Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Ingrid Ochoa
I used to work at a camp where I helped campers rappel (or abseil) down a 100-foot cliff, a difficult and terrifying task for some. Most of them struggle with it for one reason: they lack trust. When rappelling, you need to trust your partners, the gear, the rope, the belay, and the carabineer. But most importantly, you need to trust yourself—or nothing can be accomplished.
Many people who approach the cliff come with wide eyes and shaking hands. But before they can scramble away in fear, I look at them and say, “Everything will be OK. I know you can do this. And I’m holding you up the whole way.” And when they make it to the ground, everyone cheers and hugs them, celebrating that they were able to conquer their fears.
During my time there, I realized something powerful: in order to overcome our fears, we need to place our trust in the Lord. Sometimes I get scared or lose trust in myself, but then I remember the rappelling wall at camp. I see myself turn away from the cliff’s edge, but it’s like I can hear the Savior calling to me, saying, “Trust me! I will guide you and encourage you the whole way down. I know you can do this.” Putting my trust in the Lord, I can make it through any trial or fear. It may be hard and scary, but I know the Lord is there, helping me along the way.

Matt Free, 17, stared at the campfire. His mind was full of Flaming Gorge, of a morning spent drifting on the river, of red cliffs blazing in their color, of water fights, of talks with his father, of a testimony meeting held in a grove of trees.
He watched the flames, twirling and yellow. He heard the pop of a pine log sizzling.
Matt realized that there was a fire growing in him.
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true” (Moro. 10:4).
Just this afternoon he’d read the promise—again. Each time, the words seemed to burn inside him.
Matt wasn’t alone at the fire. All of the youth and youth leaders of the Orem (Utah) Fourth Ward were there, each alone with his or her thoughts on the last night of the river trip.
Joseph Free, the Young Men president, was glad for the calming effect of the flames. He tugged at his jacket, amazed at how quickly mountain air can turn cool, and he breathed in deeply.
“It’s been a great week. But somehow, on a youth trip, there’s always one more last-minute thing. Have we all got life preservers? Check. Make sure the ranger knows we’re here to do the service project. Check. Prepare a talk for the fireside. Check. Remember to delegate. Check.”
Now the only checking left to do was to make sure everybody got home safely.
“I think the kids have had fun,” Joe Free thought, looking at the group. “But have they learned anything? Has it been worth it?”
Some sparks shot up.
At the far side of the circle he saw his son.
“I think he’s making some important decisions,” Brother Free thought. He looked at his son again and was proud.
“It’s been worth it,” he said.
Mariam Conarroe, 12, yawned. She was tired and had a right to be. “Only three days,” she said to herself. “And we’ve done everything.”
Even before the trip began, the schedule had been full. Six months ago, as part of the preparations, everyone had been challenged to read the Book of Mormon. There had been regular reminders and repeated encouragement. Everybody had at least read some of it. Then there was the planning, and the preparation—how many times had they talked in Young Women classes about coming here, about how fun this would be?
Then—was it just a few days ago?—Mariam remembered getting up early, piling into trucks and cars, getting teased and teasing back, and suddenly being in Vernal, at a service station where Tyrannosaurus rex waves at motorists, urging them to buy gasoline.
From there the next three days rushed by in a blur. A visit to the bone quarry at Dinosaur National Monument. Two hours at a water slide. Pitching tents for camp. Skits and talks and firesides. Washing your hair with the help of a bucket. Floating the Green River—not once, but twice. A morning spent alone, reading the Book of Mormon and praying. Testimony meeting. A service project clearing aspen seedlings at the base of a fire lookout tower. Biting into juicy, sweet fruit at a watermelon feast.
Mariam yawned again, tired but happy.
“It’s been busy.”
She felt something comfortable, but it was more than the glow from the campfire. There was a wonderful feeling inside of her, a knowledge that here among leaders and friends she could do good things and be accepted.
She wrapped her quilt around her. It sure felt nice to be warm.
Brian Little, 18, found himself staring at a red-hot coal, fascinated at the way that, once it was burning, it seemed to generate its own heat.
“Funny,” he thought. “It didn’t start on fire all by itself.”
Brian kept thinking of someone who wasn’t even at the camp, a ranger, a young man not that much older than himself. The ranger lives in the fire tower, alone. He spends all summer up there, just watching the hills. Today, after they had cleared the brush away around his tower, the Orem Fourth Ward youth had presented him with a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“At least he’ll have a lot of time to read it,” Brian chuckled.
It had felt good to sign his name in the front of the book, along with all his friends, to give it to this ranger, to tell him he knew it was true, and to ask him to read it. Could this be what he would feel in the mission field? If he could feel like this constantly, for two whole years, wouldn’t it be terrific?
“It takes a fire to start a fire,” he thought.
He looked at the burning coal again.
It was still giving off heat.
Valerie Bean, 14, picked up a piece of wood, a twig really, and tossed it to the flames. She kept reviewing what another ranger—this one a Latter-day Saint named Lee Skabelund—had said the night before at the fireside.
He had quoted from the scriptures.
“All things which come of the earth … are made for the benefit and the use of man, both to please the eye and to gladden the heart;
“Yea, for food and for raiment, for taste and for smell, to strengthen the body and to enliven the soul.
“And it pleaseth God that he hath given all these things unto man; for unto this end were they made to be used, with judgment, not to excess, neither by extortion” (D&C 59:18–20).
Valerie thought of a campground she’d seen, littered with trash.
“It made me mad,” she thought. “I mean, if you ruin it, who’s going to fix it?”
Now, thinking about the scripture Brother Skabelund had quoted, she realized something important.
“I bet the Lord is disappointed when we don’t take care of the earth,” she thought.
She picked up another twig and fed it to the flames.
Allyson Kitchen, 17, could see the stars now, overhead, their sparkle unchallenged by city haze or street lamps. She liked the way the fire created a haven of light in the vast darkness of the woods. And she noticed that although the campfire made shadows prance in the forest, here where it burned brightly there was no fear.
Like the others, Allyson found her mind filled with three days of memories. The time she’d spent with her friends had been important.
“They’re goofy and I love them and I’ll be going away to college soon.”
The service project had made her feel good. “We worked hard and we helped somebody,” she said to herself.
And she even felt closer to her leaders, just because she’d been around them.
“It’s fun to see the bishop in something besides a suit.”
But the memory that Allyson was really thinking about was the morning she had spent, alone on a hillside covered with wildflowers, reading the Book of Mormon and pleading with God to know of its truth.
She looked at the stars again, scattered across the sky, and remembered reading: “The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).
Allyson felt close to her Father in Heaven and to her Savior. And she took great comfort in the reassurance that they are near.
This is Flaming Gorge. It is natural to think of fire here. But the fire the youth of the Orem Fourth Ward will remember means more than rocks in a canyon or wood that’s been kindled.
They have known the warmth of the Spirit; they have felt the flame that burns in the soul.
Without spending a lot of money or traveling far from home, your ward or branch can have a great summer activity, too. The single most important key to success is planning.
“If you’ll be visiting a U.S. Forest Service area,” says Lee Skabelund, a ranger at Flaming Gorge, “make sure to contact the Forest Service before you visit. We can offer a lot of advice.”
For example: “Make reservations early. A group that wants to use facilities in the summer should be contacting us in January, February, or March, so that we can make sure you’ll get the facilities you need.”
The Orem Fourth Ward wanted a secluded location where the youth could read the Book of Mormon, pray, and hold a testimony meeting. Because they contacted the Forest Service in advance, they were able to get just the right spot.
“It really helps us if you know what kind of an experience you want to have,” Brother Skabelund says. He suggests that the Bishopric Youth Committee should take time to ask some questions:
What kind of activities do you plan on doing? If you’re running the river, you’ll want to camp at a different location than if you’re waterskiing by the beach.
Wouldn’t a service project add to your experience? The Forest Service is glad to make arrangements for volunteers.
How many people will be in your group? Be accurate—having 85 people trying to use a camp designed for 50 could result in a fine!
In addition to such basic questions, here are some other ideas to consider while you’re making plans:
Use a checklist for equipment and food. Review it periodically, and you may think of things you’ve overlooked.
Do you have appropriate fire containers or portable stoves? Do you need to bring firewood?
Plan for disposal of garbage and human waste.
Make sure there will be enough adult supervision.
Do you need facilities for the handicapped?
Like any good ranger, Brother Skabelund is full of other suggestions—be courteous, don’t tack paper signs to wooden signs (it damages paint), have a pair of pliers for lifting things out of the fire, let the Forest Service send you maps and provide a short course on water safety or “leave-no-trace camping”—and on and on.
Remember, even though these tips are based on experience with the U.S. Forest Service, similar help is available in other countries, and from other state and national agencies in the U.S.
The point is, plan ahead. Figure out what you’d like to do. Then contact the agency that controls the area you’d like to visit. They’re eager to help you.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Matt Free and Brian Little have entered the mission field. Elder Free is serving in the Osaka Japan Mission, and Elder Little is in the Norway Oslo Mission. Allyson Kitchen is now a student at Brigham Young University.

