Gospel Story Finder

To illustrate the second great stabilizing force, I relate another experience. Some years ago, I was serving as a young bishop. We were holding a ward social around a swimming pool near the apartment where most of the ward members lived. I was introduced to a new member of the ward—a young woman by the name of Carol. Carol had cerebral palsy. She walked with great difficulty; her hands were crippled. Her kind and dear face was also affected, as was her speech. But as I would come to understand, to know Carol was to love her.
I had only to wait a few minutes to begin learning the great lesson she would teach. While we were talking, we watched a tall, very athletic young man dive off the diving board and seem to injure himself slightly. He got out of the pool, holding his neck, and went and sat under a tree. I watched as Carol struggled to prepare a plate of food and with great difficulty delivered it to him—a guileless act of service, of “good works.” Carol’s good works became a legend. She cared for the sick; she took food to the hungry; she drove people places; she comforted; she lifted; she blessed.
I walked with her one day on the sidewalk that passed through the apartment complex where she lived. From the windows, from the balconies, from the porches came cries of “Hi, Carol!” and “How are you doing, Carol?” and “Come up and see us, Carol!” Occasionally someone would say “Oh, hi, Bishop.” It was clear that Carol was loved and greatly accepted through her wonderful good works.
My most vivid recollection of Carol occurred in the spring of that year. The ward had agreed to participate in the stake five-kilometer fun run—an oxymoronic term, to be sure. Carol wanted to be with the rest of the ward members, but we didn’t see how it would be possible. For her, just walking was a great difficulty. Nevertheless, she was determined. She struggled and trained each day to increase her endurance.
The race finished in the stadium. Two or three hundred of us were in the stands by the finish line, drinking juice and catching our breath. And then we remembered Carol—she was left somewhere back on the course. As we ran out the entrance of the stadium to find her, she came into view, struggling to breathe, barely able to walk, but determined to finish. As she started around the track toward the finish line, a wonderful thing happened. Suddenly the track was lined on both sides with hundreds of cheering friends. Others were running alongside to support and hold her up. Carol had finished the race.

A word of caution may be in order here, however. A friend of mine named Doug lost his father in an automobile accident when he was about thirteen years old. Though he knew they meant well, it was difficult for him to hear his friends whose parents were still living say, “I know exactly how you feel.” The fact is they probably didn’t, and consequently their well-intentioned remarks sounded hard. A simple “I’m sorry” would have been more appropriate. Furthermore, Doug felt oppressed by those people who felt it was their duty to get him to “talk about it” every time they associated with him. Once he felt the concern and sympathy of his friends by their simple expressions of sympathy, he preferred to introduce the subject himself.

As a young man, I was in the National Guard. I went to Fort Knox, Kentucky, to learn all about tanks and helicopters so that I could be an officer in an armored cavalry unit. While I was there, I made friends with a soldier who was not a member of our church. My friend often teased me because I did not drink or smoke, as he did. I told him about the Word of Wisdom and about other Church teachings.
One day our troop had to run a special kind of race. Every so often along the ten-mile course, we had to stop and pass a test. For example, we might have to figure out why a tank wasn’t running, adjust a machine gun, or do something else we had been learning in our training. My friend and I agreed that this race would be a good test of whose lifestyle was healthier—his or mine.
The men started the race one at a time in alphabetical order, with about a minute between each man. My friend’s last name started with A and mine with C, so he started the race a few minutes before I did. About a third of the way through the course, I saw a truck with a red cross on its side. Inside the ambulance was my friend. Because he did not take good care of his body, he was not physically fit and could not finish the race. I finished in good shape because I had always lived the Word of Wisdom.

When Madilin Neibert received her school’s citizenship award at the end of her seventh grade year, it took her by surprise. As one of only seven LDS youth in her school, she’d spent a lot of time that year standing up for her beliefs. Some didn’t understand or agree with her, but Madilin learned that she didn’t need to go along with the crowd to earn her friends’ respect.
What was it like to be recognized as a good citizen in your school? I’m really grateful that I got that award. It meant a lot to me because I know I’m doing my part to be a citizen and to be kind to others and to my teachers.

