Gospel Story Finder

As it turned out, we only had time for three more children. Our fourth child is Natalie. Since birth, her nickname has been Sunshine, and for good reason. She was born with strong mothering instincts. Natalie became like a second mom to our youngest two children just by her nature—it couldn’t be stopped. Because of that, the younger three came to be known as the “junior patrol,” in contrast to the older three, who I guess were the “senior patrol,” though they never used the term themselves. Natalie led Mandy and Benjamin in everything—club meetings, adventures, shows, chores—and they loved it. Talk about belonging! They felt it.

One night Angie and I were tired and sitting at the dinner table talking, and Natalie was doing the dishes because it was her turn. Exhausted, Angie turned to Natalie and, without thinking, asked, “Natalie, after you finish the dishes, will you put your kids to bed?”

Natalie was stunned, and then we all three started laughing together—well at least Angie and I were laughing. I am not sure Natalie was laughing, because of course they were not Natalie’s kids; they were ours. Oh how we love Natalie—the sunshine of our lives!

Bonnie H. Cordon
Growing up, my father was a career Army officer. The only downside to his job was that he had to go to war. I was 13 years old when my dad left for Vietnam for the second time. The fear of him not returning was always on my mind, but so was my trust in the Lord. Before leaving, my dad gave me a father’s blessing assuring me that the Lord would be with me and help while my dad was away. I felt peace. Although I did not know for sure that my dad would return home safely, I trusted that everything would be OK, regardless of what happened.

“Elder Perry, if you could say something to the children of the world, what would you tell them?” I asked.
“I would like to tell them to learn as much as they could about the life of the Savior and to live as close to Him as they possibly can. Living the Lord’s way is the only way to find joy and happiness. If they turn from His course, there’s always a penalty involved, and they’ll find that sorrow and heartache will result from their decision.
“Children ought to start early in their lives to develop a method for retaining that which they study—a kind of filing system. Mine is simple enough for an eight-year-old to use. When I read scriptures and find one especially important, I underline it and try to pick out the main thought. If the scripture is on faith, I write faith in the margin. Then I turn to the Topical Guide, find that scripture, and underline it in red for future reference.
“I think we spend too much time just reading the scriptures without remembering them. It is said that we retain about 10 percent of whatever we read, but we can retain 50–60 percent if we do something specific about it. If a child began at eight years of age, think of the vast amount of information he or she would have from that early study of the scriptures!”
The conversation then turned to recollections of Elder Perry’s parents and his own childhood: “I grew up very close to the Church,” he said. “My father was made bishop of our ward when I was only six months old. By the time I was six years of age, our ward was building a chapel. Father would take us all over to work on it. I remember that my first job was pulling nails out of boards and straightening them so they could be used again.
“My father came from a large family. They were homesteading in Idaho and had little money. When he reached high school age, he asked my grandfather to allow him to go to high school. His father gave him five dollars and a one-way ticket to Salt Lake, where he had to make it on his own. He found a job caring for President Joseph F. Smith’s cows and lived in the Beehive House like a member of the family for three and a half years. Father attended LDS High School and then went on to the University of Utah, where he was valedictorian of his graduating class. He accepted a position as principal of a school in Rexburg, Idaho. There he met my mother who was a teacher in the same school. They were married and Dad left teaching and went to law school and became an attorney.
“Dad was a very intense man, but he knew how to relax. Saturday afternoon was spent with the family—fishing, hiking, or playing ball up Logan Canyon. He and I enjoyed pitching horseshoes together even when I was very young
“My mother was a tremendous woman. She had more energy than anyone I’ve ever been around. She was the first one up in the morning and the last one to bed at night—just perpetual motion all day long. Her family came first and she was a tremendous support to my father, who was a bishop for eighteen years and then in the stake presidency for another twenty years.
“I had some great teachers when I was a boy. I remember a Sister Johnson, who was president of the Primary for years and years. How tender she was!
“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts, but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”
We concluded the interview with some conversation about Elder Perry’s own family: “I have two grandchildren who live here and two who live in the East. We try to have family home evening together once a month with those who live here. One of our greatest family activities has been a garden that we planted in a vacant lot. We call it the Perry Family Welfare Farm. Both grandchildren have assignments. We plant, water, irrigate, harvest, and have a great time together! I hope I’m teaching them something about the Lord’s cycle of replenishment—that if we’re diligent, He will reward us abundantly. Each little seed brings forth a hundredfold.”
“Do you have a last word about children?”
“Children are receptive and attentive and able to follow the leader. They have freshness and are eager to learn. Children are wonderful!”

