Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Bradley H. Clark
For a couple of years, I visit taught a neighbor and friend named Sister Morgan. She was a few decades my senior, so I learned as much from her and her life as she did from my visiting teaching messages.
While I was her visiting teacher, Sister Morgan was diagnosed with cancer. I marveled at how bravely she endured her medical treatments and how she almost always had a smile on her face.
During one of my visits, she mentioned that the following day was her wedding anniversary. Our conversation soon led to other things, and our visit ended.
The next afternoon I felt prompted to take what I was cooking for dinner to Sister Morgan and her husband for their anniversary. At first I ignored the prompting because I was cooking an ordinary weekday meal. Surely such simple food would not do justice to such a special occasion.
But the prompting would not leave me. I called my husband at work, hoping he would agree that the idea was a bad one. Instead, he encouraged me to call Sister Morgan and tell her I was bringing over dinner.
Embarrassment over my simple meal and what I thought was presumptive behavior on my part kept me from calling my friend, but I could not shake the feeling that I should share my dinner. So I put the food on a serving dish and nervously walked across the street.
As I entered their yard, I found Brother and Sister Morgan getting into their car. I announced that I had brought dinner for their anniversary and that I hoped they didn’t mind.
A smile spread over Sister Morgan’s face. She explained that they had resigned themselves to celebrating their anniversary at a local fast-food restaurant because her cancer treatments left her too tired to cook or go anywhere else. She looked relieved to be able to stay home for dinner.
A sense of relief and happiness washed over me as they accepted my simple meal.
Not more than two months later, just as Sister Morgan had completed her cancer treatments, her dear husband passed away from a sudden illness. Their anniversary just weeks before was their last.
I learned a great deal that summer about following the Spirit’s still, small voice in serving others. The service we are asked—or prompted—to give may be uncomfortable, inconvenient, or simple in our eyes, but it may be just what is needed. This experience gave me courage to serve in any capacity the Lord needs me, and it increased my faith to do “the errand of angels” (“As Sisters in Zion,” Hymns, no. 309).

My son Dallin has always loved reptiles. I, on the other hand, have never liked them. He was allowed to own a reptile on the condition that whatever he chose was able to fit in the hose of a vacuum, just in case it got out of its cage while he was at school. We went through several options, from frogs to iguanas, before settling on two velvety leopard geckos named Fuzz and Diane.

Dallin’s new buddies joined our family when he was seven years old. One aspect of owning geckos that I did not anticipate was the need to feed them crickets—live crickets—once a week. For years Dallin and I made “cricket runs.” They were rarely convenient, usually happening late at night while trying to beat the clock before the pet store closed.

Diane only lived for three years, but Fuzz lived for many years, healthy and happy. Toward the end of Dallin’s senior year in high school, he was assigned to give a demonstration for his public speaking class. He prodded my husband and me for ideas. We suggested he discuss leopard geckos because he already knew so much about them and could bring Fuzz in as a prop. Dallin then told us that Fuzz had died.

“Are you serious? When did he die?” I asked in disbelief.

Dallin told us that Fuzz had died a week before.

“He’s in my room, but don’t worry. He won’t stink. He’s double-bagged.”

After seeing our astonishment, Dallin explained, “I’m doing an experiment—I want to watch him decay.”

Dallin’s experiment turned out to be more than watching him decay. He would stall the process by putting Fuzz in the freezer for a couple of weeks and then bring him out to thaw and decay some more.

A year later, when Dallin was on his mission, I was cleaning out the freezer and found Fuzz, still double-bagged, in the back. Since I was preparing a package to send to Dallin, I thought it would be funny to pass on his little experiment. I carefully put Fuzz in a box, wrapped it in beautiful black and white polka-dot paper, and tucked it neatly into Dallin’s care package with a note that read, “There is a surprise in your package.” Then I anxiously waited for his response.

“I’ve thought about that gecko since getting it back,” he wrote. “Not so much about the actual gecko, but about all of the time spent on car rides every week to get crickets and run other errands, listening to your ideas, stories, and your testimony while in the car. It was a good excuse to have to go and get to talk to you (not that I talked much, but I did listen).”

Buying crickets. Who knew? As parents we can’t always plan the timing of our influence. It often just happens. It may be when we are tucking our kids in bed at night, riding a ski lift together, or just running errands in the car. We have to take time to be with our children.

