Gospel Story Finder

Prayer, by Walter Rane
I never prayed so much as when one of my sons reached the age of 17. He started having some doubts about the gospel, and at times he was rebellious and didn’t want to listen. My husband and I always tried to insist that he attend church, but many times he refused. We held our family home evenings, read the scriptures, and prayed as a family, but he often chose not to participate. I can’t remember how many times I knelt down to ask our Heavenly Father to touch his heart and help him continue along the right path.
Over the next two years, he had many ups and downs. Church leaders supported me and they spoke with him, but nothing seemed to be of use. Eventually he left home.
All that time I never stopped praying for him. At times my husband, tired of it, said to me, “Leave him. He has his moral agency.” But my reply was always the same: “No. I will not lose hope.”
After a time, our son came to our home. He asked my forgiveness and told me, “Mama, I want to come home.” My husband and I were wary, but after discussing it, we yielded. After he returned home, we saw his firm determination to change. He became active in the Church and participated in activities. He was later called to serve as a Primary teacher, an experience that was quite special for him.
One day I hung up a Poster from the Liahona that said, “Don’t let worries or doubts keep you from serving a full-time mission.”1 It hung in his bedroom for a couple of months, when suddenly one day he said to me, “Mama, I want to go on a mission at the end of the year.” It was marvelous. My husband and I cried and cried, and of course we supported him as he prepared to go to the temple and serve a mission. I continued praying all the time, now thanking Heavenly Father for having touched the heart of my son.
After some time on his mission, in one of his letters he said to me, “Mama, I have a great testimony of prayer, thanks to you. I know that you were praying the whole time for me, and now I am on a mission because the Lord touched my heart, not because I am all that good. Thanks, Mama. Share with the sisters this principle that changed my life.”
Now my son has served a faithful mission and participated in a marvelous work. I am very thankful to Heavenly Father for listening to my prayers all these years and for touching the heart of my son, which caused him to return to the right path.

A challenge faced by some families is how to reach and inspire young children during family home evening. Christine Carter of the Syracuse New York Stake writes: “I recently attended the temple to receive my own endowment, and I wanted to hold a family home evening about the importance of the temple. I had prepared well, but my six-year-old son, Tyler, was inattentive and disruptive. I felt discouraged and ready to cancel the lesson.
“Prompted by the Spirit, I looked my son in the eyes and asked him, ‘Do you know that attending the temple is the most important thing you need to do?’ The impact of those words was incredible. He was sobered and became interested in learning about the temple. We marveled over the pictures of the temples and wondered about the mansion Jesus Christ is preparing for our return to Him. We put together a puzzle of the temple and then did it again because we had so much fun. We sang ‘I Love to See the Temple.’ Later, Tyler decorated our hallway with pictures of different temples. He also decided to make a temple switch plate cover for the hall light, complete with his own drawing of the Salt Lake Temple. Now every time we turn on the light we can remember that the temple lights our way to return home to the Lord.
“I am so grateful that the Spirit guided me during our lesson and that I did not give up on teaching my son of the importance of the temple.”

Finally, I’ll always remember a man I met when I was driving a delivery van through downtown Seattle. I was earning money for my mission. I met a wide variety of people, but Larry was the most interesting by far. I had just run some boxes into a store and was hustling back to my van when he came up alongside and extended his hand.
“Hi, my name is Larry. Will you be my friend?”
“You bet,” I agreed with a smile. It was plain that Larry was mentally disabled. I’m sure some thought it was funny he would walk up to a total stranger asking for friendship. But I believe Larry was only innocently asking out loud the same question so many ask silently, Will you be my friend? If we would all just say, “Sure,” wouldn’t it be cool? Cool-aid.
We all know how it feels to be thirsty, so thirsty we can hardly stand it. I’m convinced that’s how many in the world feel right now, thirsty for attention, approval, acceptance, and love. We can do something about it! By giving cool-aid—the coolest aid of real selfless service—to those around us, we can quench the thirst that our brothers and sisters have and leave joy that will last longer than the purple mustaches on my upper lip ever did.

