Gospel Story Finder

It was late November, and I was in the Sierra Nevada Mountains in a place called Desolation Valley. After a five-mile hike, my three friends, my dad and brother, and I arrived in camp around 4:00 P.M. The sun was slowly beginning to fall. The air was bitter cold to all of us, so we immediately went to bed.
I’m still not sure why, but at 1:00 A.M. we all woke up. Not long after, we heard a worried yell in the distance. The yell came repeatedly, moving closer until a panicked-looking man appeared. Two women in his party were lost when they became separated on their descent down Pyramid Peak, about three miles from our camp.
We had seen a few people that day, but none matched the women’s description. We all knew how cold it was and that dehydration, hypothermia, hunger, and fear probably prevented the women from making it back.
I had earned my orienteering merit badge, and I was also a lifeguard, so my first aid was up to date. Despite the time of night, we were willing and able to look for these women.
We put together a search plan, and the man said he thought we should go southwest to get around a huge ridge that would allow us to go up the south side of the ridge. The Spirit whispered to me at that point that we needed to go over the ridge. But I decided to just go along with the man’s plan.
As we moved along this ridge, I again felt impressed that we should go over the ridge. This time I told our group that we needed to go up. The man knew he couldn’t make it, so we told him to stay behind as we continued. I wasn’t tired as we reached the ridge’s summit, which I found odd considering what time it was and that we were at around 8,000 feet.
During a short rest, I again felt the Spirit whisper to me to pray for guidance. My brother and my friend Brent readily agreed, and I offered a prayer. I felt sure Heavenly Father would respond.
As soon as the prayer concluded, we looked at each other and confidently began our search. But it wasn’t that simple. Perhaps we were relying too much on our own abilities rather than on the Lord. So we prayed again. This time Brent pleaded on behalf of these women that we might be tools in Heavenly Father’s hands to find and bring them back safely.
Again we stood, knowing exactly where we needed to go. Before long, we heard whistles blowing. We knew we were close.
I still remember the look of pure joy on the women’s faces when we found them three hours after our search began. They held each other and shed a few tears. I can’t put into words the joy I felt when I realized the experience I had been blessed with. My testimony of prayer has increased tremendously, and I have come to know that I have a Father in Heaven who loves us beyond comprehension.

We have now been married for 22 years. It hasn’t always been easy. Annie and I have had the normal relationship bumps. There have been difficulties over the years. But because of our commitment to the relationship and a willingness to turn to the Lord for answers, we have grown together. As different situations and questions have arisen, we have been able to turn to the scriptures, the teachings of the prophets, and prayer to find solutions.
The average length of a first marriage that ends in divorce is nine years (in the USA).5 Because Annie and I built our marriage after the manner the Lord has shown us, we beat those odds. I’m glad we didn’t let fear of the world we were raised in stop us. There’s always more work to do, but we are both confident that our marriage will continue to improve through the years to come.

Let us turn to a news release I once read from Los Angeles: “A blind father rescued his tiny daughter from drowning in the new swimming pool that had been installed in the neighborhood.” Then the story went on to describe just how this had been accomplished. The blind father had heard a splash when his little girl, who could not swim, fell into the pool. He was frantic and wondered how he might help her. It was evening, and she was the only one in the pool. He got upon his hands and knees and crawled around the outside edge of the pool and listened for the air bubbles that came from that little girl, as she was actually in the process of drowning. Then, with a heightened sense of hearing, he followed carefully the sound of those air bubbles and, in one desperate attempt, with love in his heart and a prayer within his soul, he jumped into the pool and grasped his precious daughter and brought her to the side and to safety. Love prompts such miracles.

