Gospel Story Finder

I hated early-morning seminary. I was raised in Boulder, Colorado, and all we had was early-morning seminary. I tried every excuse why I should not go: “Teenagers need their sleep.” “My life is too busy.” “I’m too tired to pay attention, so I don’t get anything out of it.” Nothing worked. Every morning around 5:45, my mom would wake me, push me in the direction of the shower, and get me out the door for seminary.
This was my pattern all four years until the late fall of my senior year. I arrived at seminary, but the teacher had not shown up. A good friend of mine stood up in front of the class and said, “Since the teacher isn’t here, I think we should just take turns reading aloud the assigned reading.”
Someone started reading 2 Nephi 33:10–11: “Hearken unto these words and believe in Christ; and if ye believe not in these words believe in Christ. And if ye shall believe in Christ ye will believe in these words, for they are the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me; and they teach all men that they should do good.
“And if they are not the words of Christ, judge ye—for Christ will show unto you, with power and great glory, that they are his words, at the last day; and you and I shall stand face to face before his bar; and ye shall know that I have been commanded of him to write these things, notwithstanding my weakness.”
As I listened to these words, I thought, “I believe in Christ. If I believe in Him, then these words are true.” As I completed that thought, the Spirit touched me more profoundly. I was so struck by it that I remember looking around the room to see if others were feeling the same thing. They didn’t seem changed or appear as if they were feeling something different. This was a lesson that I was learning privately, just for me. The feeling didn’t go away. I carried it with me for the rest of the day. It was the beginning of a strong testimony for me.
I have often thought about that event and contemplated the act of being diligent. I had been attending seminary reluctantly for almost four years. But because I was diligent and obeying my mother’s desire that I attend, I was taught by the Spirit. If I had been at home in bed sleeping, I would have missed that opportunity. It is often when I least expect it, when I have been diligent day after day, month after month, and year after year attending church, reading the scriptures, or praying that the Spirit whispers to me and confirms the truth of the gospel. I am glad I learned that lesson at 17 while attending early morning seminary.

Then President Pulman related this story. He, along with the advance party for the conference, had arrived a day early to prepare everything. The first person they saw was a porter of the university, who asked them to sit down a moment as he had something to say.

This porter had about 500 young people in his wing of the college every year. He said about 60 percent were not very well behaved. But for the last three years there had been a truly exceptional student who had never put a foot wrong and had been a wonderful example to all around her. He had learned that she was LDS, so he had decided to give the Latter-day Saints a welcome on behalf of the staff.

Then President Pulman called on the soloist to stand up, and stated that she was the student the porter had spoken of. I realized why I had been so impressed with the beautiful young lady who had proved such a worthy representative of the Church. I hope that as other LDS youth leave home, whether for a university or a youth conference, they will live so that they too can be outstanding examples.

I remember a missionary who had just recently returned from the mission field who came into the Institute of Religion when I was there. He had committed a grave mistake that caused him to think that his life was ruined forever. And I said to him, “God loves you just as much today as he did last Thursday,” and he couldn’t believe it. The thought had never occurred to him. He wept like a child. You know, sometimes we think that God loves us to the extent that we please him, to the extent that we’re good boys and girls, good men and women. Love from God is not earned. It is not merited; if it is, it is justice and reciprocity and reward. Love comes from a loving heart, and God’s love is unconditional. And he loves the worst of us and the best of us equally, I believe. We cause him to suffer when we do wrong, when he sees us live our lives in ways that destroy us, and when he sees us hurting other people—this must cause him pain.

I commence my message this morning with a question: Have you ever taken a vacation with your entire family? If not, you are in for some surprises when you do. My wife and I a few years ago joined our children, their companions, and the grandchildren at Disneyland in southern California. Beyond the entrance to the famous theme park, the group rushed to what was then the newest feature—Star Tours. You enter a simulated rocket, take your seat, and fasten your seat belt. All of a sudden the entire vehicle begins to vibrate violently. I think the mechanical voice which comes over the loudspeaker calls it “heavy turbulence.” (I have never returned to this featured ride. I get all the real turbulence I can handle just flying from place to place fulfilling my responsibilities.)
After recuperating for a few minutes, we journeyed to the feature with the longest line. It is called Splash Mountain. The crowd filed round and round in a serpentine pattern. The music, which was piped through the loudspeakers to the waiting throng, contained the words of the song:
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay,
My, oh my, what a wonderful day!
Plenty of sunshine, headin’ my way,
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
By now we were ready to board the boat which would carry us in a vertical dive that evoked screams from the passengers in the boat ahead as it roared down the waterfall and glided to a stop in the water below. Just before taking the plunge, however, I noticed on one wall a small sign declaring a profound truth: “You can’t run away from trouble; there’s no place that far!”
These few words have remained with me. They pertain not only to the theme of Splash Mountain but also to our sojourn in mortality.