I rolled with it when my sweetheart, Casey, went into labor and said, “It’s time,” and I about passed out. I rolled with it when the nurse held our brand-new baby girl in front of me and said, “She’s yours now,” and I gave Isabelle a kiss on the forehead. I rolled with it and shaved my facial hair when my scratchy kisses made her cry. And I even rolled with it when, while I was holding her on my lap, her dirty diaper gave out—fatherhood can be messy.

One day, shortly after the first Barnardo Home was opened, a pale and ragged boy asked Dr. Barnardo to take him in. Regretfully, Barnardo had to refuse, for the house was already full. He gave the lad, known as Carrots, some money and asked him to come back later. Carrots never returned, for during that week he died from cold and hunger.
Barnardo vowed that he would never let such a thing happen again. Without delay he had erected over the door of the home a signboard that read, “No Destitute Child Ever Refused Admission.” From that day to this, no matter what the hour of day or night, that pledge has been honored.
Barnardo’s doors are always open and no deserving child is ever turned away.

“Wow! Imagine living like that!” I’ve thought many times as I’ve traveled and lived abroad. I was 12 years old the first time I lived overseas. I went to Germany as a foreign exchange student, and there I learned that individuals and families in other places lived differently than I did.
Life-styles were different, food was different, transportation was different, languages were different. I was a stranger in a strange place, and I wondered how to respond. A big part of me wanted to surround myself with familiar things which would make the differences feel farther away. But there was also a part of me that wanted to completely submerge myself in the new culture and absorb it. I suppose I found a happy medium, leaning sometimes more towards one culture, and sometimes more towards the other.

The Prophet’s kindness it seems, extended to all of God’s children. A great illustration of his respect for all men is an incident related by Jane E. Manning, an early black convert to the Church, which she wrote in 1893. In 1842, Sister Manning joined the Church in Connecticut, and at great personal cost and even greater risk, she with several other black Church members made their way to Nauvoo. Walking until their shoes were worn out and their feet were so sore that they cracked open and bled until they could see the “whole print of their feet with blood on the ground,” this courageous group arrived in Peoria, Illinois, only to be threatened by the authorities with a jail sentence if their papers were not in order. Producing the proper papers they were freed, and continued their journey crossing rivers so deep that the water ran up to their necks. Arriving finally in Nauvoo they were directed to the Prophet Joseph Smith’s home and, in the words of Aunt Jane:
“Sister Emma was standing in the door, and she kindly said, come in, come in! Brother Joseph said to some of the white sisters that were present, Sisters, I want you to occupy this room this evening with some brothers and sisters that have just arrived. Brother Joseph placed the chairs around the room and then he went and brought Sister Emma and Dr. Bernhisel and introduced them to us, Brother Joseph took a chair and sat down by me and said, you have been the head of this little band haven’t you? I answered yes sir! he then said God bless you! Now I would like you to relate your experience in your travels, I related to them all that I have above stated and a great deal more minutely, since many incidents have passed from my memory since then. Brother Joseph slapped Dr. Bernhisel on the knee and said, ‘what do you think of that Dr., isn’t that faith?’ The Dr. said, well, I rather think it is, if it had been me I fear I should have quit and returned to my home.”
The entire group stayed in the Prophet’s home for an entire week, until proper housing was secured for them. The Prophet came into their room each morning to find out how they were and one day gave Jane, who had lost her clothes on the way, some new ones. Another morning, finding her crying because all the others had found homes, he left the room, talked with Emma a few moments and then asked Jane Manning if she would live with his family. Giving her consent, she ironed, washed, and cooked for them and never forgot the kindness of Joseph and Emma Smith. She died faithful to the Church in April, 1908, always grateful for the time she had spent in the Prophet’s home.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was very small for my age. I was 5?2? and weighed 105 pounds. When you’re 5?2? and 105, not many coaches want you playing basketball, unless you have exceptional talent, which I didn’t. You also don’t make a very good linebacker for the football team.
I was sitting in the gym one day watching the basketball tryouts, when the wrestling coach walked by and said, “We need a few tough guys your size who can wrestle for us.”
I thought to myself, “Obviously I look pretty tough to the coach, so I’ll give this wrestling a try.” I told him I would do it.
My first problem was finding the wrestling room. After some searching, I found it was three stories under the basketball court in an unventilated, very dimly lit cubicle.
As I entered the room, I found the first thing you need to overcome in wrestling is the odor produced by 50 young men sweating in a room with no air circulation.
I found the coach. Instead of being polite and friendly as he had been the day before, he seemed grouchy and mean. He pointed to a kid across the room and said, “Wrestle him.”
I looked at the kid and thought to myself, “This will be a snap.” He was shorter than I was and looked as if he had missed a few meals. I turned to the coach to say he had made a mistake and surely there was someone else I could wrestle. As I did this, the kid grabbed me and for the next three hours gave me a wrestling lesson I’ll never forget. He rubbed my face in the mat and twisted me into positions I didn’t think possible. Finally, after three hours of mat work, I thought we were done. Not quite. Up to the halls we went, where the coach led us in wind sprints and jogging. Finally, four hours after practice began, we were finished. I sat on the bench in the locker room totally exhausted.
The coach called me into his office. He said, “How much do you weigh?”
I replied, “About 105.”
He said, “You’ll be wrestling 98 in three days.”
That was 7 percent of my body weight. “I’ll have to go without eating,” I protested.
He said, “I know.” So to my surprise, a wrestler not only had to work out for four hours, he couldn’t eat after the workout. I made weight at 98 pounds and put up with this difficult schedule for three weeks. Finally I had had enough.
I went home and told my dad that I was going to quit. I thought he would be elated after seeing how much I had suffered. Instead he said, “I never took you for a quitter. I always thought when you started something, you finished it.”
Well, if he was going to say that, I certainly would not quit now. I said, “I guess wrestling is not so bad after all.”
I stuck it out. For four long months I stuck it out. It was never easy. In fact, it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. It wasn’t glamorous. The basketball team got all the recognition. They got the nice locker room and all the new facilities, and the entire school showed up to their games. The school had to assign four members of the pep club to go to wrestling matches. No, it wasn’t glamorous. But much to my surprise, at the end of the difficult season, I had a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that I had never felt before. The most difficult thing I had done in my life turned out to be the most rewarding.

