Gospel Story Finder

At another baptism, a young girl of 14, with tears in her eyes, hugs the sister missionary who has taught her the gospel. Even though this missionary had to leave her home thousands of miles away to serve a mission, it has been worth it.
Two missionary stories with the same emotion and the same sacrifice. It may be surprising to learn they took place 150 years and an ocean apart. The first missionary was Addison Pratt, who baptized in 1844 the first members of the Church in the Pacific not far from Tahiti. The second missionary was Barbara Nauta, a native Tahitian, who left her island home to serve a mission in Canada in 1993.
Just like those missionaries 150 years ago, young Tahitians look to the Lord to guide them as they serve. For example, Barbara Nauta, who grew up in Tahiti, served in the Canada Toronto Mission. She said investigators in Canada were amazed that she had left her warm Pacific island to learn another language (Barbara, who speaks French and Tahitian, had to learn English) and suffer in cold and snow. They asked her why. “I told them the Lord sent me here,” she says.

There are many modern day Calebs and Joshuas. One such man was my wife’s grandfather John Hulme. One day in 1926, the bishop had a conversation with John. The bishop brought up the topic of a mission. This caught John off guard.

John had always wanted to serve a mission, but his life was complicated. Why? Because John was 42 years old. He was a married man with four children, ages 15, 12, 4, and 2. He was a self-employed rancher. He had land and cattle that would need supervision while he was away. He would have to find a way to make sure his family and property were taken care of while he was gone.

The bishop told John that this was not an official call, just a suggestion. John told the bishop he would think about it and let him know the next day.

John sought out the bishop early the next morning and said he would accept the call to serve. That morning, after what was probably a very sleepless night, John did not know how he would make arrangements to serve a mission. He only knew he would serve. Like Caleb and Joshua, he knew God would help him find a way. And God did. John was able to hire a neighbor to care for his land and his cattle, and the ward and community rallied to support his wife and children.

It must have been quite a culture shock when John, a rancher from a small town, arrived to serve his mission in New York City.

John came from a small country town with a population of about 500. He was accustomed to riding a horse and working the land. When he was called to serve in New York City, it must have been quite a culture shock. He probably felt like a grasshopper among giants. But John served a successful mission. His example has given his posterity the desire to place their trust in God regardless of the obstacles and unknowns. “With God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).

1 Whoa! I’ll get sent down to the minors if you keep pounding my famous fast ball.
2 Dad, Sister Simon told us that Jesus blessed people who couldn’t walk, and they stood up and walked. You gave me a blessing after my accident. How come I wasn’t healed?
I don’t know why, Sweetheart. Heavenly Father could raise up everyone out of every wheelchair, but he has chosen not to. What I do know is that he loves you and will do what’s best for you.
3 But being healed, would be best for me. What could be wrong with running and jumping and being free of this chair?
I don’t know. But tell me—haven’t you gained anything from being in that chair?
4 Well, I guess my arms are stronger.
And so is your spirit. You’ve become a very brave young lady, and I’ve watched you develop great love and kindness for other people with problems. Would you really want to give up everything you’ve learned?
5 I guess not, but I really want to walk again.
You will, Cathlyn. Because of the resurrection, you’ll have a perfect body again someday, and you’ll also get to keep everything you’ve learned from being in this chair. I know it’s a long time to wait, but Heavenly Father will help you.
6 And in the meantime, I can already hit your famous fast ball.
True, but I’ve been working on a mystery curve.
I like solving mysteries.