I want to share my testimony about prayer. When I was around thirteen years old back in Brazil, on a Sunday morning I went to church and went to my Sunday School class. My Sunday School teacher invited us to pray for 30 minutes that day. When he made that invitation, at first I thought, "Oh, we don't need to be timing, counting the minutes of our prayers. The prayers, it doesn't matter if it's five or twenty minutes; it needs to be made with our heart." But at the same moment, I had a big, a huge desire to accept his invitation.
So I went back home, and later in the afternoon that Sunday, I decided to go to my room, close the door, look at the clock, and then get on my knees and start to pray. Since I had a long time to pray, I started first by saying to Heavenly Father all the things that I was grateful for. Then I started to talk to Heavenly Father about my feelings, my desires, my fears, and who I want to become.
I felt during that prayer that my prayer made it to heaven. It was the first time in my life that I felt that. While the Spirit was so strong, after I finished my prayer, I looked at the clock and saw that I went over thirty minutes. After that day, I never again counted the minutes of my prayers, but I knew after that day, and I know, that our prayers can make it to heaven.

I would like to thank you and tell you how much I enjoyed the story “I Didn’t Want to Die” (Jan. 2004). Just a few weeks before, I was struggling with a problem like the one described in the article. When I opened the magazine, I turned right to the story and felt like I needed to read it. For a few days I read it and studied it, and then I prayed. I poured my heart out, and the next day I felt an answer come. I felt a smile immediately come to my face, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt warmth and love, and I knew my worries about this problem were over. I know I can always turn to that article to remember the power of prayer and that Heavenly Father truly does love us. Thank you so much.Brynn Pehrson, Slate Canyon Third Ward, Provo Utah Stake

The Smith family and others in their area were given opportunities to heft the ancient record and feel its individual plates at the Smith family home in Manchester Township, New York. Joseph’s younger brother William, age 16 in 1827, had a vivid memory of witnessing the plates, which he later shared in a sermon: “When the plates were brought in they were wrapped up in a tow frock. My father then put them into a pillow case. Father said, ‘What, Joseph, can we not see them?’ [Joseph responded,] ‘No. … I was forbidden to show them until they are translated, but you can feel them.’ We handled them and could tell what they were. … Could tell whether they were round or square. Could raise the leaves this way (raising a few leaves of the Bible before him). One could easily tell that they were not a stone, hewn out to deceive, or even a block of wood.”1

On another occasion, William provided further information: “I could tell they were plates of some kind and that they were fastened together by rings running through the back.”2 He also wrote that in addition to feeling the individual plates and rings, he had hefted the entire artifact: “I was permitted to lift them. … They weighed about 60 pounds according to the best of my judgment.”3 Joseph’s younger sister Katherine, age 14, also got to hold the plates the day Joseph brought them home. She “rippled her fingers up the edge of the plates and felt that they were separate metal plates and heard the tinkle of sound that they made.”4

I stood next to my father in a hospital room. My mother, his wife of 41 years, lay on the bed. We had watched her for hours. We began to see the lines of pain disappear from her face. The fingers of her hands, which had been clenched into fists, relaxed. Her arms came to rest at her sides.

The pains of decades of cancer were ending. I saw on her face a look of peace. She took a few short breaths, then a gasp, and then lay still. We stood there waiting to see if another breath would come.