It was the summer of 1872 in the far Northwest, and Mike and Rena King were hurrying home from their Aunt Alta’s. Mike carried a package of fresh meat from Uncle Duane in a tin bucket. As they followed an old Indian trail, they could hear the rushing waters of the Nooksack River.
Suddenly Rena said in a hushed voice, “The birds have stopped singing.” She pulled at her brother’s sleeve. “I’m scared, Mike, and it’s getting dark.”
The sky had turned gray and heavy, and a deep rumble echoed along the canyon walls. The tallest alder trees shivered, their leafy branches whispering.
“The clouds make it look later than it is,” answered Mike.
“Can’t we walk faster?” Rena urged, tugging harder on her brother’s sleeve. She kept looking into the thick underbrush on either side of the path. “There’s something in there!” she whispered. “I’m sure of it.”
A deep, loud boom sounded in the forest and Rena leaped ahead. Mike soon caught up with her. “It’s only thunder,” he assured her.
“Let’s go back,” Rena pleaded, tears in her brown eyes.
Mike tried to sound brave and encouraging. “We’ll make it,” he said. “We’re already half way home.” But the strange silence between thunderclaps had unnerved him too. “We’ll run awhile if you want to. Our turnoff is just ahead.”
Puffing hard, they jogged to the bend, then slowed to a walk as the path led up the ridge known as Squaw Hill. The trees were farther apart now and the sky seemed lighter.
“Still scared?” asked Mike.
Rena shook her dark head. “But it was spooky back there.”
They had not gone far when Rena exclaimed, “Oh look, Mike, blackberries!”
Mike tasted the small tart berries. “We can pick enough in a few minutes for a pie.”
“I love wild blackberry pie,” said Rena. “Pick as fast as you can.”
Mike handed Rena the deer meat and his fingers flew among the thorny brambles until the tin pail was nearly full. “That should be enough,” he declared.
“This package is leaking,” Rena said, wrinkling her nose. “Do I have to carry it?”
“Only for a little while,” Mike answered. “We can’t put it back in the pail or it would squash the blackberries.”
Rena sighed and held the bundle away from her long warm coat. “The sky’s getting blacker again,” she said.
Mike looked up. “It sure is. We’ll have to make up for lost time. Maybe we shouldn’t have stopped for the berries.”
“But I LOVE blackberry pie,” Rena countered. “Besides, I was just being a scaredy-cat, and we’re almost to the top of the hill now.”
“We still have that stretch of bluejoint (grass) to go through,” Mike reminded her.
From the top of Squaw Hill they could see their house across the valley. Twin curls of smoke rose from the stone chimneys.
As they neared the field of waving bluejoint, Mike sniffed. “Smells good.”
“It’s twice as tall as I am,” said Rena. “I’ll race you home!” She turned to glance at her brother, but her attention was caught by a movement half way up the ridge. “Mike, a big tan dog is following us,” she whispered.
A shriek pierced the air like a woman screaming. Rena’s face turned white and Mike put his arm around her shaking shoulders. “It’s not a dog!” he exclaimed. “Only one animal makes a noise like that—a cougar!”
“It’s coming this way! Run Mike!”
“No!” All the stories Mike had ever heard about the huge cats flashed through his mind. He gripped Rena’s arm. “Go slow and easy until we’re out of his sight,” he warned her.
Rena forced her trembling legs to take slow steps as Mike backed after her. The big cat’s tawny, rippling body bounded with powerful grace, floating over the ground with distance-eating speed. Mike’s heart sank. He knew they couldn’t possibly reach home before the swift animal caught up with them. He felt the first blades of bluejoint on his back. He whirled and shouted at his sister. “Run, Rena. Don’t look back, no matter what!”
The grass tunnel seemed endless. Then Rena tripped and fell, almost dropping the venison.
Mike knelt beside her. They could hear the rustle of dry grass, even before they saw the great moving shadow blending with the dusk. The cougar crouched and inched toward them. His ears lay back.
“He smells the meat!” cried Mike. He pulled Rena to her feet, grabbed the venison from her arms and hurled it in the path of the advancing cougar.
The giant cat circled the package.
Growling and slashing at the wrapping, the lanky beast ripped the meat apart.
Mike and Rena broke out of the tall grass and pounded up the path, darting quick looks behind them.
Reaching the house, they lunged inside and slammed the door. Both speaking at once, they panted out the story to their parents. “And we almost didn’t think to throw the package of meat down!” Mike said, grinning in relief.
Father gently pried the boy’s white, cramped fingers from around the handle of the tin bucket. A few wild blackberries were still in the bottom of it.