Dear Reed or Elder May,
I miss you. I miss you very much! I miss you, very, very much! Do I have to call you Elder May, or can I still call you Reed? I’m glad that you got out of the empty sea. I was worried about you drowning or something. When I asked her, Mom laughed and said that you were fine there, but I was still worried.
I have something that I want to tell you. But maybe I’d better not tell you.
Please write a letter just to me.
Love,Brad
Dear Buddy,
I miss you, too—very much! When I think of how much you will grow and change in two years, sometimes it makes me a little sad that I can’t be there with you. But I know that I’m doing the right thing by going on a mission. Besides, the elders here who are almost ready to go home all say that two years zoom by so fast that you can hardly believe it.
To answer your question, yes, you can still call me Reed instead of Elder May. But do I have to start calling you Brad now, or can I still call you Buddy?
Buddy, I have to admit that I was puzzled for a long time about what you meant by the “empty sea.” Then yesterday I told Elder Watts, my companion, that you were worried about me in the empty sea, and all of a sudden it came to me! Where I was, was not the empty sea, but the MTC. That stands for Missionary Training Center. That’s where I learned about being a missionary and how to teach people the gospel.
The MTC was a good experience, but I’m glad to be in the mission field now. The members here are friendly, and some of them help us a lot. We are teaching some great families. Elder Watts is a hard worker, and we spend a lot of hours trying to find people who want to learn about the restoration of the gospel and the Church.
Write to me again soon. I want to keep in touch and know everything that happens to you, kind of like our talks in the dark across the bedroom as we were going to sleep. Only now we will have our talks by writing letters.
And remember, you can tell me anything, just like always.
Love,Reed
Dear Reed,
It was awesome to get my very own letter from you. I’ll keep writing to you, if you’ll keep writing to me. But I still miss you very, very much! Nobody else calls me Buddy, but you can because I will always be your buddy.
Last night was our second grade Spring Sing. Everyone was there but you. Even Grandpa Richards was there, and your girlfriend Kelly. She says that she misses you very much, but I know that she doesn’t miss you as much as I do.
After the Sing we went to get ice-cream cones, and we talked about you. Mom and Dad said that you seem grown-up now. Natalie and Rachel said that they’re proud to be the sisters of a missionary. Scooter didn’t say anything because he’s too young.
I ate two scoops on my cone, one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of your favorite, pralines-and-cream. I did it for you.
I still have something I need to tell you, but I’m still afraid to tell you.
Love,Buddy
Dear Reed,
I know that I just wrote to you yesterday, but I have to write to you again today. If you were home, we could talk about it, but you’re not here.
Last night Melissa came to our house. She brought chocolate chip cookies that she made. She gave me a big hug and said that I look just like a little Reed, like somebody took you and let some of the air out. She’s pretty! Anyway, she says that she misses you very much.
Tell me, Reed, does Melissa know about Kelly? Does Kelly know about Melissa? What am I supposed to do with all your girlfriends? What if they both come over at the same time?
I told Melissa that she should send some chocolate chip cookies to you. I can’t tell you what she said because she wants it to be a surprise. If I can figure out a way to do it, I’ll send you some pralines-and-cream ice cream too.
Maybe next time I’ll tell you my secret problem.
Love,Buddy
(To be continued)

Student: In ninth grade, my brothers asked me why I go to seminary and what’s so important about it. I showed them my scripture mastery cards. My brother was in third grade at the time. He went through his scriptures and marked all the scripture mastery scriptures. He asked me why those were important, and I said those were the ones we were asked to memorize. He started studying and learning them. It gave him a head start later on.

Michael and his mom moved into our ward when he was 11. Like the other boys in the ward, he was excited to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and pass the sacrament when he turned 12. But unlike the other boys, passing the sacrament would be a challenge for him.
Michael was born prematurely and suffered such severe brain damage that doctors doubted he’d develop normally. The fact that Michael has cognitive skills at the same level as his peers is nothing short of a miracle, but he still deals with physical limitations.
Michael can walk only with assistance, and he needs help taking care of basic needs. Still, he attends church, participates in his classes, and shares his testimony with others.
When Michael was ordained a deacon, some people in our ward wondered how he would be able to pass the sacrament with the rest of the boys his age. One of his fellow deacons found a solution. This young man pushed Michael’s wheelchair down the aisles of the chapel as Michael passed the sacrament tray.
We watched with tears in our eyes as Michael served us, and his friend served him. We learned that day that true service comes not only from hands, arms, or legs. Service also comes from the heart.

I think of my neighbor whose wife was afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease. Every Sunday he would help her dress for Church meetings, comb her hair, apply her makeup, even put on her earrings. In rendering this service, he was an example to every man and woman in our ward—in fact, for the world. One day his wife said to him, “I just want to see my husband again and be with him.”

He answered, “I am your husband.”

And she sweetly replied, “Oh, good!”

When I was a little boy, Christmas was not as meaningful to me as it was to other children because of the very modest economic situation of my parents. In our country, Haiti, it was, and still is, a tradition for parents with the financial means to place one or more gifts under the pillow of their children on Christmas Eve. When the morning came, my brothers, my sisters and myself would read the joy on the faces of other children while sadness was clearly on ours. Personally, I used to wonder if Santa favored those children more than he cared for us. He gave more toys, I thought, to those who already had while he forgot about us poor children who never received a gift during this special time!
But as I grew up, I realized that Christmas was more than just gifts. By becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I have instead learned that Christmas is a time of sharing, joy, love, compassion, gratitude and charity. For it is in the true spirit of Christmas that Our Heavenly Father, in His divine love, has given us His precious Son, Jesus Christ, as a gift for the well-being of all mankind.
Today, as an adult, I no longer have to look for a gift under my pillow on Christmas Eve because, thanks to the restored gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ, I am constantly blessed with this gift that illuminates each of my steps and those of my family. Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles invites us to follow Christ and to become His disciples: “During this Christmas season and throughout the entire year, may we seek with our hearts and souls our beloved Savior, the Prince of Peace, the Holy One of Israel. For this desire, in large part, defines not only who we are as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but even more who we really are as Christ’s disciples.1”

