Gospel Story Finder

On another occasion, Sheriff Thomas King of Adams County and several others were sent as a posse to arrest the Prophet and deliver him to the emissaries of Governor Boggs of Missouri. Sheriff King became deathly ill, and the Prophet took the sheriff to his home in Nauvoo and nursed him like a brother for four days. (Cannon, p. 372.) Small, kind, and yet significant acts of service were not occasional for the Prophet.

Paddy loved to collect string. Whenever he found even a short piece, he rolled it onto his ball of string. This ball was as big as an orange, and each day it grew bigger and bigger.
One Saturday morning Paddy found a long piece of red string. He sat down on the front steps to wind it onto his ball. But just as he picked it up, he heard his mother calling him.
“I’ll leave my string here on the step,” he said to himself. “Then I’ll come right back and finish.”
Paddy ran into the house and found his mother in the kitchen.
“Paddy,” she said, “would you please take out the garbage for me.”
Quickly Paddy picked up the paper sack of garbage, ran out the back door, and tossed the sack into the garbage can.
He was gone only a few moments, but when he went back to the front steps, the new piece of red string was gone.
Paddy looked all over the porch. The big ball of string was right where he had left it, but he couldn’t find the new red piece of string anywhere. He looked up and down the sidewalk. He looked all around the steps.
“Mike,” Paddy asked when his best friend walked by, “did you see a piece of red string anywhere?”
“No,” Mike said. “I haven’t seen any red string. I’d help you look for it, but I’m on my way to the store for my grandma.”
Tabby the cat was lying nearby under a rosebush. Paddy walked over and looked under the cat and all around the bush. But there was no red string there either!
“Well, I guess someone must have taken it,” Paddy decided sadly.
A few days later Paddy’s father asked, “Did I hear you say something about a missing red string?”
“Oh, yes!” Paddy replied. “Did you find it?”
“I think so,” his father said. “Come with me.”
They went out in the backyard together, and Father put a ladder up to the top of the willow tree.
“Climb up the ladder,” he said, “and look around to see if you can find your string.”
Paddy climbed up the ladder. When he reached the top, he saw his red string! It was making a beautiful lining for a robin’s nest.
As Paddy climbed down the ladder, his father said, “If you still want your string, you better take it now before the robin lays her eggs.”
“Oh, no!” Paddy cried. “I wouldn’t want to spoil Mrs. Robin’s nest. She needs the string more than I do.”
His father smiled. “Good!” he said. “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”
While his father was putting the ladder away, Paddy thought about his ball of string. It’s fun to find pieces of string and watch my ball get bigger all the time, he decided, but it’s even more fun to share with someone who needs it.

Many years ago, a non-member father from the mainland called the Branch President of the University Branch in Honolulu asking for help with his non-member daughter who was a student in town. He had just found out that she was pregnant and had scheduled an abortion at 1:00 p.m. the next day. He did not believe that abortion was in the best interest of his daughter and the child. His friend told him to call someone in the LDS church. The Branch President called me and I was able to set an appointment to see this attractive young woman at 10:00 the next morning, just hours before the scheduled abortion.

During the first hour, she was adamant and determined that there was no way she would keep the pregnancy because she did not want anyone besides her parents to know that she was pregnant. There was no way she could be a single parent and no way could she place the child for adoption. She wanted nothing to do with the birthfather. She told me all the reasons why she just had to get that abortion and they all made sense to her. She was using great logic and reason. It would be the easiest thing to do and would get her right back on track with school.

In my heart and mind during that first hour, I fervently petitioned the Lord for help and asked that her heart be softened. I pleaded for help from her loved ones beyond the veil. Then something happened during the second hour. I felt the Spirit of the Lord fill my office. The young woman must have felt it too for her lips started to quiver and then tears came. She began to think about the child as a separate person from her. She began to think how she would feel after an abortion and the long term consequences of that choice.

At the end of our discussion, she humbly said, "I will give this child life." She chose to carry the baby to full term and then she placed the baby with an outstanding Latter-day Saint couple. Today that little boy is an active soccer player and he passes the sacrament on Sunday. What happened? This young woman listened to the Spirit and she obeyed. Her righteous decision brought her and her child great peace and joy.

