Gospel Story Finder

There’s a new boy in your class, and he’s standing alone on the playground. You CTR, and soon he is playing with you and your friends.

“When I started seminary, I didn’t have a very strong testimony. But after reading the scriptures, I felt the love of Christ bless my family and strengthen us.”—Nelida Ivana Gonzalez

“Although the pageant was cancelled last year, we still had auditions and a workshop. I loved being part of the community of the pageant, it really felt as if we were one big family sharing love and faith. Living on the temple grounds was fantastic and I felt the Spirit very strongly. We camped on a site nearby, until one night we got flooded out and were blessed when local members asked us to come and stay with them.

Almost 70 years ago, on a night in July, while serving as a young missionary, I looked out at Lake Windermere in England. This was the country of Wordsworth. As my eyes went from the lake to the sky in that quiet, lovely place, there passed through my mind the words penned there much earlier:
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.
(William Wordsworth, “Ode on Intimations of Immortality”)

Jared was excited when Mom and Dad brought his new brother home from the hospital. Jared liked to play with his sister, Catherine, but he was glad that now he’d have a brother to play games with.
When he first saw David, Jared could hardly believe his eyes—the baby was so tiny and wiggly! Jared had forgotten that he and Catherine had been little and wiggly too.
“How long will it be until David can play ball with me?” Jared asked his mother.
“It will be a few years yet,” she answered. “But don’t worry—there will be plenty of things to do with your brother before then.”
David grew bigger every day. He and Jared did find a lot of things to do together. They often played computer games. David would watch and clap his hands as Jared’s “good guys” chased the “bad guys” across the monitor. Sometimes they played army men. David would sit in his swing, chewing a soldier, while Jared made battle sounds with the other soldiers. Sometimes Jared would lie down with David to help him go to sleep. Jared was always very careful because David was still small.
Whenever it was Jared’s turn to say the family prayer, he thanked Heavenly Father for David, and he asked Him to bless and protect David.
When fall came, Jared started first grade. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go to school, because he would miss playing with David.
Mom knew how much Jared would miss David, so when Jared came home from school, David would be sitting in front of the picture window, looking out. As soon as he saw his big brother, David would wave his arms excitedly.
One day Mom took David to Dr. Karp. David was always having earaches, and she and Dad wanted the doctor to find out why. When he finished looking at David, Dr. Karp told Mom and Dad to take David to the hospital for some tests. To help him discover what was wrong with David, Dr. Karp called Dr. Filopovich. She was a special kind of doctor who helped children fight diseases.
Before taking David to the hospital, Dad and their home teacher laid their hands on David’s head. Dad blessed David that he would get better.
David was in the children’s hospital about two weeks. The house was very quiet with David gone. Everyone missed him, especially Jared.
Dr. Filopovich went to the hospital and looked at David. She asked Mom some questions, then took a little bit of blood from David’s arm. She took the blood back to her office and looked at it under a microscope. When she had finished studying David’s blood, Dr. Filopovich met with Dr. Karp and Mom and Dad. “David’s blood is not strong,” she told them. “It can’t fight off the diseases that attack him. He needs to have a bone marrow transplant. We need to find someone who has blood just like David’s, only stronger, and take some bone marrow from that person and give it to David.”
Before family prayer that night Jared asked, “Will David die if we can’t find someone who has the right kind of blood?”
Dad put his arm around Jared. “David won’t die,” he assured Jared. “I know this because the Lord witnessed it to me when I gave David his blessing. Maybe one of us has the right kind of blood.”
Jared felt better. But before going to bed, he prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, make my blood be the same as David’s.”
The next day Jared and Catherine and Mom and Dad went to Dr. Filopovich’s office. She took a little bit of blood from each of them. A short time later she called to say that both Jared and Catherine had the same kind of blood that David did.
Mom and Dad talked to Jared. They told him that they thought Catherine was too young to understand David’s problem and that she would be too frightened to give David some of her bone marrow. They asked Jared if he would be willing to give some of his to David.
“Will it hurt?” Jared asked.
“Yes, it will,” Mom told him. “I wish I could tell you it won’t, but I think you’d rather I told you the truth.”
Jared watched David crawl across the rug. He said, “I want to help David. I asked Heavenly Father to make my blood be the same as David’s, and it is. So I’ll do it.”
Jared loved his baby brother, but as the time to go to the hospital came closer, he was as frightened as he was brave. Mom and Dad hugged him, and Dad gave Jared a father’s blessing in which he told Jared how proud he and Mom and Heavenly Father were of him. He blessed Jared with peace of mind and promised him that it wouldn’t hurt very long.
David was put in a special room at the hospital. Jared and Mom and Dad could just walk in and visit David, but the doctors and nurses had to wear masks and gowns before they could go into his room.
Jared’s room was in a different part of the hospital. Although he had two roommates, he had a dresser all his own, and he even had his own television. The first night he was there, he had wheelchair races with his roommates, and they watched a movie on a huge television down the hall.
When Jared went to bed, though, it was too quiet. His roommates quickly fell asleep, the nurses were busy in other rooms, and his parents had gone home. Jared was lonely and scared until he remembered the blessing Dad had given him. “I bless you with peace of mind,” his father had said. Jared had a contented feeling and soon fell fast asleep.
The next morning Jared got to ride in a wheelchair to the operating room. Dr. Filopovich was waiting for him there. She smiled at Jared and told him that he would go to sleep for a while. “When you wake up,” she said, “it will be all over.”
Jared breathed into a funny thing shaped like a cup and was soon asleep. While he slept, doctors took some bone marrow from his hipbone and sent it up to David’s room, where another doctor put it into David’s bloodstream. David’s heart would send it to different areas in his body, and in a few months David would have stronger blood.
Even before Jared woke up, his body knew that some bone marrow was missing. It began to make some more. In just a few days his body would make enough marrow to replace all that Jared had given to David.
When Jared awoke, Mom and Dad were there, smiling at him. A nurse gave him a Popsicle. Jared asked, “Is it over? Does David have some of my blood now?”
“Yes, it’s all over,” Dad said. “You were very brave and good, and we are very proud of you.”
Jared stayed in the hospital one more night. He hurt a little, but not as much as he’d thought he would. Dr. Karp called Jared on the telephone and told him that the transplant had gone well. He told Jared, “I think David will soon be well, thanks to you!”
Mom took Jared to see David the next day before going home.
“How long will David have to stay here?” Jared asked.
“Probably a few more months,” Mom answered, “until his blood is stronger. But you can come and visit him on weekends.”
Jared held David for a while. “Mom,” he asked, “do you think David knows what I did for him?”
“No, Jared, he doesn’t. But David knows that you love him. When he grows up, he’ll realize just how great that love is.”
The next day was Sunday. Jared’s Primary teacher gave a lesson about the Savior. She told the class that Jesus loved them and that He had suffered for them because He loved them. She smiled and added that they would understand His love better when they grew up.
Jared smiled back at her and said, “I think I understand already. I really do.”