Finally, Dad said quietly, “A little girl has gone home.”

He shed no tears. That was because the Holy Ghost had long before given him a clear picture of who she was, where she came from, what she had become, and where she was going. The Spirit had testified to him many times of a loving Heavenly Father, of a Savior who had broken the power of death, and of the reality of the temple sealing he shared with his wife and family.

The Spirit had long before assured him that her goodness and faith had qualified her for the return to a heavenly home where she would be remembered as a wonderful child of promise and be welcomed home with honor.

For my dad, that was more than a hope. The Holy Ghost had made it a reality for him.

That joy is also available to women who, having never borne children of their own, express their motherhood by nurturing the children of others. One woman paid tribute to a single sister: “Although I loved my three small children very much and knew I was doing an important work, I often felt worn out and confined to my home. My husband was working two jobs, but there never seemed to be enough money for a baby-sitter and an evening out. Then sweet Monica came into my life. She called regularly to say she was coming over on a given night to stay with my children. To the delight of my little ones, she always arrived with games and treats. My husband and I were free to attend a temple session or to go out for dinner knowing we would return to a peaceful home. Monica consistently refused any payment for her efforts. This wonderful woman now nurtures my granddaughter.”

“This is crazy,” I shouted, even though I was sure nobody could hear me. To my right, not more than a couple of feet away, water thundered over an 80-foot drop. Crawford was below, camera on tripod, motioning for me to get still closer to the falls.
Our Varsity Scouts were camping near Silvermoon Falls. I’d asked Crawford to serve as official overnighter photographer, and he’d eagerly accepted. Now it was Saturday morning, and much to the delight of the other boys, Crawford had talked me into hiking to the top of the falls so he could get my picture.
He waved me over again. I shook my head no. He made a face and flapped his arms at me in mock disgust. Then he stepped around his tripod and set the timer. A few seconds went by, and I smiled and tried to look serene, despite the roaring water. Then the boys broke into a cheer and signaled for me to climb down.
“Are you guys trying to get a new adviser?” I huffed after arriving. “You could be more subtle about it. And when do I get to see the picture?”
“At the right time,” Crawford said with a wink. “At the right time.”
Crawford’s on a mission now, in Germany. I get a kick when I think of size 15 feet on cobblestone streets. It’s a difficult mission, no doubt. But Crawford will succeed. He knows who he is.
And on my desk is a photo he gave me when I was released as teachers quorum adviser. It’s a photo of me at Silvermoon Falls, trying to look calm while balanced on a rock next to the rushing water. Next to me is the stream, narrow and hard-running, no different than dozens of other streams. Then it shoots over the cliff and becomes a waterfall, a thing of beauty, a thing of power, a thing of inspiration.
I think about the waterfall and I think about Crawford. It seems to me that in many ways, they are almost the same.

Before the temple near their home was dedicated, Olivia invited her grandma to come with her to the temple open house.
I’m happy you came with us to the open house, Grandma.
Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been a little lonely since Grandpa passed away.
I miss him too.
When you turn 12, you’ll get to come here and do baptisms for the dead.
I’m so excited.
Mom told me that when she and Dad come to the temple, they wear white clothes.
That’s right.
Sealings will be performed in this room. Stand in front of this mirror and look at the mirror across the room. What do you see?
It’s as if we go on and on forever.
Just like our family, right? We’ll even see Grandpa again someday.
You’re right. If we keep the commandments, we can be with Grandpa and all of our family because we’ve been sealed in the temple.
Olivia and Grandma followed the tour guide into the temple’s celestial room.
I like how it feels in here. I feel happy.
I do too.
I love the temple, Grandma. Someday, when I’m older, I’ll come back and be married here. I’m happy that our whole family can be together forever—even Grandpa.
That’s right. I’m very thankful for the temple, for the open house, and for you.

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”

I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.