On October 3, 1918, Joseph sat in his room, reflecting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the redemption of the world. He opened his New Testament to 1 Peter and read about the Savior preaching to the spirits in the spirit world. “For this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead,” he read, “that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.”
As he pondered the scriptures, the prophet felt the Spirit descend upon him, opening his eyes of understanding. He saw multitudes of the dead in the spirit world. Righteous women and men who had died before the Savior’s mortal ministry were joyfully waiting for His advent there to declare their liberation from the bands of death.
The Savior appeared to the multitude, and the righteous spirits rejoiced in their redemption. They knelt before Him, acknowledging Him as their Savior and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell. Their countenances shone as light from the presence of the Lord radiated around them. They sang praises to His name.3
As Joseph marveled at the vision, he again reflected on the words of Peter. The host of disobedient spirits was far greater than the host of righteous spirits. How could the Savior, during His brief visit to the spirit world, possibly preach His gospel to all of them?4
Joseph’s eyes were then opened again, and he understood that the Savior did not go in person to the disobedient spirits. Rather, he organized the righteous spirits, appointing messengers and commissioning them to carry the gospel message to the spirits in darkness. In this way, all people who died in transgression or without a knowledge of the truth could learn about faith in God, repentance, vicarious baptism for the remission of sin, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all other essential principles of the gospel.
Gazing upon the vast congregation of righteous spirits, Joseph saw Adam and his sons Abel and Seth. He beheld Eve standing with her faithful daughters who had worshipped God throughout the ages. Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses were also there, along with Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and other prophets from the Old Testament and Book of Mormon. So too was the prophet Malachi, who prophesied that Elijah would come to plant the promises made to the fathers in the hearts of the children, preparing the way for temple work and the redemption of the dead in the latter days.5
Joseph F. Smith also saw Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and others who had laid the foundation of the Restoration. Among them was his martyred father, Hyrum Smith, whose face he had not seen in seventy-four years. They were some of the noble and great spirits who had been chosen before mortality to come forth in the latter days and labor for the salvation of all God’s children.
The prophet then perceived that the faithful elders of this dispensation would continue their labor in the next life by preaching the gospel to the spirits who were in darkness and under the bondage of sin.
“The dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God,” he observed, “and after they have paid the penalty of their transgressions, and are washed clean, shall receive a reward according to their works, for they are heirs of salvation.”6
When the vision closed, Joseph pondered all that he had seen. The next morning, he surprised the Saints by attending the first session of the October general conference despite his poor health. Determined to speak to the congregation, he stood unsteadily at the pulpit, his large frame shaking from the effort. “For more than seventy years I have been a worker in this cause with your fathers and progenitors,” he said, “and my heart is just as firmly set with you today as it ever has been.”7
Lacking the strength to speak of his vision without being overcome by emotion, he merely alluded to it. “I have not lived alone these five months,” he told the congregation. “I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith, and of determination, and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
“It is a happy meeting this morning for me,” he said. “God Almighty bless you.”8

In April 1973, my parents and I traveled from our native Argentina to be sealed in the temple. Since there were no temples in all of Latin America at the time, we flew more than 6,000 miles (9,700 km) each way to be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. Although I was just two years of age at the time and do not recall the entirety of that special experience, three very distinct images from that trip were fixed in my mind and have remained ever since.

First, I recall being placed close to the airplane’s window and seeing the white clouds below.

Those beautiful, bright clouds endure in my mind as if they had been gigantic cotton balls.

Another image that has remained in my mind is that of a few funny-looking characters at an amusement park in the Los Angeles area. Those characters are hard to forget.