I remember Elder Orson F. Whitney, a member of the Twelve who was traveling out to a stake conference years ago by train. He was concentrating on the scriptures as he rode, and he went right by the place where he should have gotten off for the conference. He found himself two or three miles beyond at another town. He got out and hired a livery rig (horse and buggy) to drive him back. The stake president had waited and waited and finally decided he had better start the meeting. As Brother Whitney walked in, the choir was singing “Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.” I would have not been surprised if you had been singing that as I came in.

For those of you who are married, it is particularly important that you cultivate a positive attitude and constantly look for the virtues in one another. Two students of BYU came to see me some years ago. Six months earlier they had been married. They had declared their love for one another. In a sacred place they had pledged their loyalty one to another for time and eternity. Now, the young man came first. He was disillusioned. He was bitter. He was heartbroken. His wife, he said, did this and did that—simple little things of small consequence, such as leaving the dishes undone when she left for school in the morning. And then came his wife, a beautiful girl of great talent. She spoke of her husband’s faults. He was stingy. He did not pick up his clothes. He was careless. Each had his or her faults. Every one of those faults was easily correctable. The problem lay in the fact that there was a stronger inclination to emphasize the faults than there was to talk of virtues. With a little self-discipline, each could have changed. With a little desire, each could have spoken with a different tone. But neither was willing. They had permitted a negative attitude to destroy the sweetest, richest association of life. They had thrown away with careless and sour words the hopes and dreams of eternity. With criticism and shouting, they had violated the sacred promises that might have taken them on to exaltation.

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!

Here's an example. Our friend, Martha and her family, have a favorite horse, Hawkeye--a beautiful, high-spirited Arabian with lots of fire. He's well-broken, but he can get too feisty when he hasn't spent enough time with a good rider. One day a lot of inexperienced riders had been on Hawkeye and his energy started to run unchecked, literally. When she jumped on him thinking she'd settle him down a bit, they took off out of the barnyard too fast. He didn't respond to her signal down the lane, and instead of turning right, he ran full-steam through a barbed wire fence. Luckily, neither one was badly hurt, but she saw that she and Hawkeye had some work to do. She made sure they spent a lot of time together over the next days and weeks. Nearly everywhere she had to go on the ranch she rode Hawkeye and they "talked."

A few weeks later about 200 head of cattle needed to be moved to new pastures. The job fell to Martha and Hawkeye. They got the cattle rounded up and moving, but one cow spooked and the whole herd bolted. But because horse and rider had spent so much time together, and because Hawkeye was so well bridled now, they saw the job the same way. Hawkeye would instinctively jump towards the lead cow even as Martha was thinking the thought. Reeling around and riding from one fence line to the other they managed to turn the herd in the right direction, but not without having to dance eye-to-eye with a few cows. As Martha wrote, "We were completely together with every move. It was pure, well-bridled, highly passionate instinct! His instinct had become the same as mine. We were one! And it was so much fun!"

On a beautiful summer morning, our family attended the Special Olympics to watch our son Scott participate. The Special Olympics are held each year to allow people with disabilities to enjoy friendly competition. We observed that as the runners were taking their positions for the fifty-yard dash, they were being encouraged by special friends affectionately known as huggers. Seconds before the start of the race, these huggers took their places at the finish line of the race. It didn’t matter who crossed the finish line first. What did matter was that every runner completed the race and that every runner received a congratulatory hug. Both the courageous runners and the caring huggers taught important principles of truth.