For some time, my former college roommates had been trying to get everyone together for a reunion. I kept telling them I was too busy. I had seven children and a husband deployed in Afghanistan.
The reunion was rescheduled several times until, in November 2018, my mom and mother-in-law convinced me to go and said they would watch the children. My former roommates and I rented a condo, ate snacks, stayed up late, and had a great time visiting.
The next morning, my mom called and said two army officers had come to my home and needed to talk to me face-to-face. I tried not to panic. Later that day, I met the officers at the same National Guard headquarters where my husband, Brent, had enlisted when we were a newly engaged couple. That’s where the officers told me he had been killed.
In that moment, I knew that every detail of my life had changed. I immediately felt lost and anxious about the future. The world felt like a foreign place, especially during the first few hours after I heard the news. I had no idea what to do. For 15 years, my whole world was being Brent’s wife. Now that world had been stripped away.
I met Brent during a blind date while we attended Brigham Young University. From the beginning of our relationship, we talked a lot about our shared patriotism. He enlisted in June 2003, three days after proposing to me.
Three months after we were married on September 18, 2003, Brent left for basic training. Once he returned the following November, we started having children. By the time we were expecting our second baby, he was preparing for his first deployment. He did two consecutive tours from 2007 to 2008 in Iraq.
In 2009, Brent got involved in politics. He ran for the city council in North Ogden, Utah, and won. Halfway through that four-year council seat, he was again deployed to Afghanistan for a year.
After Brent returned, he ran for, and was elected, mayor. As he was running for reelection four years later, we learned that he was being deployed yet again. At the time, I was pregnant with our seventh child. Despite the difficulty of leaving his family and office behind, Brent answered the call. He left in January 2018 for another yearlong deployment.
The day after I learned that Brent had been killed, one of my former bishops gave me a blessing that changed my perspective. In his blessing, he said that my purpose as a wife, mother, and daughter of God had not changed. Then he promised that Brent’s purpose as my husband and our children’s father had not changed either.
After the blessing, I remember chanting in my mind: “My purpose has not changed. My purpose has not changed.”
The next morning, as I repeated those words to myself, a phrase came into my mind: “Only the details have changed.” And as I tried to accept the fact that the details of my life had changed from what I thought they would be, another impression came: “God is in the details.”
The Lord was giving me line-upon-line revelation. When He does this, it’s not because He is keeping secrets from us. It’s because He is going at our pace.
In the months after Brent died, I was anxious about what would come next. But I knew that I could take one step forward at a time and that I could trust that the Lord would give me one line of revelation at a time. It might not be the line I thought He was going to give me, so I had to keep making a conscious choice to trust Him with the details of my life.
While on my mission, I served in a ward that needed a bishop. Stake leaders were looking for someone who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, paid his tithing, and had a supportive wife. Leaders considered one worthy priesthood holder, but his wife did not say yes to the calling.
Because of that experience, I promised the Lord that I would never get in the way of what He needed my future husband to do. I promised to always support him in his calling. I’m grateful I didn’t know the future. I don’t know what I would have done if––when I was making that promise––the Lord had said, “That’s a great promise to make because I need your husband to die for his country.”
I thought I was going to be a bishop’s wife. Instead, I became the wife of a worthy priesthood holder who answered the call to serve and sacrifice in a way I had not imagined.
The Lord has made it clear that the priesthood power of my temple sealing to Brent is still available to me. I have felt the power of our marriage covenant sustain me physically. I miss him so much, but I know that with him on the other side of the veil, I can move forward.
Brent is still supporting me. I feel that I’ve inherited many of his strengths. I’m no longer just me, and I’m certainly not him. Rather, I feel that I am both of us. To me, this is a testament of our marriage covenant.
When the world feels in chaos, we have to remember that our covenants are our constant.
I have learned from this experience that there is a beautiful power in letting people help us. It can be a humbling experience, but it blesses both those serving and those being served. We need to let others help us.
“When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God,” King Benjamin taught (Mosiah 2:17). This scripture is also true in reverse. When you are served by your fellow beings, you are being served by the Lord.
Sometimes we worry too much about what we can do or say to help someone. After Brent died, people who just showed up were the most helpful. They weren’t pushy, they paid attention, and they saw a need.
If you feel prompted to serve, don’t overthink it. Show up. Drop off a quick note. Don’t worry that your efforts aren’t perfect. Help anyway. Even if you say or do the wrong thing, those you serve will know that you meant, “I love you.”
We can all do better at letting people serve us imperfectly.
Faith starts as a choice. Sometimes we might not see or feel the Lord in difficult times. In those moments when I don’t feel Him, I make a conscious choice. I choose to trust Him. I choose to be happy. I choose to let people help. I choose to ask for help. I choose to let the peace of the gospel guide me. It’s hard, but we have to make these choices. The Lord encourages us to make them, but He never forces us to.
It’s difficult to say that this tragedy has been a blessing. I hate being blessed by tragedy, but I have been. We might say we want the blessings and no trials, but that’s not how mortality works. “For after much tribulation come the blessings” (Doctrine and Covenants 58:4). For me, the Lord has taken this horrible tragedy and turned it into something beautiful.
I had less time with Brent than I thought I would have, but I know that the Lord is not going to shortchange us eternally in any way. I don’t know how, because I don’t have His knowledge and wisdom, but I know that His promises are sure.