It’s a week later. Joe and I have just wrapped up two hours on the industrial economy of Finland. And you know, I feel pretty good.
Why? It went great, that’s why. Joe greeted me like a lost friend at the doorway of his house. We got right down to business. He never mentioned the encounter at the Grundy household last week.
And our project is coming along well. Joe had a half-dozen books he’d picked up in the library. We found out Finland is heavy into wood products, mining, and chemicals, with saunas as a sideline. I hate to admit it but I’m getting sort of pumped about the production of copper in Finland.
“But we’ll need more,” Joe says. “Everyone else will do just what we’ve done—read the encyclopedia, check out some books from the library. We’ve got to do something extra. We need to hit a home run if we want an ‘A’ from Mr. Barnes.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. “A home run.”
“Got any ideas?”
“Well, I’ve been giving it some serious thought, and well, uh—” I take a deep breath as Joe looks hopeful. “And I haven’t come up with much.”
I see a flicker of disappointment. Maybe Joe is beginning to realize he’s teamed up with the strikeout king.
* * *
Inspiration finally hits.
Greg Bendfast is talking with a friend at church in the foyer. My brain locks onto something … Greg … school … Mr. Barnes … mission.
YES! My brain finally kicks in. Greg went to Finland on his mission! Whoa, Mr. Barnes, get out your black pen and be prepared to mark down the big “A” for Cool Joe McCabe and Ben Grundy! This is sweet beyond belief.
In less than five minutes, I work it out with Greg. He will loan us some of his slides of Finland. He will teach us how to make a Finnish treat, kisseli. He will teach us a few handy phrases commonly used in Finland.
I have been to home plate and hit a home run.
I can hardly wait to tell Joe.
* * *
Joe is elated about Greg, in sort of an understated way.
“Nice work, Ben. We’re going to knock the socks off Mr. Barnes.”
“Yo,” I say, thinking it sounds, well, cool.
That isn’t the only good news. Joe did some quality thinking and came up with the idea of writing a letter to the Finnish Embassy in Washington, D.C., asking for some literature. “But we only have a couple of weeks and I didn’t know if that would be enough time to get the stuff sent out here. So I got their phone number and called. It’s already in the mail.”
“Yo,” I say again.
Joe raises an eyebrow. “What does yo mean?”
* * *
Joe shows up and things are, I’m happy to say, fairly routine around our house. Maybe part of the reason is that the twins are in bed and both my parents are at the grocery store. At last, Joe can glimpse the Grundy household in a nearly normal mode.
We get right down to it, going over the last details of our presentation and Greg’s recipe for kisseli, which we’ll prepare tomorrow at Joe’s, with some help from his mom. After a half-hour, I get up to grab Greg’s slides. The hallway is dark, but April whisks by me, without her glasses. There’s a trace of perfume in the air.
Perfume? Something is not right. April never wears perfume.
It can’t be! I stop dead in my tracks and do a hasty retreat to the den. But I am too late. April is already asking Joe out for the girls’ choice dance.
“… so if you’d like to, it would be fun if we could go together.”
What will Joe say? After he gets up off the floor laughing, that is. April, my sister, who is not even in Joe’s social league, asking him to the dance? Some things are just not done.
I peek in. April is looking nervously at Joe, as if her life hinges on his answer. Joe looks uncomfortable.
But not for the reason I expect. “Gosh, April. I’d like to. I think you’re cool. But I’ve already been asked, and it wouldn’t be fair to back out on a date. Maybe we can get together sometime other than the dance.”
What? Joe sounds as though he’d really like to go out with April. No sign of annoyance, not the slightest hint of put-down in his voice. The only thing I can detect is concern that April’s feelings—and fragile self-image—remain intact. I back away from the door, struggling to comprehend what I’ve just seen. What is it?
Cool, that’s what it is.
* * *
Now it’s the day after our report on Finland. Yeah, I know about humility, and I know you shouldn’t take pride in worldly kinds of things, so I’ll just say this once: Joe and I were stupendous. By the end of our presentation, everyone was spooning our fruity kisseli, reading literature from the Finnish Embassy, and enjoying Greg’s slides. Even crusty old Mr. Barnes stood up at the end and said we did a good job. I can see the A on my report card now.
Things are quiet tonight in the Grundy household. I am still basking in the glow of our social studies triumph. Life is sweet right now.
The phone rings. Philip answers it. “It’s for you, Ben. It’s a girl.”
All activity in our household—except for breathing—comes to a stop as every Grundy focuses on me. A girl calling Ben Grundy. This is history.
I slowly rise and stiffly walk to the phone. Destiny beckons. I fumble for the receiver and croak, “Hello?”
“Ben … hi, this is Margaret Gromo. I know it’s late to be asking, but if you aren’t going to the dance, I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”
My mind goes blank. I mean, the blackboard of my brain is wiped clean. Several long, difficult seconds pass. Then one thought comes blasting through the gray matter.
What’s the cool thing to do?
I draw a deep breath. Time for the new version of Ben Grundy to take over. “I haven’t been asked. And I think we’ll have a good time …”
* * *
And Margaret and I do have a good time. I keep thinking about what is cool. Cool really doesn’t have a lot to do with how you talk or how you dress, whether you drive a sports car or a station wagon, or who you’re seen with and where. Cool is how you treat people. Whether you help make them feel good or bad about themselves, if you’re a friend or not. If you remember every one of them is a child of God and treat them the way they should be treated, that’s totally cool. Take it from someone who has been around a lot of cool lately. Cool Ben Grundy.
Has a nice ring to it. And I think it’s entirely within my reach.

