Gospel Story Finder

Our recent Gong family reunion included a fun talent show, complete with a dad jokes contest.
But this contest was unusual. On one team was Grandpa (me) and two of the grandchildren, ages 12 and 11. On the other team was an artificial intelligence (AI) program prompted by a cousin to tell dad jokes in the style of Gerrit W. Gong. Grandpa Gerrit Gong versus AI Gerrit Gong.
The grandchildren and I went first.
What do you call a dinosaur who crashes his car? Tyrannosaurus Wrecks.
AI Gerrit Gong was instructed—think like Gerrit W. Gong. Talk like him.
AI Gerrit Gong—“Here is a dad joke as if spoken by Gerrit W. Gong, embracing his warm, thoughtful, and uplifting style: Why did the humble tree make people smile? Because it was rooted in love and reached out with branches of kindness. Like that tree, we too can find strength in our roots and joy in extending kindness to others.”
Well, what do you think? That’s why they’re called dad jokes.

Just a few days before the first conference session, a group of more than fifty people arrived at the Tahiti Papeete Mission office. Mission president Raymond Baudin was acquainted with the Saints from the various island groups of French Polynesia, but he did not know any of these people. He assumed that they were a group of nonmembers interested in attending the conference.
But they introduced themselves as Latter-day Saints from the little island of Taenga, located in the Tuamotu Archipelago. The mission president couldn’t believe it! Church leaders in Papeete had not thought that there were any Church members on Taenga. The people explained to President Baudin that nearly the entire population of Taenga was Latter-day Saint, and that every single Taengan had made the three-day voyage to Tahiti by schooner to see the prophet of the Lord!

It was Thursday, and like hundreds of others in the Church, Jim and Alex anxiously waited for the mail to arrive. Their missionary recommendation papers had been turned in several weeks before, and today might be the day their calls would arrive.
Jim was working at the local supermarket, and Alex was working for a home builder. Both had made their mothers promise that if a large white envelope from Church headquarters arrived, they would not open it. Both had trouble concentrating on their work that day. Jim nearly bagged bath soap with the fresh vegetables, and Alex cut a couple of boards too short.
The large white envelopes did arrive. And both young men rushed home from work at the end of the day. With their families around them, they opened the long-awaited calls to serve. The anticipation was replaced by joy and tears of gratitude. Both young men felt the Lord had spoken, and they were ready to respond to His call.
As the initial excitement died down, the next phase of preparation began. Both families made detailed checklists: scheduling the last day of work, buying clothes and luggage, preparing for sacrament meeting, holding a family get-together, and—oh yes—going to the temple. Sadly, however, only one of the families revered the temple experience as the main event in the life of their son, giving it the emphasis it deserves.

“Thank you, Mrs. Frame,” Elizabeth said as Mrs. Frame placed four shiny quarters in her hand.
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Frame said. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help watching Hannah these last five days.”
Elizabeth smiled and waved as she walked down the sidewalk toward town.
Four whole quarters! Elizabeth had never earned even one quarter before, and now she had four! She hugged the coins close to her, thinking of what she might buy. She loved to draw, so a new drawing pad and pencils would be nice. Or maybe she would buy the pretty blue hair ribbon she had seen in the store window.
Elizabeth came to the big wooden doors of the bank. She pulled on the large brass handle and slipped through the doors.
“May I help you, Miss?” a kindly-looking gentleman asked from behind the counter.
“Yes, please. I would like to make change for a quarter,” Elizabeth requested a bit timidly.
“Very well, Miss. I think we can do that.”
Elizabeth opened her hand and placed one quarter on the counter.
“It looks like you have a small fortune there, young lady,” the man said as he handed Elizabeth the change. “What are you going to do with all that money?”
Elizabeth tucked the dime she would need for tithing in one pocket of her apron and put the rest of the money in the other pocket. “I’m not sure yet,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you!” she called as she walked out into the sunshine and headed for the store.
Elizabeth stopped as she got to the store window and peered in. The pretty blue hair ribbon was still there. She also saw a drawing pad and colorful pencils. Elizabeth heard the tinkling of a bell as she pushed open the door.
She slowly walked down each aisle admiring the items for sale. Then a display of cake-making supplies caught her eye. Elizabeth loved to bake, but she had never made a cake. Papa’s birthday was tomorrow, and chocolate cake was his favorite! She used her money to buy the supplies to make Papa a chocolate cake.
The next morning Elizabeth awoke early. Papa had already left to do the morning chores, and she wanted to surprise him with the cake. She carefully sifted flour, sugar, and chocolate into a bowl. Next she whisked together eggs, butter, and buttermilk with a pinch of salt and poured them into the bowl. Elizabeth gently stirred the batter, poured it into a cake pan, and placed it in the oven.
It was hard for Elizabeth to concentrate on her chores, but soon she was finished, and the house was filled with a delicious smell. Placing thick cloths over her hands so she wouldn’t burn herself, Elizabeth carefully pulled the cake from the oven. While it cooled, she made frosting with the remaining sugar and chocolate and some fresh cream she had saved from milking the cows. The frosted cake looked perfect!
“Why, Elizabeth, what are you doing?” Papa asked as he came into the house.
“Happy birthday, Papa!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she held out the cake.
“It’s beautiful!” Papa said as he put his arm around her. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
At supper that evening Elizabeth thought about the drawing pad, the pencils, and the pretty blue hair ribbon. Those things were nice, but as she watched her father enjoy his chocolate cake she knew she had never felt better!

