Gospel Story Finder

Thursday evening Joel and I were going over to Jill’s place with a bunch of other kids to make campaign banners. Joel picked me up and we were talking campaign strategy when we zipped past Christy Hudson’s small house. When I saw her little red car in the driveway I recalled Dad’s home teaching challenge.

“Hey, Joel. Want to play home teacher again?”

“Home teaching! It’s the 31st today. I’d be embarrassed to go home teaching on the last day of the month. Besides, we have a …”

“It’ll just take a second. I could use a story from seminary for the lesson.”

“Who do you home teach?”

“This lady in my ward and her three kids. We’ll be in and out of there in ten minutes and I’ll have 100 percent home teaching. It will shock my dad right out of his mind. He won’t believe I actually did my home teaching on my own.”

“On your own? I’m the one that’s done it for you.”

A moment later we were knocking on Sister Hudson’s door. As soon as I knocked I wished Joel had talked me out of coming. I could hear a kid bawling and a couple of others talking really loud. Then I heard Sister Hudson telling everybody to quiet down. When she came to the door, I could tell she was embarrassed. I felt horribly awkward.

“Hi there,” I stammered. “I know it’s a bit late but we haven’t done our home teaching for the month so I was wondering if we could come in for a second and give you a short message.” Even while I was saying it, I knew how dumb and empty it must have sounded to her.

“Well, I was just …” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at two of her children wrestling on the floor and then heaving a defeated sigh, stepped aside, and motioned with her hand for us to come inside. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, but what could I expect on May 31st?

The place was a bit of a mess—not dirty, just disorderly. Sister Hudson swept toys off the sofa and asked us to sit down while she gathered her kids.

“Sorry for coming so late this month,” I remarked haltingly. I know you’re busy so we won’t take long. Is everything okay?”

“Sure.” She looked about her chaotic living room. “Everything’s fine.”

There was a strained silence. “Do you need anything?” I ventured, not really thinking about what I was asking. I was just making talk to ward off the silence.

After a long pause, Sister Hudson commented plaintively, “I was going to register for a night class, but they close in a few minutes and my baby-sitter fell through.”

“Shoot, we can watch your kids,” Joel said.

She looked up, genuinely surprised.

“Sure,” I added, “we’ve watched kids before. That’s what home teachers are for.”

Sister Hudson shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to. We just offered. It’s part of our end-of-the-month home teaching bonus deal. You know, if we don’t get here before the first of the month, then we throw in a little extra service. It’s a special home teaching incentive plan.”

“But you two have things to do and …”

I began taking Jenny, the three-year-old, from Sister Hudson’s arms. “I’ve got a little sister about Jenny’s age. I know what to do. Now you better hurry before the place closes.”

Five minutes later Joel and I were alone with the kids. “Hey, what do you say we straighten this place up,” Joel said to the two boys, Blake and Tyler. “We’ll really shock your mom if the place is clean when she gets back.”

All of us pitched in and did a quick clean up, and the kids didn’t seem to mind. We even washed the dishes in the sink.

Sister Hudson took a little longer than any of us had anticipated, but Joel and I did fine. We were playing a board game with the children when Sister Hudson burst through the front door, gasping embarrassed apologies. “I had no idea it would take this long. I tried to get here as …”

“You should have stayed longer, Mom,” Blake groaned. “We’re just getting into our game.”

Sister Hudson reached for her purse. “I want to pay you for this. I know you had other things to do.”

Joel and I laughed as we walked toward the door, ruffling the kids’ hair as we went. “Home teachers don’t get paid. Especially the last day of the month. Like I said before, this is a special home teaching bonus deal.”

I felt good as Joel and I walked to the car. I was glad we had stopped. Just then the front door opened and Sister Hudson came charging out of the house with a five-dollar bill in her hand. “You’ve got to take this. I didn’t realize you’d cleaned the house.”

I smiled and held up my hands. “It’s all part of the end-of-the-month home teaching package. You ought to see what we do when we come at the first of the month.”

“You sure are lucky you’ve got such a good back-up home teaching companion,” Joel said with a wry grin as he got in the car. “I expect you to include me in your report to your bishop.”