Those first new green shoots popping up through powdery brown soil fill the gardener’s soul with joy—his love and care have paid off! There’s growth! And even if the gardener is not there to continue to watch the growth of the plants, his work lives on.
Such a gardener was Bruce Drennan, a young missionary whose love for the Lord and the gospel was no secret. He planted the seeds of testimony among friends, family, and the people of the small Aymara Indian village of Suriquina, Bolivia, where he and his companion Kevin Bons died after being overcome by carbon monoxide fumes from a faulty heater in their living quarters on December 22, 1981.
Many of those seeds he planted have been sprouting these past few years.
Everyone in his high school knew Bruce for his leadership as senior class president and his commitment to the Church. He had a way of injecting a big dose of fun and life into just about everything he touched. It might have been getting a bunch of friends together to take the local missionaries out to breakfast. Or planning the first senior class trip to Disneyland. Or yelling “Let’s be the nerd bus!” and herding kids onto the bus when arguments arose over who should go on which bus for a school trip. Or staying up all night to put together the program for a youth conference.
On top of all his activities, he still managed to keep a 4.0 grade point average and win a four-year scholarship to BYU. As one of his teachers wrote when Bruce was applying for a scholarship, “A room full of Bruce Drennans would put any teacher in seventh heaven.”
He was committed to going on a mission and influenced his friends to do the same. “He really encouraged me to go on a mission when I needed the encouragement at a certain time in my life,” said his friend Ed Belliston. “He was always a good example and brought out abilities in me that I didn’t know I had. After I left on my mission and I heard of his death, the memory of Bruce would get me fired up again. He made me work harder.” Dean Teach, another friend, told his friend Lisa Anderson that if it hadn’t been for Bruce, he wouldn’t have gone on his mission.
While in the Missionary Training Center, Bruce Drennan wrote a letter bearing his testimony to one of his good friends, Lisa King, who is not a member of the Church. That same day he wrote in his journal, “I wrote Lisa King today. In the letter I bore my testimony and told her why I’m going on a mission. I don’t know what she’s going to think, but I guess that it doesn’t matter too much if she thinks I’m a jerk.”
Though Bruce didn’t know it, that testimony he wrote to Lisa would be sent to hundreds of people after his death, attached to the flyleaf of copies of the Book of Mormon sent by relatives and friends in his stake. And his testimony that had touched so many people in Suriquina, Bolivia, would continue to touch lives.
When the news of Bruce’s death reached his hometown of Ukiah, California, it struck a nerve in the community. Bruce was well known and loved. Grace Jones, whose Church assignment is to work with the media in Ukiah, received many of the questions about what had happened. She decided to let people really know what Bruce was doing in Bolivia—preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“We had so many inquiries from newspapers and radio stations about Bruce, that we decided it would be a good idea to let others know what he had been teaching,” said Sister Jones. “Why not give out copies of the Book of Mormon in his memory during the remaining 18 months he would have been serving as a missionary? I discussed the idea with the stake presidency, and they approved it. And Bruce’s family accepted the idea wholeheartedly.”
So under Sister Jones’s direction and with Lisa King’s permission, Bruce’s picture and testimony were put in hundreds of copies of the Book of Mormon. His testimony continued to influence many people.
Wrote Bruce, “A missionary’s sole purpose in the Mormon church is to teach the gospel of Christ to all those who are willing and ready to receive it. I know that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father appeared to a man named Joseph Smith and restored the gospel to the earth. I know that Christ and Heavenly Father live today and have a tremendous love for us. I know that we lived before this earth and that we came down here for a purpose. The Book of Mormon is an additional witness of Christ to the Bible. Both are the word of God. These things are so true; they are so very important. It is because of these things that I am going on a mission. I hope you can understand and will receive these things with an open mind and heart.”
Also included in the copies of the Book of Mormon were two excerpts from his journal. The first one was about a mission experience. “I had been praying about this meeting quite a bit, that we would have the Spirit with us and that the people would feel it. Upon teaching, I felt like I was helped out with the language. Some words just came to me without having to think. By the time we finished, it was dark and the room was full. There were probably 100 people there.”
The second journal excerpt was about the blessings. “I’m so grateful for the world we have. If I ever want to put myself in a spiritual mood, all I have to do is look for the beauty in the world. I feel so small and insignificant compared to the grandeur of the world. It is like God has to love us to have given us all that He has.”
Many wards in the Ukiah Stake asked if they could participate in the Book of Mormon project. Posters were made and put in the foyers of participating wards. When a referral card was filled out and returned to the stake or full-time missionaries, the name of the requesting person was embossed in gold on the hardback cover of a Book of Mormon for that person, with Bruce’s testimony and photo included. Over 500 copies of Bruce’s testimony were printed the first time, and more were later printed.
“It was overwhelming! We were printing names on books like you couldn’t believe!” said Bruce Bates, Ukiah stake mission president. The books were either given to the recipient by the person making the referral or by the missionaries.
Bishop Drennan, Bruce’s father, probably gave out more books than anyone else. Manager of a department store in Ukiah, he posted a copy of a newspaper article telling about the Book of Mormon project on the bulletin board at his store. Many of his employees asked for copies.
“A Catholic friend of Bruce’s was extremely cooperative in sending his friends copies,” added Bishop Drennan. “She looked up addresses and made sure people got the books. At first we decided to continue giving the books for the period of time Bruce would have been on his mission, but it’s carried on past that time. I think the whole situation has helped my wife and me decide to go on a full-time mission when we retire.”
Sister Drennan, Bruce’s mother, also shared the books with people. “Because of the circumstances, it was easier for us to do what we should be doing anyway, sharing the Book of Mormon with our friends and neighbors,” she said.
Bruce’s brother David, formerly student body president at Ukiah High School, now serving a mission in Spain, gave out several books, and one friend took the missionary discussions because of the gift. “There was a blessing that came along with the trauma of Bruce’s death,” said David. “It made me open up more about the Church. It became easier to talk to people about it.”
Twelve-year-old Matt McKell gave one of the books to his junior high school social studies teacher. “It scared me a little, but he said he knew the Drennan boys and that he would read it,” said Matt.
Lynn Budrow, then eleven, gave one to her fifth-grade teacher. “I told her it was from Bruce, and she said she really wanted it,” said Lynn.
Ken Morgan, custodian at Ukiah High School, gave five books to teachers and personnel at the high school. The librarian asked for two copies, one for herself and one to put in the school library. Ken’s wife works at an elementary school, where she gave ten books to teachers and parents.
“The Book of Mormon I received I’ll keep forever, even though I’m not Mormon,” said Mary Beth Morris, one of Bruce’s friends. “Bruce would write and tell me how many baptisms he was doing. I thought his mission was neat, because I knew he would do a good job at whatever he did. He was an example for a lot of people.”
Georgia Portlock in the Drennan’s ward gave out many books. “I love to talk about the Church, and it made me feel great to give the books to people,” she said. “At least they’ll have a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I don’t care if it sits on their shelf for a while. One day something will come up and they’ll read it and understand it. That’s what happened to me. My son gave me a Book of Mormon, and it sat on the shelf for ten years until I read it. When I did, it. was like I was burning up, and in three weeks I asked to be baptized.”
Sister Portlock sent a copy of the book with Bruce’s testimony to her granddaughter Sherry Siekert in Wisconsin. And a little while later, Sister Portlock got a call from Sherry asking Brother Portlock to come out and baptize her.
“I had been brought up hearing about the Mormons but not knowing anything about them,” said Sherry. “When I got the book, I started to read it—I’ve no idea what made me open the book. I just did. Two elders had come by before and left a pamphlet in the house, and I read it. Maybe that’s one reason I started to read the book.
“After I talked to the missionaries a while, I called my father in Chicago and said, ‘It all sounds so good to me. It’s like everything I’ve always wanted to know all my life.’ My father’s interested in the Church now, too.”
The gospel has had a great impact in Sherry’s life. “I don’t feel like I have to go out and do a lot of wild things to have fun. Fun is being with good friends and family now. I appreciate them more, and I’m not afraid of death anymore. I work in a nursing home, and when I see people dying, I feel like they’re going to something better. I’ve also found that if you stand by your standards and don’t let your peers pressure you into things you know are wrong, they’ll respect you more than if you’d just gone along. This last year since I’ve been baptized has been great.”
So Bruce Drennan’s missionary work continues on as his example inspires others to plant, nurture, and harvest. The impact of his testimony may never be fully measured.
Two flowering nectarine trees, the first of the kind in Ukiah, have been dedicated to Bruce at his high school, along with a plaque in his memory. “The trees here will grow and be strong, just as Bruce was strong,” said his friend Mary Morris.
Eugene F. Olsen, acting mission president of the Bolivia La Paz Mission at the time of Bruce’s death, wrote to Bruce’s parents: “Elder Bons and Elder Drennan were among the best missionaries in the entire mission. The fact that they were assigned to the Aymara program at all is in itself a high recommendation as only the very most dedicated and committed missionaries are called to that program because of the fact that the minimal supervision possible in these remote areas makes self-supervision and total dependability an absolute necessity.”
In a letter to Bishop and Sister Drennan shortly after Bruce’s death, Elder Mike Hanley of Bruce’s mission summed up the impact Elder Bruce Drennan had in the lives of a few—and continues to have: “I wanted you to know about the work in Suriquina, where Elder Drennan was working. In January, the elders in Suriquina had 25 baptisms. That was excellent for them. However, they did even better in February—they had 37. They were the highest baptizing companionship in all Bolivia. Suriquina is booming, and Brother and Sister Drennan, I know Elder Drennan planted some of those seeds. He made a big sacrifice, but these people will be grateful to him throughout eternity. He helped them receive the greatest gift they’ll ever have—the gift that’ll carry them to eternal life. I’m sure Elder Drennan is happy. We should be, too.”
“But if ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life” (Alma 32:41).