I had always considered myself to be a “good listener” until that night. Being raised in the middle of a large family had forced me to do my share of listening just to keep the decibel level to a low roar in my home. But I didn’t realize, until that night, that listening required more of me than just being quiet. I didn’t realize, until that night, how desperately someone could need to be listened to.
It had been a long day. In order for me to stay in school at Brigham Young University, I had to work part-time at night and go to school and study during the day. I was feeling tired and a little sorry for myself as I walked into the cafeteria late that night after a particularly hard day. The cafeteria was almost empty at that late hour.
I picked up my dinner tray and turned around to find a table. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl sitting alone at one of the tables. She was staring at her food with her head bowed. A large backpack, books, and papers were scattered all over the table where she was sitting. By all appearances, she obviously wanted to be left alone. There were plenty of empty tables and I started to walk toward one of them to sit down.
Suddenly I felt impressed to sit down next to the girl that I had noticed. Even though I was usually reserved, I found myself walking toward her table. I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her if I could sit next to her.
She silently and reluctantly agreed as she began to move her books and papers off the table. Her appearance and posture and manner all told me that she wanted to be left alone, and I wondered why I was being so intrusive.
Then we started to talk, slowly and cautiously at first. I felt strangely as if she were a lifetime friend of mine that I hadn’t seen for a long time, and I wanted to know all about her and what was happening to her. We both spoke freely, maybe even more freely than real friends because we had no images to maintain and no reputations to uphold.
The young girl told me about some extremely depressing things that were happening in her life at that time. We talked for hours. Then the tears came.
After several hours had gone by, she looked at me and said, “Tonight I was sitting here alone again, and I felt and really believed that I didn’t have a friend in this whole world. I couldn’t think of even one person that cared about me. I was sitting here thinking how I could do away with myself when you walked up and asked me if you could sit next to me. You’ll never know what you’ve done for me tonight. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I know that you are my friend and that you care about me. There must still be a God that cares for me if you can care for me.”
Later we embraced and walked away in separate directions. I turned, suddenly remembering that I didn’t even know her name. But she had disappeared into the night.
As I walked toward home, I was feeling pretty good about myself knowing that I had heeded the impression to sit next to the girl. My problems seemed pretty small compared to hers.
Then suddenly it hit me like a brick. All the times I had been similarly impressed to speak to someone, to spend time with someone, to call someone, or to say an encouraging word to someone, flashed before my mind. I remembered the excuses of not wanting to be too forward, or being too tired or worried about my own problems, or all the millions of reasons I had used for not heeding the promptings that I often received.
I suddenly wondered how many of those people I had neglected had needs as desperate as those of the young girl that I had just talked to.
Never before had I realized that to truly be a “good listener” I had to first learn to listen to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. Alone, without the Spirit, I was unable to discern the real needs of the people around me. With the Spirit, I could listen with my heart as well as my mind.
I will probably never see that girl again, but I hope I will never again fail to listen to the impressions that the Spirit gives me.

Several weeks after I was baptized, I had the privilege of receiving a witness of the Holy Ghost once again, stronger than before. One morning at about 3:00 A.M., I sat up in bed with tears streaming down my face. The Holy Ghost was bearing such a powerful witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and of the Church that I felt like saying, “Please, Lord, no more, no more. I know it’s true.”

Now I want to tell you about Samantha. Samantha had just started work in the administrative offices of a local university. She was excited to work in a stimulating environment full of diverse thoughts, ideas, and backgrounds. One day at work a co-worker approached Samantha, said she had heard that Samantha was a Mormon, and asked if that was true. Samantha cheerfully responded that it was, but the question that followed surprised her.

“So why do you hate gays?” her co-worker asked. Samantha was surprised by the question but tried to explain her belief in God and God’s plan for His children, which she said includes guidelines on moral and sexual behavior. Her co-worker countered by telling her that the rest of society had progressed beyond those beliefs. “And besides,” she said, “history is full of people using religious teachings to wage wars and marginalize vulnerable groups.”

Samantha restated her convictions and her understanding of God’s love for all people and then asked her co-worker to respect her right to believe. The co-worker felt compelled to tell other employees about their conversation, and over the next few weeks, Samantha felt increasingly isolated as more and more co-workers confronted her with questions and attacks.

Samantha’s boss, seeing the increase in religious conversations in the workplace, cautioned Samantha that proselytizing in their work environment would put her job in jeopardy. Her work, like Ethan’s, began to suffer. Rather than risk being fired, Samantha started to look for another job.

Now, these are hypothetical stories, and yet they are not. There are many Samanthas and Ethans. However we choose to live and whatever choices we make, we all share a common humanity and desire for fairness and kindness. Ethan should not have been fired for being gay, and Samantha should not have been intimidated for being religious. Both were wrongly criticized, judged, and retaliated against.

As leaders, what are our attitudes toward percentages as they relate to active versus inactive? You have probably heard the story of the father who had four daughters. As each of them left on a date one evening, he cautioned them to be home by midnight. The first returned at 11:45; the next, at 11:50; and a third came in at midnight, whereupon he locked the doors, turned out the lights, and went to bed. When his wife reminded him that Mary had not come in yet, he said with great satisfaction, “Seventy-five percent of them are home—isn’t that a pretty good percentage?” It is so easy to love those who are active and responsive and sometimes so difficult to do the same for those who are inactive and rebellious.