Joseph Smith was the only prophet of this dispensation to labor as a full-time missionary while presiding over the Church. During the first years after the Restoration, as the infant Church began its amazing growth, Joseph undertook preaching missions on various occasions.
One small treasure in the archives of the Church Historical Department is a worn leather journal, 14 pages of which tell of Joseph’s missionary trip into Canada in late 1833.* Joseph’s entries in the journal appear almost daily; half are in his own handwriting and the others he dictated. This is the earliest diary account we have of any mission of the Prophet. Prodded by “Father” Freeman Nickerson, a convert from western New York, Joseph, along with Sidney Rigdon, his first counselor, set out to preach to Brother Nickerson’s relatives and others along a 250-mile crescent stretching north and east from Kirtland, around Lake Erie, and west into Canada.
Let us follow the Prophet’s four-week journey by examining the entries in his private diary.
With team and conveyance provided by Brother Nickerson the three started eastward from Kirtland on October 5. The next day at Springfield, Ohio, they attended a meeting of the Saints, where, as Joseph recorded, “Brother Sidney spoke to the people, etc., and in the evening held a meeting at Brother [John] Reed’s. Had a great congregation, paid good attention. Oh God, seal our testimony to their hearts. Amen.”
Journeying along the shores of Lake Erie they visited with various Church members, holding similar meetings. One week from Kirtland the missionaries stopped at Brother Nickerson’s home in Catteraugus County, New York. Here the Prophet noted: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but have much anxiety about my family.” Did Joseph, like most missionaries, feel here a tinge of homesickness? Evidently so, for that night he received a revelation (D&C 100) wherein the Lord assured him and Sidney that their families were well and in his care, adding that there were many people in the region of their mission awaiting their testimonies. “Continue your journey and let your hearts rejoice” were their instructions.
On Sunday, October 13, a large congregation listened to Elder Rigdon preach, followed by the Prophet. “I bear record to the people,” Joseph wrote. “The Lord gave His spirit in marvelous manner for which I am thankful to the God of Abraham. Lord bless my family and preserve them.” When starting for Canada the next day, Joseph recorded a quick plea: “Lord, be with us on our journey. Amen.” He tells of one disappointment on October 15 when a meeting scheduled for a Presbyterian meetinghouse was canceled because the man who kept the keys refused to open the door. From there the missionaries turned westward, arriving three days later at the home of Eleazer F. Nickerson, the second son of Freeman Nickerson, at Mount Pleasant, Upper Canada.
The following Sunday they preached to an attentive congregation in the morning and a large gathering that evening, which “gave good heed to the things which were spoken. What may be the result we cannot tell but the prospect is flattering.” During a Tuesday evening meeting, while it was “snowing vehemently,” the missionaries were verbally attacked and then denied the right to speak by a Wesleyan Methodist. This caused Joseph to write: “We find that conviction is resting on the minds of some. We hope that great good may yet be done in Canada, which O Lord grant for thy name’s sake.”
During that week the missionaries’ preaching brought success. On Wednesday they interviewed a Mr. Wilkeson, who was a leader in the Mount Pleasant Methodist group. “He could not stand our words,” the diary reads. “Whether he will receive the truth the Lord only knows. He seemed honest.” Thursday, a wet day, their preaching at Weathersford drew only a small congregation. But at Mount Pleasant that evening a fine meeting developed: “One man, [Eleazer] Nickerson declared his full belief in the truth of the work. Is with his wife who is also convinced to be baptized on Sunday. Great excitement prevails in every place where we have been. The result we leave in the hand of God.”
But their excitement about the pending baptisms diminished somewhat during a negative Friday discussion with a Mr. Patrick, which caused Joseph to lament: “People very superstitious. Oh God, establish thy word among this people.” But later that evening, before an attentive audience, “the Spirit gave utterance” to the Latter-day Saint preachers.
As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”
Because others at the Sunday meetings felt deeply impressed, another service was held Monday morning. Here two more souls were baptized and then confirmed at the water’s edge. At candlelight, to provide a leader for this new cluster of converts, the missionaries ordained Eleazer Nickerson an elder. “Had a good meeting,” Joseph noted. “One of the sisters got the gift of tongues which made the Saints rejoice. May God increase the gifts among them for his Son’s sake.”
The mission was accomplished and affairs at Kirtland needed their attention after a month’s absence. The missionaries spent the next five autumn days on the road. Upon reaching Kirtland, Joseph added a final comment to the missionary journal: “Found my family all well according to the promise of the Lord, for which blessing I feel to thank his holy name. Amen.”
In his own words Joseph Smith not only provides details regarding a successful mission but also conveys his strong conviction about the truthfulness of his work. His hopes, worries, concerns for loved ones, disappointments, and successes all revolved around the Lord. Deep and genuine dependence upon Him in his daily affairs characterized this little-mentioned mission of the Prophet.

