Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, Brig Sorenson mapped out and recorded thousands of graves at the local cemetery for his Eagle project. Picking up where Brig left off, the stake arranged an ongoing service project to photograph the hundreds of gravestones in the cemetery for an Internet genealogy database.
“I’d never been in a graveyard before,” says Kirsten Barraclough. “But it was fun to see the names of all the people who died. It was nice to know you are serving others.”
“Some days I come to the cemetery and I feel really sad,” says Jessica McGuire, whose uncle and grandfather are buried there. “But this time I came and helped. It was a lovely feeling.”

I woke up one morning feeling overwhelmed. My duties as a parent felt heavy, and I was very aware of my weaknesses. There seemed to be a large gap between how I imagined I’d be as a parent and how I really am.
I knelt to pray and told Heavenly Father how much I love Him. I told Him how much I love the children He has blessed our family with. And I began telling Him how I was trying to be a good parent, but felt like I wasn’t doing a good enough job. As I prayed, I thought about how much better my children would be if God just raised them Himself.
Then an image came to mind. I pictured my children sweeping the kitchen floor. This is one of many jobs they are assigned to do to help our family. Sometimes watching them do it makes me cringe because they are still learning and miss lots of spots. But I let them do it, as well as other daily chores, because I have a greater vision for them. I know that through all of this imperfect practice, they will learn and grow. Eventually, they will be able to do it just as quickly and effectively as I can. That vision of them becoming responsible and independent is much more rewarding than if I were to do everything myself. I’m not raising children for short-term success—I’m trying to help them be successful in the long run.
And I wondered if perhaps something like this is true for our heavenly parents too. Heavenly Father knows we can’t do a perfect job of being parents. Some things we do probably make Him cringe, but He allows it because He knows we are learning and growing. He has the ultimate long-term perspective. He envisions us someday becoming a parent like Him, able to love completely, teach effectively, and model perfectly. As we fumble, He knows we are developing qualities like patience and charity. And so, in His wisdom, He lets us work and fail and try again.
How I wish I could be a perfect parent already! Like Joseph Smith wrote, I often find myself falling “into many foolish errors” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28). But I find comfort in knowing that God understands my heart, which means He knows I am trying to be teachable. I feel joy when my children ask, “How can I do this better?” and seem to want to improve. At least I can be that way for Heavenly Father.
As all of these thoughts played through my mind, I had one more moment of discouragement. “But what if my parenting mistakes hurt my children?” I asked. “I don’t want to hold them back, even if I become something wonderful in the process.”
Again, the image of my children’s cleaning came to mind. After my daughter earnestly tries to mop the floor and then hurries off to play or finish another task, I usually wash the remaining sticky spots. And I thought of the infinite mercy and power of Jesus Christ, whose Atonement covers every one of life’s sticky situations. His grace makes up for my shortcomings as a parent, just as His grace makes up for the pains my children suffer because of my shortcomings. In a way that none of us can comprehend, His Atonement can heal all of it.
I take great comfort in the personal revelation I received that day. I felt the Spirit teach me that my best efforts, in partnership with the Lord, are enough. I know that Heavenly Father will continue working in the lives of my children, little by little, to perfectly do what I so imperfectly do. With His help, my children can someday shine in their own right, just as brightly as if Heavenly Father had raised them the first time. Except His plan also manages to change me in the process—sanctifying and molding me to become more like Him. How great the wisdom of our God!