Except perhaps one thing. Consider the fate of Boabdil, last Caliph of the Moorish kingdom of Granada. On the second day of the year 1492, he stood looking down on the fair white houses and lofty minarets of his beloved city for the last time. The Christian armies under the banners of Isabel of Castile and her husband Ferdinand of Aragon were pouring through the sunny streets, invading the beautiful mosques, schools, and marketplaces, possessing the quiet patios and well-wrought pleasure gardens. Boabdil, a man of culture and learning and taste, looked down on his earthly paradise and wept. He may have thought of Adam looking back on the garden or Abraham turning away from the cool green valleys and deep wells into the desert.
Legend says that Boabdil’s mother looked upon her heartbroken son with contempt and said bitterly, “You do well, my son, to weep as a woman for what you could not defend as a man!” But the citizens of Granada, wiser than that mother, have always felt a deep sympathy for Boabdil. How hard would be the heart that could not weep for Granada!
Boabdil watched as the Christian troops marched through the city to a hill that thrust into the heart of Granada like the prow of a mighty ship. Climbing through groves and gardens, they came to the walls of the royal fortress and palaces. For Boabdil this must have been the bitterest moment of all because this was the symbol of all he was losing, the Alhambra, renowned then and now as one of the chief wonders of the world and one of the most beautiful places on the earth. Built by his ancestors Muhammed Al-Ahmar, Muhammed II, Abul Yusaf I, and Muhammed V, it was a wonderland of courts and patios and airy passageways, fountains and gardens and towers in which an earthly king could anticipate paradise. Turning away, Boabdil and his men continued their retreat out of Spanish history. For the first time in centuries, Spain was once again totally under Christian control.

Sasha K., age 11, Moscow, Russia
Two years ago a new boy joined our class at school. He was unkind to others. Everyone started to dislike him and be unkind to him. It seemed to make him sad, so I didn’t do what the others did. Several of my friends noticed and followed my example. I believe that if I do what God wants me to do, I will be happier and safer. I believe that if I have courage and speak my mind, I will find friends who will like me just the way I am.