Two twins get in a rocket ship.
Wait, no, that’s not it.
One twin gets in the rocket ship, and the other stays behind. And when the twin in the rocket ship gets back he’s older. No … he’s younger than the one who stayed at home. And this all has something to do with traveling at the speed of light?
I stopped to scratch my head and let out a long sigh. The theory of relativity was one of the first things we had studied in my physical science class, and here I was, just about to take my first-ever university final and still completely in the dark about the speed of light.
Everything else in the class was as clear as a newly polished test tube, but for some reason my brain couldn’t wrap itself around Einstein’s theory. And I had to understand it since it would make up a significant part of my final exam.
I had been praying for help to understand it all semester. I had put all my effort into it and still wasn’t any closer to even a glimpse of comprehension. Why wasn’t the Lord helping me? Didn’t He know how important this class was to me?
On the day of my physical science final, I answered every question until I got to the dreaded relativity essay. “Heavenly Father,” I thought. “I’ve done my best, now please help me to get this right!”
I sat and I sat, and nothing came. Finally I just finished the rest of the test and left downhearted.
As I stepped out the door of the testing center, into my mind came the theory of relativity but, this time, I completely understood all I had been taught. And I knew that this flash of pure knowledge came from Heavenly Father. After months of struggle, it was just there all of a sudden. I wondered why the Lord couldn’t have revealed this knowledge to me a few minutes earlier while I was still taking the test.
As I pondered, the Lord taught me something else I needed to learn. The grade wasn’t the most important thing. It was learning that mattered. And more important than learning the theory of relativity, I learned that all knowledge comes from the Lord. He can help me to understand anything if I do my part, regardless of whether I have an exam or not.
Years later I still have a clear understanding of what I learned about relativity, and the Lord continues to teach me about many other subjects as I diligently seek His help.