Whenever I heard the words “missionary work,” I used to think of giving away a Book of Mormon. While I had previously given away copies of the Book of Mormon, none of the people I gave them to seemed interested. But I didn’t know that for the past year and a half, I have been a missionary just by being who I am and sticking to my standards.
It began on the first day of school one year. I had arrived at my first class early, and so I sat down at a desk in the middle of the classroom. A girl named Alicia* came in and sat in the far back. Since I was alone, I invited her to sit with me. She had just moved from Mexico over the summer, so she didn’t have any friends yet. I was glad we had most of our classes together. That’s how we became friends.
But our lives were very different. Alicia wore outfits that differed from my standards and used bad language. In her old school, she talked back to her teachers, and grades weren’t important to her. She had a bad family life and would sneak out and go to parties.
As we have become good friends, I have noticed a good change in her. She no longer wears inappropriate clothing. She is careful to not use bad language. She has improved her grades, even competing for the highest scores. Her family life is getting a lot better too. She never sneaks out anymore or goes to bad parties.
We talk about her changes and improvements. Alicia told me that one night her boyfriend came over and wanted her to break the law of chastity. She was about to give in when she saw in her mind a flashback of all the improvements she’s made and how proud she is of herself. She wasn’t willing to throw it all away. So she said no and broke up with him. That was the greatest thing for me to hear from her, and I am so proud of her.
Missionary work truly can occur by example as we live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

One Sunday morning in early spring, nine-year-old Emily sat with her family in sacrament meeting. The bishop looked sad as he got up to make the announcements.
“The Schwartz family found out this week that Brother Schwartz has cancer,” the bishop said.
Emily saw that both her parents had tears in their eyes. Emily knew that cancer was a serious illness. She was sad for the Schwartz family too.
After church Emily was reading in the living room when she heard her parents talking about Brother Schwartz’s illness.
“He’s so young,” Mom said.
“I know.” Dad spoke softly. “His medicine and treatment will cost a lot of money. I wish there was something we could do to help.”
Emily looked out the window. The spring rains had made the neighborhood beautiful and green. The grass and flowers were growing fast. Seeing the yards all along the street gave Emily an idea. She ran to the kitchen to tell her parents.
“I want to help Brother Schwartz!” Emily said with a smile.
“What do you want to do, honey?” Mom asked.
Emily pointed out the window. “I want to mow our neighbors’ lawns and give the money to the Schwartzes.”
Dad smiled. “That’s a great idea, Em.”
That week Emily talked to lots of neighbors about mowing their lawns. By Saturday she had a full day of grass cutting lined up.
On Saturday, Emily pushed the mower up and down the yards in her neighborhood. All day. As she mowed, her arms and legs seemed to get heavier and heavier. But she was determined to keep going. She wanted to finish all the lawns.
It’s for Brother Schwartz, she kept telling herself. Her arms were sore from pushing, and her legs were tired and wobbly. But she kept mowing—only a few more lawns to go.
It was time for dinner when Emily finally finished. She walked home slowly. I’ve never been so tired in my whole life! she thought.
After dinner Emily walked to Brother Schwartz’s house. She was excited as she rang the doorbell.
Sister Schwartz opened the door.
“Hi, Sister Schwartz,” Emily said. “I mowed a bunch of lawns in the neighborhood and wanted to give you the money to help your family.”
Emily handed an envelope stuffed with money to Sister Schwartz.
Sister Schwartz started to cry. “Thank you, Emily,” she said.
“You’re welcome! I hope Brother Schwartz gets better.” Emily turned with a big smile and headed home.
She was tired from her hard work, but she felt warm and happy because she knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus are happy when we help others. And now she just couldn’t stop grinning.

Several months ago, after boarding an airplane scheduled to fly to Phoenix, Arizona, the passengers found themselves retained on the ground because of foggy weather. While we were waiting, the door of the airplane opened several times and others joined us, even though it was half an hour or more after the plane should have departed.
A young teenager took the vacant seat beside me. After a short time, he looked toward me and said, “Hey, mister, are you a Mormon?”
I said “Yes” and inquired why he asked.
He reported, “I joined the Church several months ago, but I don’t know whether I believe it anymore.”
We talked about the gospel. I bore my testimony. We discussed many things relating to the Church and to life. Meanwhile, the plane had left Salt Lake and was winging its way south.
This fine young man who wanted to have his testimony reaffirmed and strengthened was willing to do something about it. Cody and I are pen pals now. When I think of him, I recall a wonderful young man, searching for truth, needing a little reassurance, and seeking it on his own. He took responsibility.