I’m so hungry!
Me too. Let’s stop here.
Hmm. I’ll just have a snack at home.
Want one? Here.
Oh, I didn’t see you pay for it.
Oh … uh … I didn’t. I just took it. Some of the other kids take stuff all the time.
I can’t take this. I wouldn’t feel good about it.
I don’t really feel that good about it either.
I think I know what will make us both feel better.
You were right. I feel a lot better after taking it back.
Me too. It always feels good to do the right thing.

Illustration by Greg Newbold
A couple of months ago, I was talking to a friend about some struggles in my life. She was kind and listened to me, but after I told her everything, she asked me three questions: “Are you reading your scriptures daily?” I said no. “Are you praying daily?” I said no. She told me this was part of my problem and challenged me to read the Book of Mormon with an open heart and to pray about my questions before I read. I accepted her invitation to read and pray every day. Then she asked her third question.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I finally said, “I see a naïve, lost boy.” That’s what I thought I saw, but she said I was wrong.
Every day for the next few weeks, I thought about that question. It bothered me that she said I was wrong. About what? I realized that I could figure it out if I had regular scripture study with meaningful prayer. It took me a while to establish a schedule where I was reading and praying on most days of the week, but I did.
A few weeks later, some thoughts came to me while I was mowing the lawn. They taught me about the real person I see in the mirror:
I see a young man who decided to come to this earth to face the fiercest evils and the darkest nights. I see a son of God, a child of Heavenly Father. I see a disciple of Jesus Christ, who will always help His followers. I see a young man with family and friends who will stand beside him.
I may feel lost and confused sometimes, but I don’t have to live life alone. Satan may try his hardest to succeed, but in the end he will fail. And in the end, I can see myself walking up to Heavenly Father and hearing Him say, “You have served me well, my son. Welcome home.”
When I had these thoughts, I immediately pulled out my phone and recorded what I’d felt, because I thought I’d forget by the time I found a pencil and paper. For the rest of the day, I couldn’t help but smile.
I told my friend what I had found out, and she was happy I had found the answer. I now understand my relationship with Heavenly Father and know that I never have to be alone.

At the time of my birth, the clouds of war had overshadowed Europe and were sweeping across the English Channel to the British coastline. My father, like thousands of other men of his generation, was required to report for active military service. My elder brother and I were shielded from the turmoil and fear that surrounded us by a mother who compensated for the absence of our father, involving us in a variety of activities. From this I learned that when fathers are absent, mothers can be the recipients of compensatory blessings. I have fond memories of those days and recall her speaking of her beloved companion as she received letters from him, without my fully understanding who he was or what he was doing.
My first recollection of meeting my father occurred when I was five years old. A telegram was delivered to our home. My mother stood with the gold-colored envelope in her hand, making no attempt to open it. I did not realize then as I do now the reason why, and the message it could have contained. Eventually, and with great difficulty, she fumbled with the flap of the envelope. This seemed to take a long time. Even when the telegram was opened and Mother read its contents, there was no immediate response. Finally, raising the telegram high above her head, my mother joyfully exclaimed, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home!”
My father’s parents lived in the adjoining house. Mother, holding the telegram high in the air and with a skipping step, set out in the direction of my grandparents’ home, shouting, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home!” My brother, following close behind, shouted, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home!” I brought up the rear, also shouting, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home! Who’s Dad?”
The next morning when I awoke, there was a man sitting on the edge of my bed holding a leather soccer ball from Italy. He asked if my brother and I would like to play soccer with him. Cautiously I agreed, and we went to an area of grassland near our home, where we played together. This was the beginning of my father’s continuing influence in my life. I wanted to spend every moment that I could in his company.
We lived, like many others in those war-torn years, in humble circumstances. Our home was modestly furnished. Dad had many skills and used them to beautify the home. He raised the Anderson air-raid shelter located in our garden to ground level and made it his workshop. He spent many hours there repairing shoes and making items of furniture for the home. I would wander into this workshop and watch him. Just to be in his presence was a thrill for me. He invited me to help him by passing a hammer, a screwdriver, or some other tool. I was convinced that my help was necessary and that without me he would not be able to complete his task. He used a variety of pieces of wood, obtained from different sources and considered by others to be unsuitable for any practical use, and from them created items of great beauty and worth for our family. As he worked he played a game with me, inviting me to determine what he was making. I was seldom able to do so until the components were completed and the object assembled. Then I would declare with great excitement, “It’s a bookcase!” or “a table!” and wonder at his ability to create so much from so little.
As I look back and reflect upon those wonderful memories, I realize that my contribution was not necessary for my father to complete the work he was engaged in. I was the beneficiary, as through these experiences I came to know him and to love him.