My friends and I take turns inviting a friend of ours to church. She really likes going to Primary. I thought it would be neat if my friend could be in the Primary sacrament meeting program. My mom talked with a counselor in the Primary presidency, and the presidency wrote a part for my friend. She worked hard to memorize her part, and her parents came to see her in the program. It was so neat to share this with her and see her family at church. Maybe one day I can go on a mission and share the gospel with lots of people.
Bailey S., age 10, Arizona

Bill was well-prepared for his mission in every way but one. He was a hardworker, studied his scriptures, and kept the rules. Yet, he was unhappy, and the Spirit told him something was wrong. Although he had developed much skill in getting assignments done and fulfilling responsibilities, he had not developed the ability to relate to others in loving, respectful ways. He tended to be impatient and abrupt, creating bad feelings and barriers with others. Now he was finally beginning to realize, through the help of the Spirit of the Lord, that such behavior toward others was inconsistent with the gospel of Christ.
Bill’s story introduces the theme of Making a Good Mission Great. The authors continue: “We are all much like Bill at times, for we all have behavior patterns that get in the way. … We can, however, learn to overcome these barriers—and for the missionary this is most important, for the way he relates to his companions, leaders, investigators, and others determines to a large extent the degree of his success in the mission field.” (p. 2.)

I have a great friend, Brother Les Goates, a great and gifted writer, and I asked him if I could lift a part of a story. He told how welfare first came into his home:
“But ‘as for me and my house,’ the welfare program began in the Old Field west of Lehi on the Saratoga Road in the autumn of 1918, that terribly climactic year of World War I during which more than 14 million people died of that awful scourge ‘the black plague,’ or Spanish influenza.
“Winter came early that year and froze much of the sugar beet crop in the ground. My dad and brother Francis were desperately trying to get out of the frosty ground one load of beets each day which they would plow out of the ground, cut off the tops, and toss the beets, one at a time, into the huge red beet wagon and then haul the load off to the sugar factory. It was slow and tedious work due to the frost and the lack of farm help, since my brother Floyd and I were in the army and Francis, or Franz, as everybody called him, was too young for the military service.
“While they were thusly engaged in harvesting the family’s only cash crop and were having their evening meal one day, a phone call came through from our eldest brother, George Albert, superintendent of the State Industrial School in Ogden, bearing the tragic news that Kenneth, nine-year-old son of our brother Charles, the school farm manager, had been stricken with the dread ‘flu,’ and after only a few hours of violent sickness, had died on his father’s lap; and would dad please come to Ogden and bring the boy home and lay him away in the family plot in the Lehi Cemetery.
“My father cranked up his old flap-curtained Chevrolet and headed for Five Points in Ogden to bring his little grandson home for burial. When he arrived at the home he found ‘Charl’ sprawled across the cold form of his dear one, the ugly brown discharge of the black plague oozing from his ears and nose and virtually burning up with fever.
“‘Take my boy home,’ muttered the stricken young father, ‘and lay him away in the family lot and come back for me tomorrow.’
“Father brought Kenneth home, made a coffin in his carpenter shop, and mother and our sisters, Jennie, Emma, and Hazel, placed a cushion and a lining in it, and then dad went with Franz and two kind neighbors to dig the grave. So many were dying the families had to do the grave digging. A brief graveside service was all that was permitted.
“The folks had scarcely returned from the cemetery when the telephone rang again and George Albert (Bert) was on the line with another terrifying message: Charl had died and two of his beautiful little girls—Vesta, 7, and Elaine, 5—were critically ill, and two babies—Raeldon, 4, and Pauline, 3—had been stricken.
“Our good cousins, the Larkin undertaking people, were able to get a casket for Charl and they sent him home in a railroad baggage car. Father and young Franz brought the body from the railroad station and placed it on the front porch of our old country home for an impromptu neighborhood viewing but folks were afraid to come near the body of a black plague victim. Father and Francis meanwhile had gone with neighbors to get the grave ready and arrange a short service in which the great, noble spirit of Charles Hyrum Goates was commended into the keeping of his Maker.