Sasha Strachova tells a story of her own about finding the light. When she was 13 years old, she began to feel a yearning to know God. She prayed for months. Then one day two LDS missionaries spoke in her school class. They quoted 2 Nephi 2:25 [2 Ne. 2:25]: “Men are, that they might have joy.”
“I felt they knew how we could be happy,” she remembers. Her mother granted Sasha permission to attend a Church meeting.
“I felt love there,” Sasha says. “I felt life in the people. I wanted to feel what they were feeling.”
To convince her mother to let the missionaries teach them a lesson, Sasha washed the floors every day for a month. And when the missionaries arrived, they were surprised to find the apartment crowded with teenagers. Sasha had invited her entire school class! Three months later, with parental approval, she and two of her friends were baptized.

Sister Paris said that just a couple of weeks before the hurricane, she had attended training workshops held by the Church in collaboration with the National Disaster Committee and the Red Cross. They were reminded to store water, food, and medicine and secure important documents in a safe place. Because she was prepared, she and her family had the necessary supplies to sustain themselves and also help others around them. She said, “Because of the teaching of the Church, I was prepared. My family was not hungry or without basic needs. I am grateful I had attended the workshop and also grateful my life was spared so that I could reach out to those in need, as my Savior would.”
When asked what she would do differently if ever faced with a disaster of this magnitude again, she said, “This was my first time experiencing anything like this, and I never expected to see such destruction. The most important lesson I learned from Hurricane Beryl is the importance of self-reliance. I will increase my food and water storage. My emergency supplies will be better organized. I will secure my home and seek safe shelter for my family. I will also reach out to others to make sure they are prepared.”

The Lord speaks of offerings in the plural. He expects us, as a condition of faithfulness, to pay our tithing and our fast offerings to help the poor and the needy. But we are privileged to make other offerings, not by way of assignment, assessment, or ecclesiastical direction. Among these are donations to the General Missionary Fund, Humanitarian Aid Fund, and the Book of Mormon Fund. We are also privileged to voluntarily contribute to building the new temples President Hinckley has announced.

Recently I received an anonymous letter from a person who made a substantial sacrifice for the General Temple Fund of the Church. She said: “I decided when I wanted to spend any money on myself I would forgo it and put the money into the temple fund. This meant no new clothes or shoes, books, hair appointments, necklaces, or anything of a personal nature until I reached my goal. I thought this would be a sacrifice, but instead I have found joy in it. It has been a rewarding and fulfilling experience.”

Our faith can and will increase as we make an effort to study the scriptures daily and as we familiarise ourselves with the teachings of His prophets and apostles. While growing up as a young boy, I lived with my grandmother. She could not read or write, but she loved the scriptures. She went to Church every Sunday and memorised the verses that were read aloud. She would then return home and ask me to read them to her over and over again.

One night whilst reading 1 Samuel, chapter 3, I came across a scripture that got me to sit up and wonder. I read about how Samuel was called as a prophet. That scripture stirred something within me. In fact, from that moment onward I started wondering why God had stopped calling prophets in our day. I started by asking the very pastors in our family church; and since they could only attest it to the fact that God has spoken and that’s why we have the Bible, I started looking elsewhere. I then started a quest of searching for a church that believed in a God that spoke to His children through prophets and apostles as He did to Samuel of old.

I was only about 10 or 11 years old when I started this search, which took me from church to church until I met the missionaries as a teenager. The question I had for them in our first meeting was simple, “Do you believe in a God who speaks? Their answer was a resounding “yes”, and then they shared with me how Father in Heaven called Joseph Smith and restored His church through Him. I joined the Church because of that simple answer, and through the years I have been richly blessed by the teachings of living prophets and apostles. Their counsel has helped me increase both my faith in and testimony of the Saviour Jesus Christ. A simple practice of daily scripture study as taught by my grandmother has helped me as an individual, and now as a father—as my wife and I strive to teach our children the value of daily scripture study.