Christmas was coming soon! Amy could hardly wait.
“Do you have the box for Jesus?” Amy asked Mommy. “It’s almost time for His birthday!”
“I’m glad you remembered,” said Mommy.
Mommy put a red box on the table. It was shiny. It had a red bow on top. Each year for Christmas, Amy and her family wrote down kind things they did. They put them in the box.
“We follow Jesus when we help others,” Mommy said. “It’s our gift to Jesus.”
Amy wanted to fill the whole box with gifts for Jesus! She thought about kind things she could do.
At dinner, Daddy asked, “Does anyone have a gift for Jesus to write down?”
“I do!” said Amy. “I helped put away Ari’s boots.”
“That was very kind,” said Daddy. He wrote it on a piece of paper. Amy put the paper in the box.
Each day, Amy tried to do kind things. She wanted to follow Jesus.
She helped Daddy buy food at the store.
She hung up her coat.
She helped Mommy wash the dishes.
She didn’t fight with her brother.
Every day, Amy put something kind in the shiny box. Soon the box was full of kind things!
Finally it was Christmas Day. Amy got to open some presents. She also got to open the gift for Jesus! Mommy and Daddy took turns reading all the kind things in the box.
Amy felt good inside. Helping others made her happy. She knew it made Jesus happy too!

New in school, Janet is an obnoxious, outspoken bully. When Sister Card asks her Merrie Miss class to help fellowship Janet, they’re surprised to learn that she is a member of the Church but reluctantly agree to help. They decide to secretly leave surprises for Janet on her front porch for a week. On Saturday, the class personally delivers a beautifully wrapped gold heart necklace to her. Questioning their motives, she accuses them of trying to bribe her, thanks them for the unopened gift, then shuts the door in their faces.
I felt like someone had just slapped me across the face. “Boy,” I said. “She’s a real creep. We were only trying to do something nice.”
“She didn’t even open our present,” Amy said.
“I knew this wasn’t going to work,” Jill said.
“Now, just a minute,” said Sister Card, as we all got into her van. “Maybe Janet was right. Maybe we were just trying to bribe her.”
We were quiet for a minute. Then Mandi said, “How can we like someone who acts like that?”
“I’m not sure I want her to come if she’s going to treat us that way,” Christina said.
“Girls, I can see that this isn’t going to be as easy as we thought,” Sister Card said. “Perhaps we need to ask ourselves what the Savior would do if Janet were in His Primary class.”
Well, she had us stumped. None of us could think of something that Jesus Christ might do in a situation like this one. We looked at Sister Card expectantly, waiting to hear the answer. Instead, she smiled at us and said, “I challenge each of you to find out, then do it.”
The next day at lunch recess, I saw Janet across the playground. She saw me and yelled, “Hey, there’s Redhead-Wet-the-Bed!”
All the kids around me laughed, and I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Why does she have to say things like that? I wondered, walking away to find Jill. How can anyone be nice to a girl who acts that way?
I was still thinking about Janet when I found Jill. “I don’t know what Sister Card expects us to do about Janet. She hates me. I don’t like her very much, either,” I said.
“I know what you mean,” Jill answered. “Can you imagine what our Primary class would be like if she did come?”
I hadn’t thought about that, and the visions that ran through my mind as I thought about it were not pleasant. “She’d ruin everything!”
Later that evening, I was still thinking about Janet. I couldn’t get her off my mind. “Mom,” I said, “Sister Card wants us to come up with an idea to get Janet Willard to come to Primary. You know we already tried being pixies to her for a week, and I told you how that didn’t work. She’s so mean to everybody that I’m not sure I really want her to come.”
Mom thought for a few minutes, then said, “Maybe the first thing you should do is pray for the ability to like Janet.”
I was mystified. “But how will that help Janet want to come to Primary?”
“Well, it’s pretty hard to help someone you don’t like. Your efforts won’t be very enthusiastic, and she’ll know that you aren’t sincere. You need to pray for Heavenly Father’s help, then try being nice to Janet even if she isn’t nice to you.”
“That’s going to be hard,” I said.
“I know,” said Mom. “That’s why it’s so important to ask for Heavenly Father’s help.”
On Sunday when Sister Card asked us if we had decided what Jesus would do about Janet, I told everyone what Mom had said to me. Sister Card smiled and said, “You have a very wise mother, Esther. If you’ll all open the New Testament to Matthew 5:44, you’ll see that the Savior said the same thing: ‘But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’”
We were all very quiet as we thought about what this really meant in our relationship with Janet.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Christina said, breaking the silence.
“You’re right. It isn’t going to be easy,” Sister Card said. “But then not many things that are really worthwhile are.”
We decided we were going to be so nice to Janet that she wouldn’t know what to think. Sister Card cautioned that we should be very patient and not get discouraged if she didn’t respond positively right away. “Janet has had ten years to learn and practice the behavior she has now, so don’t expect her to change overnight.”
The next day when I went into our classroom, I heard Janet’s familiar greeting before I even saw her. “Hey, there’s Redhead-Wet-the-Bed!”
Instead of ignoring her and walking away, I went over to her and said, “Hi, Janet. Do you want to play kickball with us at lunchtime?”
She was so surprised that she didn’t answer at first. Then she said, “Not me! That’s a sissy game,” and walked off.