“Next day my sturdy, unconquerable old dad was called on still another of his grim missions—this time to bring home Vesta, the smiling one with the raven hair and big blue eyes.
“When he arrived at the home he found Juliett, the grief-crazed mother, kneeling at the crib of darling little Elaine, the blue-eyed baby angel with the golden curls. Juliett was sobbing wearily and praying: ‘Oh, Father in heaven, not this one, please! Let me keep my baby! Do not take any more of my darlings from me!’
“Before father arrived home with Vesta the dread word had come again. Elaine had gone to join her daddy, brother Kenneth, and Sister Vesta. And so it was that father made another heartbreaking journey to bring home and lay away a fourth member of his family, all within the week.
“The telephone did not ring the evening of the day they laid away Elaine nor were there any more sad tidings of death the next morning. It was assumed that George A. and his courageous companion Della, although afflicted, had been able to save the little ones Raeldon and Pauline; and it was such a relief that Cousin Reba Munns, a nurse, had been able to come in and help.
“After breakfast dad said to Franz, ‘Well, son, we had better get down to the field and see if we can get another load of beets out of the ground before they get frozen in any tighter. Hitch up and let’s be on our way.’
“Francis drove the four-horse outfit down the driveway and dad climbed aboard. As they drove along the Saratoga Road, they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break, George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’
“On the last wagon was the town comedian, freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George.’
“My dad turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’
“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as we drove onto the field. He pulled up, stopped the team, paused a moment and scanned the field, from left to right and back and forth—and lo and behold, there wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George!’
“Then dad got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then in his thumbless left hand a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Then father sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.
“Then he arose, wiped his eyes with his big, red bandanna handkerchief, looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”

On the night of June 20, 2000, several colleagues and I were working late in the executive offices of then Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. We were making final preparations for an unexpected and historic assembly on our campus the next morning and the announcement by President Hinckley that Ricks College would become a baccalaureate-degree-granting institution and take on the name of Brigham Young University–Idaho. As an administrative team we were just beginning to realize the monumental nature of the responsibility and challenges that were before us.
As we walked out of the building that night, one of my colleagues asked, “President, are you scared?” As best as I can recall, I answered something like this: “If I thought we had to execute this transition relying exclusively upon our own experience and our own judgment, then I would be terrified. But we will have help from heaven. Because we know who is in charge and that we are not alone, then no, I am not scared.” And we who serve at BYU–Idaho unitedly testify that there has been help from heaven, miracles have occurred, revelations have been received, doors have been opened, and we have been greatly blessed as individuals and as an institution.

In another service project titled “Light the world by helping one person help another”, missionaries identified an area in the George metropolitan area that needed upliftment.

“We identified a local neighbourhood park that was in bad need of upgrading, interviewed patrons of the park and a neighbourhood volunteer who helped clean the park,” Elder Miller said.

“We then kept track of what facilities were being used and what was in need of repair. We contacted and met with local government officials and presented a comprehensive plan to them and demonstrated our willingness as a Church to help fund the initial upgrade needs to get the project rolling. They approved our initial proposal and we ordered some facility upgrades.” the Millers said.