But of much greater importance is this brilliant and unforgettable image:
I clearly remember being in a sacred room of the Salt Lake Temple where sealings of couples and of families are performed for time and for all eternity. I remember the beautiful altar of the temple and recall the bright sunlight shining through the room’s exterior window. I felt then, and have continued to feel since, the warmth, safety, and solace of the gospel light of truth and love.

As an interpretive tour guide in Yushan National Park in Taiwan, Chén Yù Chuàn (Richard) is often assigned to escort important visitors around the park. Typically when he asks his guests what they would like to see, they want to go to the top of Yushan (Jade Mountain), the highest peak in northeast Asia at 12,966 feet (3,952 m).
Richard has a passion for nature and loves the beauty and majesty of Yushan. But through experience he has learned something important that he tries to share with his visitors: the spectacular view from above gains its real value only after one has experienced what’s below.
Visiting the peak, with its manmade trails and wonderful view, is a great experience, but Richard tries to explain that there is much to learn and much hidden beauty to find in the more difficult-to-access river gorges and canyons below.
“To appreciate the height, you must experience the bottom,” he says. “You can’t appreciate the end without understanding the process.”
Some of his visitors are persuaded; however, most just want to make it to the top—and they want the easiest way there.
Richard sees some spiritual symbolism in their attitudes. As he describes it, the peak of life’s experiences is to be able to return to God’s presence (see Alma 12:24). Yet while many recognize the value of that goal, some don’t realize that to be with Him, we must become like Him (see 1 John 3:2; 3 Nephi 27:27; Moroni 7:48). And there is no quick and easy path to that peak.
Richard doesn’t want to take visitors for just a walk; he wants to give them an experience. But he is limited in how much he can teach them by their level of desire.
“I can take those who want to experience nature to places that others rarely see,” he says. “Their experience may be more difficult, but it is much richer.”
Richard feels that life is no different, and his personal experiences reflect this principle. While a university student, Richard began a search for real purpose in life. He visited a number of churches without finding what he was searching for—until he met the missionaries.
His parents, however, strongly opposed his joining the Church. They worried about their only son leaving their faith. They also worried about what would become of them. Many in their culture believe that their standing in the afterlife depends heavily upon the veneration offered them by their living descendants.
Although he struggled with his parents’ opposition, Richard had gained a testimony of the Savior and the need to follow Him.
“Jesus Christ is the way,” Richard says. “He is the True Guide back to the Father” (see John 14:6).
He chose to follow the Savior and be baptized, trusting that the Lord would lead him down the right path even if it looked harder.
A week after his baptism, he was blessed with a good job as a radio news reporter for the largest broadcasting corporation in Taiwan. Getting the job pleased his parents, and along with the change for good they saw in him, it helped smooth ruffled feathers. It also strengthened his faith and taught him an important lesson.
“If we don’t follow Jesus Christ,” he says, “we will miss a lot of important experiences that we need.” These experiences may be more difficult, but they are necessary for our good (see 2 Nephi 2:2; D&C 122:7).
Anyone who follows Richard through his beloved gorges and valleys will undoubtedly learn that the mountains of Taiwan and its precipitous east coast were created by the collision of two plates in the earth’s crust. The intense heat and pressure created by that powerful force turned layers of sediment first to limestone, then to the marble for which the east coast is famous. That same unseen power shakes and grinds and buckles the earth, eventually sending mountain ranges soaring into the heavens.
Whether in Yushan or Taroko National Park, where he worked earlier, Richard loves to point out evidence of how the forces of nature formed Taiwan from the bottom up.
“There are ripple marks on the highest rock, and there are sea fossils and other evidence of what’s on top having once been at the bottom,” Richard says. “If you want to understand the summit, you must understand the depths, because that’s where the summit began.”
Richard believes this is important because it parallels the purpose of life. In difficult times it can seem like we aren’t just visitors to the mountain but more like the mountain itself, buffeted by forces and stresses that shape us and push us toward heaven if we can bear them with patience and faith (see Mosiah 23:21–22; D&C 121:7–8).
From his own experiences Richard has learned that we cannot rise up out of the world to reach our highest potential without undergoing uncomfortable, sometimes painful, experiences.
As a radio reporter Richard worked under considerable pressure covering a wide variety of topics on short deadlines. He soon learned that social drinking was an important way many reporters obtained information. Work became increasingly difficult because he refused to participate in the drinking.
The thought of finding a new job eased his conscience but not his challenges. His radio job had helped pacify his parents after he joined the Church. So when he left the high-paying, prestigious, full-time job for part-time contract work as a guide, his parents were disappointed for a time.
It was another difficult path to choose, but he doesn’t regret taking it because he knows that to be “exalted on high” (see D&C 121:7–8), we must first experience the lows (see D&C 122:5–7).
“We sometimes limit what God can make of us because we don’t want to experience the bad with the good,” he says.
Following the Lord led him to a job he enjoyed. It led him to serve a mission. It introduced him to his future wife, with whom he now has four beautiful children. Despite the trials, there has been no end to the blessings.
When discipleship leads through “the path of the low valley” (2 Nephi 4:32) and even “the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23:4) on its way to “him who dwells on high” (D&C 1:1), Richard takes comfort in the promise that “the words of Christ, if we follow their course, [shall] carry us beyond this vale of sorrow into a far better land of promise” (Alma 37:45)—further confirmation to him that it is only after experiencing the challenges of life that we will be prepared to enjoy the summit.