About 10 years before I joined the Church in 1976, I had a dream. In my dream I saw my father, who had been dead for some time. He called me by my nickname, “Mya, you will later do something in a foreign country that will be very important for your family.” It was a dream I could never forget—what did my father mean?
It was a remarkable day when the missionaries knocked on my door for the first time. I had always been very open and ready to listen to everyone who wanted to talk about religion, but I would often try to contradict and ask a lot of questions. But this time, it was like God was telling me: “Now listen! Don’t interrupt them, just listen!” I wanted to find the right place, the right church, so I listened.
After they left, I paced the floor and kept saying, “Truly, these are the servants of the Lord! I can feel it.” I listened to them and learned from them. Many things I hadn’t understood before started opening up for me, but nothing had as much effect on me as did their teaching about baptism for the dead.
I decided, after a few lessons, that I would be baptized. But it was not easy—I stayed awake many nights and prayed. Whenever I prayed I found peace and felt as if the arms of the Lord were holding me.
My five children were positive and supportive of my decision to be baptized, but my husband was very much against it. He gave his permission, but it became very obvious how much he was against it after I was baptized. Even my friends criticized me for turning against my husband, but somehow I always received the strength I needed.
When I had been a member of the Church for only six months, I was called to be the first Icelandic Relief Society president. It was a difficult time, but I knew I was serving the Lord. There was no one to teach me what to do—we were all so new. We had a manual and a handbook in English, but they were of no use to me because I could not speak or understand that language. Sister Sveinbjörg Gudmundsdóttir translated the lessons each week for the teachers. That was the first Church material I had ever seen in Icelandic! I loved getting those lessons, and I read them over and over again. As I look back, I think that perhaps the best times were when it was most difficult—it was then that I had to get on my knees and seek the Lord.
Throughout my life, I had always been very interested in my family history. After I became a member of the Church, I had another dream. In this dream, I was receiving some guests—very distinguished people. I had prepared a salmon, but I needed to put some plates on the table for the guests. There was always some interruption when I tried to add more plates, but I knew there should be many more. I awoke for a time after the dream but still felt very sleepy. I went to sleep again—and the dream was repeated. I felt I was being told that I had the salmon (which I understood represented the gospel)—I just needed to make it ready for others. I knew that I needed to get names to the temple!
That was the beginning of many hours in the family history library, searching out family records. Time did not exist while I was working there. I had a distant goal of some day being able to take these records to the temple, but I was afraid I would never realize this goal because of the language barrier.
I was so excited when I heard that the temple ceremony had been translated into Icelandic! For 19 years I had worked on my genealogy but never dared to dream that I would be able to go to the temple. And now—somehow—I had the feeling that I was not worthy, and I was afraid my husband would never allow me to go. I watched as members of the branch planned for the trip and went for their temple recommend interviews.
When President Ólafur called me into his office one Sunday and asked why I hadn’t asked for a temple recommend, I told him of my fears and misgivings. He said, “Why do you judge yourself so harshly? Will you believe you are worthy if I, as a servant of the Lord, tell you that you can go?” President Ólafur also told me he would visit with my husband to ask him permission for me to go. I was so happy when I left his office, I embraced everyone I saw. I was still happy when I got home, but the fear came back. I told my husband what had happened, and he said, “Of course you will go!”
When I finally entered the temple in London, my father’s words in that dream 29 years earlier suddenly became clear to me. Here I was, in a foreign country, prepared to do temple ordinances for my ancestors. There are not words to describe the feeling I had at that time. When I came into the celestial room after my own endowment, I felt like Simeon of old when he saw the child Jesus in the temple (see Luke 2:29–30). I, too, felt that after this experience, I could die in peace.
Truly, this was a dream come true!