I was the instructor and president of the university scuba club. I had been diving for almost three years and thought I knew all there was to know about scuba diving. I think, too, that at the ripe old age of 20, I had the idea that I knew pretty much all there was to know about life as well. There had been a drowning in the scuba club at another of the state universities, and the administration of our school was pressuring for the abolition of our club. Naturally, I had been fighting that idea with all my might. In any event, I had received the word directly from the university’s president himself. “Be careful. Any accidents of any kind will result in the immediate revocation of your student club charter.” I was trying to be very careful when I first met Diane. Actually, I didn’t meet Diane right away. I met, instead, her two roommates. They came to the pool one evening during a session of the scuba club and sought me out to ask if their roommate, whom they described as a very good swimmer, could join the club. I replied that she certainly could, as long as she could pass the necessary entrance tests. They left, and when they returned the next week I was astonished to see them pushing a girl in a wheelchair. They shoved her through the door and onto the pool deck. I stared at them, aghast. She was literally tied into the wheelchair with a wide band of white cloth. Her head lolled from one shoulder to the other like a bowling ball on the end of a broom straw. Her arms and legs jerked and twitched without control. She wore a terry cloth bib tied around her neck because she drooled uncontrollably. While I was staring, dumbfounded, trying to think what to do, her roommates pushed the chair to the edge of the pool and waited for me to tell them what to do next. I told them. I first motioned them to one side where I could speak with them privately, away from the unfortunate girl in the chair. “What’s the idea?” I demanded. “I thought you said she was a good swimmer!” “She is,” one of the girls assured me. I looked hard at the girl tied in the chair. Her head lay propped on one shoulder, and she regarded me with a face twisted into a grimace that made my neck hairs rise. “You’re kidding,” I replied. “There’s no way in the whole green world that she could swim well enough to take scuba lessons.” I patiently explained, over their loud protests, the situation I found myself and the club in. I recounted the instructions the president had given me only a few weeks earlier. They tried to argue, but I stood firm. Stubbornly, I brushed aside their arguments until finally I lost my temper with their insistence. Trying to keep my voice low enough so that the girl in the wheelchair—who was staring holes through me with her twisted face—couldn’t hear, I shouted in a whisper, “Look, I’m in charge of this club. I’ve said no and I mean no. Now get her out of here!” They left, and I resumed instructing the class. I was quite proud of myself for having stood off such an assault single-handedly. My self-satisfaction didn’t last long however. The girl’s two roommates hounded me relentlessly for the next several days. There seemed to be no way I could get away from them—or rid of them. They ambushed me along the sidewalk on the way to classes two or three times a day. They waited for me at the end of the cafeteria line. They called me on the telephone. Their pleas were impassioned and often loud. But they fell on strong shoulders and deaf ears. I was proud of myself for resisting, and that made me even more determined than ever that such a wild idea would never find favor with me. Then, on Wednesday, the day before the next meeting of the scuba club, the girl in the wheelchair pulled out all the stops. The class period ended, and as the other students began to file from the room, they found their way blocked by a wheelchair occupied by a very determined young woman. She had set the brake on the chair’s wheels. I heard the commotion by the door before I saw her. Then I heard her voice, shrill, slurred, but I could understand what she was saying. “Where’s Lee Dalton? I want to see Lee Dalton!” Some of the other students, angry and anxious to get to their next classes, grabbed me and pushed me to the front of the little crowd. The girl stared at me for a long time while I grew more and more uncomfortable as I tried desperately to think of something—anything—to say. The other students shifted around me. They were being caught up in the drama of the confrontation, caught up, but anxious to have it ended before classes resumed. “Uh, what do you want?” I asked lamely. Slurred and garbled though her speech was, there was no mistaking what she said. “You know what I want!” she replied in a determined tone. I began frantically trying to explain to her the demands of safety and the ultimatum of the president. None of it impressed her. She sat impassively, wheels locked, barring the exit of my classmates, who were becoming more and more irate as the minutes passed. Even the professor of the class just finished was breathing down my neck. “Whatever she wants, Dalton, give it to her,” someone behind me growled. “Yeah, and be quick about it,” added another. “My next class is clear across the campus!” I turned desperately toward the crowd gathered behind me and tried to explain my situation. They regarded me with what I took for scorn—and growing impatience. The girl in the wheelchair delivered the clincher. With the assembled students watching and listening she asked, “You told my friends I could learn scuba diving if I could pass the test. Right?” “Right,” I confirmed. “But … but how could you pass a test like that? It’s very difficult.” “How do you know I can’t pass it?” she retorted, speaking carefully and slowly so I could understand her. “You haven’t even given me a chance to take it!” The others heard and understood her plea, and I began hearing another kind of angry muttering from behind my back. The girl in the chair spoke again. There was no hint of begging in her voice, just a tone of firm determination. “Give me a chance,” she asked. “Just give me a chance to pass the test—or fail it.” I felt an elbow poke me in the ribs. A voice from back there someplace said, “Yeah, Dalton, what’s so bad about that idea? You afraid she might prove you’re wrong?” I tried once more to argue with the mob but was shouted down. They were