Donovan aimed his slingshot at the empty soup can on the stump.
He stretched back the slingshot’s rubber tubing.
“What are you doing?” his little sister, Dana, asked.
“Watch this!” he said.
Thwack!
The rubber snapped back into place as Donovan let go, sending the small rock flying. Some leaves in a nearby tree rustled. But the tin can didn’t move. Donovan stuffed the slingshot into his back pocket. He had missed. Again!
Dana tilted her head to the side. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Nothing,” Donovan said. “Come on. Let’s go home.” They started heading back to the house.
Donovan kicked a stick out of his way. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to use Dad’s slingshot right. And he loved that thing! He always liked using it when Dad was out of town working, like now. It helped him feel close to Dad when he couldn’t see him.
He pulled the slingshot from his pocket and spun it slowly in his hand. The rough bark had become smooth a long time ago. Dad had made the slingshot out of a strong tree branch and used it for years before giving it to Donovan.
Dad had pointed at the soup can that day. “When you focus, amazing things can happen.” Donovan still remembered what happened next. Dad had aimed the slingshot and hit the soup can. In one try! He made it look easy. Donovan really missed him.
He was still thinking about Dad when he fell asleep that night.
The next morning, Donovan carried his slingshot to his favorite patch of trees to try again.
“Focus …” Donovan said as he stared at the can on the stump. He placed another small stone in the slingshot and pulled back.
Dad keeps trying, even when things don’t always work out, Donovan thought.
Donovan tried to stop thinking about all the times he had missed before. He closed one eye, the way Dad taught him. He really focused. Donovan didn’t look at anything else but the red soup can.
Taking a deep breath, he let go.
Thwack!
CLUNK!
Donovan blinked in surprise as the can sailed off the stump. “I did it!” he said. “Yes!”
Later that night, Donovan sat next to Mom after dinner. He held up the slingshot.
“I finally hit the can today,” he said, grinning.
“Well done!” Mom said.
“You know, I think this slingshot is my favorite thing in the whole world,” Donovan said.
“Oh?” Mom asked.
“Yup. Because it helps me think about Dad and feel close to him.”
Mom smiled. “I think he’ll be happy to know you feel that way. And guess what? Dad will be home in only three days. You can show him your new skills.”
Donovan could hardly wait! “That gives me an idea,” he said.
He ran to find Dana. He could teach her to use the slingshot the same way Dad had taught him!
“Hey, Dana,” he said. “Wanna learn how to use the best slingshot in Jamaica?”

Another General Authority, Rulon S. Wells, a kindly and pleasant elderly gentleman, came to our home one time after a stake conference. He stayed for supper and afterward accompanied me while I milked the cows. He leaned on the corral fence and we chatted.
Elder Rulon S. Wells

Afterward, since I had recently obtained a driver’s license, I was able to drive him back to Salt Lake City in our old Model T Ford touring car. When Elder Wells ordained me a seventy before I went on my mission, I was thrilled to learn that he had been ordained a seventy by Brigham Young.

“I was not a member of the Church until I was past Primary age,” remembers Elder Howard W. Hunter of the Quorum of the Twelve. “My father was not a member either (although he joined the Church later), but my mother was Primary president, and later Mutual president, in our little branch in Boise, Idaho, which was then in the Northwestern States Mission. Our meetinghouse was a single room. Curtains were hung from cross wires to divide the room into sections. Besides passing the sacrament, it was the deacon’s job to pull the curtains when we separated for classes. Since I wasn’t a member of the Church, I wasn’t able to perform these duties. I did attend meetings, however, and I joined the Scout troop. I became the first Eagle Scout of that troop and the second Eagle Scout in Boise, Idaho.
“When I was thirteen, I decided I didn’t want to be different from the rest of the boys, so I asked my father if I could be baptized. My sister and I were baptized the same day.”
By the time Elder Hunter was twelve years old, a stake had been organized and the Boise Ward wanted to build a new chapel. The members were asked to pledge what they could afford toward construction of the new building. The first person to pledge was Howard Hunter! He pledged twenty-five dollars. “That was a lot of money to a boy in 1919,” reflected Elder Hunter.
Elder Hunter related many experiences about growing up in the rural area of Boise. His father was a railroad worker and was often away from home on weekends. But the family did many things together. Elder Hunter remembers especially having good times with his sister, Dorothy, to whom he is still very close.
“We didn’t have many modern conveniences. We had kerosene lamps, and rest room facilities were about fifty paces from the back door. In back of the house was a cellar where Mother stored all her canned fruits and vegetables. We had a vegetable garden, a berry patch, and fruit trees.
“I remember that my father once said to me, ‘You know, it would help if you weeded the garden.’ I thought I would surprise him and do it, but I hoed down all of the potatoes he had planted, thinking they were weeds! That was about the extent of that.”
As a child, Elder Hunter loved pets. “We had chickens that I took care of. And my dad built me some pens for my rabbits. I also had a little fox terrier by the name of Daisy. Daisy was my pal and followed me everywhere I went.
“I was a great collector of almost everything. I had a stamp collection, a coin collection, and a collection of birds’ eggs. Not far from where we lived, there were swamps, cattails, and a variety of trees. Every bird you could imagine lived there. I knew where all the birds and their nests were, so my egg collection was large.”
Elder Hunter became interested in music. He learned to play the piano, saxophone, clarinet, trumpet, drums, and marimba. He organized a dance band, and when he graduated from high school, the band toured the Orient aboard the SS President Jackson. The band played in China, Japan, and the Philippines.
Elder Hunter has served as president of the Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii, as president of the Church Genealogical Society, as a bishop, and as a stake president. He is now a General Authority. Recalling his service in the Church, he said, “One of my prized assignments was adviser to the Primary, where I served for about ten years. I visited Primaries all over the world and never missed an opportunity to visit a Primary group.”
Elder Hunter related an experience he had during the time he served as president of the Genealogical Society: “I went to see President McKay one day after a computer representative told me that his company had developed a cylinder that would hold a billion bits of information. I was excited! This was a break-through for genealogical record keeping. As I told President McKay about it, I said, ‘Isn’t that marvelous?’ He replied, ‘What’s marvelous about that? You haven’t had use for it before, have you?’ I replied, ‘No, we are just at that point now.’ And he said, ‘Well, that’s the reason the Lord has provided it now.’”
Because Elder Hunter kept diaries as a boy and has continued to do so throughout his life, he urges all the children of the world to do the same. “Even if you don’t think you do anything important, write down what you do every day. Nothing is too unimportant to go into your daily journal. Encourage your family to keep a journal also. They are treasured records.”