“When I was about nine years old, I remember Grandpa sitting in his big overstuffed chair. He allowed me to stand behind him and comb his beautiful hair. I would part it in the middle then comb it back in different ways. Sometimes I would part his hair on the side and try a new style, and I would comb it down over his face in the process. He was very patient and let me comb it until my arms were tired.”
“The things I remember about Grandpa were the great stories he would make up and tell to my sister and me as we sat at his feet. They were long adventure stories—real whoppers—almost like science fiction. My sister and I were always part of the tales.
“In one of his stories we were all riding in a car in the desert and discovered a big underground cave. In the back of the cave we found all kinds of jewels and valuable treasures. There was lots of food there for us to eat. The water in the bottom of the cave was boiling hot, but luckily we discovered a speedboat that kept us safe from the heat of the water. We all got into the boat and rode down the river. In his stories like this one, we always found a giant or two or something else exciting. Often we fought these giants and we always won, my grandpa, my sister, and I. We could listen for hours to these exciting stories. There was no television where we lived, but we certainly didn’t miss it.
“Grandpa was always learning there in his armchair, reading a book by lamplight. Nephi was his favorite prophet. He always said he wanted to live and to be like Nephi.”
One of the choicest experiences this man related to me was about a horse. Because he was a commanding officer in the Canadian Cavalry, a horse was very important to him:
“I looked around for the best horse in the area to buy. I loved horses—I always had. I finally found just the right one. I paid seventy-five dollars for this horse, which was a lot of money in those days. I quickly picked an excellent horseman who was an expert in horse training. He worked and worked with Steamboat, as I called him, and before long, he was not only the best-looking horse in the Canadian Cavalry, but also the best trained. I could tell him to lie down, to roll over, or to come to me, and this horse immediately obeyed. I was so very pleased.
“We were in Cardston at the time and I had enjoyed riding Steamboat for a couple of years when one day a Colonel Walker from Winnipeg visited our headquarters there. His main mission was to buy a fine horse for the general. He didn’t tell me this at first, but just said:
“‘I hear you have a fine horse.’
“‘He’s a dandy!’ I answered.
“Then he asked to take a ride on Steamboat and I said, ‘All right.’
“When he returned from a short ride, he dismounted and asked, ‘How much would you take for this horse?’
“I was sure he was joking with me, so I quickly replied, in jest, ‘Oh, five hundred dollars.’ This was an outrageous sum.
“‘Sold,’ he said.
“I was stunned! ‘But I was just joking, this horse is my pride and joy,’ I stammered.
“Colonel Walker stood straight and tall and said, ‘You told me the price, I will pay it, so we have just made a deal.’
“I was brokenhearted for a long time at the loss of my joy, Steamboat, my friend.
“About a year later,” he concluded, “while I was in England visiting our headquarters there, I was invited to inspect their horse stables. As I was walking down a row of stalls, I saw my great friend in one of them. ‘Steamer,’ I shouted.
“The horse jumped like he’d been shot. I climbed into the stall, threw my arms around that horse and cried and cried. An old friend is hard to forget.”
As I personally met with this great man, I asked him to tell me what he remembered about his boyhood. Some of the childhood experiences he related were humorous.
“My brother Bud and I had a lot of fun as children. He liked to tease and play jokes on me. One day we chased a weasel down a hole. We used a shovel and tried to dig him out, but with no luck. Bud told me that if I put my hand down the hole, maybe I could grab the animal and pull it out. I believed him, and thrust my hand as far down the hole as I could. But the weasel bit my finger so hard that it almost took the end of it off. After that I decided to be a little more careful whenever Bud told me to do something.
“My brother pestered me with jokes all through our childhood. I did get back at him once, though. I remember we were sleeping in the basement of a barn at the time. Bud had been reading a book about ghosts and ghost stories. One day I got the idea to ask my cousin to put an old sheet over himself and hide down in the basement of the barn until Bud came home. I then hid outside and watched and waited. Sure enough, Bud came along and went in through the barn door and started down the basement. When he saw my cousin, he came screaming out of the barn, running as fast as he could. It was a long time after that before Bud would sleep down there again.”
This apostle of the Lord also told me how important prayer and his testimony had always been to him. One last recollection sums up his feelings:
“
If I had a bad dream in the night when I was young, I would awaken and call out, ‘Mother, are you there?’ Since mother’s room was next to mine, she would hear me and answer quickly, ‘Yes, Son, I’m here.’
“Years later when I left for a mission to England, my mother reminded me that she wouldn’t be there to answer when I called but that our Heavenly Father would always be there.
“Many times on my mission and throughout my life I have called out: ‘Father, are you there?’”
The handsome elderly man with beautiful white hair, meditated for a few moments. Then quietly he said, “Always, I have received an answer.”

The enthusiastic young people of the Cleveland First Ward, Huntington Utah Stake treated the senior citizens in their ward to a Red Carpet Honor Night. The Young Men, dressed in suits and ties, first delivered an invitation to each home. Then on the night of the activity, they served as chauffeurs and escorts; they drove to each home, rolled out the red carpet, and escorted their guests to the meetinghouse. There they seated the elderly members of their ward and served them a delicious meal prepared by the Young Women.
After dinner, the senior ward members were seated in a semicircle at the front of the auditorium. They were each given an opportunity to tell how they arrived in the community, what life was like when they were growing up, and how they met their companions. They also answered questions from the audience, offered several good words of advice to the youth, and thanked them for a wonderful evening.