In May of 1974, I was with Brother John H. Groberg in the Tongan islands. We had an appointment to visit the king of Tonga, and we met with him in a formal session. We exchanged the normal pleasantries. However, before we left, John Groberg said something that was out of the ordinary. He said, “Your Majesty, you should really become a Mormon and your subjects as well, for then your problems and their problems would largely be solved.”
The king smiled broadly and answered, “John Groberg, perhaps you’re right.”
I thought of the Apostle Paul before Agrippa. I thought of Agrippa’s response to Paul’s testimony: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” Brother Groberg had the courage to bear his testimony to a king.

My missionary companion and I were having difficulty getting along well together. I still do not know all that lay at the root of our difficulties, but after we had been together only a few weeks, walking the streets of a small Brazilian town, resentment, pride, and petty differences began to darken our relationship. Our prayers together became more and more perfunctory, and resentment more and more frequently broke out in sharp words. Almost unnoticed, the Spirit began to slip away from us.
One afternoon, after one of many unfruitful days of tracting and visiting members, and with what promised to be a barren afternoon stretching before us, we decided that we could fill some of the empty spaces on our daily activity records by visiting Antonio. Antonio was a non-member whose wife had joined the Church several years before but had been only marginalIv active. He respected the missionaries and several times had shown sufficient faith to ask them to administer to him when he was ill. My present companion and I had administered to him twice, and I knew that earlier elders had done so. All of that took place before we learned that Antonio was dying of an abdominal cancer and had only a few months, perhaps weeks, to live.
When his wife answered the door that day, she looked drawn and worried. She took us into her kitchen, from which an open door led to Antonio’s room. Through the door we saw Antonio threshing in agony on a narrow bed, unconscious that we were even there.
We were suddenly at a complete loss for what to do or say. Antonio’s wife looked at us silently. We looked at each other, at Antonio, at the floor. We had no idea what to do, and worse, without a word being spoken between us, we knew that we were both thinking that we were in no spiritual condition to do anything. Finally, one of us asked if there was a room where we could be alone for a while. Antonio’s wife showed us to a bedroom, and we closed the door behind us.
We knelt and took turns praying, at first asking the Lord to make known to us his will concerning Antonio. In the silence that answered our first prayers, the knowledge of our unworthiness to receive an answer fairly shouted at us. Then, at first awkwardly and cautiously, and finally pleadingly, we began to confess to the Lord and to each other our sin in allowing vanity and pride to rob us of the power to use our priesthood. We pleaded that Antonio not be denied release from his suffering because of our unworthiness, that the Lord would forgive our sin and bless us with faith and power to bless Antonio, or that he would bless Antonio without us.
We must have prayed for half an hour, taking turns, before a peace came to us. We agreed that we should go out, lay our hands on Antonio, and let the Spirit guide us.
When we went out, his wife asked, “Did you pray?” We said yes, and she said, “He has gone to sleep.”
We left the house subdued and chastened. Permanently and profoundly recorded in our hearts was a hard-learned lesson in the foolishness of allowing personal differences to cut us off from the source of the power to bless.

It is Christmastime and again my thoughts turn to Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, and to the first Christmas.
It was a dream come true for Sister Kimball and me to be in Bethlehem one Christmas Eve some years ago. December 24 was a beautiful Sunday there and early that morning we held a sacrament meeting in Baghdad, Iraq, with a family in whose home we were guests. Afterward we flew to Damascus in Syria and then went on to Jerusalem. People from many lands were gathered there on that sacred night, waiting to be taken over the 18 kilometer winding hill road to Bethlehem.
Arriving in Jerusalem, we found the square so crowded with people that it was easy for our thoughts to go back to that first Christmas when Joseph and Mary were told “There was no room for them in the inn.”
To add to the confusion of the milling throng, Christmas carols blared out from a sound truck, and bells rang from the cupolas of the Church of the Nativity that had been built back in the fourth century. The church is built on the square over a grotto that many believe to be the true site of the manger where the Christ Child was born.
A low door and narrow steps lead into the grotto. With difficulty we made our way there. It was lighted by many candles and hung with rich drapes. With the eager crowd, we tried to meditate and relive, in contemplation, the story of that most important of all births.
Afterwards we were fortunate to find a taxi to take us about 3 km down the hillside to the Shepherd Fields where at last we found a quiet peace on that crisp, clear night. There were only four of us there on the hillside where the shepherds had been watching their flocks on that first Christmas Eve..
The moon shone with unusual brilliance, and the sky was studded with stars. In imagination, we could almost hear the “multitude of heavenly hosts praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”
We looked up the hill to the twinkling lights of Bethlehem and felt impressed to softly sing,
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie …
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
Afterwards I offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the privilege of that Bethlehem Christmas and for my knowledge of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, the Son of God. My heart was filled with joy to know that He marked for us the plan, the way of life, whereby if we are faithful we may someday see Him and express our gratitude personally for His perfect life and His sacrifice for us.