1. Notice that Rachel describes specifics from before the priesthood blessing; this will be important to show the contrast of the healing after the blessing.
“When I was young, I had an expander (an orthodontic appliance) in the top of my mouth. One day I developed an infection and my gums swelled up around it. I was in terrible pain, and neither the dentist nor the orthodontist knew what was wrong or how to fix it. All they could do while they tried to figure it out was to give me pain medicine. I stayed home sick from school and spent most of the time sleeping. Every time the medicine wore off, I woke up in pain and cried until the next dose of medicine kicked in.1
2. If you were speaking with nonmembers, you’d want to tell a little more about what priesthood and home teacher mean.
“My mom asked my dad (a priesthood holder) to call one of our home teachers.2 He came over and helped my father give me a healing blessing. After the blessing, the pain never woke me up from sleep again. The swelling went down and I was able to stop taking the pain medicine. When I went back to the dentist, he was astonished and still couldn’t understand what had been wrong or how it healed. He was a member of our stake, so my mom told him I’d had a priesthood blessing, and then he understood why I was better.3
3. She shares how she was healed by priesthood power. Notice how she explains that her recovery puzzled the dentist. This demonstrates that her healing was a result of the blessing and a gift from our Heavenly Father.
“Ever since that experience, I’ve had a strong testimony of the true power of the priesthood. Whenever my testimony gets a little shaky, I can look back on this experience and remember what a real miracle it was. I know the Lord loves me and that it was His power that made me better.”4
4. She concludes her story by sharing a simple but powerful testimony.
Rachel M., Utah, USA