Helping our children learn to see others as brothers and sisters can start with our family prayers. For years, our family prayers have included pleas for God to bless our family. By “family,” we mean (and specifically pray for) our direct family (parents and children), our extended family, our ward family, and our neighborhood family. We wanted our children to see those God has surrounded us with as part of our family.

We then get off our knees and try to serve those we pray for. We involve our children in loving relationships with their aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. For example, our children helped us as we cared for my angel mother for the last few years of her life. We most certainly didn’t do it perfectly, but our efforts made a difference.

Today is Elena’s turn to be the special helper at school!
“Good morning, Special Helper!”
The special helper gets to pick up Mrs. Glen’s blue folder from the office.
Elena gets to choose a friend to go with her.
“I pick Ruby!”
She gets to be the first in line to go to the library.
She even gets to show the class her favorite toy.
“This is Puga. She’s named after a dog my dad had, growing up in Brazil!”
It’s time to pick another friend to help take the blue folder back to the office.
Who should I choose?
Maggie? Josh? Emiko?
No one ever picks Lucas. Maybe that would make him happy!
“I pick Lucas!”
Elena likes helping her teacher. And she likes helping her friends too.

As she became a young adult herself, Ioana wanted to do the same and help others feel welcome in the Savior’s Church. Though she felt nervous about reaching out to people she didn’t know, she was learning to listen to the Holy Ghost and trust the promptings she received.
When another young woman joined, Ioana got up the courage to talk to her. They discovered a mutual interest in music, and Ioana offered to teach her to lead the singing. Before long they were spending time together, serving as branch pianist and music leader.
“As I prepared myself to receive the guidance of the Holy Ghost, I started to notice Him putting thoughts in my head, answering my questions, prompting me,” Ioana said. “There were times I didn’t know what to say, and then something would come. It felt right when I said it. I’m learning to trust the Holy Ghost.”
She learned that often the things that help others feel like they belong aren’t big. For her, it was being included in Sunday School or activities, playing sports or crazy games, baking cookies, and having dance nights. “It wasn’t fancy. It was just having a good time or being able to talk. And when it’s connected to something spiritual, that can make it extra special.”

“On the first day we asked our reading and writing students what they wanted to study after they had completed the course, and they all said they wanted to read the scriptures. One of my students in Cacalotepec also said she wanted to learn how to read so she could lead the singing better. In fact, there were three other song leaders from Cacalotepec who had all come to learn so they could better fill their Church callings.
“At our farewell party each of us bore testimony to our thankfulness and love for the people. One girl got up and with almost uncontrollable tears thanked us for the work we were doing. She told us that we were making her branch better. She said that you can’t progress if you can’t read the scriptures and the words of the prophets. Then she expressed her amazement that we would come here on our vacations and work with the people when we could stay home and have an enjoyable time. Words just couldn’t express to her how much we had learned and gained from her village and that it was the best summer vacation I have ever spent.”
Betty LeiningerGreenbrae, California