When I was a young boy, my parents had a tradition of buying the children baby ducklings at Easter time. They became our pets. Near our home, in Minnesota, there was a small pond. As the ducklings grew, we would allow them to live in it. Each day I would feed them. All I had to do was whistle and they would come to me. They knew that my whistle meant easy food. As the spring turned to summer, the ducks grew bigger and fatter. They were bred not to fly. They were grateful for my free hand-outs.
From time to time, wild ducks would join them. These ducks were different. They were smaller in size. They could fly. And each winter, when it turned cold in Minnesota, the wild ducks would fly south to warmer weather. The wild ducks would never join the others when I fed them. They were afraid of me.
One day, though, a wild duck decided to join the tame ducks. He wanted an easy meal. At first, he did not trust me. But slowly he grew accustomed to my presence. He, too, began to enjoy the free meals. His life was different though. Initially, he could have it both ways. He would eat his tasty meal and then would fly off to be with the wild ducks.
After a while, I noticed a change. He stopped flying. And then I noticed why. All his free meals made him fat. He was no longer able to fly. Perhaps this story would have had a happy ending, but as mentioned earlier, winter in Minnesota brings cold, snow and frozen ponds. One day my mother told me that a man would be coming to take the ducks away for the winter. She said he had a farm and would take care of them. When the time came to say good-bye to my ducks, not only did the tame ducks go, but the wild duck was taken as well.
A few days later, I asked my mother about the ducks. She confessed to me that the man who took them was going to eat them. She just wanted to spare me the pain of telling me. I suspected that this was the case. This happened about 60 years ago, but the experience remains clear in my memory.
I remember the wild duck. This duck had freedom, but he gave it up for what he thought would be an easier life. What he thought was a free hand-out became his prison.