I am a member of the British Army based in West Germany. When I first arrived I found it hard being away from my family and home ward (the Catford Ward in London).
The nearest LDS chapel is 22 kilometers away, and it is only possible for me to attend when a member of the German-speaking ward in Celle can collect me and take me to the chapel. I don’t yet know how to speak German, but every Sunday a member translates for me.
I am grateful for the New Era, as I’ve only been a member for three years. When my brother Philip has finished with each month’s issue, he keeps it until I get home so I can take a stack when I return to Germany.
The New Era always strengthens me when I’m down and helps me keep the Spirit of the Lord close. Thanks for such a great magazine.
Allon William Shaftoe1st Armoured Field AmbulanceRoyal Army Medical Corps

One day when I was riding home from school on the bus, my friend started talking about the person sitting next to me. She said that because he wasn’t a member of our church, she did not like him. I told her that it’s OK that he’s not a member of our church and that he’s still a good person.
When I got home, I talked with my mother about what had happened. She suggested that I call him and apologize for the way my friend had acted. He wasn’t home, so I talked with his mother, instead. Later, I saw him with some friends playing basketball with our basketball hoop. When I walked outside, his friends thought I was coming to tell them that they had to leave. He said, “She won’t say that. She’s nice. She apologized for the way her friend acted.” I felt very good inside for choosing the right.
Chelsea Michele Bryant, age 8Midway, Utah

I asked, "Alex, do you have any idea how much impact you and your book have had on the people of the world?"

He answered, "I think so."

I said, "I haven't been involved in Family History Administration too many years, but it seems to me there is an invisible hand guiding this work, bringing people like you and scientific developments and special events together toward a pre-determined course."

He slammed his fist on his knee and said, "That's right! I felt the guiding hand of the Lord."

How appropriate that one year after the broadcast of Roots, in June 1978, the historic revelation was announced that all the children of God could enjoy the full blessings of the Priesthood.

One other incredible example of the "invisible hand" operating upon the hearts and minds of people: We cultivated relationships with the USSR for about 30 years in an effort to microfilm vital records. In 1989 one of the employees of the Family History Department, Kahlile Mehr, was in conversation with Dr. Patricia Grimsted of Harvard University, recognized as the top scholar on Russian Archival records. Brother Mehr expressed strong interest in the church being able to microfilm public and church records in the Soviet Union. She told Kahlile that in her opinion this church would never have access to Russian archival records. The Lord thought differently.

As President of the Genealogical Society of Utah, accompanied by Sister Clarke and our European acquisition Manager, Lynn Carson, we traveled to Moscow, Russia in April 1992. Sitting around a table in the offices of the former Central Committee of the Communist Party located at the Kremlin, I signed a contract with Dr. Rudolph Pikhoia, Chairman of the Committee of Archival Affairs for the Republic of Russia. This contract authorized the Genealogical Society of Utah to microfilm vital records in 200 regional archives throughout Russia. What in 1989 was said to be impossible was now reality. "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"

Huddled together on the freezing ground, Mary Elizabeth and her family camped on the banks of the Missouri River and waited to be ferried over to freedom. While they waited, the Saints found out that among all the families, they did not have enough money to ferry everyone.
“Some families will have to stay behind,” one of the men said.
“Whoever stays behind will be killed!” a woman cried.
“Maybe the ferryman will let us pay in fish,” one of the men suggested.
A few of the men went to the shore and set up fishing lines. The rest of the Saints prayed in the cold rain for help from the Lord. The lines stayed out all night and into the next morning.
When the men checked the fishing lines, they rejoiced to see they had caught some small fish and one very large catfish. Mary Elizabeth watched while the men cleaned the fish. When they cut open the catfish, everyone fell silent. To her amazement, Mary Elizabeth saw three bright silver half-dollars inside the fish, just the amount needed for all the Saints to cross the river to safety. Mary Elizabeth joined the other Saints in a prayer of gratitude for the Lord’s protection.