I think I know how you feel. I have many times felt like killing myself and even tried once, which I regret to this day. It was miserable physically as well as emotionally, and I found out that dying wasn’t at all what I was looking for. I just wanted the pain to stop. Even though I still feel like killing myself at times, I have found that receiving professional help and meeting with a member of the bishopric (or even a close friend as long as he or she doesn’t join in feeling sorry for me) make things easier. You also need to start looking at your good qualities. Whenever you feel like killing yourself, take out a piece of paper and write down ten of your good qualities.
As for a reason for continuing to live, I have found that it helps to think that if you died that you would be letting yourself down—you would never know who you would marry, who your future friends would be, or if you could have licked your problems.
To keep your mind off feeling depressed, get involved in a fun activity.
Most of all, you have to remind yourself that you can do anything you set your mind to. This may seem like a bunch of wishful thinking, but I know from experience that it works—believe me, if it didn’t, you wouldn’t be reading this letter right now.
Name withheld

Consider Bill, a nineteen-year-old student who had a difficult time deciding whether to go on a mission or continue his studies. Bill’s parents were pressuring him to go, he said, but his best friend, a nonmember, was testily pulling for him to stay and continue to room with him at school. “Look,” said Bill’s Sunday School teacher, “do you know exactly what your role as a missionary would be and what the result of either your going or not going might be?”
After closer examination it became clear that Bill’s perception of missionary life was largely inaccurate. He thought that the drudgery of tracting and the door-slamming he might encounter would far outweigh the genuine experiences he would have, the joy he would see, and the friends he would make. And Bill’s decision to go or not to go would have eternal consequences. (See “D.”) Rewards or punishment result from any decision, regardless of how small it may seem. That is, the hypothesis that we “become what we do” is true. But in a sense, we also unbecome what we don’t do.
Bill had never thought of his mission call this way. Furthermore, he was asked if the motivation of his parents was selfish. He answered, “No, probably not.” Then Bill saw that the motivation of his roommate was selfish. The roommate simply didn’t understand what this could mean for Bill, let alone what Bill could do for others.
Asking Bill these specific questions—what is the role you are assuming, who wants you to do it, and, furthermore, what are the consequences if you comply or don’t comply—made the cobwebs disappear. He was then in a position to decide what he wanted to do.
Thus, Bill became a self-motivator, because he understood his own attitudes about what he should or should not do. He also knew which choice would help him to fulfill his responsibilities and accomplish his objectives.
Bill acquired a new set of values and expectations about his own behavior and abilities, about the nature of the Church, and about the prerequisites for an enlarging role in it. He began to develop a self identity that included the acceptance of legitimate authority and compliance with it. For others this could easily appear to be unreasonable, even silly or naive. Bill’s roommate did not understand.

The ‘Iosepa
One day Uncle Bill Wallace, the first director of the Hawaiian Studies program, came to me and asked if I can build a Hawaiian wa’a kaulua for the Hawaiian studies program. “Yes, I’d loved to do it. When?” I said. Of course it is koa wood that Hawaiians use to make their canoes. I looked into it and Bill also looked into it to try to find the wood, but we couldn’t find someone who could supply a big enough log for a 50 foot double hull canoe. Well, I left for Tonga to build a Tongan, traditional, 100-foot, double hull, sailing canoe which took me a year and a half to complete. When I completed that project, while still in Tonga, Bill called and asked if I could order the same wood that I used in the Tongan canoe, which came from Fiji. I did and came home in December 2000 and the logs arrived in Laie in March 2001. We started on the Iosepa in March and completed it in August of the same year. It took us only six months to complete the project. We invited the community to come out and help and the Hawaiian Studies students came out to help also. People from Laie, and from throughout the island, showed up every day to help out in the work. That is how we got the ‘Iosepa done so soon. David Eskaran and I needed that help and we got it thanks to the spirit of the ‘Iosepa that was there. It was the help and spirit of the community that made it possible to finish the canoe in that short period of time.
One evening after the ‘Iosepa was completed, I was there by myself. I stepped away from the canoe and took a good look at it and said, “Wow! What a beautiful boat!” And a feeling came over me and I thanked Heavenly Father for helping us to build such a beautiful canoe. For making it possible to accomplish such a great feat.

When I was in the missionary training center preparing to go to Norway, President Dallin H. Oaks of the First Presidency came and spoke to us. He taught something simple that stayed with me my whole mission: “Focus on what you can do.”
What’s a Service Mission?
A few weeks after President Oaks’s talk, I was sent home to California for medical reasons. I was crushed. I finally felt like I was learning the language and was excited to enter the field.
I met with my stake president, and he asked me if I would like to serve a service mission.
A service mission? I had no idea what that even was.
I learned that service missionaries can choose from a variety of options of where, when, and how they’ll serve. Service missions focus on helping the missionary use their abilities in a way that will serve others.
A Good Option for Me
I decided a service mission was a good option for me to focus on my health and serve the Lord at the same time. Some of my assignments included:
Guiding tours as a docent in a museum.
Serving as a receptionist at the mission office.
Assisting at food banks and a Church camp.
Helping with wildfire disaster relief.
Serving in the temple.
My service mission allowed me to live at home and improve my health while serving. It was the mission I never expected, but I loved every minute. It helped me focus on what I can do and develop the abilities I had to bring good to the world.
Lifelong Lessons from My Mission
The simple yet powerful teaching from President Oaks impacted not only my mission but also my life. It changed my perspective. Instead of focusing on things that aren’t in my control, I now focus on bringing good into the world with the resources and talents I have. By focusing on the abilities we each have, we can change the world and those around us for good.

I was six years old the day I discovered I was alive. It was a clear morning in late spring, and I was on my way to catch the school bus. I was about halfway through a small field when I heard an unseen voice call out. “I’m a pretty little bird,” the voice sang—at least that’s what my mother told me meadowlarks sing.
At the sound, I suddenly felt a strange emotion pass through me. I stood still and for the first time really noticed the world around me. I looked up. The sky was a sea of changing color in which clouds floated like feathered ships. The air itself smelled clean and young, and the grassy field where I stood was filled to translucence with sunshine—wild flowers of gold and yellow.
Somehow the meadowlark had awakened me to the beauty of the earth and to the fact that I was part of it. I still can’t put into words all that I felt, but I think that day I came about as close as I’ve ever come to feeling God’s presence.

Another part of Elder Taylor’s prophecy likewise was quickly fulfilled. The Olympus had just entered the terrible Irish Sea when harsh headwinds whipped huge waves against the wooden vessel day and night. For three weeks many of the passengers were tossed-about and seasick, “suffering intensely from the distressing affliction.” Finally, when a calm day brought relief, the passengers felt the worst part of their voyage was behind them. But Captain Wilson’s trained eyes, making a careful survey of the horizon, spotted a rapidly approaching cloud. At first it was no bigger than a man’s hat, but it swelled and spread at an alarming rate.

Quickly the captain gathered both shifts of the crew on deck and ordered all sails immediately shortened. He allowed Brother Nowers and a 20-year-old carpenter from Dover, England, Edmund Fuller, to stay on deck and help the crew. (Later in the voyage Mr. Fuller fell in love with a Mormon girl, Adelaide Jelley, and he joined the Church and married her in St. Louis, Missouri.)