Isabelle squinted up at the deep blue sky. There were no clouds in sight. She licked her dry lips.
Her parents were talking quietly with President Santiago, the stake president. The motor of the boat was so loud that she couldn’t hear them. But she knew what they were talking about. There was no more drinking water.
Isabelle tried to focus on the reason for their journey. They were going to the temple to be sealed as a family! She remembered hearing her parents talk about the beautiful temple in São Paulo ever since she was a little girl. Going there almost seemed like a fairy tale. After all, Isabelle’s family lived in Manaus, deep in the Amazon rainforest, and the temple was more than 2,000 miles (3,219 km) away.
Then President Santiago had planned a six-day trip to get there. More than 100 members had decided to go. “It will be a sacrifice,” Mamãe had told her. “But sacrifice brings blessings.”
At first, the trip was exciting. They slept in hammocks on the deck of the boat, sang hymns, and read scriptures.
But then the drinking water had run out, and the river water was too dirty to drink.
Isabelle felt Mamãe touch her arm. “President Santiago is gathering us all together,” she said. “We’re going to pray for rain.”
Isabelle joined the group, and the prayer began. After the prayer ended, she felt cool air tickle her neck. She raced to the side of the boat and gasped. Gray storm clouds were moving toward them. Soon rain began to pour down! She opened her mouth to catch the raindrops on her tongue.
“Quick!” cried Mamãe. “Grab buckets, pans—anything!”
Isabelle grabbed a pan and held it out. She wanted to catch all the water she could. Everyone worked together, laughing and celebrating. Soon they were having a giant soaking party! The storm lasted for 15 minutes. It was long enough for them to get all the water they needed. It was a miracle.
Soon the boat reached land. But they still had 1,500 miles (2,414 km) to go. Everyone got on a bus for the rest of the trip. For days, the bus jolted over the rough roads. One time it bounced so hard that the windshield broke! Sometimes they rode through hot, crowded cities. But at least the roads there weren’t so bumpy!
Everyone was always grateful when they stopped at a village or town to eat. They ate at chapels or with Church members along the way. The first night, they arrived so late that Isabelle was afraid that no one would be waiting. “Don’t worry,” Mamãe said with a tired smile. “Look!”
The branch president and Church members were lined up across the road. They held a banner that read “Sacrifice brings blessings.” Isabelle smiled. Mamãe was right!
After three bumpy days, they finally reached São Paulo. Isabelle stood on her seat to get a better view as the bus drove around a curve. Suddenly everyone on the bus burst into cheers. “O templo! O templo!” They could see the tall, thin temple spire rising above rows of palm trees.
Everyone was exhausted, but no one wanted to rest. They wanted to be sealed right away. When it was time for her family to be sealed, Isabelle carefully dressed in white. As she walked into the sealing room, she saw her father beaming. Tears of joy streamed down Mamãe’s face. Their journey had been long and even dangerous. “But the sacrifice was worth it,” Isabelle thought. She smiled as she took her place to be sealed to her family forever.

The prophets’ lives encourage us to draw close to our families at Christmastime. President Joseph F. Smith remembered one Christmas as a young father when he had no money—not even a penny—to buy gifts for his children. Just before Christmas he left his home and walked down the street, looking at all the wonderful things in the shop windows but knowing that he could buy none of them. Near despair he found a private place and “wept like a child” to relieve his aching heart. But, drying his eyes, he went home and played with his children all day, “grateful and happy only for them.”4 Despite his inability to provide a material Christmas for his children, he had nevertheless given them the greatest gifts any father could—his love and his time.

Another way to be happy is to learn self-control. When I was younger, I loved to play basketball. But I did not have good sportsmanship. Winning was everything to me. Whenever someone fouled me, I would get angry.
Then I learned that basketball is only a game. I decided to change. One day, someone elbowed me in the chest on purpose. He pushed me hard. In the past, I would have gotten angry, but this time I walked away without saying anything. I had the best feeling. I knew that I had learned to control myself. It felt better than winning!

The warm sun came through Aaron’s bedroom window. “Today is going to be a good day,” Aaron thought. “I’m going to see Grandma and Grandpa.”
Grandma and Grandpa lived just down the road, and he usually visited them after breakfast. It was the best way to start the day. Aaron jumped out of bed.
After breakfast and chores, Mom smiled and said that he could go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. As he went, the late morning sun felt good on his back. The sand squished under his shoes. It made him laugh. “This is going to be a good day,” he said out loud.
He saw a shiny black rock with a stripe down the middle. “I bet Grandpa would like to see this.” Aaron slipped the rock into his pocket.
He checked the pine tree just outside Grandma’s back door. The robin was sitting on her nest. “I think she has eggs.” Aaron climbed the fence. Standing on tiptoes and stretching his neck as far as he could, he thought he saw something blue in the nest. “I’m going to tell Grandpa!” He slid down and ran to the kitchen door.
Grandpa thought he was right about the eggs. “Pretty soon there will be little birds,” he said. Grandma had made applesauce cookies. They were really good! Grandma and Grandpa both liked his rock.
On the way home, Aaron noticed that the lilac bush was covered with purple flowers. This was such a great day!
That night as Aaron got ready for bed, he thought about everything that had happened. He said his prayers, thanking Heavenly Father. “Thank Thee for the beautiful flowers, the warm sun, the sand, and the robin’s eggs. Thank Thee for Grandma and Grandpa. Thank Thee for this whole great day! Oh, and Heavenly Father, I love Thee.”
As Aaron climbed into bed, he remembered something his Primary teacher had said. When we feel love for Heavenly Father, that feeling is called reverence. Aaron fell asleep feeling very reverent.