Reality: Dr. DuPont likes to tell the story of the time he was visiting with an executive of one of America’s largest breweries. During their discussion, the two men were talking about one of the company’s beer-making operations and the topic of the factory’s employee cafeteria came up. The conversation went like this:
Beer company executive: “We used to serve beer in our cafeteria to the employees on their lunch hours and breaks, but we don’t anymore.”
Dr. DuPont: “Why did you stop?”
Beer company executive: “Why do you think?”
Ask Rob Lane if substance abuse can hurt you, and he’s got evidence it can.
The 18-year-old freshman from the University Second Ward, Rincon Arizona Stake, is part of a research team at the University of Arizona Medical Center studying how alcohol, tobacco, and cocaine abuse influences cells, antibodies, and the immune system.
“It isn’t a question of whether abuse harms you,” Rob says. “It’s a question of how quickly and how extensively.”
Lee Murphy, one of two returned missionaries who work with Rob, states the case even more dramatically. “We test laboratory rats over a period of six to eight weeks. In that time, 60 percent of the animals subjected to cocaine and alcohol will die. It’s like they’re in a trap. When they’re on a drug, their behavior changes severely if they don’t get the drug. But if they continue to get it, chances are it will kill them.”
Chad McRae, the other returned missionary, and Gail Crawford, another LDS student working in the lab, help Rob summarize data. As their computers analyze screen after screen of statistics Rob says, “Isn’t it obvious? Don’t abuse drugs. Once you start down that road, you may never recover.”
Rob, Lee, Chad, and Gail are only students, and their work is in support of a lot of others with more expertise. But ask any one of them what research has taught them about the Word of Wisdom, and their answer is quick and sure: “It’s true.”

“What special things, Kate?” Papa winked at Mama. “I thought I was to get flour and sugar and salt. Nothing special about that.”
“You know, Papa,” Molly burst out. “Get a bolt of the prettiest calico you can find! Mama’s going to make me a new dress, and shirts for John, and curtains for our new glass windows!” She stopped, and everyone was quiet as Papa gave thanks for the food.
“Papa,” John asked, taking a bite out of his corn bread, “do you remember the other two special things?”
“Let’s see,” Papa replied. “I’m to get some smooth boards to cover this dirt floor.” His eyes sparkled. “We’re going to be the first family out here to have a real wood floor!”
“And then, Frank, if there’s enough money left over, get that last special thing,” Mama said excitedly. “Bring home some oilcloth to cover the walls with and some pretty wallpaper to go over the oilcloth. Then we’ll have a real house, like the one we had back east.”
They all looked at the hardpacked dirt walls. Papa had tried to make them look nice by painting them with whitewash, but most of it had come off. “I think if we put oilcloth up first, the wallpaper will last longer,” said Mama.
The little sod house seemed even warmer as Papa laughed. “I’ll do the best shopping I can,” he promised, and his smile wrapped around Molly like a hug. “Now, Molly,” he said as they finished their squash and ham, “get out your favorite book. It’s your turn to read tonight.”
Early the next morning as the sky turned pink along the eastern edge of the prairie, Papa hitched the horses to the wagon. “I’ll be back in three days,” he called as he drove off.
Molly watched until Papa was out of sight and only the tall prairie grass waved back at her.
Molly and John carried water to the chickens. They collected buffalo chips to burn in the stove and helped Mama milk the cow. They gathered the eggs and shelled the corn. They studied their lessons—and they counted three days.
By dinnertime on the third day Papa wasn’t home. Molly squished her nose flat against the wavy glass window. “I still can’t see him, Mama,” she said.
“Don’t fret, Molly. Papa’s been to town many times since we’ve been here.” Mama’s voice was calm and quiet. “Don’t you remember he said it would take three full days? Now let’s put the lantern in the window so he can see the light shining out over the prairie.”
They had just finished their mush-and-milk supper when John shouted, “Listen! I hear the wagon!”
In a few minutes Papa was in the house. He gave Mama a big hug and picked up Molly and John. “Just wait until you see the special things I’ve brought!” he said, whirling them around the room.
Papa and Mama and Molly and John carried in the food supplies for winter. Then Papa brought in a big package. “Here’s your calico, Molly—the prettiest in the country, I’ll wager.” The calico was a soft blue, with little red and yellow designs scattered all over it.
“Oh, Papa,” Molly cried, “I’ve never seen such pretty calico!”
“Frank, it’s lovely,” said Mama. “Did it take you a long time to find it?”
“No,” said Papa, laughing. “I just matched Molly’s blue eyes.”
“And was there enough money to get the second special thing?” John asked.
“Wait and see,” said Papa. He came back with one wide, smooth board and laid it on the dirt floor. “There you are, Kate, the finest floor on the prairie!”
“But, Papa, that’s not big enough!” cried John.
Papa chuckled. “Don’t worry, John. The rest of the floor is in the wagon.”
“And the third special thing, Papa?” Molly jumped up and down on the board. “Did you get the oilcloth and the prettiest wallpaper in the country too?”
“I got the oilcloth and the best wallpaper you ever saw,” said Papa. He went to the wagon again and came back with two heavy brown packages.
Papa unwrapped a roll of oilcloth first. Then he opened a squarish package and held up a large dictionary. “Here’s the wallpaper. And it’s a brand-new 1870 edition, too,” he announced.
“Frank, I don’t understand. Where is the wallpaper?” Mama sounded puzzled.
“Just watch, Kate.” Papa’s eyes twinkled as he carefully fastened a piece of oilcloth over one of the hard-packed sod walls. Then he opened the dictionary and carefully cut out some of the pages with his knife. He took one of the pages and nailed it up, right through the oilcloth and into the sturdy wall behind it. He nailed up another, and another. Soon the wall was covered with pages. The white paper made the sod house look large and bright, and the words looked like tiny stripes across the wall.
“How beautiful!” cried Molly.
Mama looked at the wall without a word. Then she turned to Papa. “Frank, who else would ever have thought of papering the walls with a dictionary!” Mama’s eyes were bright as she hugged Papa. “You really did bring us something special!”
“And, Kate,” said Papa, “when we’ve learned all these words, we’ll just add more pages and keep on reading.”
Molly gave a happy sigh. “Papa,” she said, “now we have the prettiest calico, and the finest floor, and the smartest walls in the whole world!”

