham’s words struck Wilford like lightning. The men were about to walk on, but Wilford asked them to wait. He broke off a branch from a nearby sagebrush and drove it into the ground to mark the spot.
The men then continued on, envisioning the city the Saints would build in the valley.39
Later that day, Brigham pointed at the mountain peak north of the valley. “I want to go up on that peak,” he said, “for I feel fully satisfied that that was the point shown me in the vision.” The round, rocky peak was easy to climb and clearly visible from all parts of the valley. It was an ideal place to raise an ensign to the nations, signaling to the world that the kingdom of God was again on the earth.
Brigham set out immediately for the summit with Wilford, Heber Kimball, Willard Richards, and others. Wilford was the first to reach the top. From the peak, he could see the valley spread out before him.40 With its high mountains and spacious plain, this valley could keep the Saints safe from their enemies as they tried to live the laws of God, gather Israel, build another temple, and establish Zion. In his meetings with the Twelve and the Council of Fifty, Joseph Smith had often expressed his desire to find such a place for the Saints.41
Wilford’s friends soon joined him. They called the place Ensign Peak, evoking Isaiah’s prophecy that the outcasts of Israel and the dispersed of Judah would assemble from the four corners of the earth under a common banner.42
Someday they wanted to fly a massive flag over the peak. But for now, they did their best to mark the occasion. What happened is uncertain, but one man recalled that Heber Kimball took out a yellow bandana, tied it to the end of Willard Richards’s cane, and waved it back and forth in the warm mountain air.43

At a recent school dance, I found out that a young man in my class liked me. After I talked to him about it, he asked me to “date” him. I told him no and said that my parents wouldn’t let me. I didn’t mention anything about the Church.
Later in the week, he e-mailed me and again asked me to “date” him. He told me that lots of kids at our school had strict parents who wouldn’t let them date. He then told me that even though they weren’t allowed to have boyfriends or girlfriends, they made the decision to do so anyway.
I explained that I was a Latter-day Saint and would not date until I was 16 and would not steady date. I felt bad because he was very nice, and I really did like him. However, I felt good about my choice and knew I had made the right decision.
I know that waiting until you are 16 to date is very important, and I’m glad that with the gospel, making hard choices is easier.

This lesson came full circle a couple of years later, when I was eight or nine years old. My father’s doctor’s office was downtown, and I would occasionally stop by to visit him on my way home from school. One day I stopped by, and my father invited me into his office. He said, “I have something I want you to do for me.”
“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”
My dad took from his desk four crisp twenty-dollar bills and said, “I want you to deposit these in the bank for me.” Now, $80 at that time would be worth about $300 or $400 today. That was a lot of money to a little kid.
My father filled out a deposit slip and gave it to me along with the bills. He then asked me to take the money with the deposit slip down the street to the Raymond branch of the Bank of Montreal. I remember thinking at the time, “This is a lot of money! I could buy anything with this much money!” but I quickly got rid of the idea. I knew my father had trusted me with the money, and I didn’t want to betray his trust.
I went straight to the bank and got in line to make the deposit. I remember being the only little person standing in that line. I received a receipt from the cashier, and when my dad came home that night, I proudly gave it to him. He was very kind and told me how much he trusted me and how proud he was that I’d done what he’d asked me to do.

One day I went to the dentist because I had a toothache. The dentist said I needed a root canal. I was half scared to get it, but half excited too, because I wanted the pain to go away. I told my mom I wanted a priesthood blessing so I would feel comforted. My dad was out of town so I asked if my two uncles could give me a blessing. The night before I had to go back to the dentist, they came over and gave me a blessing. After they left I told my mom, “I feel comforted already.” The next day I felt really comfortable during the root canal. I’m glad that the Holy Ghost inspired me to ask for a blessing.Madeline Anne G., age 8, Utah

I wanted to write to testify how true a paragraph is in “Hold On” (Oct. 1992). It says “Pornography is especially dangerous and addictive.” The article goes on to say pornography breaks down your self-discipline and causes you to become desensitized. This is so true. I was seven when I started reading pornographic magazines. Over time, it just became all consuming. I started stealing, using drugs and alcohol, and I committed rape. I’m getting treatment for my problems, and I am working on repenting for what I’ve done. But it’s a long way back. For me, pornography has been more addictive than any drug. I encourage everyone to not learn the way I did.
Name Withheld