surging against me, pushing me out of the room. I was caught between them and the girl in the wheelchair with the locked brakes. “All right,” I heard myself whispering. “Be there tomorrow night. But remember, you’ll have to pass the test just the same as everybody else. No breaks!” She nodded silently and unlocked the brake. I was as jumpy as a trout all the next day, and when time for the club meeting finally arrived, I had worked myself into a fair dither. I had discussed the problem with the other club officers, and we had finally agreed that we really had no choice but to let her take the test. But we’d be ready with all the available rescue equipment to pull her out before she drowned completely. The door to the women’s dressing rooms opened, and the two girls who had visited me the previous week and who helped make my last week so miserable pushed the chair with its tied-in occupant onto the pool deck. They shoved the chair to the very edge of the pool and paused. “Ready?” one of them asked. I looked around. Several of the other club members had taken up stations around the pool. Two of them grasped the long lifesaving poles with the shepherd’s crooks on the ends that usually hung in the brackets on the wall. A couple of others were pulling off their T-shirts getting ready to go in after her if necessary. I nodded, and one of them reached down and untied the cloth that held the girl imprisoned in her chair. Then they tipped the chair forward over the edge until she splashed unceremoniously into the water. We all stared, jaws slack, at the miracle in the pool. Freed from the pull of gravity against her body, the girl was immediately transformed into a thing of beauty and grace. She didn’t just swim through the water. She glided and surged with a precision that few of the rest of us could match. She swam to the side, executed a flip turn and swam back to stop at the edge of the pool at my feet. Looking up at me, she asked, “What do you want me to do first?” I noticed then for the first time how much effort it took for her to speak. Her entire body seemed to enter the effort of forming words, and her face twisted and creased as she fought to get the sounds out. “Swim five laps using a crawl stroke,” I said. And as I watched her sliding through the water, I suddenly found myself feeling terribly ashamed of myself. Ashamed because I had been secretly planning to rig the test against her by demanding far more of her than I would normally require of any new member. I knew then that I couldn’t do such a thing. She swam eight laps instead of five. And when I asked her to swim across the pool underwater, she not only swam across, she also swam back without stopping. Instead of bringing up one five-pound weight from the deepest part of the pool, she brought up two. In fact, in every task I required of her, she did more than I asked. When finally she swam to the edge of the pool and looked up at me to ask, “Well, did I pass?” there was only one answer I could give. Diane became one of the best divers in the club. She took part in all our outside dives including some difficult open water dives in the cold, murky waters of Lake Erie. She swam with us when we cut holes through the ice of our favorite limestone quarry to dive beneath it. She even helped us a couple of times n the unpleasant task of recovering the bodies of drowning victims. We learned to ignore the grotesqueness and learned to understand her garbled speech. And it seemed only natural that as we all grew to know Diane, we also grew to love her. She was a prisoner. Imprisoned not in a prison of stone and steel, but in a prison of skin and bone—and a somehow scrambled nervous system that shot random signals throughout her body. But in spite of all that, her spirit remained free, and about her radiated an infectious happiness and enthusiasm that lightened even the darkest days. We soon understood why her two roommates—friends of Diane since grade school—could sacrifice so much to give her the constant care she needed away from home. And, as we came to know Diane, we also learned of her dream. Like all of us, Diane had a dream she held close to her heart. It wasn’t a very spectacular dream like most of us carried in our youthful enthusiasm. Her dream was really rather simple. She wanted to teach. Diane wanted to teach other children like the child she had been, children held prisoners by their bodies or their minds, children twisted and deformed as she was. She wanted to help them find their places in the world. She wanted to help them grow to become all that they could become. And as we learned of Diane’s dream, we learned, too, of another obstacle she had to face—the same obstacle she’d had to face with me when she dreamed of learning to scuba dive. Even among those who worked as educators of the “special” children of the world, Diane found a wall of skepticism and doubt that prevented them from giving her the chance to show how well she could swim. She had finished her bachelor’s degree and had found all the job doors closed to her. Now, she was finishing her master’s degree, but still the doors were slammed and locked. The last time I saw Diane, she was in the swimming pool surrounded by a flock of laughing, splashing children. They paddled around her, shouting their happiness until it rattled off the rafters. Only the halting slurring of their speech gave away the fact that all of them, like Diane, were prisoners within their bodies. As I watched them splashing and laughing, I found myself praying silently for Diane—for all of them for that matter. I found myself praying that she—that they—would someday find the opportunity needed to reach the fullest potential they could reach. I never saw Diane again, never heard from her or of her. But even today, some 20 years later, I find myself praying that someone else, someplace, gave her another chance to show how well she could swim. And for those who didn’t, I can only feel sadness, sadness for those who deprived themselves of a great blessing. For we were all blessed in our opportunity, blessed because we gave ourselves a chance to come to know and to love a twisted, drooling, jerking girl named Diane. Now, too, I wonder how often we—all of us—have turned aside the opportunity to be blessed in a friendship with another person who, at first appearance, seems to be different in some way.