One such couple, parents of a friend of mine, exemplify this principle for me. The husband worked at a steel mill in Utah. At lunch he would pull out his scriptures or a Church magazine and read. When the other workers saw this, they ridiculed him and challenged his beliefs. Whenever they did, he spoke to them with kindness and confidence. He did not allow their disrespect to make him angry or upset.
Years later one of the more vocal mockers became very ill. Before he died, he requested that this humble man speak at his funeral—which he did.
This faithful member of the Church never had much in the way of social status or wealth, but his influence extended deeply to all who knew him. He died in an industrial accident while stopping to help another worker who was stranded in the snow.
Within a year his widow had to undergo brain surgery, which has left her unable to walk. But people love coming to spend time with her because she listens. She remembers. She cares. Unable to write, she memorizes her children’s and grandchildren’s telephone numbers. She lovingly remembers birthdays and anniversaries.
Those who visit her come away feeling better about life and about themselves. They feel her love. They know she cares. She never complains but spends her days blessing the lives of others. One of her friends said this woman was one of the few people she had ever known who truly exemplifies the love and life of Jesus Christ.
This couple would have been the first to say they were not of much importance in this world. But the Lord uses a scale very different from the world’s to weigh the worth of a soul. He knows this faithful couple; He loves them. Their actions are a living witness of their strong faith in Him.

The fresh mountain air cooled my lungs as I laced up my boots. Next to me, my horse whinnied impatiently.
“I know, girl. I’m coming,” I said soothingly, as I stroked her reddish-brown mane.
I finished fastening the saddle, mounted, and was off. As I rode up the mountain, I thought of all the troubles that were weighing on my mind. I was a junior in high school—worried about friends, sports, final exams, and where to apply for college. Hundreds of thoughts swirled around in my brain. There were simply too many problems; I would never be able to solve them all. That’s really why I had come to the mountains. I needed to escape for a while.
After a time, I arrived at my favorite spot—a small out-of-the-way clearing that overlooks a mountain valley. I stopped my horse and said a small prayer in my heart.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I am so tired and so overwhelmed. Please give me some comfort. I just need a little peace.”
The answer came almost immediately. “Look up.”
As I raised my eyes, I was met with a scene of such astonishing beauty that I could scarcely breathe. All of my problems seemed to melt away as I soaked up the view. The farms in the valley were laid out like squares in a patchwork quilt, and on that day in May many of the fields had come to life in brilliant shades of green. What struck me most, however, was not the green. Throughout the fields of green were generous smatterings of the most vibrant yellow I had ever seen. The effect was mesmerizing, and it sparked my curiosity because I knew that there weren’t any local crops of that color.
I rode faster on the way down, eager to get to the valley floor and discover the source of that captivating yellow. When I reached the fields, I was astonished to find that the beauty that had so enchanted me didn’t come from anything exotic. The fields were filled with simple, unassuming dandelions.
I picked one small dandelion and brought it close to my nose. It was amazing to me how much difference perspective had made. From high above, I was quite taken in by the beauty of something that most people on the valley floor would call a weed. I would never have recognized its worth if I had not been prompted to look up and find the beauty in it.
I realized that I sometimes treat people the way most people treat the dandelion I held in my hand. I decide that they aren’t really worth my notice, without pausing to get to know them better or to think of how greatly the Lord values them. God knew that the dandelion was beautiful in its simplicity, even when most people couldn’t see it.
It occurred to me that I was much like the dandelion. Small and imperfect—but important and cherished in the eyes of my Heavenly Father. Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1926–2004) once said that “sometimes with smudges on our cheeks, dirt on our hands, and shoes untied, stammeringly but smilingly we present God with a dandelion—as if it were an orchid or a rose! If for now the dandelion is the best we have to offer, He receives it, knowing what we may later place on the altar” (That Ye May Believe [1992], 100).
Since that day I have never looked at a dandelion the same way. When I look at those little yellow flowers, I don’t see something to be stomped on, plucked up, or sneered at. I see effortless charm and loveliness. I will be forever grateful for the lesson I learned on that day—never judge someone or something until you have tried to see them from the Lord’s point of view, because the Lord, from His perspective high above mine, has a far better view and can much more easily judge the worth of flowers and of souls.

I had learned of the Mormon church through a friend of mine, and when I was 13 years old I was baptized. One of the main reasons I was attracted to the Church was the love and concern I felt from the members of my ward.
I had become quite close to a family in my ward—the Fishers. I was their babysitter. They were my friends, and I grew to love them very much. I loved to babysit for them, and they accepted me for the person I was. I knew they cared about me, and I felt secure when I was with them.
To make a long story short, in the next few months I ran away from home twice. The Fishers went to Social Services and requested that I come live with them. I was surprised but thrilled! After several court trials, I was placed in their home as a foster child. I was 14 years old.
That was eight years ago. As I look back over the years, there are many memories. But perhaps the greatest memory I have is being legally adopted and going to the St. George Temple to be sealed to my parents. My whole family was present, grandparents and all, and it was a peaceful, beautiful, and glorious day.
My parents have worked very hard with me. They encouraged me to go back to school, and I graduated from Brigham Young University. It was a great day, and my parents helped me to make it possible.
There are so many other things my parents have done for me, I could never name them all. However, the most important thing they did was to take me into their home and to love me. My parents helped me to learn to love others. They taught me about the gospel. They answered my questions. They had faith. And they were and still are my examples. My parents gave me the opportunity to have a family and to experience the security of belonging.
When I first went to my foster home I was bitter and felt sorry for myself. I often asked myself, why me? It all seemed so unfair. Fortunately, I have since learned that the experiences I had during my first 14 years of life were meant to be. Those experiences have made me into the person I am today. Those experiences were to teach me. Yes, I had to learn to have compassion for others who may be hurting. I have promised myself to never forget how it hurts to be lonely and frightened.
There is no doubt in my mind that my parents were to be mine. My patriarchal blessing tells me so. We just all came together in a different way. I want to repay my parents for their love, help, and understanding, and I know I can do this by living a good life, helping others, and remaining faithful to the gospel. This is what they would want me to do. I know because it is what they have done in their lives.