Many years ago I worked for a railroad. I was in charge of what is called head-end traffic. One morning I received a call from my counterpart in Newark, New Jersey. He said, “Train number such-and-such has arrived, but it has no baggage car. Somewhere, 300 passengers have lost their baggage, and they are mad.”
I went immediately to work to find out where it may have gone. I found it had been properly loaded and properly trained in Oakland, California. It had been moved to St. Louis. But some thoughtless switchman in the St. Louis yards moved a small piece of steel just three inches, a switch point, then pulled the lever to uncouple the car. We discovered that a baggage car that belonged in Newark, New Jersey, was in fact in New Orleans, Louisiana—1,500 miles from its destination. Just the three-inch movement of the switch in the St. Louis yard by a careless employee had started it on the wrong track, and the distance from its true destination increased dramatically. That is the way it is with our lives. Instead of following a steady course, we are pulled by some mistaken idea in another direction. The movement away from our original destination may be ever so small, but, if continued, that very small movement becomes a great gap and we find ourselves far from where we intended to go.

President Eyring tells of an experience he had when he took his turn reading from the Bible in his schoolroom. “Each morning our teacher would have us take turns reading out loud from the Bible…. When my turn came, I always chose to read the 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians, which is about charity, the pure love of Christ. I had had a special experience as a little boy that impressed me that the scripture was true and was for me. Every time I read it, I had a strong feeling about my future, including my future family. It was a feeling of kindness and love for them. That seemed like a strange thing for a little boy to feel, so I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t tell my brothers; they probably would have laughed at me. I didn’t tell my parents, either.
“When I was 11, I received a patriarchal blessing from my great-uncle, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God” (Friend, Apr. 1997, 6).

In a sense, the most important leadership assignment we have is that of leading and motivating ourselves. It was always a thrill to watch missionaries motivate their sometimes reluctant physical and spiritual selves to higher achievement. For instance, while driving through Waynesboro, Virginia, one day with two missionary assistants, I read aloud a sign on the front of an impressive looking high school. “Waynesboro High School, home of the little giants.” It was Elder John Greenland from Tooele, Utah, who made the comment, “That’s kind of a bad program. If I were going to be a giant, I wouldn’t want to be a little one. I’d want to be the biggest, strongest giant that ever was.” He knew the real meaning of the sign, but he was, in a sense, delegating to himself a responsibility and committing himself publicly to strive for perfection. And that is the kind of a missionary he was—a giant on the way to becoming the most dedicated, effective, obedient, hardworking servant of the Lord he could possibly be.