It was our first Christmas on the North Island of New Zealand—a beautiful and fascinating land. Yet despite the sunshine and the kindness of the Church members, I felt deep pangs of loneliness for my parents and siblings. We had moved from the United States earlier that year, and I felt homesick.
In our new area my husband and I became friends with the Wilsons, a young Irish family of another Christian faith who had also recently arrived in New Zealand. Noleen Wilson was my co-worker, and we soon became good friends, sharing experiences of immigrating and of our love for our new home. As our friendship grew, I became aware that their family was also struggling with loneliness as well as feelings of being overwhelmed. They had three young children and a fourth on the way.
One evening when I was feeling particularly lonely and sorry for myself, I had the impression that the best way to overcome my loneliness was to serve another—specifically the Wilsons. My husband and I decided that night to begin celebrating the 12 days of Christmas with the Wilsons by anonymously leaving messages and small gifts on their doorstep. Each night my loneliness was replaced with excitement and anticipation as we sneaked up to their home, left our message and gift, knocked on their door, and then ran away with big grins on our faces.
Each day at work Noleen would tell me about the mysterious “Christmas elves” who had visited the night before. She would relay stories of her children anticipating the arrival of their visitors, who were making the family’s Christmas a happy one. On several evenings the ward youth joined us in our fun.
On the final night, Christmas Eve, the Wilsons left a message and cookies on their doorstep, asking that they be able to meet their elves. When we arrived with the youth to sing carols as our final gift, the children were ecstatic and our friends embraced us with hugs and tears of gratitude. The loneliness in my heart was replaced with love and joy, and the bond of friendship between our families was strengthened.
Later we received an e-mail from a man in the Wilsons’ church who said he was so touched by what we had done for the family that he asked about our Church and the acts of service we provide for others. The congregation had never heard of the 12 days of Christmas and now associates this tradition with Latter-day Saints.
I will never forget that first Christmas in New Zealand, where I learned an unexpected way to forget myself, go to work, and “comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9)—just as Jesus Christ comforts us in our times of need and loneliness.

The mission president and two elders met us at the airport, and after a short meeting, we were whisked off to our various assignments. I guess I was lucky because I was one of the first of the new elders to go.
The apartment where my companion and I were to live was several miles from the mission office, just outside the center of town. Elder Parks was from Houston, Texas, and talked with a slight drawl. He was tall, about six feet six inches, with dark black hair.
We went tracting and were having very little success our first night together. Elder Parks was surprised at how well I spoke Portuguese. I told him my family had lived in Brazil for a year while dad was assigned there on business.
As I opened a gate and Elder Parks and I started up the path to a small, green, wooden home, he whispered, “This one is yours.” I felt a heavy lump in my throat as I knocked on my first door.
An old man let us in. We had to keep repeating ourselves because he didn’t hear very well. We were both yelling by the end of the visit.
“How did I do?” I asked on our way to the bus after the visit.
“Not bad for the first time,” Elder Parks answered. “Too bad the guy’s so old. He must be in his 80s.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, he’s what we call a ‘banana peel case,’” he explained. “When a person gets that old and feeble, he could ‘slip off’ at any time. We like to teach younger men who can later become leaders. Besides, he’ll probably get the gospel in the spirit world anyway.”
“Why not give it to him now?”
“Look, the man is old. I should have stopped you at the door and taken over. He’s obviously not what we’re looking for in new members.”
In other words, case closed. I didn’t argue.
As we went out tracting the next day, we were in an area fairly close to where the old man lived, so I suggested we go back.
Elder Parks was dumbfounded. “I thought we talked about it last night.”
“I know, but I just have a feeling about this guy.”
“I think we’re wasting our time, but okay, have it your way. But consider this his last visit from us.”
We trudged up to the door, and I rang the bell. We waited for what seemed like half an hour. Finally the old man answered.
“You boys have to understand that I’m not as young as I used to be, so I take a little longer,” he said after greeting us and asking us in.
We sat down. I had Elder Parks say the prayer, and we started right into the discussion on the plan of salvation. It seemed to go well. This time the old man asked a lot of questions. He beamed with pride as he told us he had read part of the Book of Mormon and all of the Joseph Smith pamphlet we had left before. He’d even been praying, and he promised to come to church Sunday if we’d help him get there. I was really excited as I scheduled another visit.
“Now didn’t that go well?”
Elder Parks wrinkled his brow. “I guess it wasn’t bad.”
“Now, wasn’t it worth it?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
The following Tuesday I dragged Elder Parks back for a third visit. The old man seemed unusually excited. He pulled the Book of Mormon off a shelf. His eyes sparkled.
“I’ve read the book through once. It’s strange; usually I’m not a very religious person, but I couldn’t put the book down.”
It wasn’t hard to read the “oh no” look in Elder Parks’s face, but I didn’t let it bother me too much. After all, the Spirit was really strong there. There was just something special about this sweet old man. Even Elder Parks had to sort of admit it.
“How many investigators have read the Book of Mormon all the way through by the third visit?” I asked as we walked to the bus stop.
“Not very many,” he had to admit.
“So can’t you see? This man is one of the most golden contacts you’ll run into on your whole mission.”
“Maybe so, but wait until you get to the discussion on the commandments. Then you’ll find out how golden he really is. You saw that cigar dangling from his mouth last time, didn’t you? Do you really think an old man like that is going to be able to give up his stogie for the Church? And he’s too old and feeble to get around. Somebody will have to pick him up for church every Sunday and take his arm and chauffeur him around the chapel. Nobody’s going to do that week after week.”
A week passed by, and Elder Parks refused to go back. He just didn’t want to teach old folks.
Finally, on the following Tuesday, we came back to our apartment from a long, discouraging day in which nobody had shown the least interest in hearing about the Church. We were sitting at our desks planning the next day’s schedule when somebody knocked at the door. People didn’t usually come by that late at night, so I was close behind Elder Parks as he answered the door.
It was a boy about ten years old, with long black hair and blue eyes. He was wearing black shorts, a white t-shirt, and thongs.
“Grandpa said I should come see you. He wonders why you haven’t come back.”
I smiled at Elder Parks as we let the boy in.
Roberto was curious about what missionaries do and asked us all sorts of questions. Finally he told us, “Grandpa wants to see you tomorrow night at 7:00. He wants to know more about your church.”
I pulled out my little black book and began thumbing through it. Elder Parks was doing the same.
“Nothing tomorrow night.”
“I don’t have anything either,” he said. “Tell your grandfather, tomorrow at 7:00 will be fine.”
It was a foggy, cold night Wednesday as our bus jolted out toward the little shack on the edge of town.
The porch light was on, and we could hear a lot of noise inside as we knocked on the door. The old man answered and ushered us into a room packed with people—22 of them. Elder Parks’s face was blank with astonishment as Grandpa Carlos introduced us to his two sons, two daughters, and their families. In the middle of it all was Roberto, excitedly telling his parents about his visit to our apartment.
Well, we baptized the old man, two of his sons, a daughter, and their families—a total of 17 in all. One daughter and her family haven’t joined yet, but we’re working on them. And Elder Parks hasn’t said a thing about teaching old folks since. As a matter of fact, we’re teaching three old friends of Grandpa Carlos right now.

