Gospel Story Finder

David’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he sat straight up in bed. Faint moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, leaving gray shadows on the walls. The only sound came from his brother Thomas’s heavy breathing as he lay asleep.
It had been only a dream. Two Indians had come into the yard. When David saw them, he ran to the house for protection. One of them drew an arrow from his quiver and shot at David, hitting him in the back. Then they entered his home, sneering at his mother and frightening her.
Although it had been a dream, it seemed real. David rubbed his back where the arrow had hit him in the dream. He had felt the blow.
After that David became very afraid at night. Thoughts of people trying to hurt his mother and younger brothers and sisters seemed real to him.
One day David found his father packing a satchel. “Why are you packing, Papa?” David asked.
“I’ll be gone with the cattle for a few days,” his father answered. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long. I’ll just be moving them to some fresh pasture.”
“I don’t want you to go,” David said.
“Everything will be all right,” his father replied. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
David watched sadly as his father took his satchel to the front gate where his horse was tied. After waving good-bye to the family, he rode off after the cattle. David felt sick inside. He tried not to worry, hoping everything would be all right like his father had said. But as evening drew near and the sun went down, his worries grew.
After supper the family prepared for bed. When they had all knelt down at their bedsides and said their prayers, they snuggled under the covers to go to sleep. But David couldn’t sleep. His heart pounded, and his mind raced. Through the open doorway of his bedroom, he could see his mother going to her bedroom.
At last his mother blew out the candle and went to sleep. But David still couldn’t close his eyes. He thought he heard noises around the house. His brother Thomas slept soundly, but the fear in David’s heart grew. What could he do? Tears trickled onto his pillow. The palms of his hands were sweaty, and he could still hear the noises around the house.
David decided to pray as his parents had taught him. He was sure the Lord would help him, but he had one problem: kneeling by the side of his bed. How could he leave the safety of his bed to kneel and pray? What if someone was hiding beneath his bed?
David knew that the only way he would be able to sleep was if he prayed to the Lord for help. At last he slowly climbed out of bed onto his knees. He asked the Lord to protect his mother and his family. All the noises died away, and a calm feeling entered David’s heart. A voice spoke clearly to him, saying, “Don’t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you.” David felt the sweet assurance that he would be safe in bed at night.
Snuggling under his covers, David fell asleep. He didn’t worry at night anymore. Even though it had been a difficult test for him to get out of bed and kneel to pray, he had prayed the way he knew he should. And the Lord answered his prayer.

“Hey, Willard, we’ve got a favor to ask of you,” I mentioned one afternoon as we were changing the oil in Brad’s car. “We’re in charge of a dinner over at the church this weekend.” I shrugged and felt my cheeks turn red. “The kids in the ward are putting on a dinner for some senior citizens. Now I don’t mean that we think you’re a senior citizen or anything like that,” I quickly added, “but we wanted you there. Will you come?”
Willard looked up. His eyes went to each one of us, and then he stared down into the car’s engine. For a long time he didn’t speak. Slowly he pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. A feeble smile on his lips. “The last time I was in church was when my wife died. That’s been more than three years. And it was a lot longer before that. There have been times when I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t think of a good enough reason. And there’s nobody there I know.”
“You’ve got an excuse now. We’re having good food. And you know us. We’ll be there,” I pointed out.
“Why would you want me to go to a nice, fancy dinner with you?” he asked without looking at us.
For a moment I didn’t answer, pondering the question. “Because you’re our friend,” I answered simply.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I could. People would stare. They’d wonder why—”
“You’ll be with us,” Brad spoke up. “The whole time. We promise.”
We all waited, holding our breath. Willard thought for a long time. Finally his face softened into a smile and he said, “Well, I’ll think about it.”
The night of the dinner I was nervous. Brad had promised to bring Willard while Chris and I helped get things ready at the church.
“Did you invite anyone tonight?” Brother Loder asked as I was carrying food from the kitchen to the serving table in the cultural hall.
“Willard Watts.”
Brother Loder sighed. “When are you going to get over this Willard Watts idea?” He smiled and shook his head. “The day you get old Willard inside this church I’ll buy you the biggest meal you’ve ever had in your life.”
Just then Chris and Brad came through the doors on the far side of the cultural hall with Willard between them. Brother Loder had his back to them so he didn’t see them approach until they were right behind him. When he turned around, his jaw almost dropped to the floor he was so surprised.
“Brother Loder,” I started out, “I’d like you to meet a good friend of ours, Brother Watts.”
For a moment Brother Loder could hardly speak. Then he held out his hand and greeted Willard. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he stammered. “The boys here have talked about you a lot.” He looked at the three of us and then back to Willard. “I guess I can believe everything they’ve told me.”
Willard nodded his head. “They’re good boys. I think you can believe what they say.”
As Brad and Chris led Willard away, Brother Loder turned to me and muttered, “I would have never believed it. I guess I owe you a big dinner.”
I shook my head and struggled to control my emotions. “Forget it,” I smiled. “Some things you don’t do to win a meal.”