Just a few days after Joseph’s talk with Carlos in the woodlot, Alvin lay desperately ill. At the sound of a door opening, Joseph’s glance flew in the direction of the sleeping room where his oldest brother had lain for three days in pain and distress. “How is he, Mother?” he inquired anxiously as Lucy emerged from the sickroom.
“Not good, Joseph. Not good at all.” She pushed back a wisp of hair from her pale face and studied the strings of herbs hanging from the rafters as though to find a remedy that would heal her beloved firstborn. “The doctors have tried everything they know. But nothing helps, Joseph. Nothing!” She shook her head hopelessly, and for a moment hid her face in her apron. When she looked up, an ashen calm had settled over her. “Alvin has called for each of you to come to his bedside.” Her voice trailed away to a whisper. “He wants to say good-bye.”
Joseph thought he couldn’t bear to see Alvin so white and still. Alvin, whom they all looked to, whose great strong arms had felled huge trees and had gently lifted Baby Lucy high up to the rafters. Now his eyes burned feverishly, and his tired voice rose and fell in a last farewell to each loved one.
He asked Hyrum to see that the new house was finished for their parents and admonished Sophronia to take care of them in their old age. He talked to each one in turn—Sam and William, then Catherine and Carlos. Each brother and sister listened with tear-filled eyes and heavy heart.
Then, calling Joseph to his bedside, Alvin leaned forward. “My time is short, Joseph. Be a good boy and do everything in your power to obtain the record.” His voice became stronger, urgent. “Be faithful to every instruction and keep every commandment given you.” There were a few more words and then Alvin, sinking back upon the pillow, asked for Baby Lucy, his little playmate sister.
“Oh, Amby, Amby!” she cried again and again, her wet cheek against his and her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck as though to rouse his once-strong body.
But as quietly as a clock stops ticking, Alvin’s great heart stopped beating. Outside a star fell and the night was darker than before.
Everyone in the neighborhood grieved over Alvin’s death. “A noble young man,” they said. And in the family there was an emptiness that didn’t ease.
Joseph shivered in the December wind as he helped pile earth and straw against the foundations of their log house to keep out the winter blasts. Less than three months had passed since Joseph’s visit with the angel Moroni, but the world about him had changed from burnished leaf to barren bough, and soon a cold whiteness would cover the ground.
His world had changed too. Where before he had felt vibrantly alive, every sense sharpened and intensified, there was now an actual physical ache as though part of him had been amputated. If I had lost my leg long ago, it couldn’t hurt worse, he thought numbly.
Then one evening Father Smith ignored the tightening in his throat. “Maybe we should talk about it—about Alvin,” he said gently. “He was taken from us in the bloom of youth, but the Lord was good when he sent Alvin to our family.” He dabbed the moisture from his eyes. “Life does take up after trial and tribulation.”
“Alvin was the one who started the new house,” Sam began.
“He told me to be a good girl and to help Mother and Father,” added Catherine.
Joseph didn’t know if it were proper to tell about the time he and Alvin were in a crowd watching two Irishmen fight. He remembered that when one was about to gouge out the other’s eyes, Alvin took him by his collar and breeches and threw him over the ring. But aloud, he only said: “Alvin stood for the right. He was the strongest and bravest of all.”
Winter melted into spring. It was time to mend the fences and stone walls that marked the boundaries of the Smith farm. In the grinding labor of plowing, sowing, and cultivating, there was no time for Joseph to rest. But there was time for pondering the things the angel had taught him. He would resolve with every fiber of his being to become worthy of such a trust.
Joseph still longed to share his thoughts with Alvin. But gradually he discovered that though his yearning need to talk with him didn’t diminish, his grief subsided. As the shoots of pale green pushed up through the black earth, Joseph took comfort in a new closeness to God and his creations. Never had the violets seemed so velvety, the leaves so tender, the birdsongs so poignant. Laboring with his hands day after day, he felt himself growing in strength and power. And always there was the awareness of the high hill and the records and the angel Moroni. Four years seemed forever. Even one September to another was a lifetime.

I met John near the front porch as he was leaving the wedding reception. He was 17, full of fire and activity, president of the student body at high school, deeply involved in a senior class fund-raising activity he had thought up for the school, active in priesthood—a real achiever. He was also a Life Scout, only a couple of merit badges away from Eagle. I was age 62, Scout commissioner, Eagle Scout, and former everything from “den mother” and Scoutmaster to member of the bishopric and vice-president of the Scout council.

I asked John about those merit badges and suggested that his school fund-raising project, if approved in advance by Scout authorities, might qualify as his Eagle service project. We referred to his approaching 18th birthday; from that day on he would be an adult and no longer eligible for the Eagle Award, which is designed to challenge boys, not men.

John wanted the award, but he also had some other priorities. He hoped that he could work it in. His mother sure wanted him to. (Indeed she did; she had phoned me several times, and the family routines had been shifted sharply to accommodate merit badge counselors.)

We were about to part. His parents were waiting for him at their car. “You know,” I heard myself say, “the best thing that could ever happen to you might be to not get your Eagle. You will always know that you could have, but muffed it by putting it off too long. Then you might have sharper priorities in other more important decisions you will make as you mature and govern the rest of your life.” He seemed very surprised at my words. He knew that I wanted him to become an Eagle. What he did not fully realize was that I regarded the Eagle trail as preparation for life, not an end in itself, and that I would much rather see him develop into an active elder, a good husband and father, and a disciple of Jesus Christ than to just become an Eagle Scout and stop at that. Maybe I talk too much about “getting your Eagle.” It is like urging young people to “marry in the temple” as if that would solve all problems. Both are good advice as far as they go, but they are only parts of the great plan of life.