Why would a person without compelling challenges, needs, or questions be interested in meeting the missionaries and listening to their lessons? Well, in my case it was love—love for a girl, a girl named Renee. I fell in love with her, and I wanted to marry her. She was different and had standards different from most young women I knew. But I fell for her and asked her to marry me—and she said no!
I was confused. I thought I was quite a catch! I was handsome, 24 years old, and a college graduate with a great job. She spoke of her goals—of marrying only someone who could take her to the temple, of having an eternal family—and she declined my offer. I wanted to continue the relationship, so I agreed to listen to the missionaries. Is this a good reason to meet with the missionaries? Well, it was for me.
When I first met with the missionaries, I did not understand much of what they said, and to tell you the truth, I may not have paid much attention to them. My heart was closed to a new religion. I wanted only to prove they were wrong and to gain time to convince Renee to marry me anyway.
Today my children have served and are serving missions, and I understand the sacrifices that these young men and young women make to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Now I wish I had paid more attention to Elder Richardson, Elder Farrell, and Elder Hyland, the wonderful missionaries who taught me.

Years ago I was an air force officer serving for two years in an office with a marine colonel, an army colonel, and a grizzled navy commander. They had learned to speak in war and in peace in a way which offended me, and I know it repelled the Holy Ghost. I was at the time serving as a district missionary, trying in the evenings to go out to find people and teach them under the influence of the Holy Ghost. It was very hard. I was only a lieutenant. They were very senior to me. I had no way of changing their language. But I prayed for help. I don’t know how God did it, but in time their language changed. Slowly the profanity disappeared and then the vulgarity. Only when they drank liquor did it come back, but that was in the evenings, so I could excuse myself for missionary work.