Anthony peered out the window of his pretend time machine. It was actually a cardboard box that he had decorated with markers, foil, and other things. For several days he had had lots of fun playing in it. Now he was imagining a strange-looking object in front of him. It was like a car, but it had wings. It was big enough for him to take a ride in, and that was what he wanted to do. But as he began to climb out of the time machine to do that, a real-life voice spoke to him: “Time to get ready for bed, Anthony.”
“Ah, Mom,” he said, flopping down on the floor in disappointment. “I was just going to take a ride in a flying car.”
“Well, you’ll have to play that pretend game tomorrow,” Mom replied. “Right now you need to get ready for Book of Mormon time and bed.”
Anthony reluctantly dragged the box into the corner where they kept the toys, then went off to his room. In a few minutes everyone was sitting in the living room with a Book of Mormon in hand.
Dad said, “Tonight we’ve come to the part where Nephi tells us about the words of a prophet named Isaiah. He’s the same prophet Isaiah who’s in the Bible.” Father showed them where the book of Isaiah was in the Bible, then where Isaiah was quoted in the Book of Mormon. He began to read what Isaiah had said.
Anthony found the right page and tried to follow along, but after a few minutes his eyes started to close. The next thing he knew, his mother was waking him up, telling him that it was time for bed.
The following night Anthony had taken another imaginary ride to the future. When his mother called, he was pretending to talk to some creatures from Pluto who had come to earth to live. Slowly he climbed out of the box, went to his room, got ready for bed, then sat down for scripture time.
But he didn’t understand what Dad was reading, and he kept wriggling and squirming. That made his brother and sister wriggle and squirm too. When Anthony’s mother reminded them all to sit still and listen, Anthony tried to, but even the words he knew sounded strange, somehow. “Isaiah is too hard,” he said when Dad finished for that night.
“Yes, it’s difficult,” Dad agreed. “But if we read slowly and you listen carefully, you might be able to understand.”
“And,” Mom added, “we can ask Heavenly Father to help us understand.” As she offered the prayer that evening, she asked for help in understanding Isaiah.
The next night, Anthony was dragging his box to the corner again when Dad stopped him. “Wait, Anthony. Leave your box there for now. I want to do something different for our scripture reading tonight.”
When everyone was settled, Father began. “Tonight I thought that we should learn more about Isaiah and his teachings. That way we might be able to understand a little better when we read his words.
“Isaiah was a prophet who lived a long time ago, even a long time before Jesus was born. But he prophesied, or told about, things that would happen many years later. When we read his words, it’s like listening to someone who had traveled in a time machine.”
Anthony sat up tall. “Did he travel to the future?”
“No,” Dad answered. “But with Heavenly Father’s help, he saw visions of things that would happen in the future and he told about those things.”
Dad had the three children climb into Anthony’s time machine. “When we read Isaiah,” Dad said, “it’s like we are traveling in a time machine with him. We can listen to his words and imagine that we are there, seeing the things that he saw.”
Anthony and his brother and sister were excited. They wanted to ride in the time machine with Isaiah.
Father went on. “In the Bible, we learn about things that happened while he was actually alive. One of those stories is about a king named Hezekiah. One time King Hezekiah was very sick and was about to die. He prayed and asked the Lord to let him live longer. The Lord told Isaiah what Hezekiah should do to get better, and He told Isaiah to tell Hezekiah that he could live for fifteen more years. As a sign to Hezekiah, the Lord turned the sun back ten degrees. Another time Isaiah helped King Hezekiah win a battle and save Jerusalem.”
The next night they read about things that Isaiah saw would happen in the future. They climbed in the time machine and pretended that they were with Isaiah when he saw a vision showing Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. They listened to the prophet’s beautiful words: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given. …”
The children next listened to Isaiah’s words about the sad time when Jesus died: “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.”
Then they pretended to travel ahead many more years and listened to Isaiah telling about the coming of the Book of Mormon: “Thy voice shall be, as of one that hath a familiar spirit, out of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper out of the dust.”
Each night that week at Book of Mormon time, they climbed into the time machine and pretended to travel with Isaiah. One night Anthony asked, “Has everything that Isaiah saw already happened?”
“No,” Dad answered, “not everything. Isaiah saw things that would happen in our very own day, and he saw things that are still in the future, in a time called the Millennium, when Jesus will come and live on earth again.”
“Isaiah was so lucky,” Anthony’s little sister said. “He saw so many things.”
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed as he climbed back into the time machine. “But we’re lucky, too—we can go with him and see them, too, when we read the scriptures.”