In early 2022, I was assigned to New Zealand’s Huntly, Waikato area. I’d been out on my mission for about a year by then, and was asked to train my companion, Elder Kafalava, who was brand new to the field.
One day, a recent convert named Brother Tengu wanted to do missionary work with us. I didn’t know much about Brother Tengu then, except that he’d only joined the Church four months earlier and he loved the Book of Mormon. We didn’t have any appointments that day, so we decided to knock on doors.
We found our way to the home of a certain man, a M?ori fella. He opened the door, and I thought he looked a bit—different. But we started talking to him, and at least he was talking to us.
He told us he didn’t believe in God. “I believe in soundwaves and frequencies,” he said and then showed us a range of musical instruments he’d carved and strung together into a necklace of sorts.
After a while I was discouraged, thinking, “Man, this isn’t going anywhere.” But Elder Kafalava continued talking to the man at the door as Brother Tengu stood nearby, holding a copy of the Book of Mormon.
All of a sudden, I received a powerful prompting to perform the haka for this man. “Give him the haka?” I laughed to myself. “There is no way I’m doing that!” But I couldn’t fight the impression, so I asked the man, “Hey. Do you mind if I give you the haka?”
After some hesitation, the man was amused. “Okay then. Go for it, Bro. Sure!”
“Just before I give you this haka,” I said, “let me tell you what it means.” I explained that it is our mission haka, that it reminds us why we preach the gospel. It describes missionaries as warriors of light, protected by the power of God as we share the sacred message of eternal life.
After I recited its English translation, I launched into it . . . and then there I was, all by myself on that porch—this white guy from Salt Lake City, Utah—fervently grabbing the sky and pulling it down to my chest as I performed our mission haka for a M?ori stranger.
I’m sure the neighbours were wondering what was going on. Elder Kafalava was too new to know this haka, so he provided moral support, but as I continued to pound my thighs and chant, I saw that Brother Tengu was now holding his Book of Mormon out—arm awkwardly extended, straight ahead—towards the man at the door.
I looked at our recent convert, thinking, “What are you doing? You’re ruining my haka.” Then I noticed how mesmerised the man at the door was, not by me, but by the Book of Mormon.
Sure enough, when I finished the haka, the man gestured and said, “So, what’s this book?” Brother Tengu proceeded to bear his powerful testimony. He talked about the oppressive darkness that once enfolded him so fully that he even considered taking his own life. He talked about the pivotal moment when a friend at school asked him if he’d like to meet the missionaries.
Brother Tengu expressed gratitude for those missionaries, but said it was the Book of Mormon—which he was still holding out in front of him—that truly led him to light. He testified that the Book of Mormon answered every one of his questions, that it brought him peace. “It saved my life!” he said.
In awe, the man at the door extended his own arm forward and asked, “Can I touch it?” And then, with his hand on its cover, the man began to pray over the Book of Mormon.
We left that copy with him, and as we drove away, I marvelled at how strange this day had been. If nothing else came of this encounter, it would at least make a great journal entry!
When we visited him again a week later, the man called out to us, “Hey, I got a question for you brothers: How do I get baptised?”
I was in shock. It turns out, the man had read the entire book of Alma, and Alma talked a lot about baptism. And now, “I want to get baptised,” he said, “and I want you to baptise me.”
I think back in amazement at that experience. We were only instruments in God’s hands, following the promptings of the Holy Ghost to go knock on a door, to open our mouths and to give a man the haka.
In turn, he was inspired to read the Book of Mormon and was converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Book of Mormon is the true converter. It is what makes faith.
The man at the door was baptised two months later. He recently received the Aaronic Priesthood. This has been a testimony to me that conversion is a miracle.

