Some people cross your path for a moment, others for a season, but all of them leave something behind. Peter M. Johnson is one of those mentors who has shaped my life.
The first time I met Peter M. Johnson was August 8th, 2021, the day I arrived in the mission field. He had this big, warm smile like most mission presidents carry, and I figured he cared about every new missionary who came in. What I didn’t realize at the time was just how deeply he cared for each individual missionary in his stewardship.
During my first few weeks there, I struggled. My companion was fine, but I didn’t feel connected to him. I didn’t feel supported either. I felt like I had been thrown into the deep end with someone who already knew how to swim while I was still figuring out how to stay afloat. Eventually, that led to a call with President Johnson.
In that moment, I didn’t feel understood. I tried explaining how difficult social media finding was for me. I remember telling him, “I feel like a bot. I could go home and write a script that sends out all these messages and that would be the end of it.” He tried to comfort me, but I wasn’t really open to it. I felt alone, and at the time it seemed like he couldn’t quite see the weight I was carrying.
But later, after I had returned home, I learned something that reframed that whole experience. That one call, that one frustrated comment, became a teaching moment he used to help other missionaries. In every social media training with the technology missionaries, he would remind them: we don’t want missionaries to feel like robots.
At my first mission reunion, he brought it up again and reminisced about that conversation. I was honestly taken aback. For me, that moment was painful. But as time passed, I started to see it differently. That experience ended up shaping how I approached the work, and it also helped others avoid feeling the same sense of isolation. What once felt like a low point became something meaningful for me and for those who came after.
From those early rocky interactions, things began to shift. On September 2nd, 2021, my district had a council with President Johnson, and he shared three stories that stayed with me: a story about his own mission, a missed chance to sit with the prophet, and the unexpected path that led him to become a General Authority.
Story 1 - The Power of Simple Words
“About four months into my mission,” he began, “I was looking for an escape hatch.”
The way he said it wasn’t dramatic; it was honest. He was exhausted, discouraged, and quietly planning how he might go home without making a scene.
His companion noticed something was wrong. Not because of a confession or a breakdown; just through the small things: the silence, the heaviness, the way President Johnson moved through the day. But instead of forcing a conversation, prying, or demanding an explanation, his companion chose a different approach.
Every night, just as they were settling in, he would say,
“I love you, Elder Johnson.”
At first, it barely registered. President Johnson told us he almost rolled his eyes the first few nights. He doesn't mean that. He’s just saying it.
But his companion didn’t stop.
Night after night, the same phrase, same tone, same gentle insistence.
Two weeks passed.
One evening, the phone rang for call-ins. A sister missionary asked how the day had gone, then said something simple before Elder Johnson handed the phone to his companion:
“I love you, Elder Johnson.”
He said that moment caught him completely off guard. It was as if those same words, spoken by someone who had no reason to say them, finally broke through the wall he’d been building. The love wasn’t loud. It wasn’t pushy. It wasn’t staged.
It was quiet. Persistent. Real.
And in that stillness, he felt something shift.
He decided he wasn’t going home.
He decided to pray.
He decided to stay.
He always said it was those three words that helped him feel God reaching out through other people. It wasn’t the grand gestures that saved him. It was the simple ones.
Story 2 - The Day He Accidentally Denied the Prophet
He was in the middle of a demanding project and decided to grab lunch quickly from the cafeteria. The plan was simple: pick up the food, head straight back to the office, and keep working. What he didn’t notice was the prophet sitting near the exit, talking quietly with a few others.
As he walked toward the door, tray in hand, the prophet looked up with a warm smile and invited him to come sit and eat with them. Without thinking, and still wrapped up in his mental checklist, he replied, “No, I have to get back to work,” and kept moving.
Once he sat back down in his office, the realization hit with full force. He had just turned down the prophet. He said his stomach dropped. It was the kind of moment where you replay your words and wish you could grab them back.
But the experience became something more than embarrassment. It turned into a lesson he never forgot. Work matters, but people matter more. Even holy work can wait when a human soul reaches out for connection.
Story 3 - A Calling He Never Saw Coming
While serving as a stake president, he and his wife were invited to dinner with a visiting General Authority. The conversation felt warm and genuine, but at one point the questions suddenly became very direct. He was asked about four things: his health, his family, his financial situation, and his worthiness. He answered honestly, but he walked away unsure why those questions mattered so much.