He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

“After that tournament . . . I took a couple of weeks and kind of basked in the excitement of it all—I wore my gold medal . . . and enjoyed the recognition,” Chambers says. “But then I knew it was time to move on with my life.”
That meant accepting his call to serve as a missionary for the Church. With his newly found fame, one might think it was difficult to walk away from volleyball, but Chambers had already made that decision as a 12-year-old. He wanted to serve the Lord by inviting others to come unto Christ. Going on a mission was the right thing to do.
““Sure, it was hard to stop playing volleyball . . . but I had prayed about this decision, and I felt confident that the plan Heavenly Father had for me was to serve a mission right after high school.”
He says deciding early in his life made it much easier to manage all of the other things that could have acted as roadblocks to missionary service. “You want to make sure that you pray about that decision, too, because you may have ideas about what you want to do with your life, but your plan and the one Heavenly Father has for you may be different.”
““As I look back now, I can see how the Lord answered my prayers, and helped me find that perfect time to serve,” Elder Chambers says. “By doing things the Lord’s way, I was able to receive an offer to play at a college that would allow me to serve a mission and live my volleyball dream afterwards.”

Since the very beginning, much of the strength of the Church has come through the service, faith, and devotion of the faithful women of the Church. As the noble daughters of God, the sisters over the years have stood firm and true in the spirit of faith. My wife’s mother, Elizabeth Hamilton Wright, had seven children and was pregnant with her eighth child when her husband was called on a mission. She was left with the responsibility of the family and, with the help of one hired man, seeing that 16 cows were milked every day, that the garden was planted and harvested, the berries picked, and the family taken care of. She was a woman of deep faith and love of the Lord. Her faith never wavered all of the days of her life. It gave her strength to do the work which the Savior had for her to do and to meet the needs of her growing family even in her husband’s absence.

Topher had looked forward all year to his fifth-grade trip to the Black Hills and Badlands in South Dakota, USA. He had saved his allowance and lawn-mowing money to pay for the trip all by himself.
The morning of the trip, Topher and his family knelt by the sofa to pray. Dad said the prayer and asked Heavenly Father to watch over Topher while he was away. Then Mom drove Topher to the school to join the rest of his class.
The bus ride was fun. Everyone sang silly songs, told stories, and made plans for what they would do when they got to their campground. At lunchtime they stopped for a picnic.
“This is the best trip ever,” Topher told his friend Alex while they ate their sack lunches. “I can’t wait to see Mount Rushmore.” All school year Topher’s class had studied the places they would visit, like the Badlands, the memorial at Mount Rushmore, and even a real gold mine. They would stay at a campground, sleep in tents, and cook their food over a fire.
“Yeah,” Alex said, but he didn’t sound very happy. “My stomach feels funny,” he whispered and pressed his hand over his stomach. His face looked kind of pale.
“Want me to tell a teacher?” Topher asked.
“No. I’ll be OK.”
Topher finished his sandwich, but Alex hardly ate anything. After lunch everyone went back to the bus.
One by one, Topher’s classmates started getting sick. Even some of the teachers and parent chaperones got sick.
By the time they got to the campground, Topher felt sick too. He managed to eat some dinner, but he quickly threw it up. He wished he were home. His parents would know how to help him feel better. Mom would make soup for him, and Dad would give him a priesthood blessing.
That gave Topher an idea.
Brother Turner, from Topher’s ward, was one of the chaperones. Topher went and found him by the campfire. “Brother Turner,” Topher asked quietly, “would you give me a blessing?”
Brother Turner looked sick too, but he managed a weak smile. “I’d be happy to give you a blessing, Topher.”
Together Brother Turner and Topher found a quiet spot nearby. Brother Turner laid his hands on Topher’s head. He paused before beginning, then gave a blessing. He asked Heavenly Father to help Topher feel better.
Topher felt peaceful as Brother Turner finished the blessing. Although he was still sick, he started to feel a little better. He found Alex and offered to get him some water.
“Thanks,” Alex said.
The next morning back on the bus, everyone was quiet. Topher thought about the blessing Brother Turner had given him. Next year Topher would turn 12 and would be ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. He promised himself that he would be worthy to receive it and to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood when he was older. He wanted to be able to help others just like Brother Turner had helped him.