I was born in Weonju, South Korea, sometime in 1958 and was later adopted by an American family. When I was fourteen, I joined the Church. A year later, concerned about what to do after high school, I decided to obtain my patriarchal blessing. I first talked to the patriarch, who advised me to fast and pray about the things I wanted to know. I did, and later received my blessing with good feelings about the promises in it. But one section puzzled me:
“You will have the great privilege of performing work for and in behalf of your family, the parents you have not known. If you will search for your family records, help will come from on high; the heavens will respond to your prayers if you fast and pray and if you will be faithful in giving of your time and talents.”
I knew I needed to do my genealogy work, but I couldn’t understand the part about “the parents you have not known.” I had no idea who my natural parents were or how to find out. As far as I knew, I was an orphan when I was adopted.
During my last semester in college, after sincere prayer and soul searching, I felt strongly impressed to serve a mission. I completed my missionary application and sent in my papers, but worried that I would be called to go to Korea. I did not particularly want to go there. A few weeks passed, and the call came to the “Korea Seoul West Mission.”
I struggled with accepting my call, but as the time drew near, I thought of the promise in my patriarchal blessing. How else could I do my genealogy work? I had to go to Korea.
After arriving at the mission home in Korea, one of the first questions the mission president asked me was, “Do you plan to do some of your genealogy work while you’re here?” Surprised and encouraged by his question, I answered, “Yes, I want to.”

When Gordon and Del [Spencer’s brothers] put up hay … they would pitch it up on the wagon and Spencer would tromp it down. The older boys liked to reach the wagon at the same time, both with huge forks of hay. One would pitch his hay on top of Spencer, knocking him down, then the other would add his load. They would laugh while Spencer picked himself out, infuriated, threatening terrible punishments when he grew up . …

Occasionally he would enjoy a minor revenge. One hot Monday afternoon, hearing the Primary bell across the fields, Spencer said, “I’ve got to go to Primary.” As Spencer told the story years later: “They said, ‘You’re not going to Primary.’ I said, ‘If Pa were here, he’d let me go to Primary.’ Any they said, ‘Well, Pa is not here, and this is one time you’re not going to Primary.’ Gordon was seven years older than I was and Del was five . … They kept throwing the hay up and it all piled in the center of the wagon. They said, ‘What’s the matter with you up there?’ There was no sound. They looked off across the field and I was halfway to the meetinghouse.” (Pages 37 and 38.)

John Taylor was also chosen early in life, and although he was a full ocean apart from the other Church leaders, the Lord was quietly working on him in such a way that he would eventually be brought into contact with the other apostles of the Church. When he was only sixteen years of age, John Taylor was moved upon in such a way that he spent many hours searching after the Lord, and the nearness of the Lord was often manifest to him. He wrote: “Often when alone, and sometimes in company, I heard sweet, soft, melodious music, as if performed by angelic or supernatural beings.” He saw, while still a small boy, an angel in the heavens with a trumpet to its mouth, sounding a message to the nations. (The significance of this vision should be evident to all members of the Church.) At seventeen he became a local preacher in the Methodist Church and one day, while traveling with a friend to a Methodist meeting, received a very strong impression that he was to go to America to preach. Nearly seven years later at age twenty-four, President Taylor embraced the Church at the hands of Parley P. Pratt, who had been called by special revelation to take the gospel to Toronto, Canada, where John Taylor was residing.