My mom is a great example to me and takes time to help me learn how to clean and cook better. She also tries to help me sew. When I came in last during a race, she showed me the scripture in Ether 12:27 to help me realize that Heavenly Father loves me despite my weaknesses. She teaches us about loving our family when she reads to us and gathers us all around her. Because of her, we like to be together as a family.

He hopped on one foot to the backyard. Scrunching down on the sidewalk, he looked to see if the birds had eaten the bread crumbs he had put out for them before breakfast.
“Oh, oh—ants!” he said. Ants were carrying off the rest of the bread crumbs. Then Kevin spotted a tiny ant trying to lift a bread crumb twice its size.
Backward and forward the ant staggered, clutching the crumb. And each time it dropped the crumb the ant picked it up again.
“C’mon, Ant, you can do it,” Kevin said.
At last the ant balanced the bread crumb just right and scurried off home with it.
“Good for you,” said Kevin.

Kelly Quinton, 16, of Corner Brook, tells of being asked by her teacher to give a report on Mormonism and answer questions from the class afterward.
“We hadn’t been members very long then, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to answer all of their questions, but there was nothing anyone asked I couldn’t answer. My teacher later told me she was impressed by how much I knew about my religion and of how strongly I felt about it.”

Things had not gone smoothly that morning. Getting my fifteen-month-old and my new baby ready to go anywhere was still an adjustment for me. I was relieved to see a parking space right across the street from the medical clinic. With a little luck I would still be on time for the baby’s first check-up.
It wasn’t easy to climb out of our small car and cross the street with a diaper bag, a baby in an infant seat, and a toddler who was just taking her first steps alone. As we prepared to cross the street I noticed our car was very close to the driveway of the house we had parked in front of. I saw a curtain move and a face peering out, but I quickly turned away. “It’s not fair,” I reasoned; “I’ve had to rush around all morning and all she’s had to do is look out the window daring someone to park too close to her driveway.”
The long wait in the waiting room, my fussy baby, and my restless toddler all made me feel even more frustrated when I emerged from the clinic an hour later. Just as I was about to cross the street, the woman, about seventy years old, came rushing out of her house. All my morning’s frustration came to the surface; expecting harsh words from her, I felt I would either burst into tears or explode in anger.
Then it happened. Her words astonished me. “You poor little dear,” she said. “I’ve been watching for you. I was mad at myself for not coming out to help you when you drove up. Let me help you to your car. You’ve really got your hands full.”
Tears filled my eyes as I realized how quickly and how wrongly I had judged her. I had let my unhappy attitude determine the way I viewed her.
Since then, when tempted to judge someone’s motives, I remember that woman’s actions and try to expect the best.

In 1938, during the middle of the Great Depression in the United States, my mother had just turned nineteen years old. She was the oldest of six children, with her youngest sibling having recently turned five. Her father, Leslie, was a sheepherder in the deserts of eastern Utah. The weather was hot and dry. One summer day in June, while Leslie was out tending the sheep, he became dehydrated and suffered from heat stroke. At age 41, he died suddenly, leaving his wife and six children with no husband and father and very little financial means. My mother did not understand why God would take her father when she felt the family needed him so desperately. She prayed and asked God why her father would die at that particular time.
My mother sought to learn from God why her father died when he was young and had a family that needed him so much during a time of great economic difficulty. The answer she received did not come quickly, but it did come. After studying the scriptures and praying for many days, her answer came in a dream. The answer was clear and brought peace and understanding to her soul.
I witness that Jesus Christ lives. He is the all-powerful Son of God. He knows us personally. He can guide and comfort us during times of uncertainty, pain, or fear if we listen to His words and seek to hearken and to heed what He tells us to do. I also witness that Jesus Christ directs His ordained servants and speaks through them. I have personally felt His clear direction in preparing messages for general conference.
As we listen to the messages during general conference—and seek to hearken and heed the words of Jesus Christ—He will speak to our hearts. He can and will help us to deal with temptation, struggles, and weakness. We can experience miracles in our marriages, family relationships, and daily work. Jesus Christ seeks to help us feel increased joy even if turbulence surrounds us. May we turn to Him and hearken and heed His words.