The sails were just hauled in and secured, and passengers gathered below deck, when the new storm struck the ship full force. The Olympus trembled and reeled “like a drunkard.” The violent wind snapped the foremast off and carried it overboard. Several men nearly went overboard with the broken mast, which hanging, by the ship’s side, had to be cut loose from its stays with axes. Torrents of wind and water cracked the mainmast at the deck.

Thrown on her side the Olympus became unmanageable. Into a fearfully dark night the ship struggled, battered by hurricane winds. Seams of the vessel cracked, letting water seep into the bottom of the ship.

Two hours after the storm began, about 8:00 P.M., four feet of water had poured into the hold and the ship’s pumps were started. Above, knee-deep waters rushed over the decks, causing Brother Nowers and Mr. Fuller to lash themselves to the pumps they were operating to keep from being washed overboard. Hour after hour the storm raged. And the Olympus took on more and more water.

By midnight the captain, crew, and men on deck were despondent because the storm showed no signs of abating. Brother Nowers heard the captain order Second Mate Hamilton to go below deck and tell the Mormon’s president, Elder Howell, that “if the God of the Mormons can do anything to save the ship and the people, they had better be calling on him to do so.” The captain confessed that despite the crew’s best efforts the Olympus was sinking at the rate of 30 centimeters per hour and that by daylight it would be on the bottom of the sea unless the storm ceased

The second mate asked Brother Nowers to accompany him below to deliver the message to the Mormons. As soon as the crashing waves allowed the two messengers unbarred the companionway and went below. They found Elder Howell in his bed and told him the captain’s appeal.

The Mormon leader answered calmly. “You may tell Captain Wilson that we are not going to the bottom of the ocean for we embarked from Liverpool on a voyage for New Orleans, Louisiana, and we will arrive safely in that port. Our God will protect us.” Mr. Hamilton returned to the deck and gave Captain Wilson the Mormons’ answer.

Brother Nowers, dripping wet, could not help noticing the absolute chaos below deck. Everywhere unsecured trunks and packages rolled and skidded from one side to the other as the ship swayed and rolled. Some passengers were crying. Others prayed. Others simply waited.

President Howell quickly arose, dressed, and called about a dozen brethren, including new convert Wilson Nowers, to his side. The leader instructed that each man in the circle take a turn to pray vocally that the Lord would spare the vessel. Elder Howell prayed last.

“While he was still engaged in prayer,” Brother Nowers said, “I noticed a significant change in the motion of the ship.” Instead of rolling and tossing, the Olympus “seemed to tremble as one suffering from the effects of a severe cold.” He could not believe the ship was sinking. But he also could not believe that the storm had so suddenly ceased.

After the final hearty “amen” President Howell sent the prayer circle members back to bed. Brother Nowers, however, returned to his pumping duties on deck. There, astonished, he found that “the storm had miraculously ceased; the wind had gone down, and the waves were stilled close around the ship, while in the distance the billows were still raging.” The Olympus trembled at so sudden a change.

Pumping continued until daylight. When the Sabbath day finally dawned, clear and bright, Captain Wilson admitted that he had done all he could do before calling on the Mormons and that only God’s hand had saved the sinking ship.

For her entire life, my wife, Melinda, has tried with all her heart to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. Yet, beginning in her youth, she felt unworthy of Heavenly Father’s love and blessings because she misunderstood His nature. Fortunately, Melinda continued to keep the commandments in spite of the sadness she felt. A few years ago, she had a series of experiences that helped her better understand God’s nature, including His love for His children and His gratitude for our even-imperfect efforts to do His work.
She explains how this has influenced her: “I now feel sure that the Father’s plan works, that He is personally invested in our success, and that He provides us with the lessons and experiences we need to return to His presence. I see myself and others more as God sees us. I am able to parent, teach, and serve with more love and less fear. I feel peace and confidence rather than anxiety and insecurity. Instead of feeling judged, I feel supported. My faith is more certain. I feel my Father’s love more often and more deeply.”

I should like to share with you tonight an experience and tell you a story regarding keeping the Word of Wisdom. When I was president of the Edmonton Branch in Canada, I was in charge of our priests group. We used to meet in the basement of an IOOF Hall, which had dirt walls and a dirt floor. One of the priests, named Max, was playing on the school basketball team. He was the only member of the Church on that team. The other boys, naturally, had no qualms about using tea, coffee, or tobacco, and sometimes using alcohol. Max, of course, kept the Word of Wisdom strictly. He used to tell the boys about the Word of Wisdom and the evils of breaking it, and he told them that the Lord had promised that they should run and not be weary, and walk and not faint, if they kept the Word of Wisdom. He assured them they would be better basketball players if they refrained from the use of these things. He was one of the top players, and the boys respected him. It was not long until all of them were keeping the Word of Wisdom.
A few weeks ago I was in Houston, Texas, and was met there by this young man and his family. He told his family of the times we used to meet in the basement of the IOOF Hall and of some of the things he remembered that I had taught them. Then I told the family of his experience with and influence on the basketball team, emphasizing that people always respect one who will live up to his standards, and that he will benefit greatly thereby. Max now is the head geologist in one of the big oil companies in Houston.

Once you turn 16, group dating is a great way to build friendships. You’ll want to keep in mind a few things. Follow the example below to see what outcomes your decisions may have.
Start
You worked up the nerve to ask someone out. Great job. Your date asks, “Who else is coming?” You answer:
John and Suzy. (Go to #2.)
No one. (Go to #3.)
Good answer. Group dating is important in your teenage years. What do you have planned for the date?
Go to a movie. (Go to #4.)
Go on a hike. (Go to #5.)
It’s time to rethink this one (see For the Strength of Youth [2011], 4). Your date says she won’t go without a group. What do you do?
Make it a group date instead. (Go to #2.)
Stay home.
A nice idea, but maybe not the best option. You enjoyed the show, but you sat next to each other for two hours without saying a word. What do you do next?
Go home; you’re tired. (Go to #6.)
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Sounds fun! And it will give you lots of opportunities to get to know one another. Did you tell your date what the plan is?
Of course! (Go to #8.)
Whoops! (Go to #9.)
You take your date home, and she thanks you for the nice time. It’s too bad you didn’t really get to know her better instead of just watching a movie.
The group gets ice cream at someone’s home. The dessert is good, and you enjoy talking with everyone. It’s almost curfew. What do you do?
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Stay a little longer—you’re having fun. (Go to #11.)
You enjoyed the hike and really got to know everyone in the group. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date wasn’t prepared for hiking, so you wait inside the door for a few minutes while she changes. You’re a little late in meeting up with the group, so the hike ends up shorter than you’d planned, but it’s still fun. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date says she had a great time, thanks you for the evening, and says, “We should do that again sometime!” You smile all the way home.
When you return home after curfew, you and your date both get grounded. Even though you had fun, your date’s dad won’t let you go out again.