Henry’s trip across the ocean was long and lonely. During the day he liked to stand at the rail and look out across the ocean. He couldn’t see anything in either direction. How did the captain know where America was? Henry wondered. Would they ever get there?
At last, several weeks after they left England, a sailor called, “Land ho!” Henry raced to the railing with the other passengers. Far on the horizon he could see a small strip of land. America! Even though New York was just the first stop on his long trip to Salt Lake, excitement swelled in Henry. He was on his way to Utah!
When the ship docked in New York, Henry went to the train station. His parents had given him money for a ticket to Salt Lake City before he left. He stepped up to the ticket counter and put his money down. “I’d like a ticket to Salt Lake City, please,” he said.
The ticket agent counted the money and frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you only have enough money to go to Chicago.”
Henry looked at a map on the wall, and his heart sank. “But that’s not even halfway!”
“I’m sorry, but that’s as far as your money will take you,” the ticket agent said. “Maybe in Chicago you can work to earn enough to go the rest of the way. There’s always work for boys who are willing and strong.”
“I’m willing and strong,” Henry told him. “And my family is depending on me to get to Utah!”
Henry waited in the train station all night, sleeping on a bench with his trunk underneath. In the morning he heard the announcement that the train to Chicago was about to leave. He rushed to the train and sat near two little girls and their mother. As the train began to move, the girls turned to talk to Henry. “What’s your name?” one of them asked. “Where are you going?” asked the other. Henry told them. The girls giggled at his accent and asked him all sorts of questions about England. Henry played games and sang songs with the two girls. It helped pass the time as the train clattered along.
At lunchtime the girls’ mother opened her picnic basket. She offered Henry some of their cheese, apples, and bread. “I packed much more than we need,” she said. “And you have been so kind to my children.”
“Thank you,” Henry said. It was the best food he’d tasted since he left home.
After several days, the train pulled into the station in Chicago. Henry said goodbye to the girls and their mother. Then he took his trunk and walked up to one of the conductors. “Do you know where I could find work?” Henry asked.
“All the supply wagons leave from the freight yards,” the conductor told him. “You might try there.” Henry thanked him and started off in that direction.
The freight yard was lined with rows of wagons loaded with coal, cotton, tools, flour, and sugar. Henry even spotted crates of ducks and chickens.
Henry found the freight master and explained to him that he needed to get to Utah.
“A man named Amos is heading out to the Utah Territory and might be willing to take you,” the freight master said. “Amos looks a bit rough, but he’s a good person. Look for a man with a red beard.”
Henry said thank you, then turned and started down the rows of wagons. He clutched his trunk as he looked from wagon to wagon, searching for the man with the red beard who could take him to Utah.
Then, at the very end of the row, Henry saw him.

One of my favorite examples of trust is contained in a story related by President N. Eldon Tanner. He was 14 years old, and his father, serving as bishop, had gone to prepare for a funeral. He had asked Eldon and his brothers to do the chores while he was gone.
“We decided to ride some calves before we did what he had told us to do. We thought we would have plenty of time, but he came home while we were still riding those calves, and he called us over to him. … he pointed his finger at me and said, ‘My boy, I thought I could depend on you.’ That hurt me very much. I can still almost recall the exact feeling I had at that time. I made up my mind that he would never have a reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on you.’ Right then I made up my mind that the Lord would never have reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on Eldon Tanner’” (New Era, Jan.–Feb. 1983, p. 14).