I had the honor of spending time with two of the older sisters of the Curaçao Branch, and these are their stories:
Sister Eligia Schoop
Sister Eligia Schoop, 83, is one of the pioneers of the Church on the island. She has been a member for 34 years, and she tells us that thanks to the gospel, she was able to develop many skills to help those in need.
She is a sister who, despite her advanced age, her health problems, and how far she lives from the chapel, makes her best effort to attend every Sunday with her husband, Romulo Schoop, 83, and renew their covenants.
Since 1972, she has been an active member of the Scouts. With 50 years of being a Scout, she has had the opportunity to help and guide many children who are experiencing problems at home or at school. She is the oldest Scout from the islands of Curaçao, Aruba, Bonaire, Saba, and St. Eustatius.
One of the experiences that she remembers with great affection is that of her grandson: “In the Scouts I had the opportunity to help my grandson who was teased a lot at school because of his weight. I was always trying to talk to him and get him to open up to me.
“With so many negative comments and the mistreatment that he received from his classmates, he didn’t want to be part of the Scouts anymore. I was always looking out for him, and I advised him that despite everything bad that people can say to you or how bad people can try to make you feel, it is you who has to know who you are and what you are worth. The boy continued in the Scouts and still remembers with great love how his grandmother supported him in one of the most difficult moments of his childhood.”
She tells us that, at her advanced age, she seeks to contribute to the Church and one of those ways is by inviting the missionaries to eat whenever possible.
Eligia tells us: “Whatever I cook, they love it. I love to see young people willing to put their lives aside to bring to light souls that need the gospel, it is admirable”.
This 74-year-old sister is joy personified. Having been a member for 30 years, she remembers Decembers in a very special way. She recounts: “On Christmas Eve, we make a dinner within our means. I take care of the soup, my daughter, Arlene, makes the salad, and so on. We invite the neighbors, who also bring food. We set up tables and chairs in my daughter’s garden and sit together for dinner. It is very comforting to share how little or how much you have with others.
She recalls: “My husband was in a car accident, he lost a leg, his spinal cord was damaged, and he was unable to walk again. From his wheelchair, he prepared the ham for Christmas dinner and put it in the oven. He was a very independent man and loved helping others. He was president of the Curaçao Branch for eight years, and many fondly remember his service in the church. Despite his own difficulties, he tried to focus on how to help others with their personal challenges. He passed away in 2006.”
This sister is well known in the Curaçao branch for her delicious soups. There is not an activity that Sister Eugenia attends that she does not bring soup. It is her way of contributing, and she feels very happy to see others enjoy what she makes.
These two beautiful sisters have strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through Him, they have been able to overcome trials, feel comfort, and comfort others in their pain. They are examples that, no matter how young or old you are, if you want to help, however small that help is, it makes a difference and means a lot to the Lord.

“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” Michelle Mukund (10) greets the ward as she stands to bear her testimony on fast Sunday.
“Good morning, Michelle,” they answer.
Then Michelle bears witness of Jesus Christ, the gospel, and her love for her family and the Saints. Everyone knows that Michelle isn’t just saying words. She has proven by her actions that she loves the Lord with all her heart, and her neighbor as herself.
She especially loves little children. At church she can often be seen with a baby in her arms. It could be any baby in the ward because she adores them all. Children her own age often come to her for advice—and for comfort, too, because she really listens and really cares.
Michelle is close to her family. She enjoys playing with her two-year-old brother, George, who loves saying prayers and can already bear his testimony. She also has fun with her sister, Maxine (15), who is kind and helpful and a talented artist. She looks up to her grown-up cousins Rejieli Rigamoto and Myra Tiraknoa, who live with the family. Rejieli is a returned missionary and an expert baker. Myra is an excellent cook.
Michelle especially appreciates her father and mother. “I’m very happy that I have parents like Mum and Dad,” she says. “They tell me often that they love me.” Her father, Bal, is a gentle man who makes up funny jokes. If children quarrel, he sometimes says, “An angry man is a hungry man,” and brings them something good to eat. Before long everyone is laughing.
Her mother, Susau, is a happy person who laughs a lot. She is also a good cook, and Michelle especially loves her chicken chop suey and her chicken and chips. Under her mother’s instruction, Michelle is becoming a pretty good cook herself. Her specialty is roti, an Indian dish. (Fiji, a South Pacific nation of many islands, has a large Indian population.)
Sister Mukund says, “Michelle really tries to live a Christlike life. When I’m sad or feel lonely, she always notices. She comes to me and says, ‘Mum, what’s wrong? How can I help you?’ She is always willing to help each of us in the family. She is so trustworthy that I can send her alone to visit friends on other islands. I thank Heavenly Father for giving me this beautiful girl as a daughter.”
“Michelle is self-reliant,” her father says. “She can wash her own clothes, prepare her own meals, do the housework, sew, whatever is needed. She’s a bright girl with a desire to learn, explore, and investigate. She’s very creative. She makes her own greeting cards and gives them away freely. She has a very kind heart and likes to share. If she sees someone who lacks something, she tries to provide it. And if she can’t, she asks if we can help.”
Most of all, Michelle loves Jesus Christ. “I love Him so much, and I know that He loves me, too. I’m happy that He’s my Savior. I know that He died for our sins. He did not want us to suffer, so He suffered instead. When I read about Him blessing the little children in the Book of Mormon, I wish I was one of them. I want to help Him take care of children now.”
Because of her strong desire to help children, Michelle plans on being a school teacher and eventually a principal. When teachers at her school hold a staff meeting during school hours, she is often left in charge of the younger students. They know they can trust her.
Michelle earns excellent grades in school. She not only studies faithfully but prays for help, too. She once prayed hard that she would pass a maths test, because maths was her weakest subject. She scored ninety-four percent, the second highest in the class, and she has since become much more at ease with numbers.
Michelle is not a slave to her studies, however. She also enjoys playing basketball, netball, and volleyball. She is the only LDS student at her school, but she has made good friends there. Her best friend is Neha, a Hindu girl.
At home, one of Michelle’s favorite hobbies is reading. If she isn’t working, she very likely has a book in her hands. She devours storybooks and the Friend. After reading the stories, she does all the puzzles and makes the recipes and the crafts, then shares the results with the family.
Two things that keep the family close are family home evening and scripture study. The family members take turns presenting family home evening lessons. Michelle likes to give lessons about Jesus, the prophets, and things she finds in the Friend. After family home evening, there is a council in which everyone can share complaints, suggestions, or concerns. Scripture study rotates among the different books of scripture. Right now they’re studying the book of Ether in the Book of Mormon. Michelle’s favorite prophet from the scriptures is Nephi, but her favorite of all time is President Hinckley.
Michelle gladly fasts each fast Sunday and pays her tithing each week without prompting. She also loves her Primary teachers and listens carefully to the lessons. She especially looks forward to testimony meeting and is usually the first person to bear testimony after the bishop or a counselor invites the congregation to share their testimonies.
She feels a special bond with the missionaries who work in her area. The Mukund home is a kind of refuge for the missionaries, where they are fed, rested, loved, and helped in the work. The family has a scrapbook full of photos of past elders and sisters, and they receive cards and letters from returned missionaries all over the world.
Not surprisingly, Michelle wants to go on a mission herself someday. She’s practicing by telling her friends about the gospel and inviting them to church. Unfortunately they seldom come. This doesn’t hurt the friendships, but it does sometimes hurt Michelle. Sadly, one friend who did listen with great interest died in a tragic fire. “I was crying,” Michelle says. “I missed her very much. We went to her church service. It was a sad, rainy day, but I prayed, and I felt that I didn’t have to be sad anymore, because I would meet her again. We went to her mom’s house, and her mom was crying. I said, ‘You’ll meet her again in the next life,’ and it seemed to help.”
Michelle’s love for others is not limited by race or culture. Her father is of Indian descent, her mother Fijian, and Michelle loves both of these cultures as well as the others that are represented in Fiji’s islands. She speaks two Indian dialects as well as Fijian and English. Sometimes she becomes sad when she hears of the suffering of people in other lands, but prayer helps her feel better. There is enough room in her heart to love everyone everywhere. No matter who you are or where you live, she loves you, too.