I encourage you to become familiar with the Book of Mormon, particularly. I remember an incident with my own son. He called me one day to ask if I wouldn’t come up to his bedroom. When I got there, I found he had several books on the bed. He said to me, “You know, I have a job with my uncle herding turkeys this summer. I once heard you say that the turkey is the dumbest animal on the farm, so I assume I’m going to have time on my hands.” Then he asked me to pick out the books I would recommend.

I picked up a little military edition of the Book of Mormon. I said, “This will fit in your hip pocket.”

He said, “You mean to tell me I’m to take only one book?”

I said, “Yes, and you’ll learn to love it, and you’ll learn to love missionary work”—and he did.

Elder James E. Talmage, who authored Jesus the Christ, stated:
“I was called and ordained one Sunday morning, … and that afternoon was placed as a sentinel at the door of the house in which the Saints had met for worship. As soon as I had been ordained, a feeling came to me such as I have never been able to fully describe. It seemed scarcely possible, that I, a little boy, could be so honored of God as to be called to the priesthood. I had read of the sons of Aaron and Levi who were chosen for the sacred labors of the Lesser Priesthood, but that I should be called to do part of the service that had been required of them was more than my little mind could grasp. I was both frightened and happy. Then, when I was placed on duty at the door, I forgot that I was but [a] … lad; I felt strong in the thought that I belonged to the Lord, and that he would assist me in whatever was required of me. I could not resist the conviction that other sentinels, stronger by far than I, stood by me though invisible to human eyes.
“The effect of my ordination to the deaconship entered into all the affairs of my boyish life. I am afraid that sometimes I forgot what I was, but I have ever been thankful that ofttimes I did remember, and the recollection always served to make me better. When at play on the school grounds, and perhaps tempted to take unfair advantage in the game, when in the midst of a dispute with a playmate, I would remember, and the thought would be as effective as though spoken aloud—‘I am a deacon; and it is not right that a deacon should act in this way.’ On examination days, when it seemed easy for me to copy some other boys’ work or to ‘crib’ from the book, I would remember again,—‘I am a deacon, and must be honest and true.’ When I saw other boys cheating in play or in school, I would say in my mind, ‘It would be more wicked for me to do that than it is for them because I am a deacon’” (Incidents from the Lives of Our Church Leaders: Course of Studyfor the Quorums of the Priesthood: Deacons, 1914, pp. 135–36).

I had always wanted a horse, and I shared that desire with my father as we worked together on the farm. One day, Dad took me to a horse auction with him to buy a pony. We sat and watched as different horses were brought into the arena. Before long, four foals were shown. Dad started to bid and eventually was the highest bidder for a sum of eleven dollars. As highest bidder, he had first choice to buy any one of the foals.

He turned to me and said, “OK, Son, which one do you want?” I was so excited! My dream had come true. There were three healthy foals and one that was scrawny and thin. I picked the scrawny one. I felt sorry for her and told my dad, “She needs me.”

We didn’t have any way to get my new foal home, so we took the backseat out of the car, and my father sat in the back of the car, holding the colt while my uncle drove us home.

I named my new friend Lady. She was very tiny and young; I had to feed her from a bottle three times a day. She followed me around and was almost like a member of the family! She mimicked everything I did. If I squealed, she squealed. When I ran, she ran right behind me. I enjoyed graham crackers, and that was her favorite treat as well. She grew into one of the most beautiful, award-winning, and well-mannered riding horses I have ever seen.