John earned his remaining merit badges at the last minute, but fair and square. Most people think that is it, that he is then an Eagle except for the formalities. Not so. Boy Scouts of America reaches for evidence of deeper values. A Life Scout who has earned the required badges and would become an Eagle must also be active in his troop and patrol for at least six months, “show Scout spirit,” and complete the approved service project. There is one further requirement. All of the above must be completed prior to the 18th birthday, although the processing of the paperwork and the awarding of the badge may take place thereafter.

I am sure that John believed he had beat the deadline. He led in his school activities and graduated with academic honors and praise for his extracurricular and athletic achievements. He served as bishop’s assistant in the priests quorum. Finally he got around to the application for Eagle Scout. All went fine until he and the troop advancement chairman tried to document compliance with requirement number 4:

“While a Life Scout, serve actively for a period of six months in one or more of the following positions: patrol leader, senior patrol leader, assistant senior patrol leader, den chief, scribe, librarian, quartermaster, member of the leadership corps, junior assistant Scoutmaster, chaplain aide, instructor.”

You know how it is whenever you try to put it all together at the last minute—writing your term paper on the last weekend; making notes for your youth talk in the back seat of the car on the way to sacrament meeting. Well, it is worse when the deadline is past and essential actions were not double-checked and completed in time.

How to comply with requirement number 4? Maybe being the bishop’s assistant to the priests would count as “chaplain aide” because the bishop is the spiritual adviser to the Scouts—but that was just the last two months before the 18th birthday. Troop instructor maybe? No, not honestly. Member of leadership corps? That would be forcing it. No hope in the others; they are all too specific. There was no question that John had engaged in great and useful activities during that period. Among other things, he had set up and coordinated a great athletic program in the ward. But how could he show that he had met any of the specifics of requirement 4 for six months?

“For behold, this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God; yea, behold the day of this life is the day for men to perform their labors.

“And now, as I said unto you before, as ye have had so many witnesses, therefore I beseech of you that ye do not procrastinate the day of your repentance until the end; for after this day of life, which is given us to prepare for eternity, behold, if we do not improve our time while in this life, then cometh the night of darkness wherein there can be no labor performed” (Alma 34:32–33).

How easy it would have been to have served for six months as a den chief, or as a junior assistant Scoutmaster helping a grateful Blazer leader, or as a troop instructor teaching young Scouts how to qualify for merit badges or perhaps the whole troop how to cook dehydrated foods for the 50-miler. Easy except for one thing: John’s priorities at age 17 had been on other things. Yes, they were good worthy things, but not the Eagle Award. It would have been easier at age 15 or 16.

So now John is back to me, and I ponder his question. I can’t really answer it. Everyone wants him to receive the award. The adult troop leaders and the bishop are doing their best to convert priesthood activities into the format of requirement 4 as they rewrite that part of the application. The people on the local Scout council want to forward an application that will be approved by the National Council. But it’s like the way we want a lot of blessings—blessings that are predicated upon our complying with certain laws and principles.

This telestial world is much like a class in laboratory chemistry; it is the place to make choices, including mistakes, and to learn from them. But as important as repentance is, it does not grant all that might have been had a different choice been made.

The Eagle Scout Award is a telestial honor. The eternal aspect will be in the attitudes and acts that flow from the granting or denial of the badge under the circumstances.

I want you to be an Eagle Scout, John. I don’t want you to go through life knowing how close you came and muttering excuses to yourself. I want to help word that application in a way that will be accepted. But I do not know if this will be possible, and if it is not, I still think it might be one of the best things that ever happened to you. I hope to see you a leader in the celestial kingdom throughout all eternity, elder!

In the spring of 1837, Erastus and other missionaries revisited places from his previous trip and entered new areas of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia, “baptizing and organizing a number of branches.” In Bridgeport, Pennsylvania, he was pelted with rotten eggs and driven from town. At Leitersburg, Maryland, he held a 12-hour discussion with a Campbellite preacher, one of many long theological debates the young missionary said he won during his trip. In Pennsylvania two sisters, nearly dead, were healed by his priesthood administration. After preaching 147 sermons in seven months and baptizing about 40 people, he returned to Kirtland on December 5, 1837, a month after his 19th birthday.