Months passed. Then came another assignment. He was asked to drive a different General Authority to the airport. After breakfast that morning, they were invited up to the hotel room for a brief visit before leaving. Once the door closed, the General Authority turned to him privately and said the words that took his breath away. He was being called as an Area Seventy. He accepted without hesitation. But he had to carry the news quietly until it was announced to the Church.
Not long after that, his phone rang again. This time it was the Presiding Bishopric. They asked him the same four questions he had answered at that dinner. He felt a familiar stir in his chest but had no idea what it meant.
Then, a little while later, another call came.
“Hello, President Johnson,” the voice said.
He answered, “Hello. Who is this?”
“This is Elder Holland.”
He paused, certain someone was joking with him. He asked again. The answer did not change.
It really was Elder Holland.
That call extended to him another sacred opportunity. He was invited to serve as a General Authority Seventy. The weight of it settled on him slowly, like dawn rising over the horizon. It was a calling he had never expected, but one he accepted with devotion and gratitude.
During another interview with President Johnson, he shared a fourth story. This one was about his mission companion, Elder King.
Story 4 - The Letter That Changed a Transfer
As a young missionary, he often watched Elder King pull several letters out of the mailbox each day. One envelope. Then another. Sometimes more. While Elder King read updates from home, he stood by quietly with empty hands. Every day without a letter felt a little heavier than the day before. It was not jealousy. It was the ache of feeling forgotten.
Then one afternoon, the mailbox opened and there was only a single envelope inside. For a moment he assumed it was just another one for Elder King. But when he looked closer, he saw his own name written on the front.
It was from Elder King.
He never figured out how his companion made sure there would be no other mail that day. Maybe he had arranged it with someone at the mission office. Maybe he waited until the timing was perfect. Whatever he did, he did it quietly, and he did it on purpose.
That simple letter changed the entire transfer. It told him he mattered. It told him someone saw him and cared. In a season when he felt overlooked, that letter became the small, steady reminder that he was not alone.
Moments Where President Johnson Saw Me
On June 8th, 2022, my companion and I were asked to attend an institute class in Manchester because the BBC was filming a documentary and wanted familiar missionary faces in the room. The class was casual at first. President Johnson shared stories about his mission and how he found the gospel. Then he asked for someone to help reenact one of the moments from his own missionary service, and he called me forward.
I stood beside him as he placed his hand on my right shoulder. He looked directly into my eyes and repeated the words that had once changed his life. For most people in the room, it was just part of a demonstration. But for me, it felt personal. It felt intentional. It was one of those small moments that lands deep in your chest, the kind that tells you someone you respect actually sees you.
A week later, on June 16th, 2022, he came to Rochdale for an in-person zone conference. While speaking about watching missionaries grow, he began naming a few individuals. He moved through a couple of names with ease, but when he reached mine, he paused. He focused entirely on me and said,
“Elder King, I have seen you grow.”
He said it slowly. He said it like he meant it. Then he began describing the changes he had seen in me, things I had not noticed in myself. When he finished, he added,
“I do not think you truly understand how much God cares for you. He loves each one of you.”
Hearing that from him mattered in a way I still struggle to explain. Serving a mission can be lonely, even when you are surrounded by people. I had spent months trying to figure things out, trying to be better, trying to stay steady. Sometimes I wondered if anyone noticed the quiet effort behind the scenes. But in those two moments, I felt seen. I felt known. And I felt reminded that God knew me too.
Time and time again, President Johnson saw me more clearly than I saw myself. He had this way of recognizing what was happening beneath the surface. He noticed the quiet battles I fought, the effort I was giving, the growth I could not yet see. He understood how to show up for me in moments when I did not even know what kind of support I needed. Sometimes it was a few words. Sometimes it was a look. Sometimes it was simply the way he paused when he spoke to me, as if I mattered enough to be considered carefully.
As I look back on each interaction, I realize something I could not see at the time. He was never just teaching lessons about the gospel or the work. He was teaching me who I could become. He believed in me during stretches when I was unsure of myself. He treated me as someone worth investing in, someone worth remembering, someone worth lifting. That kind of leadership is rare. It is quiet and steady, and it reaches deeper than you expect.
President Johnson became more than a mission president to me. He became a mentor, an example, and a source of spiritual confidence. Through his stories, his teachings, and the simple ways he interacted with me, he shaped the kind of missionary I became. More than that, he shaped the kind of person I am still becoming.
I am grateful I knew him. I am grateful I learned from him. And I am grateful for the way he helped me feel seen and known in a season of life when that mattered more than I understood.