As a boy and a young man, I prepared to serve a full-time proselytizing mission for the Church. Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled us, I wanted to be a missionary, not just to go on a mission.1 But because of my medical challenges, the Missionary Department informed me that it was not in my best interest to face the stress of a full-time mission. Although it would have been easy to become bitter, I had prepared to serve my Savior, and I was prepared to accept His will for me.
What happened to me is called being honorably excused. That means that Church leaders saw my worthiness and my desire to serve but encouraged me to serve in other ways. Like many others who cannot serve a full-time mission, I felt prompted to do more than just “get on with my life.” I wanted to serve, so I did—as a local Church-service missionary. With help from my bishop and stake president, I found a way to serve the Lord while living at home.
There was a need at the Church’s Audiovisual Department, and since I live near the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City, I could help. My stake president extended a call, set me apart, and developed special rules for me during my year of service. Though the rules seemed strict to me, I learned that I was blessed when I followed them. While other service missionaries with different stake presidents may have different rules, these were the ones I followed:
Stick to a daily schedule: arise at 6:30 a.m.; study the scriptures and Preach My Gospel for two hours each day; exercise for 30 minutes each day; go to bed at 10:30 p.m.
Follow the Church’s dress code.
Listen to classical or Church music only.
Limit computer use to e-mail; limited television viewing; no video games.
Participate only in group activities—no dating.
Have monthly interviews with my bishop.
Sometimes when I was down in a crawl space under a building in 100-degree heat (38ºC) winding up cable all day, I found myself wondering what it had to do with bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man (see Moses 1:39). Was I really part of the team sharing the gospel around the world? I knew that Mosiah 2:17 says that when we are in the service of our fellow beings we are in the service of God, but it took me a while to believe that was true.
I learned that just like a proselytizing mission, a service mission isn’t about you. It is about learning to do what the Lord needs done. During my service, I helped set up and take down lights, run sound for meetings, and transport equipment. It was hard, dirty work, and I will never take general conference for granted. In fact, now when I watch any broadcast, my whole body aches because I know the intense work involved.
During my Church-service mission, I learned the importance of punctuality, responsibility, doing the job right, and giving my best effort. While my parents had tried to teach me these things, I didn’t understand until I saw how wasting time and effort can directly affect the work of others. Before my mission, it was easy to focus on just having fun. But once you are on your mission, you realize it will not be fun to be the companion who doesn’t know how to work. Part of preparing to serve is learning how to work.
I also learned to appreciate those who work behind the scenes. I saw how hard Church leaders work without drawing attention to themselves or expecting special treatment. I saw others serving who had greater challenges than I did, teaching me that everyone can serve in some way.
I realized that I have been blessed with strengths and abilities and that through hard work I could do more than I had been doing. I learned that as I respect other people, I like myself better. It’s easy to get in the habit of looking down on people in order to try to feel better about ourselves. But respect works both ways, and those who represent Jesus Christ must be respectful.
The most important lesson I learned, however, was that the Lord will help you do difficult things. It was hard to stay home, hard to do menial chores, hard not to be the center of attention, hard to obey mission rules, and hard to hear people tell me I wasn’t on a “real” mission. But the Lord helped me. I know He will help you do the things you need to do to be happy, to feel good about yourself, to grow, and to be a better person. Get down on your knees, bow your head, and be honest with yourself as you pray. Then get ready to serve wherever and whenever you are called.