Years ago I was admitted to a graduate program for which I was poorly prepared. The competition was fierce. On the first day the professor said, “Look at the person on your left and on your right. One of the three of you will not be here at the end.” The schedule of classes filled the five weekdays from early until late. Preparations for the next day’s classes lasted until nearly midnight, often beyond. And then late on Friday a major paper was assigned, with no way to prepare until the assignment was given and with the paper due at nine o’clock on Saturday night.
I can still remember the hours of frantic study and writing on those Saturdays. And as the nine o’clock deadline approached, crowds of students would stand around the slot in the wall of the library to cheer as the last desperate student would dash up to throw in his completed paper, just before the box inside the building was pulled away. Then the students would go back to their homes and to their rooms for a few hours of celebration before starting preparations for Monday classes. Most of them would study all day on Sunday and late into the night.
For me, there was no party on Saturday and no studying on Sunday. The Lord gave me an opportunity to test His promise. Early in that year He called me, through a humble district president, to Church service that took me across the hills of New England from the early hours of Sunday to late in the evening, visiting the tiny branches and the scattered Latter-day Saints in the area. I found joy in going to those places, loving the Lord, and trusting that somehow He would keep His promise. He always did. In the few minutes I could give to preparation on Monday morning before classes, ideas and understanding came to more than match what others gained from a Sunday of study.

Let me finish telling you about the missionaries in Mongolia. Because all the elders were expected to teach English, I became something of a teaching supervisor to help them provide the best classes possible. I would visit them in class, observe their teaching, and then give suggestions.
I never expected to have to supervise teachers on a mission. But the Lord needed someone who could help these elders do the job they needed to do in order to introduce the gospel to Mongolia. From one class I had taken in college, I knew enough to talk about the positive things they had done instead of focusing on the negative. I knew I had to build their confidence. Having these young men do a good job was so important to introducing the gospel to the Mongolian people.
Much later, when we had returned from the mission field and the missionaries I helped were pursuing their own educations, one elder e-mailed me and thanked me for the day I came to their class to watch him and his companion. The first thing I had asked them that day was to list all the things they had done right. They made their list, but what he remembers is that I came up with a long list of things they had done well. It changed his attitude. It gave him confidence. He had not done well in school before his mission, but now, because he felt he was a good teacher of English, he thought he could return to school and succeed. It wasn’t until he had graduated from college that he wrote the e-mail to thank me. I had no idea that I was helping him. But the Lord knew how to use that bit of knowledge I had learned in college to help one of His missionaries while on his mission and afterwards in his own education.

Before sharing anything else, I feel the need to confess something. I did not grow up wanting to be an undergraduate student at Brigham Young University. Due to the college choices of parents and older siblings, I grew up making fun of the culture that is so much a part of this wonderfully peculiar place. After I had already decided to attend another university, a high school counselor suggested that I meet with a recruiter from Brigham Young University. I told the recruiter that I had no interest in attending Brigham Young University and that I was meeting with him just to get out of class.
He was gracious, handed me his business card, and said, “If you change your mind, please give me a call.”
In my teenage arrogance, I responded by saying, “You’ll never get that phone call.”
When I knelt to pray that evening, I talked with God about my conversation with the recruiter, and suddenly, for reasons I did not then fully understand, I knew I needed to change my plans. You can imagine how foolish I felt when I called the recruiter on Monday morning, apologized for being a haughty teenager, and told him I would like to attend Brigham Young University.
That change in plans proved to be a very good one when several years later I went with a friend to the Cougareat for lunch. While I was eating two cheese enchiladas with rice and beans—it’s amazing that I can still remember what I was eating—the friend introduced me to this ­person [a picture of Deborah, Elder Haynie’s future wife, was shown], and then this happened [a ­picture of the young couple was shown], and then this [a ­wedding picture was shown], and now this [a picture of the extended Haynie family was shown].
I owe this university for so much more than just an education. I discovered that notwithstanding your ambitions and well-thought-out life plan, if you are single and you keep your mind and heart open, you might discover—perhaps in a place equally as romantic as the Cougareat—a relationship that can become eternal.