A long line of cars and large trucks sped along the freeway through the steady rain, tires hissing on the wet pavement. Water squirting from under the wheels of the trucks formed a curtain behind each speeding colossus. Every time we passed one of those road giants, a streaming shower blocked our view.
Often, when a long line of cars was in front of us, we had to drive for minutes beside one of those enormous vehicles. Shivering with fear, my wife would look up at the monster that thundered along only a couple of meters away from us.
I grumbled to myself because we had left so late that I had to hurry in these dangerous weather conditions to arrive on time for our appointment.
Suddenly we heard a mysterious sound against the side of the car. It went “klack-klack-klack-klack,” sounding like the first four beats of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, of which the composer said, “That’s the way fate knocks at the door.” The sound repeated itself every so often.
I stopped the car in the emergency lane and inspected the tires and the body of the car. I could find nothing that could have caused this knocking sound, so we continued our trip. After several kilometers, we heard the same knocking sound. I stopped and inspected the car again. Nothing was to be found. But when I stopped a third time, I did discover something—a bump on one of the tires that slowly grew to the size of a coconut!
When the mechanic who came to change the tire inspected the inside of the tire, he whistled fearfully. Even though the tire had been new, it had a big tear in the canvas—a factory defect. “You couldn’t have driven another kilometer with this,” the man said. “The tire would have had a blowout.”
I shivered with the thought of what could have happened if we had had a blowout when we were driving next to one of those huge trucks. That day, I clearly felt the protecting power that we so often plead for in our daily prayers.
We are not wise people, just a simple couple striving to keep the covenants we made with Heavenly Father when we were married in the temple. We feel protected. Perhaps we are protected many more times than we even realize. Certainly, we believe that it was the hand of our Heavenly Father who saved us twice from misfortune.