Today, special circumstances allow me to introduce you to a wonderful woman, who, like all of us, has been blessed with gifts and talents from the Lord. She has not had the privilege of attending BYU, but she personifies what we are about. She has spent a lifetime “anxiously engaged” in good causes and has brought forth “much righteousness.” In addition to being an exemplary member missionary in Norway, her initiatives led to the establishment of the Norwegian and Danish lecture series here in our David M. Kennedy Center. She joined the Church in 1964 when my father was mission president in Norway. She is seated in the audience today. [May I ask Sister Rigmor Heistø to please stand. Thank you.]

Sister Heistø is 78 years old, and she came from Norway two weeks ago to hear Norwegian Supreme Court Justice Georg Fr. Rieber-Mohn give a lecture in the Kennedy Center. She is the person who made the original contact with Justice Rieber-Mohn and put me in touch with him.

Two years ago Sister Heistø read a newspaper article in which Justice Rieber-Mohn, then attorney general for Norway, lamented about the disintegrating family and cultural values in Norway. In the newspaper interview he warned that the continued pursuit of materialism could destroy the country, and he called for a greater emphasis on teaching values.

Sister Heistø thought the attorney general should know that a church was already doing the very things he advocated. So she wrote to him, told him about our church, and sent him some brochures. A week later the attorney general telephoned, thanked Sister Heistø for writing to him, and invited her to meet with him. As a result, she had a two-hour meeting with the attorney general in which she explained the Church’s teachings and programs.

At the conclusion of their visit, Sister Heistø suggested that the attorney general visit Utah to learn more about the Mormons personally. She then said she had a friend at BYU who would be happy to invite him to visit Utah and give a lecture at BYU. I was contacted, I extended the invitation, and we had the privilege of hosting Justice Rieber-Mohn and his son just two weeks ago.

It was a wonderful visit, and Justice Rieber-Mohn gave an excellent lecture in the David M. Kennedy Center. He discussed his observations overseeing criminal prosecution in Norway for the past 11 years and placed the primary blame for increased crime on the breaking down of the family and the pursuit of materialism. In a radio interview in Salt Lake City discussing his observations, the interviewer asked if Justice Rieber-Mohn had gained any insight during his visit to Utah that he might take back to Norway to help resolve the problems he had identified. His response was, “Well, I should take the whole Mormon Church with me and the family life you have, and we would see a rapid decline in all the negative signs developing of which I have spoken” (transcription of radio interview provided by Dave Porter, LDS Public Affairs, 5 March 1998). Here is a man who prior to meeting Sister Heistø admitted that the only thing he knew about Mormons was what he learned in high school regarding polygamy—and now he is a good friend to the Church and BYU.

Several years ago, Sister Pearson and I were called to preside over the Washington Tacoma Mission. The call was a complete surprise. With some trepidation I met with the chairman and the CEO of the company where I was employed and informed them of my mission call. They were visibly upset with my decision to leave the firm. “When did you make this decision, and why didn’t you discuss it with us earlier?” they demanded.

In a moment of clarity, a profound answer came into my mind. I said, “I made this decision as a 19-year-old boy, when I made sacred covenants with God in the temple to follow the Savior. I’ve built my entire life on those covenants, and I fully intend to keep them now.”