Now I knew. My older brother, Jim, didn’t like me! I had overheard him on the telephone telling Brother Busbie, our Scout leader, that he didn’t want to be in the same patrol with me at the Camporee on Saturday. He said that I always did things wrong and that if I was in his patrol, they’d lose the competition for sure.
After I heard what he said, I went up to my bedroom and closed the door. I lay on my bed and put my face in my pillow. I stayed there a long time and thought it over.
This Camporee was to be one of the biggest Scouting competitions ever held in California. Patrol would be matched against patrol and troop against troop, and I knew that my brother really wanted his patrol to win. He just didn’t seem to remember that when you’ve just turned twelve, you want to do everything right but sometimes you don’t know how.
“Stanford!” That was my mother calling me for dinner.
I sighed and rolled off the bed. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a skinny boy with messy, blond hair, sad eyes, and a mouth that drooped at the corners. I didn’t look at the boy very long, because the more I looked, the sadder he became.
The morning of the competition, we met at the church and rode out to the Camporee together. I was new in Scouts, so Brother Busbie had to put me in one of the three existing patrols—the Bears, the Trail Hogs, or the Screaming Eagles. Jim’s patrol was the Screaming Eagles. Brother Busbie looked at Jim and at me and back at Jim, then said, “Stanford, you go with the Screaming Eagles.” My brother didn’t talk to me much after that.
An important event came early in the morning. Each patrol had to clear an area, build a proper fire with flint and steel, mix up some batter, cook a pancake, then give it to their Scoutmaster to eat. The first patrol to finish was the winner. It was meant to be a team effort, so every member of the patrol had to do something.
My brother was the leader of the Screaming Eagles, and I could tell that he was trying to figure out what job he could give me that I wouldn’t mess up. Finally he assigned me to add water to the pancake mix and stir it up.
The whistle sounded, and we rushed to our places. One boy cleared the area with a rake, and another made a circle of rocks. Another gathered bark and kindling. It was Jim’s job to start the fire with flint and steel, and I watched in admiration as he worked. He could usually get a fire started in about six seconds.
Our fire was going! More boys added larger pieces of wood. Someone placed the frying pan over the flames. Then it was my turn.
I always get nervous when I’m under pressure, and this was the most important thing I’d ever done. My hands shook as I poured water into the pancake mix. My heart pounded, and my throat went dry. The smoke from the fire filled my eyes with tears. Suddenly I became horribly aware that I had poured too much water into the bowl. I hadn’t made pancake batter—I had made pancake soup!
Jim stared at me. All the other boys stared at me. Brother Busbie sat farther away on a log near the other leaders, but they all saw what I had done, and they stopped talking to see what I was going to do next.
I looked at Jim and saw the disappointment in his eyes, and I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t let the Screaming Eagles down. I looked desperately around. Then I saw the clods of dirt.
This wasn’t dirty dirt, the kind that you drag in from the yard and that clings to your shoes and smears itself all over your mother’s kitchen floor. This was clean dirt. It was in nice, tidy clumps that you could pick up in your hand. I grabbed a clump and threw it into the batter. I grabbed another one, an especially large one, and tossed it in too. I stirred until the batter was smooth and thick, then handed it over to the next boy.
The pancake fried up beautifully, and we were still ahead of the other patrols. Everyone was cheering wildly. Brother Busbie was a good sport—he just smothered his pancake with butter and drowned it with syrup, then took a bite.
He chewed. He choked. He gulped down half a glass of milk. Then he took another bite.
I looked over at Jim. He had turned all red and was doubled over, clutching at his stomach. Tears poured down his cheeks, and he was making loud gagging noises as if he couldn’t get enough air. It took me a second to realize what was happening: My brother was laughing harder than I’d ever seen him laugh in my whole life.
We won the contest. Brother Busbie managed to choke down the last bite of pancake a few moments ahead of the next Scout leader. I figured that he deserved a medal and so did all the other leaders who had seen what he had done. When it was all over, I walked up to Jim. I looked straight at him and said, “We won.”
He didn’t get mad or make fun of me, like I thought he would. He just put his arm around my shoulders. “Yes, we did,” he said. “But you know, I just realized something. Winning is great, but, well, working together is important too.” Then he paused and added, kind of under his breath so that no one else could hear: “You’re not such a bad kid, Stanford.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I answered, right out loud.

Let me relate a personal experience to show the importance of keeping your future continually in mind. When I was in the Aaronic Priesthood, I and one of my friends attended general priesthood meeting in this tabernacle and found ourselves over here by the stairs where we didn’t belong. President George Albert Smith, in his kindly way, saw our plight and invited us to sit on the stairs. As we sat there and watched the proceedings of the meeting, I did not believe that I ever again would get that close to this pulpit. I remember saying to my friend as we left the Tabernacle, “It would sure be nice to be a General Authority; then you would have one of those seats on the stand to sit in.”

I know now by personal experience that, in some ways, brethren, the benches you are sitting on are much more comfortable than these on the stand. Now the point: As an Aaronic Priesthood holder, I had no idea that the time would come in my life when I would serve as a bishop, a mission president, a Seventy, and now as an Apostle. We cannot foresee what the Lord has in mind for us. Our only course of action is to be prepared and worthy for whatever he requires. We must govern our actions every day with our future in mind.

When our son Nicolás was five, he went to one of the best schools in our city. The school is run by another church. Nicolás was accepted even though he wasn’t a member of that church.
One day one of the school and church leaders led Nicolás out of the chapel to ask him why he didn’t participate in the school’s religion.
Nicolás said, “I’m a Latter-day Saint.”
The man tried to convince Nicolás to change his mind, saying that all churches have truth and believe in Jesus Christ.
Nicolás replied, “My parents teach me to respect your church, but I like being a Latter-day Saint.” The man accepted this answer and didn’t trouble him anymore.
Nicolás is a good example, even to his parents, of following the example of Jesus Christ.