“Hey, wake up,” someone says, poking you.
Groggily, you look at the clock next to your bed. It’s 6:30 a.m.? What’s going on? Wait, that’s not your clock. And this isn’t your bed. Where are you?
“Hey,” the voice says, “you’re the one who wanted to follow us around. It’s time to get the day started.”
As you peer up at the missionary standing over your bed, you finally remember what’s going on. Church magazines offered you the opportunity to follow a missionary companionship around for a day, and you jumped at the chance to see what missionary life is really like.
You just didn’t realize it would start this early.
“Hi, I’m Elder Jesse Ward, from Utah,” the tall missionary says as you sit up. “Welcome to Spain. This is my companion, Elder Pierrick Triplet.”
Elder Triplet is from France, and he isn’t learning just Spanish but English too. Despite the challenge of having to learn two languages at once, Elder Triplet is grateful to be on a mission.
“I’m a convert,” he says. “I’ve had a great change in my life, and I’d like others to have it too. A mission can be hard work, but seeing someone change his or her life is worth it.”
They’ve got your attention. You’ve always heard that a mission can be the best two years of your life. Today you get a chance to find out why.
6:41 a.m. After taking time to pray, the missionaries spend some time working out. Push-ups, sit-ups, even a little light weight lifting are the usual for Elder Ward. Breakfast follows a shower and shave. Cold cereal is a favorite.
8:07 a.m. Missionaries spend a good deal of time studying individually and as a companionship so they can obtain the word before declaring it (see D&C 11:21). After language study and personal scripture study, it’s time for companionship study using Preach My Gospel.
9:55 a.m. Missionaries dedicate a lot of time to planning, at the beginning of the day, throughout the day, and at the end of the day. They talk not just about what they’re going to do but about what each investigator needs.
Today the elders are talking about a man from France, an investigator they’re going to invite to be baptized.
“He’s worried,” Elder Triplet says. “He doesn’t feel worthy.”
“Let’s talk about repentance and how God remembers sins no more,” Elder Ward suggests after the companions think it over. “Why don’t you teach it in French to make sure he understands?”
The last thing the elders do before leaving is pray—again. This is one of many prayers they’ll offer today. Missionary work requires a lot of heavenly help. Then it’s out the door and off to the bus stop in a hurry.
11:09 a.m. Missionaries talk to anyone anywhere anytime about the gospel, because they never know who is going to be interested. While waiting for the bus, the missionaries chat with a young man and give him a pamphlet with their phone number on it.
11:21 a.m. A 10-minute bus ride and a short walk later, the missionaries arrive at a rented meetinghouse at the same time as their investigator. The meeting begins well, but the investigator’s concerns push the 45-minute lesson they had planned on to more than an hour.
“That was the most frustrating lesson I’ve ever been in,” Elder Triplet says afterward. “He likes the Church. He thinks it’s true. He wants to pay tithing. But he doesn’t believe he needs to be baptized again. He was a little argumentative.”
“He’s a great guy,” Elder Ward says, shaking his head. “Maybe he’ll be ready to talk about baptism next time.”
2:06 p.m. The missionaries jump on another bus, this time to El Casco, the historic quarter of Toledo, Spain. They stop by an investigator’s business to invite him to an activity that night.
“You can get lost in here really quick if you aren’t paying attention,” Elder Ward says of the maze of narrow streets lined with buildings that seem to lean over those walking below.
2:24 p.m. While navigating the tight streets, the missionaries stop to offer help to a woman carrying a heavy load. They spend a moment explaining who they are and what they do, but the woman isn’t interested.
2:47 p.m. It’s siesta time in Spain, so the missionaries catch a bus back to their apartment, or piso, for lunch. “Everything shuts down between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m.,” Elder Ward explains. “Some people get mad if you knock on their doors.”
“This is chorizo, or sausage,” Elder Triplet says poking at lunch. “It’s typical food. We eat a lot of noodles and chorizo because it’s cheap and easy to make.”
“The mission is great preparation for marriage,” Elder Ward laughs as he mixes his Kool-Aid. “You have to learn to get along, cook, clean, do laundry, budget, and take care of yourself.”
4:24 p.m. Back in El Casco, the missionaries meet with a counselor in the mission presidency about current activation efforts.
“This is a great area,” says Elder Ward, who explains that Church attendance has gone from about 15 to 80 members each week because one family set the example of fellowshipping.
4:59 p.m. The elders end up with a little unexpected free time on their hands, but missionaries are used to doing some planning on the fly. Their backup plan was to do some tracting.
5:42 p.m. In El Casco, where so many people live above street level, knocking on doors often means carrying on conversations with people on their balconies. And even in historic tourist towns, a missionary has to look out for dogs.
The elders have some success: “We found some great people,” Elder Ward says. “There were some youth from Paraguay. They invited us back tomorrow.” And some failure: “We had a half-hour conversation with one man,” Elder Triplet says. “It was like talking to a wall.”
7:45 p.m. Two buses later the elders make it to the activity they had planned with the sister missionaries who work in the same city, Sister Kathleen Bonifay and Sister Brittany Hofman.
The people they were expecting to come didn’t. “That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Elder Ward says. But after a little footwork, the missionaries are able to gather a handful of other investigators living nearby. After a hymn and a video, you can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost as the missionaries bear testimony of the Book of Mormon as another witness of Jesus Christ. The activity is a success.
“The Lord takes care of you when you put forth your best planning and best effort,” says Sister Bonifay.
9:13 p.m. After a hike to the bus stop, the elders and sisters have made it back to their respective apartments, where they’ll call their leaders, review the day and their long-range plans, and make plans for the next day.
“Well, this is what we do,” Elder Ward tells you. “It doesn’t change much.”
Elder Triplet laughs. “We are the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”
Things didn’t go exactly as the elders had planned, but the day went well anyway. They made some good contacts, pulled off a powerful activity, bore testimony of Christ, and did their best to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“I’ve heard people say these are the best two years of their lives,” Elder Triplet says. “The two years are great, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the best 730 days of my life. There are some days I thought would never end. But I have loved being a missionary.”
Elder Ward agrees. He has mixed emotions about leaving. “I always thought I’d be excited to go home,” he says. “But I see life differently now. I love my life. I’m a missionary. I’m speaking to people about Christ every day. Leaving will be bittersweet.”
You’ve enjoyed getting a taste of missionary work as well. As exciting as it is, missionary work can be exhausting. Now it’s time to get some rest and prepare yourself for your day as a missionary. It has a way of coming faster than you think.
Preach My Gospel is a part of every missionary’s day. You can get a copy at a distribution center or at www.ldscatalog.com.