Soon after I was sustained last October, I traveled to Pakistan on an assignment and, while there, met the magnificent and dedicated Saints in that country. They are few in number but large in spirit. Shortly after returning home, I received the following note from Brother Shakeel Arshad, a dear member I had met on my visit: “Thank you, Elder Rasband, for coming to Pakistan. I want to tell you that we … Church members … sustain you and love you. [We are] so lucky that you were here and we heard from you. It was just a golden day in my family’s life that we met an Apostle.”1
Meeting Saints like Brother Arshad was an overwhelming and humbling experience and, using his words, “a golden day” for me as well.

Matthew told the congregation that in his family’s discussion of a “perfect day,” “we came to understand the need to perfect ourselves a little each and every day. For some months, my wife Joan has been very ill, and her illness has affected the entire family. We have come to rely upon the Lord more and to daily seek his guidance, and we have come to better recognize and understand the power of the priesthood. For our ‘perfect day,’ we agreed that we continually need to be supportive of each other, and to live worthy of the blessings we receive.”

The West Point Branch, New York, USA, made a goal to collect 1,000 helping hands—they got 1,229! They celebrated by writing letters and drawing pictures for missionaries.

I’ve always made an impressive grilled cheese sandwich. Between that delectable dish and a handful of other recipes, I kept myself alive and functioning throughout my mission and well into adulthood. But then I got married and had kids, all of whom have different tastes. I needed to expand my menu!

However, on nights when it was my turn to cook, attempting new meals proved to be a challenge. For starters, my evening time was usually limited. Even though I wanted to cook a variety of meals, I kept hitting snags. I couldn’t find ingredients fast enough, or we’d be missing some. More often than not, I’d scrap my planned dinner and instead go for quick and easy.

And yet I kept wanting to improve in this area. So I decided to do something I had never done. I prayed for a spiritual gift by name.

Specifically, I prayed for the gift of organization. Yes, organization! We already had a spice cupboard. We also had cooking utensils drawers. Yet even with those in place, I seemed to spend more time looking for supplies than cooking.

As I consistently prayed for this gift, I began receiving specific ideas. A wall-mounted spice rack would organize spices and keep them handy. A magnetic kitchen bar (also wall-mounted) could store knives and other metal cooking utensils. These and other ideas, once put in motion, made a big difference in my cooking efforts. Need some thyme? Garlic salt? Garlic powder? I’m your guy!

But then a funny thing happened. Little ideas continued popping into my mind for small ways to better organize other areas of my life. For example, my three-level homemade laundry tower won’t carry my family to the promised land, but even Nephi would’ve appreciated the way in which I built it—by following promptings that came to me one piece at a time.

The spiritual gift of organization has improved my life and the lives of my family more than I would’ve ever guessed.

And it all came because I asked for it.

Fourth, do not smother each other with excessive restrictions. A loving wife of many years shared with me one of the secrets of her beautiful marriage. She told me, “It is my duty to maintain an atmosphere in our home in which my husband can reach his full potential. And you know, he is a busy father, bishop, and businessman. In turn, he helps me reach my potential.”
With her encouragement, he was an outstanding bishop. She later served as a counselor in two auxiliary presidencies and then as president of the stake Relief Society. She had her own room where she sewed, painted, and wrote beautiful poetry. He felt comfortable in going fishing, doing some painting himself, and growing in ways that interested him. Neither of these marriage partners was being smothered by a selfish mate. Both respected the other’s need and goals.

Dr. James Pingree of the Salt Lake Public Affairs Council of the Church welcomed attendees and shared his excitement for the event. He referred to the closing song, “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” and indicated that the daughter of the song’s composers had given concert organizers permission to use it. Dr. Pingree quoted the daughter as saying: “This is exactly the kind of an event for which the song was written. Your use of it would please them very much.”