One of my cousins has been struggling with depression for the past few years. We try to keep in contact, but because of the miles between us, being there physically for her is hard. I started a care package and filled it with things that she loves and could use as a pick-me-up. I also wrote letters of advice, concern, and inspiring quotes. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but letting someone know that you love and care for them can be enough to help them get through the darkest of times.
Hanne J., Georgia, USA

During my last year of high school, I decided I had to strengthen my testimony before I left for college. I studied all I could about the Savior’s life and His atoning sacrifice. As I did so, the reality of His love struck me so powerfully that it brought me to tears. I realized that I am indeed a beloved daughter of God. As the magnitude of this sank deep into my very being, I realized that dressing modestly is not just to prevent the boys from thinking bad thoughts. It is a way to show our appreciation for one of the most wonderful gifts God has given us: a body.
May I suggest that Church members be taught to be modest because they love and respect themselves and the Lord and they want to honor His gift. I never had a strong testimony of modesty until I learned to love Heavenly Father and the Savior more deeply.
Brenda Petty, Idaho, USA

As a new twelve-year-old Scout, I attended a court of honor in the Richards Ward in Salt Lake City. Near the end of the evening an older fellow in the troop, Jim Rasband, was awarded a beautiful, red, heart-shaped medal. It was called the Life Scout award. I remembered how impressed we as troop members were when it was pinned on his Scout shirt. That one experience of seeing an unusual Scout lift his head above the average boy and walk in high places probably contributed to my attainment of the Eagle rank.

I learned just how eager they were one spring day while driving to Salt Lake City to talk with a woman there. Suddenly, I felt that I could hear the sound of drums beating. I seemed to see an Indian woman, dressed in an oversize plaid shirt, a Navajo skirt, and a silver medallion belt. The seat beside me was empty, but I could sense her presence.
When I arrived in Salt Lake City, I felt prompted to ask the woman with whom I had the appointment whether she had any Indian ancestors. But Carolyn doesn’t look Indian; she’s blonde and blue-eyed, I thought to myself. She’ll think I’m crazy.
When I met Carolyn in her office, the prompting for me to ask was just as strong as it had been in the car. So I asked if she had Indian ancestors.
“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother was Cherokee and was adopted by the Navajo.” She told me about how her “Granny” had worked as a nurse for many years with the Navajo in Arizona, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Texas. Later, I asked Carolyn about the clothing her grandmother had worn, and she described to me the clothing I had seen the woman wearing.
I told Carolyn about the temple work we had done for the Choctaw. She was thrilled about the possibility of doing the same work for the Cherokee. The Cherokee were the second nation to walk the “Trail of Tears”; there is a record of the tribe in its entirety from 1835—before they had settled in Oklahoma. Carolyn is now doing extraction work on that record, preparing names for the temple.

When I was eight years old, I had a very hard time understanding the scriptures. I tried to be more focused, but it didn’t help. The scriptures had become a big cluster of words that did not mean anything. I began to doubt that the scriptures were true. I made it a goal to understand the scriptures, and I prayed about it. When I started to read again, they made sense. I know that the Lord helped me understand them. If you believe, anything is possible.Allyson Austin, age 9Tallahassee, Florida