Another major sacrifice for the cause of Zion came in 1834, as Brigham accompanied Joseph Smith on the march of Zion’s Camp. Word was received in Kirtland that the Saints in Missouri had been driven from their homes by mobs and that help was needed. An appeal was made to the brethren in Kirtland. Joseph and 205 others answered this plea for help. Force would be met by force. Those who marched knew that death might await them on the other end of their 1600-kilometer trek.

Brigham’s generation was acquainted with long walks, but nothing like this march. President Young later talked about walking month after month with blood in his shoes as he worked as a missionary, but even missionary work was nothing compared to the intensity of this march, day after day, in the heat of the early summer.

As the march proceeded, exhaustion resulted, patience became short, and tempers flared. Finally, the dreaded cholera hit, with its terrifying cramping and sudden death. Two years before that time, North America had experienced a major epidemic of cholera, and its symptoms were well known—diarrhea, spasmodic vomiting, and painful cramps, followed by dehydration that left the face blue and pinched, the extremities cold and dark, and the skin on the hands and feet puckered.

Death could follow in a day, even in an hour, and sometimes the victim would just keel forward as if hewn down by an axe. Some members of Zion’s Camp attempted to flee, but Brigham Young remained. Joseph Smith listed Brigham’s name as one who was most active in caring for the sick and burying the dead.

Several months ago I was in Monroe, Louisiana, attending a regional conference. It was a beautiful occasion. At the airport on my way home, I was approached by a lovely black member of the Church who said, smiling broadly, “President Monson, before I joined the Church and became a member of Relief Society, I could not read nor write. None of my family could. You see, we were all poor sharecroppers. President, my white Relief Society sisters—they taught me to read. They taught me to write. Now I help teach my white sisters how to read and how to write.” I reflected on the supreme joy she must have felt when she opened her Bible and read for the first time the words of the Lord:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28–30.)
That day in Monroe, Louisiana, I received a confirmation by the Spirit of your exalted objective.

Amanda puzzled over her patriarchal blessing. It said she would be a great influence on her children and grandchildren, but she was past childbearing years and had never married. Then she met Patrick, a pilot. They enjoyed listening to music and playing golf together. After a while, they got married.
Patrick’s first wife had died, with whom he had three daughters. Although they grieved the loss of their mother, they eventually warmed to Amanda’s love. Years passed.
One day, Patrick went flying and never returned. After weeks of searching, the plane was found in a nearby lake. Amanda realized that she was the only living parent Patrick’s daughters had left. She made an extra effort to support and communicate with them, especially through their grief.
Now she and her stepdaughters have a strong bond. They call her for advice and turn to her after a stressful day. With humility and gratitude, Amanda realizes that her patriarchal blessing is being fulfilled after all.

A prospective elder in Utah was afraid to go to church because he didn’t want to be called on to pray or answer questions. After two months of being taught the gospel in their home, he and his wife accepted an invitation to attend the temple preparation seminar. Shortly afterward, they made church attendance their goal, despite the man’s fears. It was their decision, arising out of their progress in learning the gospel. He’s now been ordained an elder, and he and his wife have been sealed in the temple.