Timothy stares down into the warm muddy water of the plastic bucket.
“What did we get?” Dad asks across the small fishing boat.
Timothy gives it a little swirl. “It looks like some more dragonfly nymphs, not much else.” He passes the bucket to Christopher, who, after a quick glance, passes it to Dad.
Dad takes the bucket and pours the water, mud, and nymphs into a plastic bag and places it in a big cooler. The cooler is the kind you might expect to be filled with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and soda pop, but this one is filled with samples of the insect life in the farm ponds of North Carolina.
Timothy (11) and Christopher (7) live with their family in the Raleigh First Ward, Raleigh North Carolina Stake. Today they are helping their father, a scientist who studies the insects that live in farm ponds.
“Insects in ponds? Underwater?” Both boys were surprised to learn that many animals that live on land also live underwater. There are insects and spiders that spend much of their life underwater. Some, such as the dragonfly, live part of their lives underwater as nymphs with gills before they become winged adults.
It’s hard work to help Dad take samples from the mud and plants of a pond. Timothy and Christopher start the day early. After family prayer, they and Dad load the pickup truck with a net, some special scientific equipment that will help them tell something about the water in which these insects live, and other supplies. When all is ready, the boys hop into the truck and wave good-bye to Mom and their two younger brothers, Jaron and Nathan.
On the way to the pond, the boys and their dad talk about the wonderful plants and animals that they are able to study and enjoy. Timothy wonders, however, why there are mosquitoes. “They only bite and hurt us—what good are they?”
“Do you remember the big bluegill fish you caught when we were fishing?” Dad asks.
“Yes, but what does that have to do with mosquitoes?”
“Well, when that fish was little, guess what it ate.”
“Mosquitoes?”
“Yes. If you look hard enough, you’ll find a reason all creatures were put on the earth, even the ones that annoy and bother us.”
Soon they arrive at the pond, which is about as big as a football field and is surrounded on one side by pines and on the other by fields of hay. Even though it is still early in the morning, it is already getting hot. Timothy and Christopher unload the truck and put everything into the boat that has already been put partially into the water. Then they get into the boat. Dad pushes it the rest of the way into the warm pond water and jumps inside.
“Timothy, please get the hummingbird out and tell us how deep the water is,” Dad requests.
The “hummingbird” isn’t really a bird at all. It’s a tool in a little box that tells them how deep the water is; it can also tell where fish are located. Timothy plugs its wires into the battery pack, then lowers a small black knob about the size of an apple into the water. He watches the screen and excitedly yells, “Nine feet!”
Dad rows the boat near the shore where there are thick patches of water plants. He gets out a sampling net and starts collecting the insects in the water. After he sweeps the net through the vegetation, he dumps whatever has been caught into a big bucket.
“What are you going to do with all these insects?” Christopher asks.
“They’ll help us know how healthy this pond is.”
“Healthy? Ponds can be healthy?”
“Yes, ponds can be healthy—or unhealthy.” When a pond is unhealthy—if it’s polluted for example—then certain kinds of insects die. By looking at the insects in it, you can tell if the pond is healthy or not.”
Dad stops the boat at several places along the shore to take more samples. Each time, one of the boys transfers the insects, water, and mud in the bucket to a plastic bag and places it in the cooler. Then it’s time to head for home.
On the way, Dad says, “We’ve just tested that pond to see if it was healthy. What if someone wanted to find out if our family were healthy? Just as I look at insects to get an idea about the health of a pond, what do you think someone might look for to see if our family was a healthy one?”
“You mean, if we are all sick or not?” Timothy asks.
“Not exactly. You see, the pond is healthy when all the plants and animals live in the balance that Jesus Christ created them to live in—there is enough food to eat and oxygen to breathe. In the same way, our family is healthy when it’s living the way Heavenly Father and Jesus want it to live.”
“Oh, I see—like if we all love each other?”
“Yes, that’s the most important sign of a healthy family. What else?”
Christopher puts in thoughtfully, “If we are doing the things the Lord has asked us to do.”
“Like what?” Dad raises his eyebrows encouragingly.
“Like having family prayer, family home evening, and personal prayer.”
Timothy adds, “Well, we read the Book of Mormon, and we try to follow the prophet.”
“So if a ‘spiritual scientist’ came to our house and saw that we were doing all these things, then he or she would decide we have a healthy family?”
Timothy and Christopher both nod.
“Do you think we have a healthy family?” Dad asks.
“Yup,” Timothy asserts.
“I think so, too,” Christopher agrees.
Dad gives them both a quick pat on the shoulder. “I think you’re right.”