Filing of articles and thoughts for church talks and lessons is another chore that I simply can’t stand to do for more than a few minutes at a time. Before applying this idea to the filing task, and while waiting—and waiting—to file until I “had time” or felt “motivated,” I felt guilty about not getting it done. After years of good intentions, I decided to file two items a day, every day. I’m still at it, but now instead of two boxes of material to file, I’m down to a stack about three-inches deep. And I feel much better about my file.

So your first question is “What’s an Iditarod?” Well, it’s a famous sled-dog team race held each year in Alaska. Your next question is “An Iditarod in sunny Arizona?” The answer to this question has more to it.
For the past six years the young men and Scouts from four different stakes in central Arizona have participated in a modified Iditarod race at their annual winter campout in Flagstaff, Arizona. Only instead of dog power, these sleds use Scout power. This past January, 375 young men were divided into teams of about 10. They pulled sleds over and through snow, mud, and dirt to the finish line. Each team built a sled equipped with both skis and wheels to handle any conditions. The course was two-and-a-quarter miles long with 10 activity stations along the way where Scouts competed in activities like archery, log sawing, and target ax throwing. The winning time along with the individual scores in the events determined the winner.
Friday night before the race, camp was set up, dinner prepared and eaten, and campers gathered around a campfire for a genuine fireside, where they heard an inspiring message from a member of the Peoria Arizona North Stake presidency. Saturday morning two teams at a time set out every 15 minutes to begin the race. An awards ceremony rounded out the day of fun and team building.
Brett Wood from the Sierra Verde Ward said, “The Iditarod is so awesome. The race course competition challenges you mentally and physically. It teaches you teamwork. It is hard but rewarding.”
“We really enjoyed the Iditarod,” added JC May from the winning Daisy Mountain Ward. “It is a time for us to get to know each other and work as a team. Everyone pulled together and worked hard.”

In 1849, President Brigham Young called a small number of men to travel to various parts of the world to preach the gospel. A former Swedish sailor, John Forsgren, who had joined the Church in Massachusetts, USA, and traveled to the Salt Lake Valley, asked President Young to be sent to Sweden as a missionary. He was called to serve and arrived in Sweden in June 1850.
Elder Forsgren first visited his younger siblings in Gävle. His brother Peter was ill, and doctors said he was beyond help. Elder Forsgren explained the purpose of his mission to his siblings, then anointed and blessed Peter, who was restored to full health. On July 19, 1850, Elder Forsgren baptized his brother, who became the first convert in Sweden.
In 1850 Peter Forsgren, above, was baptized by his brother John.
Photograph courtesy of Susan Easton Black