My first attempt at doing recreational activities with my siblings was rough, to say the least. But a turning point for me was a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaves were every color, and the amusement park was fun, but moments of curt words, selfish actions, and teasing gone wrong often dampened the mood. Before we left, my sister and I hiked up a small hill and sat quietly as we listened to the nature around us. It was the first time in a while that we had sat without quarreling, quietly discussing the days ahead and our current struggles. The Spirit was present, bringing peace I had forgotten.
I started to try to go out of my way to talk to my siblings, ask them about their day, give them a hug—just be involved in their life. I helped my youngest, autistic brother with his homework. I helped my youngest sister make grammar flash cards and create silly rhymes to memorize the different parts of speech. On her next test she had improved by more than 20 points and received her highest test grade. The joy I felt from those moments was different and more profound than I had expected.
Being in a family can be hard, but in times likes those it is all worth it. Those little moments lead to ones of fun, games, and laughter; and I have felt a new unity in my family.
Emily C., age 17, North Carolina, USA

This sacred Easter morning, I’d like to share an experience that helped me understand how much we need Jesus Christ to guide us in our lives. I pray that the Holy Ghost will bear witness to you of the resurrected Christ and that our desire to follow Him will grow.
Several years ago, as a young lawyer, I was involved in resolving a border dispute between countries that had been at war. The work required me to travel on foot through remote areas that were part of the recent war zone. Thousands of land mines had been laid during the war. Expert deminers were there, working to deactivate the mines; however, to my surprise, not all locations of the mines were known. Consequently, on occasion people would accidentally step on them and be injured or killed.
To help me complete my work, I’d been provided a special guide named Winta. Winta was well known in the area. He was from a border town that had been attacked. He escaped and then volunteered to stay in the region throughout the war to observe the activities of the opposing army. He knew the terrain and what occurred during the war.
Because it was possible that some places I would travel had undetected mines, I was given the following instructions: Carefully follow your guide. Winta knows this border area from personal experience. Walk in his footsteps a few paces behind him. Where he goes, you go. Where he steps, you step. I was literally to follow in Winta’s footsteps.
For several days I followed Winta through many areas in the border region. At first I felt uncertain and apprehensive, hiking at times in abandoned trenches, destroyed villages, and other areas where the armies had been. The more we walked together and I remained safe, the more my confidence grew. Thanks to Winta, I completed my work without harm and safely returned home. As I followed in his footsteps, walking with my guide, I developed great trust and gratitude for him.

I was flying to Iowa a year ago and sat down by the side of a young college student who had been going to Utah State University. I asked him how he liked it and he said, “I just love it.” I asked him why, and he said it was because of the people there. I got his name and address and asked him if it would be okay for two young missionaries to come by to see him. Six months later, I got a letter from the missionaries saying that they were baptizing him, his three brothers and sisters, and his parents that week.

When my parents visited other wards for their Church service, they weren’t home on Sundays. Yet, even when we were alone, my brothers and sisters and I would get ourselves to church. We knew that we were expected to take the sacrament and do our part. People in the ward would ask my mother how she got us to go to church by ourselves. She would reply, “They just get up and go because that’s what they’re expected to do.”