About three years ago, Sinah M., a 17-year-old young woman from North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany, faced these questions. Her answers were influenced by what had come before that moment.
“I danced all my life and was very passionate about it,” says Sinah. “I did ballet, modern dance, jazz—a bit of everything, but mostly ballet.” Dancing made her happy and was a big part of her identity. “Everything revolved around dancing,” she says.
But then she started feeling pain in her feet whenever she would dance. She felt it even when she walked, and it wouldn’t go away. She sought answers and healing through doctors, priesthood blessings, and prayer. But the cause of her pain remained a mystery, and relief from her physical suffering did not come.
“I definitely had moments where I suddenly had thoughts like, ‘Does Heavenly Father love me? Why do I have to go through this? Why does he allow it to hurt me so much?’” says Sinah.
But in spite of such thoughts, she responded to this trial with overwhelming faith and trust in the Lord.
Before facing this challenge, Sinah had already developed faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
“I’ve always been interested in the gospel,” says Sinah. She’s glad her parents taught her the gospel, took her to church, and planted within her a desire to learn about the gospel for herself.
“I’m a person who questions a lot, but I don’t despair in this questioning,” she says. “It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I actually learned that it’s OK to have questions. I allowed myself to have questions, and I prayed for knowledge and strength and that Heavenly Father would help me to build my testimony even stronger.”
Over time, she noticed that this approach had, in fact, made her testimony stronger. “I’ve always been very open to the gospel, but I also allowed myself to have questions when they came, and I sought gospel knowledge even more.”
Though her physical struggles were at times hard to deal with, Sinah’s foundation of faith prepared her to face this challenge.
“I actually told myself from the beginning that no matter how hard it is, no matter how much it hurts, no matter what I’m going through, I don’t want to blame the Lord or be angry with Him,” she says. “So I told myself I can be frustrated, I can be sad, but I don’t want that to be a reason why my testimony suddenly starts to crumble. I’d rather come out of this stronger than suddenly have doubts.”
“I told myself I can be frustrated, I can be sad, but I don’t want that to be a reason why my testimony suddenly starts to crumble.”
Sinah also decided early on that she would not go through this trial alone. Since she doesn’t dance anymore, she now finds great joy in just being together with family and friends. And she has sought comfort and counsel from her Heavenly Father as well as from parents and leaders.
For example, she says, “I’ve talked about it a lot with people on temple trips and so on, and they’ve said that questions often pop into your head—always this why. But they’ve said, ‘Father in Heaven knows that you’re strong enough to deal with it.’ And hearing that from other people is very helpful.”
She has also felt love and strength from Heavenly Father by being with other youth at FSY conferences. But perhaps more than anything, she has felt strength and peace through priesthood blessings. “With every blessing I’ve received, I’ve felt the Spirit so strongly and really noticed that Heavenly Father is really there and that He really loves me. I notice that it can’t have been said to me just by the priesthood holder, but it was really inspired.”
“Because I couldn’t dance anymore, I had to set a different center,” says Sinah. “And that is becoming more and more the gospel. Of course, it’s still hard. But I’ve simply learned to trust in the Lord much more.”
That trust means she’s able to move forward despite not having the answers or the outcome she would have liked. “The healing I was hoping for has not yet come,” says Sinah. “But I have learned even more that Heavenly Father does have a plan, that I am going through this for a reason.”
“The healing I was hoping for has not yet come. But I have learned even more that Heavenly Father does have a plan.”
Her faith also gives her perspective. “I don’t know when I might be pain-free again or if that will be the case for the rest of my life,” she says. “I don’t know, but I have faith in the Lord that at the very latest when I am back with Him, I will no longer have to be in pain and that there is somehow a reason why I am going through this.”

After graduation Michael knew he wanted to prepare for his mission. His birthday was in December, so he decided to stay home from college and work to earn money for his mission. His dad helped Michael get a job with him working with a tugboat company. As the rookie, Michael got all the jobs no one else wanted—cleaning up, painting, picking up supplies.
Two more things Michael learned. Sometimes you have to put up with jobs you don’t like to earn the goal you do want—going on a mission. And as a bonus, Michael learned to take righteous pride in the kind of man his father is. Michael said, “Working around tugboats is a rough environment. There’s a lot of bad language. But Dad’s not different at work than he is at home. He always lives what he believes.”

On Thursday of that week, members of the Relief Society presidency visited to introduce themselves and welcome our parents to the ward. On Sunday the bishop came to meet them and inquire whether they needed anything. He spent almost an hour with them, genuinely getting to know them and asking if they’d be willing to take ministering assignments.
Within two weeks of their arrival, they had ministering brothers and sisters assigned to them and were contacted by both. They also received ministering assignments and were introduced to their assigned families. Even with Mom’s late-stage dementia, her ministering companion made the effort to invite her and bring her along as they visited the sisters they were assigned to. The ministering brothers were consistent, loving, and genuine. They immediately found a commonality with roots from Wyoming, and my parents felt loved from the first visit.

At the fireside, Tony shared several principles from the 4th Article of Faith, particularly emphasising the first principle, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. He spoke about how his faith has guided him through life’s storms, drawing parallels to the biblical story of Christ calming the storm. Tony recounted personal trials, such as the complicated pregnancy and surgery of his son, Sage, and the tragic loss of his mother in a car accident in 2011. Despite these challenges, Tony’s faith remained unwavering, attributing miracles in his life to his efforts to put the Lord first.