It was a hot and sultry July day in 1970. Though the wind was blowing in my face, my back felt wet, and perspiration formed on my arms. This was going to be a scorcher, and I only hoped that it would not be a wasted trip. I geared down into third as the little red, four-door Datsun rounded a turn in the road. Many thoughts raced through my mind as I drove toward San Fernando, Mexico, that morning.
It had been only two months since my co-companion, Elder Mont Garrett, and I had been transferred to the city of Matamoros, just across the border from Brownsville, Texas. I had been serving in the Mexico North Mission for two years now, and both Elder Garrett and I felt strange being transferred to a city so close to the United States.
Beginning in 1969 and continuing for the next several years, the Mexican missions had all experienced astounding success in converting people of all ages to the Church. While I had enjoyed some success during my mission, I was still not satisfied that I had done my best, and so the transfer to Matamoros offered a last opportunity to really succeed as a representative of the Lord.
Ten days earlier, as Elder Garrett and I were visiting with the district president, he casually remarked that Hermana (Sister) Villafranca, from the small farming community of San Fernando, had asked him to send the missionaries to visit her. Since neither my companion nor l had ever heard of San Fernando, it came as something of a surprise to us. I immediately asked if there would be any investigators present, if they would be willing to be taught the gospel, and how much planning had gone into this proposed “visit.” The district president smilingly replied that the Hermana had arranged to use her home in the city as a site for a Sunday School that would be held the following week. The district president and several members had agreed to attend and assist with the procedural problems if we would teach a class for investigators. I was rather skeptical of the entire idea but contacted the mission president and asked for permission to go.
The mission president was also somewhat reluctant to accept the idea, but he finally granted his permission—with the understanding that we should make arrangements to see that our commitments in Matamoros were met for that day. We would be able to return to San Fernando only if there were enough investigators present to justify the time involved. Since as zone leader I was responsible for all missionary work outside the city, Elder Garrett and I agreed that he would remain in Matamoros to work with a local companion and I would meet the district president in San Fernando on the next Sunday.
Other thoughts crowded in as I slowly drove toward San Fernando. I supposed that during the time of my mission I had told the Joseph Smith story over a thousand times, but it was something that I still enjoyed doing. I hoped to tell it with particular conviction to the investigators in San Fernando because, with my date of release only weeks away, I knew that my opportunities were very limited. Never did I dream, though, that the next six hours would bring one of the most spiritually exciting experiences of my life.
San Fernando lies about 80 miles south of Matamoros, and as my journey was coming to an end, I was aware for the first time of the physical setting. On both sides of the two-lane highway there were gently rolling hills and seemingly endless fields of sorghum and wild grass. Notwithstanding the hot and monotonously humid days, I later found that the mornings were cool and refreshing in the early hours, and the evenings were graced with strikingly beautiful orange, red, and purple sunsets that led to majestically silent evenings interrupted only by the music of insects. The intense feeling of peace was very relaxing.
My daydreaming was interrupted as I approached the outskirts of town. After asking directions from several hesitant citizens (seeing a gringo, especially one who could more or less speak the native tongue, was something of a novelty in San Fernando), I soon arrived at Hermana Villafranca’s home. The house was situated at the end of a long, uphill street that disappeared into the underbrush of the hillside. The thatch-roofed building was made of adobe bricks that had recently been whitewashed (I later discovered that Hermana Villafranca had ordered the whitewashing especially for this occasion). I drove slowly through a narrow gate and parked under a shaggy tree. The district president greeted me, stating that the Hermana would be along soon.
Minutes later we were roused from our conversation by the insistent honking of a horn that grew louder as a large truck approached. As the truck arrived I discovered the cargo area was bulging with faces of all ages, sizes, and descriptions. The good Hermana stepped down and encouraged her passengers to alight and make themselves comfortable. I exchanged the usual formal greetings with her, and then she immediately announced that we must hurry if we were to start the meeting on time.
In terms of her physical appearance, she was not unlike many Mexican women whom I had met. I soon learned, however, that the spiritual attributes of Hermana Villafranca were entirely her own and can only be described as breathtaking. She always radiated a spirit of goodness, and her seemingly inexhaustible supply of faith was a power that was undeniable and also entirely reliable.
The inside dimensions of Hermana Villafranca’s home were small, about 15 by 30 feet. She had removed all the furniture so that the single room with the hard dirt floor was converted into a hall for the entire congregation. There were about 50 people at Sunday School that morning, and as we sang the opening song a cappella, I couldn’t help but wonder how many were investigators and how many were Church members from outlying areas. I soon found out. After the opening exercises were over, I was asked to remain in the house and teach the investigators while the members moved outside for their lessons.
Sometimes nothing is more difficult than setting up an umbrella-type flannelboard, especially when you are shaking. I was about to present the Joseph Smith story to 30 anxious listeners!
As I began the discussion, the room was expectantly quiet. Every student listened with sincere interest. When I asked questions of the class, it seemed as if they had memorized the answers beforehand, and I found myself becoming more and more excited as it became apparent that I had not one golden contact, but a whole room full of them. When it came time to ask if, after they had studied, prayed, and listened to the rest of the discussions, they would be baptized, I was greeted with a chorus of “Sí.”
After the class was over, I quickly left the room to visit with Hermana Villafranca. Tears came to her dark eyes when I told of the class. She said that she had been looking forward to that day for many years. I could only look at her and marvel at her faith, determination, and persistence.
Two weeks later Elder Garrett and I conducted a small baptismal service in San Fernando. On this occasion I was able to baptize three of the class members, including Hermana Villafranca’s brother, in the shallow waters of a small river that passes through the north end of town. The next month I turned the work over to Elder Garrett and returned home.
The experience in San Fernando ended my mission in a very gratifying way. I sensed that it was an important incident, but I did not then realize how far-reaching the effects would be. Now, six years later, there is a branch with almost 200 members in San Fernando. It is there because of the missionary efforts of one stalwart sister who was not afraid to tell others about the gospel, and to do it with the faith that precedes any miracle.

I want to tell you of an incident that happened many years ago. Two of our sons, then little boys, were wrestling on the rug, and they had reached that line which separates laughter from tears. So I worked my foot carefully between them and lifted the older one back to a sitting position on the rug. As I did so, I said, “Hey there, you little monkeys. You’d better settle down.”
To my surprise he folded his little arms, his eyes swimming with deep hurt, and protested, “I not a monkey, Daddy, I a person!”
The years have not erased the overwhelming feeling of love I felt for my little sons. I was taught a profound lesson by my little boys. Many times over the years his words have slipped back into my mind, “I not a monkey, Daddy, I a person!” I was taught a profound lesson by my little boy.
Now the cycle of life has moved swiftly on, and both of those sons have little boys of their own, who teach their fathers lessons. They now watch their children grow as we watched them. They are coming to know something as fathers that they could not be taught as sons. Perhaps now they know how much their father loves them. Hopefully, they know as well why prayers begin “Our Father who art in heaven.”
All too soon their children will be grown with little “persons” of their own, repeating the endless cycle of life.