“Father was a good man, but he had a problem keeping the Word of Wisdom. Some people would have called him an alcoholic. He had a drinking problem for thirty-eight years. Mother would say to us, ‘Honor your father, and someday he will honor the priesthood.’ And he did. When Max and I were sixteen, Father made the decision to stop drinking, and that was it. For the last twenty years of his life, he was just what Mother had told us all our lives that he would be.
“Mother was the strength of the family. She held us together. She was a great woman and one source of our faith.
“When I was eleven, the Fourth of July was a real big event in Spanish Fork. World War II had begun, and the whole town was having a parade to send off the men who were leaving to serve in the war. The night before the Fourth I went outside to play. I sat on the porch, and my mother said, ‘You’re not going to go anywhere, are you?’ I said, ‘No, I’ll stay here.’
“Then my friend Mark came across the street and said, ‘I have a big box of firecrackers. Let’s go up to Janet’s and show the girls how to light them!’ I forgot that my mother had asked me to stay home. The only thought in my mind was to go up to Janet’s and light some firecrackers.
“We lighted all the firecrackers that would light, and the remainder we put in a cardboard box and set on fire. Mark and I were both burned in the resulting explosion. In fact, our faces, chests, hands, and arms were burned so severely that it didn’t look like we were going to make it.
“Sister Hill, Janet’s mother, came out when she heard the explosion, and she saw five kids on fire. Somehow the fires were put out, and she calmly took us into the house, knelt us down in the living room, and offered a prayer. Then she called the doctor, and we went down to Dr. Moody’s office.
“He operated on my face to put it back together. Before he started, I asked my father to give me a blessing. Dr. Moody was also an elder, so the two of them administered to me. My father said in the blessing that if I would have faith, the Lord would make me well. You have to remember that at that time my father was an alcoholic. But when he said that the Lord would make me well, I knew it was true.
“Then Dr. Moody began to work on me. I didn’t have any anesthetic because they were afraid of shock. into my mind came the words of one of my mother’s favorite hymns:
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)
“I couldn’t speak, but I could hum. For the whole two and a half to three hours while the doctor was trying to fix my face, I hummed that hymn. When he was finished with me, I looked just like a mummy. My face and arms were all wrapped up with bandages. It appeared that I had lost the sight of one eye and severely damaged the other. My hands were as black as shoe leather, and they were hard and crinkled.
“All five of us were healed and back in school in the fall. Janet had a severely damaged finger, Mark had burns on his face, as I did, and on his arms, but we were all back in school. Someone in the ward had placed our names on the prayer roll in the temple. To Mother that was tantamount to saying, ‘Don’t worry, if your names are on the prayer roll in the temple, you can just count on being healed.’ And we were.
“I’ve thought a lot about where our faith came from. I think it came from a lot of places. Certainly it came from our Heavenly Father. Why would the hymn come into my mind? There’s something about hymns that strengthens us; we remember the words and have good feelings when we sing them. Our Church leaders helped build our faith also by teaching us and by working with us.
“Sometimes our greatest faith is brought about after we’ve made an error. Had I just obeyed my mother, the explosion never would have happened. None of us would have been injured.
“The scriptures say that the Savior learned obedience through the things that He suffered. I don’t think that He suffered because He sinned or made mistakes but because He understood the gospel; He felt pain and anguish more deeply than those who bring punishment upon themselves, as we did when we were unwise and disobedient.
“I think that if children just learn to have enough faith to obey, perhaps they wouldn’t have to exercise so much faith to be healed, to overcome a hurt, to get back in the good graces of parents or teachers or others. They could avoid having to learn to obey by suffering. Obedience provides strength because if you obey, you feel confident in going to the Lord and asking for His help. And I think if there is ever a time when children need to feel confident in going before the Lord, it is now.”