About a year ago, I woke up in a trailer someplace in Illinois, full of drugs and alcohol, and I didn’t remember anything I’d done. I remembered only that on my business trip, as soon as the plane landed, it took me all of about 10 minutes to ditch my colleague, go straight to the bar, and disappear for three days. The second day—the day I was supposed to fly home—was my daughter’s birthday. Just a year ago.
A year ago Mark (names have been changed) didn’t know how he would overcome his addiction to drugs and alcohol. He had already tried to quit. He had visited with his bishop, been to professional counselors, gone through rehabilitation centers, and exerted all the willpower he could, but nothing brought permanent change. Soon after that critical moment in Illinois, he found the Church’s 12-step addiction recovery program, sponsored by LDS Family Services. In the program, he found the principles and direction that would change his life.
The change occurred as he studied and applied the principles taught in the program workbook and weekly recovery meetings. The workbook guides readers toward recovery using 12 steps, each of which addresses an essential principle of recovery such as honesty, hope, or trust in God. At the weekly meetings, participants are able to gain strength from others and share their own experiences of applying the principles.
Mark learned that the journey from addiction to recovery is a difficult one, but knowing people who have already made that journey can give hope to those who struggle. At each meeting a facilitator—someone who has experienced recovery—encourages others by sharing insights based on his or her own recovery. Mark is now a facilitator. Each week he shares his experiences (included in this article in italics) to help others understand that they are not alone and that addiction can be overcome.
After each time I gave in, I would say, “This time is going to be different. Please, Lord, help me. I don’t want this to be a part of my life.” Yet it continued to be.
An oft-repeated phrase among program participants is that an individual seeks recovery “when the pain of the problem becomes greater than the pain of the solution.” When Mark reached that point, he took a friend’s suggestion and came to a Latter-day Saint addiction-recovery meeting. Some people decide on their own to come. Others are encouraged to attend by friends or priesthood leaders. Some have been ordered by a court of law to attend 12-step recovery meetings.
Working the steps of this program simplified the gospel in a way that I could apply the testimony I had always had.
As Mark discovered, the steps of the addiction recovery program are a systematic way of implementing gospel principles. The 12 steps are adapted from the original Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, but the Church’s program is unique because it puts the steps into “a framework of the doctrines and beliefs of the Church.”1 In the addiction recovery program, the 12 steps are actually steps to accessing the power of the Atonement.
The change that has happened to me is I’m not miserable all the time. Sometimes it’s not easy. Perhaps the Lord doesn’t see fit to take it all from me right now, but He strengthens me so I can bear it patiently and cheerfully, and I can progress. He lightens it just enough that I learn the most that I can.
In the past I was able to abstain for periods of time. I’d get myself back in good standing with the Church and serve in callings, and everyone would tell me how great I was. But I didn’t feel great on the inside at all. And that’s why abstaining is just one part of it. True recovery is not doing it and not wanting to do it because our nature is changed.
Every day I seek my Heavenly Father in prayer and through the scriptures. In the morning I read books about recovery, and I write my feelings and my impressions. I call a support person in the program to help clarify my thinking. I go to the meetings. I try to serve. And I have never relapsed on a day that I have done those things.
Those daily tasks keep Mark spiritually well. Others who have been through the program have discovered the same truth: maintaining spiritual strength requires continuous effort. No one is completely safe from relapse, but through daily gospel living, those who struggle with addiction come unto Christ and receive strength and hope.
“I’m learning bit by bit, precept upon precept,” says Mark. “My nature is changing, and it’s the first time since this started that I can say I have hope. I truly believe that I never have to relapse again.”

In my last conference message, I related my devastating experience many years ago when, as a heart surgeon, I was not able to save the lives of two little sisters. With permission of their father, I would like to say more about that family.
Congenital heart disease afflicted three children born to Ruth and Jimmy Hatfield. Their first son, Jimmy Jr., died without a definitive diagnosis. I entered the picture when the parents sought help for their two daughters, Laural Ann and her younger sister, Gay Lynn. I was heartbroken when both girls died following their operations. Understandably, Ruth and Jimmy were spiritually shattered.
Over time, I learned that they harbored lingering resentment toward me and the Church. For almost six decades, I have been haunted by this situation and have grieved for the Hatfields. I tried several times to establish contact with them, without success.
Then one night last May, I was awakened by those two little girls from the other side of the veil. Though I did not see or hear them with my physical senses, I felt their presence. Spiritually, I heard their pleadings. Their message was brief and clear: “Brother Nelson, we are not sealed to anyone! Can you help us?” Soon thereafter, I learned that their mother had passed away, but their father and younger brother were still alive.
Emboldened by the pleadings of Laural Ann and Gay Lynn, I tried again to contact their father, who I learned was living with his son Shawn. This time they were willing to meet with me.
In June, I literally knelt in front of Jimmy, now 88 years old, and had a heart-to-heart talk with him. I spoke of his daughters’ pleadings and told him I would be honored to perform sealing ordinances for his family. I also explained that it would take time and much effort on his and Shawn’s part to be ready and worthy to enter the temple, as neither of them had ever been endowed.
The Spirit of the Lord was palpable throughout that meeting. And when Jimmy and Shawn each accepted my offer, I was overjoyed! They worked diligently with their stake president, bishop, home teachers, and ward mission leader, as well as with young missionaries and a senior missionary couple. And then, not long ago, in the Payson Utah Temple, I had the profound privilege of sealing Ruth to Jimmy and their four children to them. Wendy and I wept as we participated in that sublime experience. Many hearts were healed that day!
On reflection, I have marveled at Jimmy and Shawn and what they were willing to do. They have become heroes to me. If I could have the wish of my heart, it would be that each man and young man in this Church would demonstrate the courage, strength, and humility of this father and son. They were willing to forgive and let go of old hurts and habits. They were willing to submit to guidance from their priesthood leaders so that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could purify and magnify them. Each was willing to become a man who worthily bears the priesthood “after the holiest order of God.”
Are we willing to pray, fast, study, seek, worship, and serve as men of God so we can have that kind of priesthood power? Because two little girls were so eager to be sealed to their family, their father and brother were willing to pay the price to bear the holy Melchizedek Priesthood.