One unforgettable day in the fall of 1856, a group of some 500 Latter-day Saint pioneers were steadily pulling their handcarts toward Zion, when they found themselves surrounded by buffalo. At first, the Saints viewed the buffalo as a blessing; they needed to add to their meat supply. But the large animals thundered through the ranks of the pioneers scattering their possessions and stampeding their cattle. Without the necessary firearms, the Saints were able to kill only two buffalo.
The battle between pioneer and buffalo was described in the diary of Joseph Benson Elder, a 21-year-old, who saw the event, but was too far away from the handcart company at the time to be of any help.
Joseph had been traveling with the company for only a short time. It had been earlier that year, just two day after he had been ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood, and a year after his baptism, that he had decided to help the Saints who were gathering to Zion, and to join them himself.
Through the summer of 1856, Joseph and several other young Latter-day Saint men were occupied with the hard and dangerous task of herding cattle, mules, horses, and oxen to meet the various emigrating groups who were making their way across America’s plains to Zion. It wasn’t until mid-August that Joseph Elder was assigned to the handcart group that was already on the way to Winter Quarters from Iowa City, where the emigrants from European mission fields had gotten off the train. Led by Captain James G. Willie, the company had waited for more than a month in Iowa City for their handcarts to be finished. Some of the leaders of the Church Emigration organization wondered if it wasn’t too late in the year for another group to head to Utah, but enthusiasm was high and they decided to go ahead.
On Saturday, August 17th, Joseph Elder wrote in his diary:
“We organized ourselves for the march to Salt Lake City, more than [1,600 kilometers] away. It was quite an interesting sight to see the carts roll out in their several divisions and to see the people in such good faith. Although the Plains had never been crossed by handcarts, they believed they could accomplish it.”
Joseph was assigned to drive one of the extra supply wagons and to help with the livestock that was taken along for food. The entire company included, by his estimate, “about 450 people, with about 120 handcarts and six supply wagons.” They were divided into groups of tens and hundreds.
As they left the area of Florence, Nebraska, or the Winter Quarters camp, there were three other handcart companies ahead of them on the trail, and the Martin Handcart Company was just a few days behind them. These 1856 companies were the first to try to cross the plains with only handcarts and tents. When the Willie Company left Winter Quarters, the three earliest groups were still four weeks away from Salt Lake City. No one had yet proven that a large group of men, women, and children, including the aged and sick, could walk to Zion. But they wanted to try, even if it was late in the year.
But as time passed, the pioneers faced serious problems. The handcarts for the Willie and Martin companies had been hastily made and breakdowns were frequent. Stopping for repairs meant that food supplies had to last longer, and that the pioneers would be traveling through the mountains later in the season.
Even though Joseph Elder was diligent in his assignment to hunt buffalo for the handcart company, the animals were not always available, and all provisions became scarce. Cattle and some oxen had been lost to the stampeding buffalo. Flour had to be rationed, and there was little other food left. Some of the Saints began to weaken with hunger. The company relied heavily on the promises they had that Church leaders in Salt Lake City would be sending supply wagons to meet them.
By September 26 the first three handcart companies reached the Salt Lake Valley, but the Willie Company was still far behind in mountainous country. Joseph Elder records that they reached Fort Laramie, Wyoming, about October 1. Every day from Fort Laramie on they were climbing higher into the mountains. On the day that they traveled twenty-five kilometers without water, they also gave out the last of their flour. They were still hundreds of kilometers from Salt Lake City with no word yet on when help might be coming with more food.
A major setback for the handcart company was an unusually early and heavy winter snow storm. The pioneers tried to shelter themselves from the storm, but their tents were useless in such bad weather. “It was very bad, because the people were weak, having been on small rations of food,” wrote Joseph. But, as the storm passed, a great shout arose from the camp. They caught sight of a wagon. Two men from Salt Lake City were bringing word that teams of horses and wagons and provisions were onto their way. “It was glorious news,” wrote Joseph, but news alone did not feed the hundred of hungry Saints or keep them warm in this hour of critical need.
“The next morning when we got up, the pioneers were hungry and cold. To rush them into the snow would be certain death to a great many of them, for we had not yet met the relief wagons, only the one wagon which passed us and went on the Martin Company.”
Joseph recorded in his diary that Captain Willie then decided to take Joseph with him to go in search of the relief wagons. The company would make a camp and try to shelter themselves as best they could. Each pioneer had been allowed a maximum of only eight kilograms of clothing and bedding to keep the handcart light. In the severe cold, it wasn’t enough. Many Saints were literally freezing.
“We started ahead in search of our brethren,” wrote Joseph, and they rode on old and tired mules for [eighteen kilometers] with the snow and bitter wind blowing in their faces all day. The next day they found a guidepost where they were directed to their rescuers, who had been delayed in the storm. “Great was their joy in seeing us for they had been searching for us for a long time.”
It was another day and a half of difficult traveling until Captain Willie and Joseph Elder could lead the rescuers back to the camp to help. They found the cold had taken a terrible toll.
Joseph recorded: “That was an awful day. Many can never forget the scenes they witnessed that day. Men, women and children weakened by cold and hunger, weeping, crying, and some even dying by the roadside. … Oh how my heart did quake and shudder at the awful scenes which surrounded me. The next morning we buried nine, all in one deep grave.”
The fate of the Willie Handcart Company would be remembered as one of the saddest trials of all those endured by Mormon pioneers. But with fresh supplies of food and clothing, the health of the group gradually improved and even the weather got better. “We continued a steady march and at last to our great joy we arrived at Great Salt Lake City on November 9, 1856.” But our of the 450 Saints who had started the trek, sixty-seven died along the way.
Just two weeks after the group’s arrival, Joseph heard Church President Brigham Young issue a call for volunteers to go out and help the 600 members of the Martin Handcart Company still in the mountains in deep snow.
Joseph left that day with the other volunteers.
In the mountains the snow was almost three meters deep, and the wagons couldn’t get through. The volunteers had to carry the supplies on their backs to the handcart company. With the others, Joseph helped set up a camp to prepare the members of the company for the final effort to reach Salt Lake City.
Finally, all the handcart pioneers were safely gathered to Zion, where they went about the business of starting new lives.
Joseph found employment teaching school and driving a carriage for Brigham Young. He soon met Margaret Joiner, a lovely young English convert who had come to Utah with a wagon train of pioneers. In time they were married and became the parents of seven children, only two of whom lived to adulthood. Joseph served a short mission in Illinois, and, in 1878, at the age of forty-three, he served a mission to Europe.
Joseph Benson Elder lived a long life filled with Church service, in which he found much satisfaction.