When Liphapang Monesa from Maseru, Lesotho joined the Church as a child, his choice to enter the waters of baptism came largely as a desire to follow the example of his parents. “I was only nine years old at the time, so I was following my parents more than a clear reliance on a new-found testimony,” he said.
As Brother Monesa became a teenager, he began to question many of the tenets of his faith. “The real question is not what made me join the Church, but what made me stay in the Church,” he said. The answer, largely, was a personal testimony borne of scripture study.
“Through seminary, the scriptures came alive for me and I eventually had a serious study of the Book of Mormon,” he said. As Brother Monesa found that “the word [was] good,” and that it began to “to enlarge [his] soul . . . and beginneth to be delicious to [him] (Alma 32:28), so his desire to share the gospel with others took root in his soul.
“My testimony of The Book of Mormon solidified my resolve to serve a mission,” he said.
He was called to serve in the Zimbabwe Harare Mission between 2005 and 2007.
The experience was a sort of fast-tracked course in life lessons.
“They say the growth you experience can only be apparent when you finally return home,” he said. “I believe this is very true. In the two years I spent on mission I believe I gained the experience of life it would take me a lot of years to have through other avenues of life.”
Serving his mission set the tone for his future in terms of leadership, hard work and ambition to succeed both spiritually and temporally.
“I learnt that leadership is not a question of a position, but the ability to influence others through integrity, consistency and a display of genuine care for other people,” said Brother Monesa. His ability to lead and support others has been amplified since his two years in the field. The growth he experienced was a game-changer, he said.
And perhaps most importantly, those two years of full-time service created a foundation for a commitment to the Lord for the rest of his life.
“My commitment to serve the Lord has been resolute since I served a mission,” he said. “I live by the code that as you take care of the Lord’s business, He takes care of yours. I have seen the Lord take care of my business for the past almost three decades and I have no doubt He will continue to do so as I keep my end of the promise,” he said.

Anthon stepped from his doorway onto the cobbled street, hesitated, and turned back to his wife—“the best in the land” he called her.
“Are you coming, Ibine?”
His wife stepped out of the doorway. She was wrapped in woolen scarves and a heavy coat. The February night was icy cold. Their destination was the seashore, a few blocks from their home. The children followed Ibine out the door. Thorvald and Astra were too young to be baptized but not too young to be excited for their parents. Only Anthon didn’t feel excited. He was quiet and pensive while walking along the clean-swept streets of Aalborg, Denmark.
He and his family were nearing the place where they would be baptized. A sick feeling of loneliness hit him in his stomach. “My homeland, my forefathers, all that has been good to me—am I giving up their trust in me for a far-fetched religion sprouted in a distant; new country?”
Every member of the Mormon church who lived in Aalborg was there on the seashore, some holding lanterns. It was a small but cheery group. They sang hymns and smiled. But Anthon was still quiet. He looked into the faces of his beautiful children and wondered if he was doing what was right for them. He knew he would have to find a private school for them because the prejudice in the public schools against the few Mormon children was too much for such young children to bear.
The singing was over. A prayer was given to open the meeting. The missionaries asked a blessing on Brother and Sister Jensen that as they were baptized they would not fall ill from the freezing temperatures. A hole was chopped in the ice. The sacred ordinance was performed for both Anthon and his wife, Ibine. The two new members were welcomed with hugs and handshakes and sent quickly home to their warm fireplace. It was then that Anthon noticed something special—something unexpected. On their way home he found himself walking, almost skipping, with lightened step—his wife and children smiling at him all the way. The heavy burdens of worry had been lifted. He knew he had done the right thing, and above all he knew now that there was something important for him to do in life.

I was 21 years old and part owner of a beauty salon. I taught a Primary class at church. My life was good, but I felt restless. It seemed that there was something else that I needed to be doing—I just didn’t know what.
My bishop called me into his office one Sunday and asked me if I had considered serving a mission. I was totally caught off guard. I had been a member of the Church for only two years and had never thought of serving a mission.
I told the bishop that I didn’t think a mission was right for me. As I was leaving his office, he said, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” I thought the topic was closed, but the bishop’s words continued to echo in my mind.
I asked myself how I could possibly serve a mission. I was the only member of the Church in my family. How would my family feel? What would I do with my share of the beauty salon? Could I handle serving for a year and a half?
As I pondered these questions, I was prompted to read the Book of Mormon. I picked it up and turned to the eighth chapter of Alma. As I read about Alma and Amulek embarking on their mission, I knew that I also needed “to declare the words of God” (verse 30). The next Sunday I told my bishop that I had changed my mind and I wanted to serve a mission.
My family was supportive, and I was able to sell my share of the beauty salon. I served in Caracas, Venezuela, and I continue to reap the blessings of having honorably served the Lord.