Patience Loader was 20 years old when she and her family left Council Bluffs three weeks behind schedule as part of the Martin Handcart Company. She wrote movingly of the sacrifice by those of the party to make sure that at least some of their families would reach Zion. In particular she described a Brother Blair who had been one of Queen Victoria’s “life guards” in London before his conversion and immigration:

He had a wife and four small children. He made a cover for his cart and he put his four children on the cart. He pulled his cart alone. His wife helped by pushing behind the cart. Poor man. He was so weak and waurn down that he fell down several times that day but still he kept his dear little children on the cart all day. This poor man had so much love for his wife and children that instead of eating his mosael of food himself he would give it to his children. Poor man. He pulled the cart as long as he could then he died and his poor wife and children had to do the best thay could without him. . . . The poor children got frozen. Some parts of there bodys was all sores but thay all got in to Salt L[ake] City alive.

With permission from our son Matthew, let me reconstruct a conversation we had when he was 16 years old. One evening, while driving in the car together, I asked what he was learning in seminary. “Oh, you know,” he said in his teenage way, “the gospel.” “What about the gospel?” I asked.“You know, Dad, the Restoration and all that.” “I see. Which part?”He paused for a moment, as if weighing whether to share something that really mattered to him. “OK,” he said, “the part about Joseph Smith giving Oliver Cowdery the 126 pages from the Book of Mormon.”For a moment, I wondered what kind of seminary class he was in. Then I tried to gently explain, “Well, you know son, the Prophet Joseph Smith gave those pages to Martin Harris, not Oliver Cowdery.”“Sure, whatever,” Matthew said.“And,” I continued, “I believe it was 116 pages, not 126.”“Yeah, yeah, Dad, I know. But the point is, I made the link.”“The link?” I asked.
Then Matthew helped me understand. “Do you remember the summer when I earned $100 mowing lawns, and I wanted to buy that electric scooter? You said you didn’t think it was a good idea. But I really wanted that scooter. So I prayed about it, and I had the feeling I should listen to you. But I didn’t like that answer, so I prayed about it again—a couple of times. And I kept getting the feeling I should forget the scooter. But I really wanted it, so I just bought it anyway. And the second day I rode it, it broke. It was too expensive to fix, and we ended up throwing it away. And I lost everything I’d saved! Dad,” he said, “ that’s what happened to Joseph Smith. He knew in his heart that he shouldn’t loan out those pages. But he kept asking the Lord, and finally Joseph loaned them anyway. And they were lost. He was totally sad and couldn’t sleep or eat or anything. And he decided he was never going to disobey again. That’s the link, Dad. That’s the link I made to myself.”We sat in silence for a moment while I was making a link of my own: Learning the gospel is about more than hearing and repeating facts and concepts. Was it Oliver Cowdery or Martin Harris? It’s important to know, but not essential to salvation. The number of pages lost? That’s not a saving doctrine either. Suddenly I was thinking about good people I know who master many details of gospel doctrine and Church history, but do not make the link to what it means for them. Linking gospel truth to ourselves is another way of talking about truly understanding the gospel.
Matthew’s new understanding was very simple: “Heavenly Father wants to help me. He won’t impose His will or insist that I obey. He will speak to me by the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost. And if I willingly listen and respond, I will be blessed and happy.” In time, Matthew did learn the correct names and number of pages. And thanks to a fine seminary teacher, he identified much rich doctrine embedded in early Church History. But let’s remember, none of that would have meant much to 16-year-old Matthew until he made the link and came to an understanding for himself. That’s when he changed. And that confirms the powerful principle taught by President Boyd K. Packer: “True doctrine, understood, changes attitudes and behavior.”8 That’s what happened to Matthew.