Once my brothers and I were sledding down the hill in our backyard. My older brother said it was time to go inside, but I said, “Once more, please!” Both my brother and I had a bad feeling about it, but he pushed me down the hill anyway. I ran into a tree and had to get seven stiches in my chin. I know that bad feeling was the Holy Ghost warning me. I should have listened!
Madelyn G., age 8, Idaho

Noting the unwavering, absolute position of the North Star, one writer told the contrasting story of a young boy who became lost on a camping trip. When his father finally found him, his father asked if he had remembered to pick out something in the landscape that he could always see. This, his father said, would have helped him to fix a steady position. The boy said, “I did.”
“What was it?” the father asked.
“That rabbit over there,” the boy said.
Young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, fix your gaze on the unchanging standards of the gospel and not on the moving rabbit.

We love the Friend and read from it almost every morning. After reading “Conference Reverence Tent” in the October 2008 issue, we decided to make our own conference reverence tent for the next conference. We decorated the inside of the tent with pillows, blankets, and a picture of Jesus. We were happy we were listening when President Monson announced there was going to be a temple built in Calgary—that’s where we live!

From the time I received the first birthday dollar from my grandmother I was taught to save one dime to return to the Lord as tithing. Tithing settlements were something I always looked forward to. I loved to watch the bishop put a check mark by the words “full-tithe payer” and know that the Lord was pleased with me.
I’d never held much of a job growing up, and most of my income came from baby-sitting. I kept my tithing in a separate envelope until I remembered to take it to church. Often six months worth of tithing went with me to tithing settlement.
When I got my first job after high school, I decided to open a checking account so that I would have easier access to my money. Unfortunately, I didn’t open a savings account for my tithing, and I hadn’t formed the habit of paying it on a monthly basis. But I lived at home and spent very little money, so I didn’t worry much about it.
I loved working as a nurses’ aide at the local hospital, and by the first of December I decided to apply for admission to the nearby junior college. I counted what I had in the bank and was excited to confirm that I had enough money for housing and tuition for the next three semesters if I finished working the rest of the month.
So I went to the college, made a down payment for my housing, and paid my tuition. The rest of the housing money was due when I started school the first week of January.
It was then that I realized I had forgotten to take into account the tithing that was outstanding when I balanced my books. What was I going to do?
When my tithing settlement appointment came, I was still unsure how I would handle my situation. It was the first settlement I had attended without my family, and as I sat waiting for my turn, I was tempted for the first time in my life to not pay a full tithe. After all, I reasoned, I’d always paid a full tithe before. What would just this one year matter? Besides, I could always make it up during next year. And my family wouldn’t be there to hear me pronounce the words “part-tithe payer.”
All the stories I’d ever heard about people paying their tithing and still being able to meet bills came to my mind. But they don’t apply to me, I thought. I’m in this situation because I put myself here. I just simply have to choose. Do I want to pay a full tithe, or do I want to go to college?
I still wasn’t sure until the bishop looked me in the eye and asked, “Does this amount represent a full tithe?”
“It doesn’t now, but it will,” I answered as I took out my checkbook and wrote a check for the 80 dollars I owed. Peace flooded over me, and I knew I had made the right choice.
After praying about my situation, I decided to go ahead with my plans for college. I went to the housing office, and I was given a two-week extension. Then I went looking for a job. I found one in the cafeteria, but I wouldn’t be paid in time to meet my obligation.
On the last day of the extension I went to the mailbox and found a check made out to me from the hospital. It was for 90 dollars for the accrued sick and personal-leave days I had not taken. I had no idea it was coming. I now had enough for my tithing and the 80 dollars I owed at the housing office.
This time I paid my tithing first.