Shortly after Sister Cook and I arrived in Mongolia, we were asked to accompany two young elders to a city called Muren. At the conclusion of our trip, our return was delayed by bad weather. Each day we went to the airport to see if our plane was going to arrive so we could fly out. We waited with other passengers until we received word whether we would depart that day or would be forced to return to the city for the evening.

Trying to take the same flight out was a group of foreign tourists. They told us they had been by horseback to some of the most remote, little-explored areas of Mongolia.

While we were waiting at the airport, one of these tourists approached one of our elders and said: “I know who you are! What are you doing here? These people don’t need you. They are an unspoiled people with a rich heritage. Why don’t you just go home and leave them alone?”

The elder came to me and was very upset, and we talked about the several responses he could have given. It wasn’t until about two weeks later, however, that I read a statement by President Benson that explained what would have been the perfect response. President Benson said:

“Some may ask why we as a people and church quietly and consistently seek to change individuals while there are such large problems about us. … But decaying cities are simply a delayed reflection of decaying individuals. … The commandments of God give emphasis to improvement of the individual as the only real way to bring about the real improvement [of] society” (A Plea for America [1975], 18).

“The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of the people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. … Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature” (“Born of God,” Ensign, Nov. 1985, 6).

Recently I reviewed an essay from an applicant from the United States before I made a call to interview her. With her permission and changing names and places, I want to share it with you:
"Everyone has setbacks. My setback isn't very original since it seems like many parents these days get divorced. It's sad to think that there are only a few people I know with parents that are still together. My parents divorced when I was about five years old. At the time, I thought my dad would be back in just a couple of days, but as I got older I realized my parents would never get back together. I grew up in Flagstaff my whole life, but when they separated my dad went to live in Denver, and never came back. Growing up I went back and forth from Flagstaff to Denver.
"On breaks I would visit my dad and meet him halfway in a little town called Fruita between Wendy's and McDonald's. In that parking lot, a lot of tears were shed knowing I would be leaving one parent to be with another. The older I got, the more responsibilities I gained and the harder it was to visit my dad. I feel like I missed out on precious moments that could have been spent with my dad."
I then called this young woman and we became acquainted. We talked about her sad essay. I wanted her to understand something about the spirit of BYU-Hawaii. She had visited the PCC before and remembered the beautiful temple on the hill. I said, "Did you know the temple is closed on Sundays? We don't hold church there."
"Then what is it for?" she asked.
"It's where we perform weddings." I responded. We had talked earlier about the Honor Code, the law of chastity and other important parts of LDS culture on our campus. I said, "Marriage is very important to members of our faith. Many students at BYU-Hawaii date and get married. And when they marry they do it in the temple." I explained that in the temple, "We do not marry for just this life, but also for eternity. There, we are promised by the authority of God, to be sweethearts forever and that our children will always be ours if we keep God's commandments. We believe that marriage for time and eternity is part of God's plan for happiness."
"That is beautiful," she said. I could tell she was touched.

Another story about my mother had an even greater impact on me. It shaped how I resolved to live my life.
When I was a priest, my assignment one Sunday was to bless the sacrament in Sunday School. In those days, we took the sacrament during Sunday School in the morning, and then returned for sacrament meeting in the evening.
I had a 1946 Chevy coupe that I had made into a hot rod, and I wanted to compete in some races that were being held that Sunday. I knew that my parents would not approve, so I said nothing. I am ashamed to say it, but I left church and went to the drag races. I raced one time and lost.
When I returned home, my mother was standing at the kitchen sink, finishing up the dinner dishes. I could see tears on her cheeks. I asked, “Mom, what’s the matter?”
She turned and asked, “Son, where have we failed as parents that you feel you can violate the Lord’s holy day?”
I couldn’t bear it! My dear mother was taking the blame and burden for my wrongdoing.
That moment helped me understand more about the Atonement of Jesus Christ, that someone else was willing to bear the burden of my wrong choice. I began to understand how the Savior could do that for me because I saw my mother do it in this instance.

We know the Lord makes His servants bold. The young boy Joseph who saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, in a grove of trees was transformed into a spiritual giant. Parley P. Pratt saw that when the Prophet Joseph Smith rebuked the vile guards who held them captive. Elder Pratt recorded:
“On a sudden he arose to his feet, and spoke in a voice of thunder, or as the roaring lion, uttering, as near as I can recollect, the following words:
“‘SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and hear such language. Cease such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!’”
Of that experience, Elder Pratt wrote, “Dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri.”3

In May of 1967 I graduated from BYU-Provo with a wife and two small children. The following day I was commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force. We had orders for Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, near Dayton, Ohio. We loaded our little family in our very old car and commenced a journey across the country to my first Air Force assignment.