The Fort Union cemetery is one of the oldest in the Salt Lake Valley. For literally decades, various youth groups have sponsored cleanup efforts, but after a year or so the weeds would grow back and the cemetery would again fall into disrepair.
The Union 14th Ward, Sandy Utah Cottonwood Creek Stake, wanted to change that trend. They wanted to beautify the cemetery permanently. The Young Women and the Young Men of the ward volunteered to take on the project for the summer. They needed to raise money and obtain donations to add a sprinkling system, a black-topped driveway, electrical wiring for lighting, and grass sod. The youth rolled up their sleeves and went to work. They baked hundreds of strawberry pies for sale and staged other fund raisers. They contacted local businesses for donations of labor and materials and solicited contributions from those interested in the project.
Under the direction of some construction professionals, the youth added the muscle as the physical cleanup began. The cemetery was completed with lawn, landscaping, display area, and benches. Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve presided at the outdoor dedication services. He said, “Joseph Smith said the measure and test of a people is the way in which they care for their dead.” Indicating the newly redone cemetery, Elder Packer concluded, “Through your work here, you have paid a fitting tribute to your pioneer past.”

Little Nezumi didn’t even bother opening his eyes any longer. Stumbling across a small tree trunk that had split open from the top, he crawled inside. Although he was protected from the falling snow, it was still bitterly cold. Nezumi looked into his small pouch and saw that he had only a few kernels of corn left, barely enough to last one more day. And tomorrow would be the first day of the Lunar New Year! Why did I ever come on this trip? he asked himself. It was foolish for me to think that I could climb these impossible mountains and find a place I have never been to before. Although Nezumi knew he shouldn’t do it, he closed his eyes. He only intended to take a short rest, but within a few minutes he was sound asleep. No longer feeling the cold, he began to dream about that day three weeks before when he had received a mysterious letter …

The envelope was covered with several official-looking seals and was very wrinkled. It had been sent from a country called Nepal. Nezumi had no idea where Nepal was, but he knew it must be very far from his burrow on the island of Kyushu, Japan. Inside the envelope was a rather large piece of paper that said: “I, Gautama Buddha, request all animals to come to my home in Nepal high in the Himalaya Mountains. To all animals who complete this hazardous journey by the first day of the Lunar New Year, I promise a gift of great importance.”

Even though Gautama Buddha promised an important gift, Nezumi was not certain he could make it to Nepal in time. His friend Hitsuji, the sheep, had traveled as far away as Tokyo. Maybe Hitsuji would know where Nepal was. Nezumi scurried over to the field where Hitsuji could usually be found standing under an old tree. Hitsuji was there, and he was reading the same message Nezumi had received!

“Hitsuji, what do you know of this place called Nepal and this person called Gautama Buddha?” Nezumi asked.

Hitsuji stood still for a moment with his eyes closed, as if trying to remember something important. “If I am correct in my thinking, little Nezumi, Nepal is far across the great ocean. The Himalayas are a very high range of mountains, and at this time of year it is almost impossible to cross them.”

Hitsuji is so smart, thought Nezumi. “Are you thinking of going there, Hitsuji? If so, perhaps we could travel together.”

“Well,” Hitsuji answered, “I am not sure we can get to Nepal in time. Of course, ships leave every day from the great port beyond the hills. If we can find a ship sailing in that direction, we just might have a chance. But the journey will be long and dangerous and might end in sorrow for us both.”

“Let’s try it anyway,” squeaked his adventurous friend. “I am sure I will not rest until I find out what the gift is.”

“Very well, Nezumi, let’s pack some food and leave this very afternoon.”

And so it was that the two friends arrived at the harbor. Hitsuji and Nezumi looked at a map tacked to an office wall and found the country of Nepal. It was above another country called India. They both considered it a stroke of luck when they were able to sneak into the hold of a ship leaving immediately for Calcutta, India.

The journey by ship was terrible, even though they reached Calcutta in just a little over two weeks. The constant movement, the darkness, and the fear of being found kept the two animals in a terrible state of mind. Hitsuji was sick most of the way and fell silent after the third day at sea. He would halfheartedly eat a few grains of wheat before getting sick again, and then he’d make small bleating noises to himself. Nezumi tried to lift Hitsuji’s spirits, but he, too, became ill, and the two animals spent the remainder of the voyage huddled in a dark corner of the hold.