Photograph courtesy of the author
For a hobby, I took up beekeeping. Soon, people started asking me if they could buy some of my honey.
After selling a little honey, I thought about paying tithing on my “interest” (Doctrine and Covenants 119:4). I really didn’t think of the money I earned, however, as an increase. I spent a lot more on beekeeping equipment than I made selling honey.
But I remembered that tithes are holy to the Lord. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we honor Him by paying tithing. Paying tithing is an expression of our faith in God and His promises.
I remembered that those who pay tithing receive this promise from the Lord: “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).
I accepted the Lord’s challenge and paid tithing on my honey sales. On the tithing slips, I wrote, “From honey money.”
A short while later, a friend came to my house and said he knew someone whose beekeeping husband had passed away. The widowed wife wanted to get rid of all her husband’s beekeeping equipment and was thinking of throwing it away. Instead, my friend took me to pick up the equipment.
All the beekeeping equipment I had ever wanted and wished for—and more—was there, including all kinds of honey-extracting equipment.
Nobody gives away beekeeping equipment. But within a week after I made the choice to pay tithing, Heavenly Father opened the windows of heaven and rewarded me. I believe chance had nothing to do with it. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father knows me and my desires. My testimony of the importance of paying tithing has certainly grown.

One woman, Kelly, was so touched by the opportunity to buy items for teens and children that she told her member friend, “This idea is so unbelievably awesome! Everyone needs to know about these machines!” Kelly posted about the experience on her Facebook page. She became an incredible advocate for the Giving Machine initiative, prompting five families in her neighborhood to visit a Giving Machine kiosk, as well as family members in three different cities to visit their local Giving Machine kiosks.

Third, testify of holy truths as often as you can. The Comforter always shares His voice when we testify with our voice. The Spirit bears witness to the speaker and listener alike.

I remember once taking a 45-minute taxi ride in New York City. Having had a warm gospel conversation with the driver for the duration of my ride to the airport, I paid her and prepared to exit the taxi. Then I realized I had not offered a testimony of what I had shared. Pausing, I shared a simple, short testimony, inviting the Spirit and bringing tears to both our eyes.

Anders had a new cap. His mother had knit it for him, and he thought no one could ever make anything quite as nice as his mother! The cap was red except for a small blue section in the middle and a blue tassel.
All of Anders’s brothers and sisters thought the cap was beautiful, and he wanted everyone else to see and admire it too.
One day he put the cap on and went for a walk. The very first person he met was a farmhand, who was walking beside a cart loaded with wood and driving his horse. When the man saw Anders’s new cap, he bowed so low that he was almost bent double. Anders was pleased, but he only nodded as he walked by.
At the turn of the road Anders met the tanner’s overgrown boy Lars, who was wearing a pair of fine high boots and whittling on a stick with a bone-handled jackknife. Now when Lars saw Anders’s beautiful cap, he stopped whittling to admire it. And he could not keep himself from going up close to Anders to touch the handsome blue tassel.
“I’ll trade you my cap for yours,” he cried, “and my jackknife besides!”
Lars’s knife was a splendid one, and Anders was sure that having a jackknife would make him feel manly. But still he would not give up the cap his mother had made even for the knife. So he nodded goodbye to Lars and went on his way.
Soon after this Anders met a strange little lady. She curtsied to him until her skirts spread out about her like a balloon. “Lad, you look so fine in your cap that you could wear it to the king’s ball!” she declared. Then why don’t I? thought Anders. Wearing this cap, I am certainly properly dressed to go and visit the king.
And off he went.
Two uniformed soldiers with guns on their shoulders and shining helmets on their heads were guarding the palace gate.
“Where are you going?” one of the soldiers asked.
“To the king’s ball,” answered Anders.
“No, you are not,” challenged the other soldier. “No one can go to the king’s ball except in formal dress.”
But just at this moment the princess, dressed in a white gown with ribbons of gold, was out walking. She overheard the guards arguing and went to see what the commotion was about.
“It’s true this boy is not formally dressed,” she said, “but his elegant cap is enough. Let him in so he can attend the ball.”
Then the princess took Anders by the hand and walked with him up the broad marble stairs, past all the soldiers who stood on every third step, and through the long, magnificent halls where gentlemen and ladies in silk and velvet were waiting for the ball to begin. And wherever Anders went, the people bowed to him. Such attention is all because of my cap, thought Anders, nodding to each one as he passed.
At one end of the largest hall a table was set with long rows of golden plates and shining goblets. Pyramids of tarts and cakes were heaped on huge silver platters. The princess seated herself at the table and motioned for Anders to sit in a golden chair by her side.
“But you must not eat with your cap on your head,” she said and reached over to remove it.
“Oh, but I can eat just as well with it on,” claimed Anders, holding onto the cap with both hands.
“Please give it to me,” begged the princess, “and I will give you a kiss.”
The princess was beautiful, and Anders would not have minded a kiss from her, but he was afraid she would not give him back the princely cap that his mother had made. So he only shook his head and moved farther back in his chair. Then the princess filled his pockets full of cakes, put her own heavy gold chain around his neck, and bent down and kissed him.
At that moment the doors were opened and the king himself entered, accompanied by his attendants in glittering uniforms. The king wore a mantle of blue velvet, bordered with ermine, and he had a large gold crown on his head.
When he saw Anders in the golden chair, he smiled and said, “That is a very fine cap you are wearing.”
“Yes it is,” Anders agreed. “My mother knit it herself from the very best yarn, and now everyone wants to get it away from me.”
“But surely you would change caps with me,” said the king, lifting the sparkling jeweled crown from his head.
Anders did not say a word. But when the king came close to him, holding his gold crown in one hand and reaching for the beautiful cap with the other, Anders leaped from his chair. Like an arrow he darted out of the hall, through the palace, down the stairs, and across the courtyard. He ran so fast that the necklace the princess had given him fell to the ground, and all the cakes tumbled out of his pockets.
But he still had his cap! With both hands he clutched it tightly until he was home.
“Well, Anders, where have you been?” cried his mother, startled.
So he told her the surprising things that had happened to him, while his brothers and sisters stood and listened, their mouths open in amazement.
When his older brother heard how Anders had refused to give his cap in exchange for the king’s golden crown, he cried out, “Anders, you foolish boy! Just think of all the things you might have had after selling the king’s golden crown! Besides, you could have bought yourself a much finer cap, one with a feather instead of just a tassel on it.”
“I was not foolish!” Anders declared. “I could never have bought a finer cap, not even in exchange for a king’s crown. I could never have bought anything in all this world half so fine as the cap my mother made for me!”
And his mother smiled at him lovingly and kissed him.