My family lived in São Paulo, Brazil. On the other side of our street, there was a forest of mangrove trees. Mangrove forests have rivers crossing through the trees. The ground is very muddy.
Many people built houses on that muddy ground. They put huge logs in the mud. Then they built their house on top of them. But when it rained, the river overflowed. The water got into their houses. Then the people had nowhere to sleep at night.
When that happened, my father would invite all of them into our home. Sometimes there were as many as 15 people! He brought them into our living room and gave them blankets. Mom made them something to eat. Then they slept in our house until the next day.
This happened at least three or four times. I remember thinking, “Not very many people would take strangers in.” My father was letting people we barely knew sleep in our house! But then I thought, “They have nowhere else to go.”
My parents always did things to help people. But their service was more than just helping and giving. It was showing love to our neighbor, even when our neighbor was somebody we didn’t know well.

When I turned 14, I was excited to finally be old enough to attend stake youth conference, which was held on a ranch owned by our stake. I was from Seattle, so the remote location was quite a change from the traffic, concrete, and buildings I was used to. The ranch had a rustic beauty with lots of trees, grass, and clean air that made me feel peaceful and close to God. It made me think about Joseph Smith. I wondered if the Sacred Grove was similar to our surroundings.
I had a wonderful time and wished the conference could have lasted longer, but soon it was the final day and almost time for the testimony meeting. I lingered behind for a few minutes and found myself alone in my bunkhouse. I felt that this youth conference was the time to figure out for sure if the Church was true. I had borne my testimony before and said I believed it was true, but I wanted to be able to stand as others had done and say that I knew it was true.
I believed that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had spoken to Joseph Smith when he was 14, so I thought that since I was now 14, Heavenly Father could tell me, too. I didn’t expect a vision, but I believed God would somehow let me know if this was His Church. I decided that as soon as the testimony meeting ended, I would go a little ways from the lodge among the trees to kneel and pray as Joseph had.
During the meeting, I listened intently to the testimonies, and I recognized that the Spirit was very strong. My sister’s friend stood to bear his testimony. As he said the words, “I know the Church is true and that God lives,” I heard a still, small voice whisper within me: “You know it’s true, too. You’ve always known.” Tears filled my eyes because I knew God had heard my prayer before I had even spoken it.
How grateful I was then, and still am, for the knowledge that the Church is true, that God knows me, and that He hears and answers even my unspoken prayers.

For my first decade or so on the BYU faculty, I had an assignment to teach Book of Mormon classes. Gradually, during that time, the passage in 2 Nephi 32:9 became magnified in my mind and heart:

I say unto you that ye must pray always, and not faint; that ye must not perform any thing unto the Lord save in the first place ye shall pray unto the Father in the name of Christ, that he will consecrate thy performance unto thee, that thy performance may be for the welfare of thy soul.

I would add “and for the building up of Thy kingdom, the blessing of my students, and in some small way for the blessing of Thy children in other parts of the world.”

At some point I adopted this plea into my morning prayers; from then on, a fundamental transformation began to occur in my work as a BYU faculty member. For one thing, I started becoming more aware of ways I could share my testimony with students in my classes and lab. I also saw doors for international research collaborations begin to open and had a flood of ideas about how I could direct my research in ways that would have more impact. As I stepped through those doors, I was led to some amazing like-minded people, while others started seeking me out. I would like to elaborate a little on how this process unfolded.

Illustrations by Steve Kropp
I had been a member of the Church for only one month when I paid my first full tithe. I was the only member in my family, and tithing was complicated for my family to understand. My mother discouraged me from paying tithing and wanted me to give her the money instead.
One day before work, I realized that there was no food in the refrigerator and I’d have to buy something to eat. I didn’t have any money with me, so I asked my mom to lend me money for lunch. She refused and said I didn’t have money because I had paid my tithing.
I went to get my Book of Mormon and told her that this book would give me my nourishment for the day—my spiritual nourishment. I opened it in front of my mother and found 100 pesos (enough to buy some lunch) tucked inside. It was a miracle—I hadn’t put that money in my scriptures. I learned a great lesson: although challenges and temptations are everywhere, I will always be blessed as I pay a full tithe and keep the commandments.

War in the Persian Gulf
Maureen Clark, 14, Farragut Ward
I was at church on Wednesday night for Mutual. I remember someone came in and yelled, “The war’s started.” A bunch of people started crowding into a room where there was a television. I was shocked and scared. My friends and I went into the meetinghouse library and started looking up the signs of the last days in the scriptures and what would happen before Christ comes. We read about the wars that would happen. We started getting a little shaky, but time calmed us down.