We had been led to believe that military housing was plentiful at Wright-Patterson. However, when we arrived at the base, to our dismay, we learned that the wait for base housing was at least one year. We had less than one hundred dollars and our first Air Force paycheck was thirty days away. What were we to do?A family of four in a new location with little money and no place to live.

We decided to locate the only friend we had in Ohio, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We telephoned a counselor in the bishopric of the Fairborn Ward, Denny Foscarini. I introduced myself and told him of our plight. He said, "Brother Russell, are you in a position to stay in a motel tonight?" I said that we were. He then asked that our family come to his home the next day. We arrived that next evening and for the first time the Foscarinis met the Russells. We had dinner. Then the blessing came. "Brother Russell, on Friday, we are going on vacation for thirty-days. Would your family be willing to stay in our home?"

Brothers and Sisters, I don't think that instant bonding between the Russells and the Foscarinis, that sense of trust, that spirit of sharing, could have possibly occurred were in not for our mutual friend, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

John’s soggy shoes slid in the rutted ice alongside the handcart. A toe snagged on a half-buried rock, and he pitched forward into the snow.
Mama helped him up. “My feet hurt bad, Mama. Could I ride a little way in the handcart?”
“Papa’s too sick to pull extra weight, John. See the willows ahead? We’ll camp there tonight by the river.”
John peered through the falling snow. The willows were so far away! He counted steps: “One … two … three … ,” trying to forget the pain in his half-frozen feet. An ache started in his hands. It worsened until he could no longer concentrate.
His gaze fixed on Mama’s skirt, blowing stiffly in the rising wind. “Your skirt’s frozen, Mama.”
“Only the edges where it drags through the snow,” Mama said, hugging him. Then her light, sweet voice sang out, “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear …”
Instantly, every voice in the handcart company took up the words. It was a camp rule that when one began singing that special hymn, all must join in.
As Papa’s thin frame pulled against the weight of the handcart, his lips moved soundlessly to the words. A fit of coughing doubled him over. He staggered and fell.
John leaped to Papa’s side and cradled his head in his lap. Men dropped their own handcarts and hurried to help. Papa whispered, “I just need a moment to catch my breath.” Heavy coughing shook him.
The men lifted Papa into the handcart. Tears trembled on Mama’s eyelashes as she tucked a warm buffalo robe around him.
Papa had said that the robes they had bought in Fort Laramie were a mixed blessing. Those who chose to keep warm with them might die of hauling the extra weight. John was glad now that they had discarded other things in order to keep them.
As the men went back to their own handcarts, Mama said, “It’s up to us now, John.” She took Papa’s place in front of the handcart. John stood beside her. His body strained. The handcart bumped slowly forward.
John’s feet, clumsy with cold, trudged inch by weary inch toward the willows. After a while, he felt neither hands nor feet, numbed as they were by wind-whipped snow and sleet.
Finally they reached the willows. “Get what rest you can,” the captain told the company. “Tomorrow we cross the river.”
Cross the river? John could see no ferry. The river was dark with slush ice. He shuddered.
Papa crawled from the handcart and steadied himself against the wheel, coughing weakly.
“I can make camp, Papal” cried John. Papa reached into the handcart for the tent. “Some are working who are sicker than I am,” he said.
Digging in the snow, John found a few sticks of firewood. Soon a pot of mush bubbled over a fire.
Mama scraped the mush into three bowls. “It’s such a little bit,” John sighed, gulping the steaming gruel.
“I know,” said Mama. “The company captain said we must cut the rations in half again.”
Papa spooned a bit of mush into his mouth. “Nobody dreamed that winter would come so early,” he murmured. “Nor be so savage.”
That night John huddled with Mama and Papa under the buffalo robes. Slowly, feeling returned to his hands and feet. Exhausted, he slept.
The next morning John awakened to a camp half buried in snow. In the fierce wind, he helped Mama and Papa pack the handcart. With other Saints, they struggled through the still-falling snow to the riverbank.
“Oh, Papa!” John stared at the rushing slush-thickened water.
“If I stumble, grab the handcart,” was all Papa said. Grimly he pulled the cart into the icy water.
John splashed in behind him. He gasped as the freezing water crept to his chest. Mama hiked up her long skirts and waded after him.
Chunks of jagged ice floated by. One slammed into Papa. He staggered and fell. Trying to reach him, John stepped on a sharp rock and slipped. In an instant, the freezing water closed over him.
Hands grabbed him and steadied him in the fast-moving current. He looked for Papa. There he was! Men were helping him across the river. He saw Mama pulling their handcart onto the far bank.
By the time John reached the handcart, the bitter wind had frozen his clothes to his body. Mama tore them off and helped him into dry things. She replaced her ice-crusted skirt with another one.
Reeling with cold, Papa found dry clothing. Mama shielded him from the storm with a buffalo robe while he changed.
Nobody in the group had strength enough to pitch a tent, but Mama spread their buffalo robes in the scant shelter of the handcart. They burrowed under them, hugging each other for warmth.
John heard snorting and stamping. Horses? That creaking—was it wagons? He poked his head from the covers.
“Papa! Mama!” he called. “It’s covered wagons pulling into camp!” Papa coughed, unable to answer. Mama’s blue lips moved, but no sound came. John scrambled from the covers to get help.
“Brigham Young sent us with provisions as soon as he heard about your company,” a rescuer told John.
“Your mama and papa are suffering from fatigue and exposure,” another said. “We’ll get them into a wagon right away.”
Soon fires blazed in the camp. John stood warming himself, breathing in the smell of sizzling buffalo meat and pan bread.
Given a plate of hot food, John could eat only a mouthful. He was so tired!
The rescuers lifted him into the wagon with Mama and Papa. Bundled under heavy quilts, he listened to Papa’s racking cough and labored breathing.
“Are you all right, Papa?”
Papa couldn’t speak for coughing. The wagon began to move through swirling snow toward Salt Lake. Weak voices of the handcart company joined joyfully with the strong voices of the rescuers. “But if our lives are spared again To see the Saints their rest obtain, Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—All is well! All is well!”