When the ship finally docked, they soon found that they were not prepared for Calcutta. Its hundreds of horse-driven wagons and people-pulled carts came at them from every direction. As they frantically dodged the carts, the horses, and the feet of the people, they became completely lost. Finally, they stopped to rest near a public market where they were able to find some small pieces of food lying on the ground. As they ate what they could, they heard two young men speaking loudly.

“And I tell you, Sanjay, that you cannot deliver those things to Katmandu in less than three months! Don’t you realize how hard it has been snowing in the mountains? It’s almost impossible to get through!”

“Ah, you just said ‘almost,’” Sanjay replied, “and you are right. However, I know of passes through the Himalayas that only a few people have discovered, and I can get the cloth and beads to Gautama Buddha before the Lunar New Year celebration.”

The two animals could hardly believe what they had just heard! Could their luck be so great? They followed the young man to a stable where a large wagon was waiting. An ox hitched to the front of the wagon barely glanced at the rat and the sheep.

Hitsuji spoke first. “Hello, friend ox. This is a very large wagon to have to pull by yourself.”

The ox snorted. “It is not much fun, I assure you. Where are you from?”

“We are from Japan. We received letters from Gautama Buddha, requesting us to be present at his Lunar New Year’s festivities.”

The ox looked at them with more interest. “I, too, received such a letter, and my master and I are on our way to Katmandu to see Gautama Buddha. Perhaps you could join us.”

Nezumi spoke up. “This is kind of you, friend ox, for we do not know the way.” Nezumi introduced Hitsuji and himself by name and then asked, “Can we really reach Katmandu in such a short time?”

“Fear not, friend Nezumi. My master and I have made this trip many times, and we know several shortcuts.”

The young man was ready to leave. Nezumi scrambled into the wagon and nestled among some sacks. The ox, with a mighty strain, started the wagon along the road. Hitsuji, because of his size, walked beside the wagon. He didn’t mind; he was used to walking long distances. The ox soon established a rhythm and seemed to pull the heavy wagon with little effort. By the time the travelers could see the distant snow-covered mountains, the slow, steady movement of the wagon and the sound of the creaking wooden wheels had lulled Nezumi to sleep. The rat awoke only when the wagon lurched to a stop. He heard a voice shouting.

“Throw down your money, boy, if you value your life!”

“I have no money, sir, only this wagon of goods for Gautama Buddha.”

“Climb down from there and let me see for myself.” A few seconds later, the back curtain of the wagon was thrown open and an evil-looking face appeared. “Well now, what have we here? These look like awfully fancy fabrics for a poor boy to be carrying. Where did you say you were taking them?”

“To Katmandu, sir.”

The man laughed. “Wrong, boy. You have just reached your delivery point.” With that, he gave the young man a slap that nearly knocked him over. The great ox bellowed loudly and took off at a run, throwing the bandit onto the ground. “Stop that stupid beast!” the man shouted as he got to his feet again.

It was too late. The ox bolted down the road with the wagon lurching and bouncing behind him. Suddenly, the wagon seemed to fly into the air and hover there for a second. Then it crashed to the ground and split open. Finding himself free, the ox continued to run into the growing darkness while Nezumi carefully crawled out from among the large bales of cloth that had broken his fall.

In the twilight he could see that he was on a mountain surrounded by many more mountains, all terribly high and covered with snow. As he stood there, a large, wet snowflake landed on the ground in front of him. Another fell, and then another, and soon the sky was filled with snowflakes and it was very cold. Nezumi gave a quiet little squeak of fear. Hitsuji was gone, the ox was gone, and he was stranded on a strange mountainside in the middle of a snowstorm. Even as he was feeling sorry for himself, he knew that there was nothing to do but go on.