It was just an old board Kristen and I had found—maybe ten feet long and just wide enough to sit on. The desert sun had already started to turn the board gray, but even faded it was the perfect addition to our makeshift playground. In fact, other than a lot of sand and a few Tonka trucks, it was the only thing in our playground. Laid across a big rock sticking up in the backyard, that old board became a teeter-totter, kind of like the one at the park by Grandma’s house. Of course, our teeter-totter didn’t go as high as the one at the park. But it was ours.
One day we were teetering and tottering when a couple of men came to visit. I didn’t know what they wanted, but they talked to Mom in the kitchen for a while. Kristen, who was a year older than I was, said they were from church—the new one we had just started going to. One of them was young, and the other had white hair and a white beard. He was the oldest man I’d ever seen. As they were leaving, the old man walked over to us and watched as we went up and down on the teeter-totter.
“That’s a nice looking board you have there,” he said. “Would you mind if I took it with me for a while? I could sure use a board like that.”
We both looked at Mom, who was standing by the kitchen door. She told us to give the man the board. So Kristen and I got off our teeter-totter, and the man put the board in his truck. They said good-bye and drove away.
“Mom, what were those men doing here?” I grumbled.
“They’re our home teachers; the church we went to on Sunday sent them to make sure we’re okay.”
“I’m okay, but I was better when I had my teeter-totter.”
Mom ran her fingers through my hair. “I know, honey. It’s almost dinnertime. Go inside and wash up.”
Most kids would have probably put up a fuss when someone took their favorite toy, but we knew if Mom said it, we should do it.
That night, Mom said the old man’s name was Brother Andelin. My four-year-old mouth had to work to get his name right. Mom said Brother Andelin lived on the other side of town, but would come and visit again.
A few days later, I was on the porch when Brother Andelin’s truck came rattling up the drive.
“Hello, Bobby. Would you like to see what I built out of that board you gave me?” he said, getting out of his truck.
I ran behind him to the back of his truck where he pulled out the board, now painted green with a seat and handle at each end. In the middle on the other side were some steel rings. Also in the truck was a big, wooden, pyramid-shaped box, painted the same color as the board.
“Is your sister here?” Brother Andelin asked. “Run and get her while I set this up in the yard.”
I ran into the kitchen and down the hall. “Kristen,” I yelled, gasping for air. “Brother Andelin brought our board. But he, he—come see.”
Mom followed as Kristen and I ran outside. Brother Andelin had fastened the board on top of the box.
“It’s a real teeter-totter,” Kristen whispered to me. “Is it for us?”
“I don’t know. Ask him.”
“You ask him.”
“Brother Andelin,” I said, stepping closer, “is this for us? For keeps?”
“It’s your board, isn’t it?” he said. “Besides, what am I gonna do with a seesaw? My kids have all grown up.”
Kristen and I climbed on the new teeter-totter. It wasn’t like before. When we went up, we went off the ground way up in the air. Brother Andelin laughed as we played, his teeth smiling from behind his long, white beard.