I have a very funny kitten. She followed my grandpa home one day, and she has stayed with us since then. We call her Shadow because she is black.
Shadow always looks up. She jumps into the empty bathtub, looks up at the towels, then jumps up to pull one down. When she is outside and wants to come in, she looks up at the window in the door and jumps up and holds on to the window frame with her paws and looks in at us.
Sometimes I think Shadow believes she is a dog. She jumps out of a hiding place and lands on my dog; then they roll around on the ground and playfully chew on each other. When my dog grabs a stick, Shadow runs around, trying to catch it. They even eat out of the same bowl.
Shadow really loves to look up at my grandpa. He picks her up and pets her and tells her what a good kitty she is. I think she loves him in a special way because he found her. She was very tiny and sick when she followed him home. He took her to the animal doctor to get her some medicine. Grandpa made her a nice, warm bed in our house too.

Recently, a friend working on her Ph.D. received an impression during a Relief Society conference to shift the focus of her dissertation. She also felt prompted to go directly to the temple to ask the Lord further questions. She said, "While there, I was told how to make [this new focus] work...[and] how I could be both academically unbiased and spiritually honest. I occasionally receive clear words from the Spirit, but never have I been given such clear instructions....The task ahead feels incredibly difficult, but I know what direction to go and that the Lord expects it of me, and that makes all the difference."

We went on to Rock Creek Hollow, where the Willie Handcart Company made camp. Thirteen members of the Willie Company who perished from cold, exhaustion, and starvation are buried in a common grave at Rock Creek Hollow. Two additional members who died during the night are buried nearby. Two of those buried at Rock Creek Hollow were heroic children of tender years: Bodil Mortinsen, age nine, from Denmark, and James Kirkwood, age eleven, from Scotland.
Bodil apparently was assigned to care for some small children as they crossed Rocky Ridge. When they arrived at camp, she must have been sent to gather firewood. She was found frozen to death, leaning against the wheel of her handcart, clutching sagebrush.
Let me tell you of James Kirkwood. James was from Glasgow, Scotland. On the trip west, James was accompanied by his widowed mother and three brothers, one of whom, Thomas, was nineteen and crippled and had to ride in the handcart. James’s primary responsibility on the trek was to care for his little four-year-old brother, Joseph, while his mother and oldest brother, Robert, pulled the cart. As they climbed Rocky Ridge, it was snowing and there was a bitter cold wind blowing. It took the whole company twenty-seven hours to travel fifteen miles (24 k). When little Joseph became too weary to walk, James, the older brother, had no choice but to carry him. Left behind the main group, James and Joseph made their way slowly to camp. When the two finally arrived at the fireside, James, “having so faithfully carried out his task, collapsed and died from exposure and over-exertion. …”
I have wondered why these [courageous] pioneers had to pay for their faith with such a terrible price in agony and suffering. Why were not the elements tempered to spare them … ? I believe their lives were consecrated to a higher purpose through their suffering. Their love for the Savior was burned deep in their souls and into the souls of their children and their children’s children. …
Francis Webster, a member of the Martin Company, stated, “Everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities [greatest suffering].” I hope that this priceless legacy of faith left by the pioneers will inspire all of us to more fully participate in the Lord’s work of bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of His children.
(See Ensign, July 2002, pages 2–5.)