I had another choice experience with impelling revelation a few months after I began my service at BYU. As a new and inexperienced president, I had many problems to analyze and many decisions to reach. I was very dependent on the Lord. One day in October, I drove up Provo Canyon to ponder a particular problem. Although alone and without any interruption, I found myself unable to think of the problem at hand. Another pending issue I was not yet ready to consider kept thrusting itself into my mind: Should we modify BYU’s academic calendar to complete the Fall Semester before Christmas? After ten or fifteen minutes of unsuccessful efforts to exclude thoughts of this subject, I finally realized what was happening. The issue of the calendar did not seem timely to me, and I was certainly not seeking any guidance on it, but the Spirit was trying to communicate with me on that subject. I immediately turned my full attention to that question and began to record my thoughts on a piece of paper. Within a few minutes, I had recorded the details of a three-semester calendar, with all of its powerful advantages. Hurrying back to the campus, I reviewed it with my colleagues and found them enthusiastic. A few days later the Board of Trustees approved our proposed new calendar, and we published its dates, barely in time to make them effective in the fall of 1972. Since that time, I have reread these words of the Prophet Joseph Smith and realized that I had the experience he described:

A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas . . . and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation. [Teachings, p. 151]

She was young and beautiful—young enough to be largely unaware of the grace that unfolded with bashful uncertainty as the days passed. But in the third month of her 17th year, she died, cut down by a rare disease.
He was 18 and her friend. They never really dated. He had kissed her once at her 16th birthday party in front of her mother and everybody. He had done it as a joke, so that no one could accuse her of being “sweet 16 and never been kissed.” But she had always seemed too young for him to consider her seriously.
They both lived in a small town in Montana. To the east was prairie, and to the west a range of mountains.
Because of the few LDS students in the high school, Dave and Cathy attended early morning seminary. Each morning at 5:00, he jabbed at the buzzing alarm clock, struggled out of bed, showered, dressed, ate a hurried breakfast, and drove to her home to pick her up. She often kept him waiting, but finally she would rush out—a book, a purse, a piece of toast in one hand, a hair brush and a coat in the other.
One evening in April, her mother phoned Dave to say, “Cathy won’t be going to school tomorrow, so you won’t need to pick her up for seminary. She isn’t feeling well.”
That was the beginning.
Dave graduated from high school in May, was ordained an elder in June, and began working in a clothing store in order to earn money for his mission. Each day after work he visited her. On the days when she was feeling better, he found her in the backyard.
Her backyard had once been mostly lawn. But through the years the vegetable garden had been enlarged until now there was left only a small strip of lawn in front of the patio. Even with the threat of losing all the lawn to the needed vegetables, her mother always insisted that a patch of flowers be preserved.
One day when he came, Cathy was lying on the lawn, her chin propped up by her two hands, intently studying the determined efforts of several bees that were working the flower garden. Dave paused at the gate and quietly watched her. She wore a pair of Levis and a western-style shirt. Since he had visited her last, her long hair had been cut into a more practical summer style.
When he finally went through the gate, she turned and sat up.
“I wish I could spend all day watching flowers grow,” he teased.
She stood up and came over.
“Who cut your hair?” he asked.
“My mother. Do you like it?”
“I like it fine.”
They walked together, inspecting the long straight rows of beets, lettuce, and tomatoes.
“Did you have a date last night?” she asked.
“Yes, with Karen. We played miniature golf.”
“Do you like her?”
“I don’t know. She’s okay. It’s hard to get involved with anyone when I know I’m going on a mission in four months. Maybe she’ll write to me.”
He picked a small flower for her from a bush that clung to the trellis by the house.
“Will you write to me?”
“What do you want, a fan club? ‘Dear Elder Dave, you are so great! All us girls at home are just sighing our lives away until you return.’ Is that right?”
“It’ll do,” he grinned. “And I’ll write each of you a mimeographed letter. ‘Dear Sister Friend, We baptized 500 last week. I’m trying to remain the humble self that you’ve all grown to love. I hope that none of you are dating while I’m away.’”
“Is that the way it’s going to be?” she asked.
“I guess not,” Dave replied.
“Dave,” she said, suddenly serious. “You will be a good missionary, won’t you? You’ll remember the Savior and represent him properly?”
“I hope so,” he answered.
They sat on the lawn chairs on the patio.
“I was sitting here this morning,” she said, “looking at the flowers in the garden. I remembered what the Savior said: ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow.’ Where’s that found in the Bible?”
“I thought I was finished with scripture chasing when I graduated from seminary,” he teased.
“Okay, I won’t press you. Anyway, that’s not my question. I had a picture in my mind while I was thinking. I want to tell you about it.”
She held the flower he had given her in both hands and studied it carefully.
“It’s early morning,” she began. “There are mists still hanging over the Sea of Galilee. A lone man walks along a path leading away from a small fishing village. It’s the Savior. He walks up the slope away from the water. As he walks, he comes upon a patch of wild flowers. He kneels down to get a closer look. He reaches out and touches the petals. He bends over to examine the insides of the blossom. My question is, what does he see?”
“A flower.”
“Is that all? Just a flower?”
“What else could he see?”
“Jesus was given the responsibility by Heavenly Father to create this earth. At one time, he knew the purpose of every feature of that flower. Did he remember all of those details? Or did his great mind understand the function of each part of the flower just by careful observation? That’s my question.”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I know, neither can I. But I don’t believe that he ever considered anything to be common. I think he valued the beauty of every sunset, each view of the Sea of Galilee—in sunshine or in rain. I believe that he was sensitive to beauty. When he said, ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow,’ I believe that he had considered those lilies in greater detail than most of us ever will.”
Her father, home from work, came through the gate and began to pull some weeds from the garden. He was a quiet man who took pride in straight, neat rows of vegetables. Often when he worked, he whistled a tune with no recognizable melody.