Sarah said that her Church background has helped her grow in many ways. “When I was little, I was bashful and afraid to do anything. But as I grew up, I was given speaking assignments and committee responsibilities, and it forced me to learn to be more outgoing. Now I’ve got a little more pluck. I’m not afraid to speak in public.” Saturday morning before meeting the rest of the group at the temple, she had given a speech to the entire student body of her high school.

When we came to Copenhagen, Denmark, we waited there until there were about 300 that were going to Utah. Anthon H. Lund, who just before he died was the counselor to President Heber J. Grant, had charge of the company to Utah. We left Copenhagen to go to Hull in England over the North Sea. When we started, the weather was fine and there were the same joyful songs of the Saints as when we left Norway. Some even danced. But soon the mountainous waves began to roll. It was not long before some began to make haste to the side of the ship. Oh, didn’t they feed the fish! I laughed at them and wondered what was the matter with them. I tell you I didn’t laugh long. My turn soon came. But we arrived in Hull safe and sound, and there we boarded the train for Liverpool. We got there in about eight hours’ ride, and there we boarded the steamer Nevada for New York, North America.
It took us 14 days to cross the Atlantic. Some of the way it was very stormy, and I was seasick all the way. But we landed in New York safe and sound. There we boarded the train for Utah. In about four days we arrived in Salt Lake City, July 17, 1872, late in the evening. Before coming to the station the president of our company, Anthon H. Lund, told us that when we arrived at the station, a good many of us would meet relatives and friends, and some of them would take us home with them. But he said, “Do not let any of them take you home with them just then, for you will all be taken to a banquet. Instead, take them with you to the banquet.”
It was then about ten o’clock in the evening. The name of the house I did not know, but it was large enough for all of us to sit down at the tables at once. As far as I can remember, there were about 300 of us. They had all gone in but myself, for I did not think I belonged. I knew I was not a Mormon, though all the rest of them were. As I have told before, I was rather bitter. But Brother Lund came out and saw me a ways off. He came over to me and asked me where my parents were. I said they had gone in but I didn’t belong. He then took me by the arm over to the door and said in Danish, “Please go in. You are welcome.” So, of course, I went in. I tell you it was the best supper I had ever seen, all kinds of good things. When we got through with the meal, it was about midnight, but the tables were still spread and plenty of all kinds of good things on the tables. We were to go and help ourselves. It was all for us.
There was no one who called for us, so we stayed around in that hall till morning. I don’t know just what the rest of them did, but I lay down on a bench by the table and fell asleep. When I awakened, the sun was up and the rest were awake and busy. I didn’t wait for breakfast, for there was still plenty of food on the tables, and we were told that we were welcome to all and to help ourselves. I did so, and I surely had a good breakfast that morning as well as supper the night before.

A Young Women teacher had a blind girl in her class whose participation was limited because she could not study in the usual way. The teacher would go to the girl’s home and read out loud while the girl translated her Personal Progress book into braille. The work took two years. The teacher also encouraged the other girls in the class to help. Under her direction, they went to the blind girl’s home and read to her from the manual until it was translated into braille.
The Master’s touch through that teacher reached out and blessed not only this girl but many others who are blind, because the braille translation was made available at the general offices of the Young Women organization.

My dad worked for over 30 years in professional scouting, so growing up, I spent a lot of time at summer camps, and I loved to go hiking with my dad. He knew the names of all the plants and trees. He made the woods come to life for me. I remember one such hike when I was still very young. We ran out of trail and into a huge boulder that hung on the edge of a steep ravine. The only way forward was down the face of that boulder, but I couldn’t manage it. My dad worked his way down and then stood below and told me to jump, promising he’d catch me.

Now I had no doubt my father loved me, but I remember hesitating. I knew he meant well, but it was a big rock, and it was a long way down. And I probably weighed more than he thought, and what if, best intentions aside, he couldn’t catch me? And so I pulled back. It took a lot of coaxing to get me to take that leap, and of course it all worked out, but it wasn’t easy.

I think sometimes I do the same thing with Christ. In life, the only way forward is to trust in Him. He has promised me that as imperfect as I may be, if I exercise faith in Him, I can trust Him to bring me home. But sometimes I pull back. “Maybe,” I reason, “He doesn’t really recognize how vast the distance is between where I am and where He is. He may not realize how heavy my burden actually is. What if I am simply not good enough?”

I could not get these students out of my mind. I wanted the youth and young adults of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—including my own children, who are your age—to know these stories. I wanted our members everywhere to understand BYU–Pathway. And as a journalist, I wanted the world to see the remarkable ways that the Church is blessing so many lives across the globe. So I pitched this documentary project and went to Africa.
The crew and I spent almost two weeks in Kenya and Uganda. We shot about 90 hours of video on three cameras and a drone. Conditions were often very challenging—even clean food and water were sometimes hard to come by. It was exhausting, exhilarating, and completely transformative as I met some of the most remarkable people I have ever known.