I remember the first time Jenni walked into my seminary class and said hi to me. She had a very difficult time speaking, her words were slurred and hard to understand, and she limped and hobbled as she tried to make her legs carry her frail body toward her desk. During Jenni’s first week of “mainstreaming” in my class, she seemed content to be mostly ignored by her classmates, who appeared to be struggling to figure out how to interact with her.
Jenni would try to speak, and very few students could understand her. She had a difficult time keeping her nose wiped, and sometimes she would drool and soil her shirt. The students in my classroom were unaccustomed to the needs and actions of someone like Jenni, so most of them distanced themselves from her both physically and socially and, as a result, proceeded to politely ignore her.
However, they weren’t aware that inside Jenni’s deformed body was a keen mind, a heart of gold, and an indomitable spirit crying out to be heard, to be understood, to be accepted, and to be loved. She wouldn’t be ignored, politely or otherwise.
I’ll never forget the day when Jenni asked me if she could say something to the class. I wondered what she wanted to say to everyone, but I never expected her to deliver the message she did.
“I neeeeed a frrriennnd,” she stuttered. “I neeeeeeeed sommeonne toooo ssiitt bbyy mmee attt lllunnch.”
As she finished her last word, a hush settled over the class. Jenni stood erect and, rather than doing the socially acceptable thing and taking her seat, she waited for a volunteer. Finally, from the back of the classroom, Treasure raised her hand and said, “I’ll be your friend, Jenni.” Jenni responded by asking, “And sit by me at lunch?”
Treasure responded, “And sit by you at lunch.”
“Every day?” asked Jenni.
“Every day,” answered Treasure.
This conversation relieved the class but also gave Treasure’s friend Wendy the confidence to raise her hand and tell Jenni that she would also be her friend and sit by her at lunch every day. The “miracle of Jenni” had begun!
The next day Treasure and Wendy sat by Jenni at lunch and then helped her through the school parking lot to the seminary building. I noticed as the days turned into weeks that Treasure and Wendy began to translate Jenni’s words when we couldn’t understand her.
As the students began to see what a beautiful, intelligent person Jenni was, they began to invite her to activities, to pick her up, to help her with her difficulties. On one occasion, Jenni excitedly told me she had a date with a young man named Kurt. “He’s so cute!” she told me. This led to other dates, more recognition, and more fun.
Often during class when someone would be sharing their feelings and begin to weep, Jenni would, unannounced, get up and walk over to this person and put her arm around them and hold them. This would touch the class, and soon we would all be weeping. Jenni would often bear her testimony to the class. She would express her gratitude for her many blessings, especially her family, and then share her firm conviction of Jesus Christ.
The months turned into years, and soon it was time for Jenni to graduate from seminary. I remember the love I felt for her as she awkwardly walked up to receive her diploma, and I realized all over again how she had blessed my life. As the ceremony and the meeting ended, I encountered Jenni’s mother at the back of the chapel. As we talked, her eyes watered as she said something like this: “You’ll never know what you’ve done for my little girl.”
I replied, “Oh, not me. Look around,” as I pointed to Jenni’s classmates. “They’re the ones.”
Jenni’s classmates helped her realize what a wonderful person she is. They’re the ones who included her in their circle of friends and helped her feel like she belonged; they’re the ones who saw through her handicap to the special needs of her heart—a young woman wanting to be accepted and understood; they’re the ones who came to see into the beauty of her soul; the ones who helped perform a modern-day miracle—the miracle of Jenni.

For a number of years, one of my very favorite BYU assignments was teaching a late-summer honors class in international relations. I wanted the class to grapple with real international issues, so I gave the students challenging case studies and small-group assignments.

One day the class said, “Professor Gong, we didn’t finish our assignment until 3 a.m. this morning.”

I felt terrible. Then I thought to ask, “What time did you begin your assignment?”

The class said, “Well, first we had to get something to eat. Then we were having so much fun in our small groups that we didn’t begin our assignment until 2 a.m.”

I didn’t feel so bad after that.

It is my father who first taught me this truth. In fact, this statement “People Count, Things Don’t” has been part of our family mission statement since 1975. It is a saying I have heard all my life. I’ve heard family friends refer to it, we even had a framed cross-stitching of this saying in our living room. It sat right next to the “Do it” quote by President Kimball.

Ever since I can remember until I was a junior in college, my dad was serving in either the bishopric or the stake presidency.

My dad not only told me that people count, he showed me by making feel that I count. Despite all his responsibilities at work and at church, he never missed any of our sports games. We always held family home evening and he was available to take us on campouts, mud-sliding in the mountains, to cheer on the Red Raiders at football games, and to beat us at tennis or a game of Pit. It never dawned on me that he might be too busy for those things because he always made the time.

But most importantly, it is how he reacted to our mistakes that taught me he really lived and believed this principle. One of my earliest memories of this was the time my brother and I left the house after everyone was asleep so we could play in a yard down the street that was decorated for Christmas with large Sesame Street characters. I was 4 or 5 years old and my brother was 6 or 7. He woke me up and asked if I wanted to go to Sesame Street, and I couldn’t pass it up so we went!! Later we were startled to hear the voice of my father talking and laughing with others. He had been at mutual at the chapel and was walking home. My brother and I quickly hid behind the characters, but then I popped my head out and yelled, “Hi daddy!” revealing us. My dad was surprised to see his young children out alone, but I never knew that until much later. What I do remember is that he seemed so happy to see us and walk us home. I didn’t even realize that I should probably get in trouble for visiting Sesame Street that late at night without permission, because what my dad made me feel was loved. That’s what I remember.