If you’ve ever wished somebody would make a movie from a Jack Weyland story, your wish has come true. The youth and leaders of the Cypress California Stake have turned Brother Weyland’s story “The Award,” published in the November 1979 New Era, into an exciting video production that has touched the hearts of many thousands of viewers with its special magic.
“The Award” is the story of several high school football stars who decide to reward the ugliest girl in their school with a corsage and a poem extolling her ugliness. They assign Kevin, the only Latter-day Saint on the team, to deliver the “award.” When Kevin reads the poem to his girl friend, Colleen, she begs him not to go through with the cruel joke, but he is afraid of losing his friends if he backs out. Before he can deliver the award, however, he has an opportunity to meet Mary Beth, the “ugly girl,” and discovers that she is really an outstanding person who donates much of her time to helping handicapped children.
Kevin and Colleen decide to go ahead and give Mary Beth an award, but they change it from a cruel put-down to a tribute for her acts of service. When the rest of the football team discovers the change, things become interesting.
Eventually, they too have a chance to meet the real Mary Beth. Some of them, led by the fullback, are unimpressed. “There are winners, and there are losers,” he says. “We’re the winners, and the girls we date are winners. The rest are all losers.”
But Craig, the quarterback, says, “We pick the person in school who everybody agrees is a loser, but then she turns out to be okay once we get to know her. … What if every one of them turns out to be special in some way?”
The video has been seen in many seminary classes and firesides, and it has changed people’s lives. “I thought about it all day long, and I saw people differently,” a ninth-grade student said. A local seminary teacher said that the video was the best visual aid she had used in seminary all year. Another seminary teacher says that her students now refer to Matthew 25:40 [Matt. 25:40] (“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me”) as “the Mary Beth scripture.”
Group W Cable TV of Buena Park was so impressed that it is airing The Award on 15 of its community networks in southern California. Representatives of other religions have asked permission to use it with their own congregations. Chuck Coronado, a city councilman who is not LDS, has said, “We are going to give it as much exposure as we can.”
For the cast, it was a learning experience, not only in film production, but in compassion.
Cheryl Pence, who plays the part of Mary Beth, is a senior in computer science at the University of California at Irvine. She is most definitely not ugly. In fact, she is downright pretty. But her performance in the play gives chilling evidence of how stooped shoulders, downcast eyes, and a frightened expression can transform even a pretty girl into a drab shadow of herself. “It has been difficult at times to play the role of ‘the ugliest girl in school,’” she says. “If you’re not careful it can start influencing the way you see yourself. It must be devastating to suffer from that kind of a label in real life.” Back to her attractive self again after the shooting, Cheryl is not even recognized by most people as Mary Beth, but her alter ego has had a profound effect on her. “Being in the video has given me a greater appreciation for my fellowman and made me more thoughtful of others.”

A four-year-old Brazilian girl, Mayara Fernanda Dos Santos, suffering from leukemia with oxygen going into her nose from a tube, was blessed in 1996 by Elder Claudio Costa and myself in Curitiba, Brazil. After the blessing, little Mayara smilingly wiped a tear from her anxious mother’s cheek. Instinctively wise beyond her years, Mayara knows how to “comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9), including her precious parents.

Many students in the United States recite the Pledge of Allegiance out of habit, but Daniel Harmer took it seriously when his school in Idaho did not recite the pledge or observe a moment of silence; his previous school in Texas had done this every day. He wrote a letter to his student council, a local newspaper, and his principal. He suggested the pledge and a moment of quiet reflection every morning could create an atmosphere in which students would respect each other and their country more. Daniel’s high school has put his suggestion into practice, and his efforts were even recognized by Idaho’s governor.