And so Nezumi struggled along the path until he found the split tree trunk where he now lay sleeping. As he slept, the small opening in the trunk filled with snow. It was not until the tree trunk suddenly split completely apart that Nezumi awoke. He found himself staring into two huge red eyes! He gave a squeal of terror, then saw that the eyes belonged to his friend the ox. With his heart still beating frantically, Nezumi declared, “You gave me a fright, friend ox, but I thank you for waking me up. You have saved my life.”

“It was nothing, little friend. I’m lucky that I found you. I almost passed this tree without looking into it. Why don’t you climb onto my back now, and I will carry you through the snow.”

“That is very kind of you.” Nezumi quickly hopped up onto the tree trunk and from there onto the ox’s broad back. “Do you know where we are, and have you seen Hitsuji?”

“We are near Katmandu, I believe, although in the darkness it is hard to tell. And, no, I’m sorry, I have no idea what may have happened to Hitsuji. A very large tiger went past me once, and I saw a dragon flying overhead not very long ago, but no one else.”

The ox moved through the snow with ease, his surefooted, unflagging stride moving them up the mountainside hour after hour.

Eventually they came upon a very large tree, and sleeping in its branches was a dragon, the first dragon Nezumi had ever seen in his life. Under the tree, curled up into a ball, was a tiger snoring softly. Even more amazing was the sight of a small rabbit resting on the tiger’s back! None of the animals awoke at the approach of Nezumi and the ox, so they continued down the path toward the distant lights of a large village. “That is Katmandu, the home of Gautama Buddha,” explained the ox.

Soon they could see the palace, surrounded by many small wooden houses. Dawn was coming and the snow was not falling so heavily as they drew near the palace, which was large yet somehow homey. When they reached the wall surrounding the palace, the ox pulled a rope that was hanging beside the gate. Almost immediately it swung open, and they entered into a large courtyard. A man came toward them, calling out in a low, pleasant voice, “Welcome, friend ox and friend rat. I am Gautama Buddha, and I am very pleased that you were able to join me this Lunar New Year’s Day. Come and have some refreshments. You must be tired after your long journey.”

Nezumi was so excited at seeing Gautama Buddha that he leaped off the back of the ox and scampered over to the man. Gautama Buddha reached down, picked up the small creature, and said, “So it is you, my little friend, who is first. For being first, you will be especially honored when we are all gathered together.”

Gautama Buddha gave the ox and Nezumi food to eat and water to drink. Later the tiger and the rabbit arrived together, obviously the best of friends. Behind them the dragon swooped in with a loud roar. Then came a snake and a horse. Behind the horse Nezumi saw a familiar shape. Yes! It was Hitsuji! The two friends greeted each other excitedly.

“I thought I would never see you again, Nezumi,” said the weary Hitsuji.

“Oh, Hitsuji, I am so very glad to know that the bandit did not steal you. Come, let me show you where the food and water are.”

As Nezumi led his friend away, a chattering monkey arrived, followed by a crowing rooster, a dog, and a pig. As the sun started its descent into the western sky, Gautama Buddha gathered all the animals together.

“It pleases me greatly to see that you twelve animals have safely completed the journey. I promised you a gift of great importance, and I will now tell you what it is. People everywhere celebrate the Lunar New Year, but they have no symbols to mark its passage. I have therefore decided that each of you will be a symbol of the Lunar New Year. Everyone will recognize you as the twelve most important animals, and your fame will live long after you are gone from this world.

“Every twelve years will begin a new cycle. Because my small friend Nezumi was the first one to actually reach me, I choose him to begin the cycle. He will be followed by the ox and then by the rest of you in the order in which you arrived at my home. To start our celebration off, I now proclaim this day as the first day of the Year of the Rat!”

I read again the other day Parley P. Pratt’s account of his reading the Book of Mormon and coming into the Church. Said he:
“I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page. I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.
“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, ed. Parley P. Pratt Jr. [1938], 37).
The gift of faith touched his life. He could not do enough to repay the Lord for what had come to him. He spent the remainder of his days in missionary service. He died a martyr to this great work and kingdom.