“Hurry, Cathy,” Anne called over her shoulder. Her tennis shoes pounded along the side of the road, and her ponytail swished from side to side.
“I am hurrying!” Cathy yelled back, barely three steps behind her. Laughing, they turned away from the road and ran across the gravel parking lot of Mr. Parkins’s Plant Place. Breathing hard, they burst through the front door into the rich smells of potting soil and damp, growing things.
“Well, hello, girls.” Mr. Parkins had a smile in his voice as he looked up from the cash register. “Did you come to work?”
“Yes, please,” Anne said. “Today and tomorrow.”
In the early spring Mr. Parkins often paid the neighborhood children to help transplant seedlings. “Where is your cousin Emmy today?” he asked.
“She went to help Granny,” Cathy said.
“Well, come along.” Mr. Parkins led them through the back door and into one of the long, low greenhouses. “We’re working on the petunias right now. I need all the help I can get. Are you saving up for anything special?”
Anne and Cathy exchanged a secret smile. “Yes,” Cathy answered. “A Mother’s Day present for Mum.”
“I know where you could get her some nice bedding plants at a good price.” Mr. Parkins winked at them.
“So do we!” the girls said together.
At the end of the greenhouse, Mr. Parkins opened another door and led them into another greenhouse. There, long tables were covered with solid flats of young petunia plants. Allen, Tom, and Lance were already working and laughing loudly.
Mr. Parkins stayed only long enough to make sure that the girls knew what to do, and to check on the boys’ work. “I’m sure glad the five of you could come,” he said as he left.
The greenhouse smelled warm and damp. The potting soil was crumbly and moist on Anne’s fingers as she carefully separated the tiny plants. Cathy worked silently beside her, filling each of the tiny container compartments with soil and planting the seedlings. For a long time no one said anything.
Then Lance elbowed Allen and whispered something in his ear. Allen laughed loudly, then whispered in Tom’s ear. Tom snorted.
Anne’s fingers started to shake, and she felt slightly sick. They were doing it again. “I wish Emmy was here,” she whispered to Cathy.
Cathy nodded. “So do I.”
In the next few minutes, Lance stopped whispering and started saying nasty things out loud. Some of it Anne didn’t understand, but she knew that it wasn’t good because of the way it made her feel. Again she wished Emmy was here. Emmy would know what to do. She was as brave as Nephi.
But Anne wasn’t Emmy, and she didn’t know what to do. She was afraid that if she asked the boys to stop, they’d just get worse. Now they were using words that Anne knew were not right.
She looked over at Cathy. Her sister’s lips were pressed tightly together, and she looked as if she was going to cry.
“Shall we leave?” Anne whispered to her.
“But I want to buy something nice for Mum,” Cathy said quietly.
“Yeah. Me too.” They were silent for a few seconds, trying to not listen to the boys. “Besides,” Anne added, “Mr. Parkins said he needs all the help he can get.”
Cathy nodded and blinked as two tears slid down her cheeks. She tucked her chin down so that Lance, Allen, and Tom wouldn’t know that she was crying.
Anne moved closer to her. She was angry now. It was hard to remember to be gentle with the plants. If only Emmy was here! she thought. If only I knew what to do! Suddenly she had an idea.
Softly, almost too softly to hear, she started humming “A Child’s Prayer.” When Cathy heard the first few notes, she looked up at Anne in surprise. She smiled. By the end of the song, both of them were softly humming together.
The boys were still making ugly jokes, but Anne didn’t feel angry any more. She started humming “I Am a Child of God,” only just a little louder. By the end of that song, Lance was quieter, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Anne, feeling braver, gave him a big smile as she started singing “Nephi’s Courage” out loud. Cathy joined in, and their two voices echoed sweetly off the walls and ceiling, while the boys’ voices softened to silence.
Anne and Cathy were still singing one Primary song after another when Mr. Parkins poked his head in an hour later. “Sounds good, girls.” He came over to the long table. “Your work is good too. But it’s almost dark—you’d better get on home. I’m glad you’ll be coming back tomorrow—I can always use good, cheerful help.”
Rubbing the soil off their fingers, the children followed Mr. Parkins out of the greenhouses and into the early evening light. Lance, Allen, and Tom scooted past Anne and Cathy.
“Primary babies,” Lance hissed as he went past. Anne just smiled at him again.
The air was cooler now, and goosebumps dotted the girls’ arms, but they didn’t feel cold.
“I feel all warm and happy,” Cathy said, looking up at the pink sky.
“Me, too,” Anne said. “Race you home!”

For example, one missionary, we’ll call her Maria, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about God as an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Maria’s belief in this idea caused problems for her and her family during the time she went to private religious schools. She would ask her school friends and teachers, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” After a while, getting no satisfactory answer, she stopped asking.
Years later at work, when Maria was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. Eventually, the woman asked Maria to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” Maria said, and was thrilled at the woman’s answer: “My church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Maria gladly accepted the gospel message, was baptized, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day at the Missionary Training Center, she recognized her instructor as the elder who had taught her the gospel months earlier.