On one occasion, one of my daughters came to me and asked me to keep her cell phone for a week. She said that she felt it was consuming too much of her time and attention and she wanted to reset her priorities. I put her phone on a shelf and she reclaimed it a while later. I loved the desire for self-mastery she demonstrated and the introspective analysis she practiced as she sought to act and not be acted upon.[10]

As a young boy growing up in Cameroon, Vicky Levannresky Kamlemo loved playing football. He found himself frequently on the football pitch and the game was a major part of his life—even when he was studying in school.
He played for the Galaxy Football Club at the age of 14, and by 16 he was playing at a professional level. Upon receiving his baccalaureate, he was presented with an opportunity to travel and play professionally in Saudi Arabia, North Sudan, and Iran.
But football is a difficult profession—especially for young men who do not have financial means. Playing abroad is also not very easy, and Vicky’s living conditions were not what he wanted, so he decided to return home.
It was then that he became acquainted with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ through his Aunt, Hortense Dajeu, who was visiting from Virginia, USA and through his close friend, Yannick Njampou. Later, Vicky saw his return to Cameroon and baptism into the Church as a way through a great trial; and he believes all this happened by the grace of the Lord.
Today, he has found a greater and more wonderful passion than football as he serves a full-time mission in Cote d’Ivoire.

It’s a thrill, brethren, to stand here this evening and see this great audience of priesthood filling this sacred Tabernacle. Having had the privilege of serving as the Presiding Bishop of the Church for fourteen years, and thus, the president of the Aaronic Priesthood, I am thrilled to see all of the boys of the Aaronic Priesthood here tonight, and I imagine that will be true in the other buildings where the priesthood are listening in. We are all thrilled as we go through the Church to find the wonderful attitude that the Saints have toward President Kimball and, particularly, toward the emphasis that he is giving to missionary work. You know that he has indicated that every boy should be a missionary.
I think of when I was a young man, before I was even ordained a deacon, I went to one of our ward meetings in the little country town where I was raised, and two missionaries reported their missions down in the Southern States. In those days they traveled without purse or scrip, and they had to sleep out many nights when they couldn’t get entertainment. I don’t know whether they said anything unusual that night or not; but if they didn’t, the Lord did something unusual for me, because when I left that meeting, I felt like I could have walked to any mission field in the world, if I just had a call. And I went home, went into my little bedroom, and got down on my knees, and asked the Lord to help me to live worthy so that when I was old enough I could go on a mission. And when the train finally left the station here in Salt Lake and I was headed for the little land of Holland, the last thing I said to my loved ones was, “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Before I left on that mission, President Anthon H. Lund, who was then a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church, talked to us missionaries, and he said, among other things, “The people will love you. Now,” he said, “don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think that they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not understand that then, but before I left the little land of Holland, where I spent nearly three years, I knew what President Lund meant. I went around saying good-bye to the Saints and the converts who I had brought into the Church, and I shed a thousand tears, as compared to what I shed when I told my loved ones good-bye.
For instance, in Amsterdam I went into a home where I had been the first missionary there, and the little mother, looking up into my face with tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it’s much harder to see you go.” I had been the first missionary in that home. Then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
I went to tell a man with a little Dutch beard good-bye. He stood erect in the uniform of his country. He got down on his knees and took my hand in his and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. And then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