More than anything else, Avery wanted to be a pitcher. But every summer he ended up being assigned to left field.
“This year’s going to be different,” he told his parents and his little sister, Soo. “No more left field for me. This time I’m going to make pitcher.”
“Good luck,” said his parents. Soo just wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Avery tugged his baseball cap down over his eyes and went outside to practice pitching. He bent a coat hanger into a square and suspended it with a wire from the cross-bar on Soo’s swing set. Hour after hour, day after day, Avery hurled a baseball at the coat-hanger square. By the time team tryouts came along, he could throw a ball through the hole seven times out of ten without touching the hanger. I’ll make pitcher for sure, Avery thought.
But when Coach Owens posted the practice roster, Avery was in left field again.
“Hi, Avery,” said Coach Owens. “Ready for a great season?”
Avery nodded, but he felt miserable. It isn’t going to be a great season, he thought, if I don’t even get a chance to pitch. The coach knows I’ve been practicing.
“All right, team,” Coach Owens said, “let’s get started.” The players took their positions, and the coach batted the ball to each of them in turn.
Avery watched the pitcher, a redheaded boy named Ken. He’s good, Avery thought grimly. Too good.
The ball flew out to left field, and Avery caught it neatly, tossing it to the short-stop, who relayed it to home plate. Maybe Ken will get chicken pox or something, Avery hoped. Then I’ll get my chance.
But Ken didn’t get chicken pox. He showed up for practice every day. Even though Avery could throw the baseball through the coat-hanger square nine times out of ten now, on the day of the season opener he was still out in left field.
“Wouldn’t you know it!” Coach Owens muttered, nodding toward the Visitor’s dugout. “That’s the team that beat us in the championship last year.”
“Don’t worry, coach,” said Ken cheerfully.
Easy for you to say, Avery thought, giving his cap a tug; you’re a pitcher.
“Let’s go, team,” Coach Owens said.
Avery walked slowly out to left field, looking toward the bleachers. His parents and Soo sat in the middle row with drinks and popcorn. Avery didn’t want to give Soo something to tease him about, but he didn’t have much chance to. Ken pitched two perfect innings, setting the Visitors down, one, two, three. Avery drew circles in the left field dirt with the toe of his shoe.
In the bottom of the second inning Avery’s team scored three runs.
“Keep pitching strikes, Ken,” Coach Owens said.
But in the top of the third, Ken walked two batters and then gave up a home run, so the score was three to three. Avery could hear the spectators calling for a new pitcher. He felt bad for Ken, but sort of good too. Maybe the coach would let him pitch now.
“Just settle down and relax, Ken,” Coach Owens said in the dugout when the half inning was over. “It’s only nerves. I want you to stay in as pitcher.”
Avery dragged himself back out to left field. Ken was going to blow the whole game.
But Ken quickly got back into his rhythm. In the fourth inning he was perfect again. In the sixth, Avery’s team went ahead four to three with a one-run homer.
“One more inning,” Coach Owens said. “Do your best, everybody.”
We’re ahead, Avery thought, trotting out to left field. If we keep them from scoring this inning, we win!
The first batter came to the plate. Ken struck him out, but walked the next one. The third batter hit a sacrifice bunt, and the runner went to second.
Avery frowned. We only need one more out, but a single could score the runner and tie the game.
The next batter swung the bat like he meant business. Ken pitched a strike, then a ball. His third pitch was hit with a smaack—hard and fast and straight at Avery!
If I catch it, the game’s over, and we win! Avery thought, going back, back, back. But the ball sailed over his head and hit the ground just inside the fence. Avery scooped it up and whirled around. The batter stood at first, but the runner from second was speeding around third. There wasn’t time to throw to the shortstop for the relay that they had practiced so often. Avery had to throw it all the way home himself—if he could.
Avery imagined a square hole in the catcher’s glove, then hurled the ball at it as hard and straight as he could. The sliding runner reached for the bag with his toe, but not before the catcher caught the ball and tagged him out. Everyone in the bleachers and on the field held their breath.
“You’re out!” yelled the umpire.
The crowd went wild. Ken ran out and grabbed Avery. “You did it! We won!”
Avery looked toward the bleachers. His parents were on their feet, cheering. And Soo was dancing on the bleacher seat, waving at him and screaming proudly, “That’s my brother out there, my big brother, the left field pitcher!”