Growing up in my family, we lived as devout members of another Christian faith. I was baptized a member of that church shortly after my birth. Our family went to church each week. For many years my brothers and I assisted the pastors who conducted our Sunday services. I was taught the importance of family prayer as our family prayed together each day. I thought that someday I would enter the full-time ministry in my church. There was no question in our minds that we could define ourselves as devout Christians.
When I was a university student, however, I became acquainted with the members and teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Christian faith centered on the Savior. I began to learn about the doctrine of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ in these latter days. I learned truths that I had not known before that changed my life and how I viewed the gospel. After much studying, prayer, and faith, I chose to embrace beautiful restored truths found only in this Church.

Several years ago, a young man in Michigan fell in love with an LDS girl. He was told forthrightly and with great love that she wanted the power of the priesthood in her home and the blessings of an eternal family, and she would marry only someone who could give her those blessings. The teachings she had received had taken root, and the seeds of faith, knowledge, and choice had grown, and she knew that they were true.
The young man felt her spirit and agreed to be taught the gospel. But after he had learned that the gospel was true, his father would not approve his baptism. A great shepherd, a bishop of the young girl, went to the father and helped him to see the value of that young woman, her standards, the Church, and the truly important things in life. The father was touched that day as he attended the baptism and saw about twenty young men and women of the Church. Following the service, he asked that the missionaries come teach him.
A young woman had taken on the divine nature and was able to share the priceless truths with others. I invite all to seek the blessings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord and His church will bless you and your families—even into eternity.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered, and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me through the village and directly against the face of a perpendicular solid-rock cliff. That’s strange, thought I. I’ve never seen that here before, and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid-rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toehold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“Why has this experience come to me? I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

The youth of the Salem Oregon East Stake really cleaned up at a local 4-H outdoor camp. Heavy winter storms had toppled some trees and torn hundreds of smaller branches from others. The stake youth council decided that cleaning the camp would be a good service project.
The date was set, and come rain or shine, the stake youth were invited to help. One hundred and fourteen showed up to clean the cabins and lodge—inside and out. Trails were cleared, downed trees were cut up for firewood, fences were repaired, and windows were cleaned.
After a hard day’s work, the young people relaxed over dinner and games. The 4-H people were grateful for the help, and the youth felt they had made some new friends.

When I got home from school there was a tornado watch, and I cried because I was scared. I felt that I should pray for the people near the tornadoes, and for the tornadoes to stop coming our way. I still didn’t feel better. Then my mom told me to pray, so I prayed in my mind that I would feel better. A little bit later my tears went away. When my dad came home, we watched the news and there were no tornadoes coming our way.

One stormy winter day, President Spencer W. Kimball was at an airport in Chicago. A bad storm had caused thousands of people to be stranded or delayed. One young woman was standing in a long line. She was going to have a baby soon, and she was sick and very, very tired.
She had a two-year-old child, who was sitting on the dirty floor. Because her doctor had warned her that she must not bend over and pick up anything heavy, all the woman could do as the line slowly moved forward was push her crying, hungry child with her foot.
Other people who saw her only made nasty remarks, but President Kimball smiled at her and said, “You need help. Let me help you.”
He picked up the little girl, soothed her, and gave her a piece of gum. He talked to the people in line about how the woman needed help. He talked to the ticket agent, too, and the woman was soon checked in. He found a place where she and her little girl could be comfortable until they could get on their plane. Then he quietly left.

Age 16. From Santa Ana, Argentina. Likes reading, listening to music, and writing poetry.
A little while ago, I started visiting my local library and noticed that it wasn’t in great condition. The librarian is an older woman, and people don’t always take great care of the books they check out.
I am a Young Women class president in my branch, and some of the young women and I went to the library on a Saturday to organize one of the bookshelves. We put books people hadn’t checked out in a while in boxes to be donated. Then we organized the rest of the books alphabetically.
The librarian was very grateful for our help. She even brought us yummy pastries called criollitos. I think our service helped improve her perception of the Church.
There are still a lot of other shelves to organize, so I decided to submit my project to JustServe. Now people in my city can find the project on JustServe and volunteer to help.
The scriptures say that Jesus Christ went about doing good (see Acts 10:38). Maybe my project didn’t have a huge impact on the world, but for the librarian and people who come to the library, it made a difference.
“For the librarian and people who come to the library, it made a difference.”

Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for 18 months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona Mission.

Following his RAF service, Elder Kearon’s father went to work as a defense contractor in Saudi Arabia. Patrick, as a seven-year-old boy, learned an important lesson there in obedience, memorably recounted in his first general conference talk as a General Authority. Ignoring his parents’ instructions to wear shoes during a desert camping trip, he went exploring in “flip-flops” and suffered a scorpion sting in the arch of his foot.

I thought of a recent family home evening lesson on baptism. Dad opened his scriptures to the Doctrine and Covenants and read, “And this is my gospel—repentance and baptism by water, and then cometh the baptism of fire and the Holy Ghost, even the Comforter, which showeth all things, and teacheth the peaceable things of the kingdom” (D&C 39:6).
“The Holy Ghost speaks to us in a still, small voice,” Dad explained. “And if we obey Heavenly Father’s commandments and listen to that voice, we will be happy.”
Inside the church, I changed into a white jumpsuit, and Mom put my hair in a braid so it wouldn’t float to the top of the water. Then we took our seats for the baptismal service. Everyone sat quietly while Sister Larsen played hymns and Primary songs on the piano. Even my baby sister sat still. After the opening prayer, my big brother Preston and Grandpa Larsen sang my favorite Primary song, “I Am a Child of God.”* As I sang I knew that Heavenly Father loves me. I was grateful that He blessed me with a family that loves me.
When it was Grandpa Ochsenhirt’s turn to give his talk, he spoke directly to me. “The Holy Ghost will help you learn what is right and wrong so that you can make the right choices,” he said. “He will also give you the strength to choose the right. And if you try to keep Heavenly Father’s commandments, the Holy Ghost will be with you as a constant companion.”
That made me think about school. Schoolwork is hard for me, and I get frustrated because I have to try harder than other students. Some of my classmates tease me when I don’t do well on tests, and I want to say mean things back. And since I don’t like being teased, sometimes I’m tempted to look at my friend’s paper and get the right answers. Could the Holy Ghost help me handle school better?
When it was time for me to be baptized, I walked down the stairs to meet my dad in the baptismal font. My heart felt large and warm. I glanced at Mom and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Dad smiled at me, hugged me, and helped me stand the way he had shown me. Then he said the simple prayer and lowered me under the water. Afterward, Mom met me at the top of the stairs with a towel. She wrapped it around me and squeezed me tight.
“I have a great feeling inside, Mom,” I said.
She hugged me again. “That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you’re doing the right thing.”
After I changed out of my wet clothes, the men in the family who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood laid their hands on my head. They confirmed me a member of the Church and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I seemed to be surrounded by a peaceful glow.
For many weeks I felt clean and happy. I loved talking about my baptism and how my heart seemed to be growing. My family and Primary teacher reminded me often that the Holy Ghost would help me know what was right and wrong.
A few days ago I had to take a test in school, and I was really nervous. I kept thinking how easy it would be to copy from the girl sitting next to me. I knew that cheating was wrong, but I was desperate to get a good score. Then I remembered that the Holy Ghost would help me. I said a prayer in my heart asking for strength to make the right choice.
The rest of the day, I felt as happy as I had at my baptism. After school, I ran to our car and gave Mom a hug. “I got 100 percent on my test!” I exclaimed.
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“And I didn’t even cheat.”
Mom frowned. “You wanted to cheat?”
“Well, I thought about it,” I admitted. “But I had a feeling inside that it was wrong. So I prayed for help and just tried my best.”
Mom smiled. “I’m glad you listened to that feeling.”
I’m glad too. Really glad. I always want to be worthy of my companion—the Holy Ghost.

Because World War II was just over, I was very happy. We had recently married and our first-born child had arrived. I love my husband very much and felt myself growing in the warmth of his love for me. Then, in the fall of 1946, a drastic change occurred. My husband came home, beaming, and told me that he had found a treasure more precious than all others—the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I was miserable. I would not listen to his explanations. When he was baptized on 7 January 1947, I felt that an impassable gulf had opened between us. The next nine months were almost unendurable.
Then, one morning, I woke up particularly unhappy. Somehow I knew that I had been wrong, that my husband had been telling me the truth, and that I must join his church. Despite my confusion, I knew I must be baptized, and on 8 November 1947, my husband brought me into a new life. It was the happiest day of my life, filled with a joy I cannot describe.