Now I like a little story that President Grant used to tell about the love that converts have for their missionaries. He told about a couple who came here from one of the Scandinavian countries. They hadn’t been taught much about the gospel. All they knew was that it was true. And so the bishop went to this couple and taught them the law of tithing. They paid their tithing. Then later the bishop went to them and taught them about the fast offering. They paid their fast offering. And then the bishop went to them again to get a donation to help build a ward meetinghouse. They thought that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop got through with them, they paid their donation on the meetinghouse.
Then the bishop went to the father to get his son to go on a mission. Now I can hear President Grant standing here, saying, “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” The man said, “He’s our only child. His mother will miss him. We can’t let him go.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, who do you love in this world more than anyone else outside of your own relatives?” And he thought for a few minutes. He said, “I guess I love that young man who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, how would you like someone to love your boy just like that?” The man said, “Bishop, you win again; take him. I’ll pay for his mission.”
Now you fathers, how would you like someone to love your boys just like that man loved that boy who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught him the gospel? I heard a missionary up in Oregon giving the report of his mission. He himself was a convert to the Church, and he came down with his fist on the pulpit, and he said, “I wouldn’t take a check tonight for a million dollars for the experience of my mission.” I sat back of him, and I said to myself, “Would you take a million dollars for your first mission in the little land of Holland?” And I began counting the families that I’d been instrumental in bringing into the Church. What kind of a man would I be if I were to sell them out of the Church for a million dollars? I wouldn’t do that for all the money in the world!

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
How come you’re my friend?
Huh?
Well, I can’t run or ride bikes and stuff. And some people have trouble understanding me when I talk.
Yeah, I had trouble at first. But—I dunno—when I listened, it got easier. I guess I like your funny jokes. And we like a lot of the same stuff.
Game time’s over. How about a sandwich?
So how come you’re my friend?
I guess it started when those guys were picking on me and you stood up for me.
Then we talked. And I got to know you. And, well, I figure anybody who has a rubber chicken for a pet …
… needs at least one real friend.
I’m his pet?! I thought he was mine.

When I was a little girl, my parents took my sister and me to an orchard owned by the Church. We were there to help pick peaches. We climbed up on tall ladders and reached through thick leaves to pick the peaches off the trees.
At first, we were excited. But soon the fuzz on the fruit made our arms all itchy! We told our mom, “We don’t want to do this anymore. We want to stop.”
My mom asked us if we knew where all the peaches went. When we said no, she explained it to us.
“Each of these peaches is taken to a building where volunteers put them in cans. Then those cans are given to people who need food. Each year the Church donates thousands of cans of food.”
All of a sudden, my sister and I stopped worrying about our itchy arms. We were helping people who needed food! After that, we had fun climbing up the ladders and picking the fuzzy orange fruit.

One day there was a conference in our city. My parents were excited and grateful when they learned we would have Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles among us.
On the day of the conference, the chapel was overflowing. My mother could not get close to Elder Ashton. When my six-year-old brother saw my mother’s despair, he managed to get through the human barrier and reach him. He asked Elder Ashton to bless his brother who was very sick and insisted that he come to where we were. But Elder Ashton couldn’t come at that moment. We prayed for an opportunity to meet him at the end of the conference.
To our surprise, at the beginning of his talk Elder Ashton said, “When I got here, a little boy asked me to bless his brother who is gravely ill, and I would like to say to all within the sound of my voice that your brother will get well and fulfill his mission here on earth.”
For my parents, this was the balm they had prayed for, a relief from their days of pain and sadness. We began a new treatment, and with confidence in the power of Elder Ashton’s promise, I found my life changed completely.

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.