Molly held five tickets in her hand as she walked to school. Every Monday, Mom gave her tickets to buy milk at lunch. But lately Molly had lost her tickets before lunchtime. Today Molly was determined to not lose her tickets. When she got to school, she carefully put the tickets in her pocket before playing on the slide.
When the bell rang, Miss Martin came outside. The children began to give her their milk tickets for the week. Molly put her hand in her pocket, but the tickets were gone! Molly’s heart sank. She knew Mom would be disappointed.
Molly panicked as she moved closer to Miss Martin. She decided to make up a story so she wouldn’t get in trouble. She said to her teacher, “A boy took my tickets.”
Miss Martin looked surprised. “Which boy, Molly?” she asked.
Molly’s eyes searched the playground and found an older boy kicking a ball. She pointed at him. “That boy! He took my milk tickets.”
Miss Martin told Molly to go to the classroom while she talked to the boy. Molly felt awful. She hadn’t meant to get the boy in trouble.
All Molly could do all morning was worry. But she knew if she told the truth, she would be in trouble for lying.
As Molly was going to recess, the principal stopped her and asked her to come to his office.
“Oh no!” she thought. “He knows I lied, and I’m going to be in trouble!”
But the principal talked to her nicely and asked her to tell him what happened that morning. Molly said the boy had taken her milk tickets.
“Are you sure that is what happened, Molly?” the principal asked.
She nodded. The principal told her she could go to recess.
As Molly left the office, she saw the boy sitting in the hall. He looked like he had been crying. Molly knew how much trouble she was causing, but she was too scared to tell the truth.
After school Molly walked home slowly, feeling worse with every step. When she got home, Mom said, “Molly, the principal called.”
Molly couldn’t stand it anymore. She started to cry, and she told Mom the whole story.
“Molly, this is a very bad thing you’ve done. Do you understand that?” Mom said.
“Yes.” Molly really did understand.
“What do you think you should do?” Mom asked.
Molly knew she had to tell the truth. But what if the principal got angry? What if Miss Martin didn’t like her anymore? Molly didn’t know if she had enough courage. But then she thought about the boy she had gotten in trouble, and she knew she had to be brave.
“I want to go back to school,” she told Mom.
Mom held Molly’s hand as they walked back to school. The principal listened carefully.
“Molly, I am disappointed in you,” he said. “But I am glad you decided to tell me the truth. I know it wasn’t easy.”
While they were walking home together, Mom said, “Molly, I am proud of you for telling the truth. But what else do you think you need to do to make this right?”
“I need to apologize to that boy,” Molly said.
“Right,” Mom said. “I can drive you over to his house tonight.”
Molly’s heart got a little lighter. “Mom, do you think we should make him some cookies too?”
Mom hugged her. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

One day, after we had reached the Coppermine River, we were paddling on the river during a blizzard. It was the end of July and the snow was flying! The current was powerful, but the head-wind was so strong we were struggling for progress. Bob said, “Dad, look at the shore.” I did … We were standing still. And when we stopped paddling, the wind blew us upstream! So we stopped and pulled over to the shore and gathered what wood we could for a fire to warm our hands.

Another time we were stuck on a boulder in a bad set of rapids, and it seemed as though we might stay there forever. But after a prayer and a quick maneuvering of the boat, we broke free.

Once we reached the river, we were determined to regain our lost time. We didn’t mind moving, because when we’d stop we’d start to chill. Even at night we slept cold. The ground was ice, and the wind was cold. We had some small containers of fuel, but just enough to warm our food. And so we paddled and rushed on. Our worst day on the river we traveled 5 kilometers. Our best day we traveled 80 kilometers, and we went over the falls and flooded our canoe at the last set of rapids out of eight we covered that day. The map showed eight sets of rapids, and we decided, because of our haste, to run them without studying them first, a foolish thing to do.

We slowly regained our lost time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small Eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had sailed over every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we carried our equipment around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.

To any father who is trying to help his son decide to go on a mission, I would say that the most important thing is to know your son. Not everyone needs to go on a trip down the Coppermine River. The same kind of building experiences can take place at home, working in the garage together, playing a game of tennis, maybe just going for a walk where the two of you can be alone. I wouldn’t have gone on the Coppermine River if I hadn’t felt inspired to do so.

And to you young men who know you should be going on a mission, I would remind you that for every person there will be wilderness areas, Gethsemanes, Sacred Groves—places where we learn to rely on the Lord completely and call on him in fervent prayer. Don’t try to tempt the Lord by placing yourself in a dangerous situation, but be prepared to follow the promptings of his Spirit, wherever they may lead you.