He picked half a dozen strawberries, washed them off with the hose, and brought them over for Dave and Cathy to sample.
“They’re coming along nicely, aren’t they?” he asked.
In June Cathy spent a week out of town undergoing tests at a university medical center. When she returned, she didn’t look any better, and her parents were strangely evasive when asked what the specialists had found.
As the summer passed, Dave could see that she was slowly getting worse. Often when he came, she was in bed. Sometimes he only stayed a minute because she looked tired. But she enjoyed seeing him, and some days she felt good enough to talk.
“Dave,” she said on one of his visits, “I found a scripture for your mission.” She reached for the triple combination on the table by her bed, and, finding the place, read aloud: “‘Therefore, O ye that embark in the service of your God, see that ye serve him with all your heart, might, mind and strength, that ye may stand blameless before God at the last day.’ (D&C 4:2.) How’s that?” she asked.
“You’re determined to make me a good missionary, aren’t you?” he asked.
“There’s so much to be done. I wish I were going to be around to help.”
He looked up, trying to read her face.
“I know what’s happening. I’m dying.”
“No, you’re not.”
“We traveled a thousand miles to see a team of doctors. After two days, we came home. My parents never say anything about the results. They won’t talk about it. Now my dad asked me about taking a vacation to California. He wants to cash in his life insurance to get the money so we can all fly down. We’ve never gone on a big vacation like that before. When my parents come into my room, they’re both so cheerful. But yesterday I heard my mother in her room crying. And the worst part is that we can’t talk about it. We spend 20 minutes talking about the weather, clinging to the topic as if it were a life raft.”
Just then her mother came in the room with another vase of flowers. Cathy’s bedroom was filled with potted plants and cut flowers given to her by friends. Her mother picked up two vases of old flowers and left the room.
Cathy continued, “Dave, I need you to talk to. I can’t talk to my parents yet. I need to tell someone how I feel so I can define it in my mind and see the limits of my fear and measure it. There must be boundaries to it.”
They talked for a long time. Mainly he listened as she tried to find out if she could face her future.
“I know that none of us can be guaranteed a long life and that Heavenly Father won’t deny me any blessings. But I don’t want to leave this earth. I like it here.”
Before he left, she asked, “Will you give me a priesthood blessing?”
“Shouldn’t your dad do that?”
“He’s already administered to me. I need a priesthood blessing so that I can face it and so that my parents and I can talk.”
“I can have the bishop come over,” he said weakly.
“No, you’ve got all the priesthood you need. I want you to give me a blessing.”
“I’ve never given a priesthood blessing.”
“It doesn’t need to be today,” she said.
“Do you mind if I talk to your dad and the bishop about it? If they approve, I’ll be glad to.”
Sunday afternoon he arrived prepared. He had spent two days in reading. He had talked to Cathy’s father and the bishop and asked for their help and counsel. They had encouraged him to respond to Cathy’s special request. He had fasted and prayed since Saturday morning.
When he came, she was waiting for him, sitting in a chair in her bedroom.
He stood behind her. The room was silent except for the outdoor sounds coming through the open window. He placed his hands lightly on her head, touching the silky texture of her hair. Closing his eyes, he paused and then began, “Catherine Edmonds, by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I place my hands on your head to give you a priesthood blessing …” The words seemed to flow easily and naturally. He blessed her that she would be comforted and that she would be able to talk openly to her parents about her condition.
When it was over, they both felt peaceful. He helped her into bed, sat down in the chair, held her hand, and talked with her until she fell asleep.
Monday afternoon when he came again, she was lying outside in a recliner. Her father was building a screened-in room with a covered roof so that she could spend more time outside.
“Daddy,” she asked, “could we move those potted plants from my room out here? I’d like them planted in the garden with the other flowers.”
“I don’t see why not,” her father answered. “Are you getting tired of them in your room?”
“No, I just want them to be here in the sun.”
The next day when Dave arrived, her plants had already been transferred to the garden.
“Don’t they look good?” she asked him. “I’ve been watching them all day. The bees have been visiting them. Out here they have the sun and the warm soil. I’m glad they’re out here. Look at all they’d miss if they were still cooped up in the house.”
Saturday he worked in the morning, but he took the afternoon off so he could be with her. They sat together in the enclosed patio.
In the late afternoon, dark clouds, which had been building to the west of them all day, finally moved in.
Her father gently asked, “Don’t you want to come inside? It looks like rain.”
“No, I like it out here. Let me watch the rain.”
The summer storm struck with fury. The large drops were driven almost sideways by the wind.
Then the hail came. At first it was just one or two scattered, marble-sized stones striking the grass and bouncing back. But as the storm approached, the crashing of the hail on the green fiberglass roof of the patio sounded like hundreds of cannon rounds.
In a few minutes it was over. The lawn was covered with a layer of white.
Her father stood up and walked out into the garden. Standing in the light rain, he silently observed the damage. He picked up a broken stem from a tomato plant, examined it, and then let it drop back to the ground. He slowly made his way to the flower garden. The flowers had been flattened to the ground.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have moved these plants out here,” he said. “They would have been safe inside.”
She stood up and, with some difficulty, went to her father.
“No, Daddy. I wanted them here in the garden. They were safe inside, but out here, even though it was only for a few days, they’ve had the warm sun and the bees and the gentle summer wind at night. I’m not sorry we brought them here. It was worth the chance just to have them in the garden—even for a short time.”
Somehow they both realized that now they were talking about more than flowers. He held his daughter close to him while she repeated softly, “Daddy, it’s going to be all right.”
The next day she told Dave that she and her parents had finally talked about the future.
Two weeks later she was admitted to the hospital.
Three weeks later she died.
Some who attended the funeral may have wondered why, instead of the customary wreath of flowers on the casket, the family placed there a bouquet of flowers from their garden—flowers that had endured the hail and yet lived on.