With so many boys in the family, the competition was sometimes less than brotherly. Chris and Matt, being close in age, suffered from it for a while. Anything Chris did, Matt tried to do better. It caused contention. Chris says, “Mom knew best. She had a talk with me. She said that God gave us all talents, and we can’t be better than someone else at everything. Then I realized that Matt has something in him that makes him better at some things. He has his talents, and I have mine. We need to share them and gain from each other and really enjoy watching each other do whatever. It might be soccer, band, sports, being outdoors, or giving service.”
When Chris watched Matt compete at state in the pole vault, the sport he had taught his younger brother, the disappointment at not being there himself lessened. He felt calm. “I was glad one of us made it and that it could be my brother.”

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Ne. 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.

In order to field test the program, the New Era asked the students at the Highland High School Seminary in Pocatello, Idaho, to give gift subscriptions to their friends and see what happened. At the beginning of the program the seminary student council gave each student a marble to put in his or her back pocket, coin purse, or some other place where it would be hard to ignore. When the student gave a gift subscription, he was allowed to return the marble to a special thermometer board that would measure the program’s progress. Some students had more names than money, and some had more money than names, so both kinds gave what they had the most of. As a result, over 200 marbles found their way out of pockets and purses and onto the thermometer board, and about 180 New Eras found their way to brand-new mailboxes.
Unfortunately, the program is only about three months old as this article is being written, so no one knows what the final results will be, but a few things are clear already. Within a week or so of the day the student council first shared the idea with the students, an unexpected result developed across the street at the high school. It was clearly becoming a mark of status among the non-Mormon half of the studentbody to be given a New Era subscription. Even the rare students who didn’t want the magazine went around with wrinkled brows if they weren’t at least given a chance to turn it down.
Most of the seminary students found it easier to give a New Era than to bring up the gospel in any other way, and yet some of them still approached giving the gift with some fear and a little trembling. What if the gift were rejected? What if a friend were offended? They were amazed at the overwhelmingly positive reaction. Their friends were not only willing but eager to receive the New Era. There were exceptions of course. A few students wanted nothing to do with anything Mormon. A few parents objected, but those cases were a small handful, and it was never hard to find another friend who would say yes. Having given one subscription, students found themselves wanting to give another. One girl gave five. Another said, “Whenever I see someone now, I think, ‘I wonder if I ought to give him the New Era and the Book of Mormon and then maybe see if he wants the missionary discussions.’”

Shinnah B. from Nairobi, Kenya, knows that Heavenly Father loves her. But she didn’t really know it until a couple of years ago, when she first heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from her aunt.
“The missionaries taught me things I didn’t know. They taught me that Heavenly Father loves me, and how to pray,” Shinnah says. After she was baptized, a few experiences helped her better understand God’s love for her. Now she strives to show her love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

When I was a young woman, I borrowed skis that were way too long and boots that were way too big, and a friend taught me to ski! We went on a beautiful spring day filled with bright sun, perfect snow, and cloudless, blue skies. Anxiety about the steep slopes gave way to delight as I learned. And though I tumbled quite a few times on those long skis, I got up and I kept trying. I came to love the sport!

I soon found out, however, that not all ski days and weather conditions were that ideal. On days with overcast skies, we skied in a condition called “flat light.” Flat light occurs when the light from the sun is diffused by the clouds. Looking ahead at the white snow, you find that your depth perception vanishes, and it is difficult to judge the steepness of the slope or see the moguls and bumps on the hill.

Young women, you may be looking forward to your future as I looked at that steep ski slope. You may feel at times that you are living in flat light, unable to see what lies ahead of you. Learning by faith will give you confidence and will help you navigate your way through times of uncertainty.

In the 25th chapter of Matthew, the parable of the ten virgins teaches us that spiritual preparation is vital and must be achieved individually. You will recall that all ten virgins were invited to escort the bridegroom into the wedding feast, but only the five wise virgins were prepared with oil in their lamps.

“And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
“But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
“And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.”

You may think it selfish that the five wise virgins did not share their oil, but it was impossible. Spiritual preparation must be acquired individually, drop by drop, and cannot be shared.

The time is now for you to diligently apply yourselves to increasing your spiritual knowledge—drop by drop—through prayer, scripture study, and obedience. The time is now to pursue your education—drop by drop. Each virtuous thought and action also adds oil to your lamps, qualifying you for the guidance of the Holy Ghost, our divine teacher.

The Holy Ghost will guide you on your journey here in mortality, even when you feel you are in flat light, uncertain of what lies ahead. You need not fear. As you stay on the path that leads to eternal life, the Holy Ghost will guide you in your decisions and in your learning.

I testify from personal experience that if you will seek learning not only by study but also by faith, you will be guided in what “the Lord … will need you to do and what you will need to know.”

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.

I testify that our Father in Heaven does know and love you. He has placed great trust in you and has work that only you can do. I want to assure you that you will be prepared for that great work if you seek learning by study and also by faith. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Let me tell what really happens when missionaries serve.
We had a neighbor boy who regularly passed our place headed for the mailbox, impatiently awaiting his letter of call. It seemed unusually long in coming after his recommendation was sent in. I observed this scene the day his letter came. He opened it at the mailbox, called his friend over, and they rejoiced together. Then he figuratively bounced down the lane to share the good news with his family. A few minutes later his sixteen-year-old sister came strolling by, headed home. I merely mentioned in a greeting that her brother had received his mission call. She instantly changed her pace and ran all the way home to join in the excitement of her brother’s call. Think of the anticipation, the joy, that gladdens hundreds of homes and hundreds of hearts each week—for this is a family call.