It was a beautiful fall morning. “Too nice a day,” Chase thought, “to have to go to school.” As he pedaled his bike, he looked at the clear blue sky and the bright reds and yellows of the newly turned autumn leaves. This was a day for playing tag football, jumping in huge piles of leaves, catching frogs by the stream—not a day for learning about nouns and fractions and presidents. Chase rode past the sign that read “Ridgecrest Elementary,” then parked his bike at the bike rack.
“Hey, Chase!” Derek called.
“Hey, what’s up, Derek?” Chase called back.
“I got a new video game on Saturday,” Derek said. “Do you want to come over to my house after dinner tonight and play it?”
“I can’t. It’s Monday, family night—you know, when we all do something together. Maybe I can come over tomorrow night.”
Chase and Derek got to their seats just before the bell rang. Chase noticed a boy he had never seen sitting toward the front of the room. He had straight shiny hair the color of coal. On the chalkboard in big letters Mrs. May had written Gishi Ren.
“Good morning, class,” Mrs. May said, rising from her desk. “I want to introduce you to a new student.” She motioned for the new boy to come stand beside her. “I’ve written his name on the blackboard. It’s pronounced Yee-she Ren. Let’s all say ‘Welcome, Gishi.’”
Gishi hung his head bashfully as the class repeated the welcome. Chase’s eyes met Derek’s. Derek made a face and rolled his eyes.
“Gishi is from China,” Mrs. May explained. “His father has been living here for a year doing research at the university. Now Gishi and his mother have come to join him.”
Later that morning at recess, Chase and Derek played foursquare with some friends. Bouncing the ball, Derek whispered, “Watch this.” He pointed to Gishi, who stood a few feet away with his back toward them. Derek threw the big red ball hard. It bounced off the back of Gishi’s head.
When Gishi turned around, Derek yelled cheerfully, “Oh, sorry,” and winked at his friends. Gishi smiled timidly.
At lunch, Chase and Derek sat together as usual. Derek was describing his new video game. “It’s really cool. It’s like you’re in a jungle, and you’re looking for a diamond mine, and … hey, look, there’s the new kid.” Gishi spotted Chase and Derek and started walking toward them.
“Oh, no,” Derek said. “He’d better not sit with us.” But Gishi did just that. He smiled, nodded, and began eating.
Derek turned to Chase. “We can’t let him think he’s allowed to eat with us every day. Come on, let’s move.”
Chase felt sorry for Gishi. For a moment, he considered staying at the table. But when Derek got up and walked to another one, Chase followed him. Derek continued talking about his new video game, but Chase was only half listening. He kept glancing over at Gishi eating all alone.
That night, Chase’s parents gathered the family together for family home evening. After the opening prayer, Chase’s father said, “Tonight we’re going to talk about two of your ancestors—your great-great-grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth McGowan.
“I think you older children have heard about them already, but Chase and Emily probably haven’t. I just felt impressed that I should tell you their story. As a young man, Joshua joined the Church in England and soon afterward came to America and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. There he met a lovely young woman named Elizabeth Sanders, who was also a member of the Church. They married and bought a farm with money Joshua had saved in England.
“One night,” Chase’s father continued, “an angry mob came and burned all their crops. They burned the barn and their farmhouse. Everything was destroyed. Elizabeth and Joshua had to start all over. Joshua became a blacksmith, and he did that for the rest of his life. They moved to Nauvoo and then later went to Utah with the Saints.”
“But wait—I don’t understand why those people burned their farm,” Chase interrupted.
“Simply because Joshua and Elizabeth were members of the Church,” Dad explained.
“But they must have done something to make those people so mad,” Chase insisted.
“No, Son, they didn’t do anything. It’s just that back then, being a member of the Church was often dangerous. Many people didn’t like members of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were different. They belonged to a new religion. Most folks didn’t know what the Church was really about. It’s just human nature, I guess, for some people to resent anything that’s new or different.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense, Dad.” Chase frowned.
“No, Son, it doesn’t.”
That night Chase lay awake thinking about Joshua and Elizabeth and Derek and Gishi.
Tuesday morning was cold and cloudy. It wasn’t hard for Chase to go to school on such a dreary day. As he parked his bike at the rack, Chase heard Derek’s voice coming from the playground.
As he walked over, Chase saw Derek pointing his finger and making fun of Gishi. Gishi bowed his head and looked nervously at the crowd forming around him. Some of the boys and girls snickered.
Chase ran up to Derek. “Knock it off!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Derek. Leave him alone.” Chase looked Derek right in the eye so he would know he was serious. Derek stared back at Chase. Finally, Derek shrugged.
“I was just fooling around,” Derek muttered as he walked away.
“Are you OK?” Chase asked Gishi.
“Yes. OK.”
“Believe it or not, Derek’s really not so bad. I think he just needs time to get to know you.”
Gishi said nothing, but nodded.
Then Chase asked, “Do you want to come to my house after school and play video games?”
Gishi smiled shyly. “Yes. Fine. You live where?” Chase wrote down his address and gave it to Gishi.
That afternoon, the two boys played video games for a while, then talked about some of the differences between English and Chinese. They took turns pantomiming various actions and having the other say the word for the action in his language.
Gishi wrote something on a paper and showed it to Chase. “This is you in Chinese.”
Chase looked at the pencil strokes shooting out at different angles. “You mean that’s the word for ‘Chase’ in Chinese?”
“No,” Gishi said. “Friend.”
“Love one another. Be kind to one another despite our … differences.”Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Doctrine of Inclusion,” Ensign, Nov. 2001, 38.

I decided early that I wanted to become a physician and, because of certain circumstances, was able to start at the university early. I focused on completing as many pre-med courses as possible before my mission and even went to school in the summer so that I could finish the physics series. Because I had nearly completed my pre-med requirements, with permission I took the MCAT test on a Saturday while I was in the Language Training Mission before my mission to Mexico. As I look back now, it seems impossible, even crazy. But that crazy yet inspired process allowed me to come home and then apply for and be ready to start medical school just weeks after my sweetheart, Marsha, and I were married. I was twenty-two. I couldn’t foresee the future, but at one step at a time it unfolded and felt right.

More important than our secular details, which can be measured, things were happening inside of me and inside of us as a couple. We were blessed with two sons while I was in medical school and with three more sons during my residency. We paid our meager tithing, as you do, and learned to contribute fast offerings. We read scriptures daily, prayed, and attended the temple, as you do. We accepted callings and served others, even when it was seemingly inconvenient. This wonderful process of learning, applying, and becoming was happening for us. We were experiencing what we personally needed to know and understand and could not learn any other way.