Dave and Rosemary Smart were live-at-home missionaries assigned to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Maine. They learned of a young seaman in the coast guard who would soon leave for three months’ sea duty. The seaman and his wife, members of the Church, had three children.
Until the Smarts contacted them, the young couple were unaware of military relations missionaries. They were relieved to know that Elder and Sister Smart would be nearby to offer support to the family in the absence of their husband and father.
The Smarts introduced the couple to the manual Becoming a Self-Reliant and Resilient Family. They explained how to find it in the Gospel Library and on the Gospel Library app. The app version would be of benefit to the seaman when he was at sea and there was no wi-fi aboard ship. He realized that the manual would benefit him and his family and that it would assist him in his job. As a health services technician, he often counsels others.

One winter day six-year-old Heber J. Grant sneaked onto the back runner of President Brigham Young’s sleigh. He wanted to ride for only one block. But he didn’t dare leap off until the sleigh slowed down. When it did, he had ridden quite a way. He tried to run without President Young seeing him.

President Young: Stop! That little boy is almost frozen! Put him under the buffalo robe.

President Young: What’s your name?
Heber: Heber Grant, sir.
President Young: You must be Jedediah’s son. I loved your father very much. He was my Second Counselor.

President Young told Heber he would like to interview him in six months. Heber obeyed. He and President Young were friends from then on.

Heber spent almost as much time at Brigham Young’s home as at his own.

The winter of 1846–47 was a busy one for the Saints at Winter Quarters. They made plans for continuing their journey west, gathered supplies, repaired old wagons, and built new ones. Church leaders decided that one company of men would leave in the spring to choose the best trail for those who would follow. By traveling without the elderly, the sick, or many children, they could travel faster. President Young picked the 144 men who would make the journey—12 for each of the 12 tribes of Israel. One man, however, got sick shortly after leaving and returned to Winter Quarters, so the Pioneer Company consisted of 143 men (8 of them members of the Quorum of the Twelve), 3 women, and 2 children.
The men in this first company were skilled workers who could build and repair wagons, take care of animals, hunt for food, keep accurate records, repair tools, build ferries, lay out a new community, and plant crops. They took with them a leather boat called the Revenue Cutter, 73 wagons and carriages, 93 horses, 52 mules, 66 oxen, 19 cows, 17 dogs, some chickens, and a cannon on wheels.
William Clayton was the official camp historian. To help direct those who would follow, he and others kept careful records of the camp’s travel. In order to calculate the distance traveled each day, he tied a piece of red flannel to a wagon-wheel spoke and walked beside the wagon, counting the times the wheel turned. This was a tiresome task, and he proposed the idea for a mile counter. Orson Pratt suggested a design for the machine, and William Clayton and Appleton Harmon constructed it. This device, called an odometer, counted 10 miles, then started over. This made William’s job much easier.
Early in the journey, the pioneers established strict rules for their camp. When a bugle sounded each morning at 5:00 A.M., the pioneers got up and prayed in their own wagons. The camp members then had two hours to cook breakfast, eat, feed their teams, and do other chores. At 7:00 A.M. the bugle sounded again, and the company moved out.
The wagons traveled in double file. In case of an Indian attack, they were to form a circle, the mouth of each wagon facing out, with the horses and cattle tied inside the circle. At 8:30 P.M. the bugle sounded again to signal everyone to pray and prepare for bed. This discipline helped the pioneers deal with many of the problems they encountered.
Each day the camp members struggled to find a place where their animals could graze. To help the companies that would follow them, they kept records of where good water, grass, and wood could be found. The men worked hard to level the road to make later travel easier. On the Sabbath they rested from their labors, partook of the sacrament, and worshiped God.
As they traveled, the pioneers left signs for those who would follow. One sign on a cedar post read: “From Winter Quarters, 295 Miles, May 8th, ‘47. Camp, all well. W. Clayton.” Another message left on a bleached animal skull read, “Pioneers camped here June 23rd, 1847 making 15 miles today All well Brigham Young.” They also sent letters to loved ones with trappers or other travelers who were headed east.
Several times during the trip, the pioneers talked with mountain men. Jim Bridger discouraged them from moving all the Saints to the Salt Lake Valley until they knew if grain could be grown there. He was so convinced that grain could not be grown that he offered (US) $1,000 for their first bushel of corn. But God was leading the Saints. President Young told Bridger, “Wait a little, and we will show you.”
While camped on the Bear River, Brigham Young contracted mountain fever and became so ill that he could not continue to travel. It was decided that eight wagons and several men would stay behind with him, and the rest would go on. But as the main group moved on, others were stricken with the fever. The pioneers decided to let the sick rest while an advance company with 23 wagons and 42 men led by Orson Pratt scouted out the best route through the mountains.
The advance party found the Donner Trail, made the year before, and began to follow it. The trail was very rough, so the men spent much of their time clearing trees and leveling the ground for those behind them.
On 21 July 1847, Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow went down Emigration Canyon ahead of the others to scout out the area. They had only one horse, so they took turns walking and riding. A few miles from the mouth of the canyon, Erastus realized that he had lost his coat. He took the horse and turned back to find it. Orson walked on alone and was the first of the pioneers to set foot in the Salt Lake Valley. He and Erastus returned to camp, and the next day the advance company entered the Salt Lake Valley and headed north.
On 23 July they traveled to an area near where the Salt Lake Temple now stands. Orson Pratt called everyone together and led them in a prayer of thanksgiving and of dedicating themselves and the land to the Lord. After the prayer, the pioneers immediately went to work unpacking the wagons, establishing a settlement, and plowing the dry, hard land so that it could be planted. On that same day, Brigham Young and his group crossed Big Mountain. From its summit, President Young looked out of the carriage he was riding in and declared: “This is the right place. Drive on.”* The next day, 24 July, the last of the company arrived in the valley. It had taken the pioneers 111 days to make the journey to the Salt Lake Valley.
Sunday, 25 July 1847, the Saints worshiped and gave thanks for their safe journey. It had been a long trip, and for many years Saints would continue to sacrifice to cross the plains—but at last a place had been found where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints could prosper.