I feel blessed to have been raised in the gospel and to have had many good examples of missionary service within my own family. My family members have served teaching missions all over the world.
I am autistic and serving a mission was something I presumed I would never be able to do. Then an insightful bishop discussed the possibility of a service mission with me and my family. Upon hearing about service missions and what they entailed, I immediately felt that it was something that I wanted to do; it could be such a wonderful blessing in my life.
At times, my life has felt challenging, living with autism can be frustrating and lonely. To be able to represent and serve the Lord as service missionary has made me feel included, valued, and loved. I have made many new friends within the mission and feel a great sense of belonging.
I was set apart as a service missionary in October 2021. I have received much support and excellent training from my service-mission leaders, Elder and Sister Crew.
So far, I have been involved with The Billion Graves Project linked to FamilySearch. With support I have transcribed information from headstones and uploaded this, for other people to access. I have transcribed information from many Commonwealth war graves and uploaded many poignant epitaphs. I have also taken photographs of headstones in local cemeteries and been involved in uploading them to FamilySearch for other people to access and use. Being engaged in this work has led to my greater appreciation of temple and family-history work. I feel a closer connection to my own ancestors.
I am shortly due to begin serving in a local food and clothing bank and look forward to serving and meeting new people in my local community.
My family and I consider it a sacred privilege that I have been called to a service mission in the Lichfield Stake. As I diligently serve and represent the Saviour in this way, other people will feel the love that He has for them. I hope others will want to serve a mission through my example. I feel that I am being blessed with a greater understanding and appreciation of Jesus Christ as my personal Saviour, as I emulate His example and serve people as He did.

When our only daughter, Lindsay, was young, she and I enjoyed watching movies together. One that we enjoyed and watched together many times was an animated film called Finding Nemo. In the movie, Nemo is caught by a scuba diver and ends up in a fish tank in a dentist’s office. His father, Marlin, is determined to find Nemo. Marlin meets a fish named Dory during his journey. They face obstacle after obstacle as they try to find Nemo. Whether the obstacle is big or small, Dory’s message to Marlin is the same: “Just keep swimming.”
Several years later Lindsay served a mission in Santiago, Chile. Missions are hard. Disappointments are many. Each week at the end of my email I wrote, “Just keep swimming. Love, Dad.”
When Lindsay was expecting her second child, she found out that her unborn baby had a hole in his heart and that he had Down syndrome. As I wrote to her during this very difficult time, I closed my emails, “Just keep swimming.”
Obstacles come into each of our lives, but to get through them and to get where we want to go, we must keep swimming.

Almost as soon as the caravan stopped at the end of the forest road, the doors popped open and Scouts, dads, and a lot of backpacking equipment and fluorescent-orange life jackets came tumbling out of the cars and trucks. In no time at all the Scouts were lined up, drawing their allotment of food to carry, and stuffing it into their packs. Everyone seemed to know his duty and how to perform it. The few dads who were along to help were impressed with the organization. In fact, the only person not surprised by all this super efficiency performed by 12- and 13-year-old boys was their Scoutmaster, Nob Wimmer.
For Brother Wimmer this trip with the American Fork Utah 14th Ward Scouts was only one of hundreds of Scouting outings he has participated in during his 25 years of Scouting experience.
When asked how he got 12- and 13-year-old boys to perform much beyond their years, he commented on his philosophy:
“The age of the boys isn’t that critical. With cooperation you’d be surprised what even young boys can accomplish. There are three elements that do seem to make for a great trip. First, you need to plan well in advance. Second, a trip needs to require effort from everyone. Preferably the work starts a long time before the trip. If it does, the people involved get more excited about the actual event, they learn more, and they improve their teamwork. Then when we have taken care of all the variables that we can control, the third element of a great trip often comes into play. This is the element of surprise—the unexpected or the unusual happening that really makes the event stay alive in people’s minds long after the trip is over.”
To the 35 Scouts and adults who went, the trip was a success. They had been planning for months; each of them knew his duties and how to carry them out. They had also been working very hard to get ready. They learned how to handle canoes. They conditioned themselves to their backpacks, and many of the Scouts invested extra hours in learning to tie fishing flies. They worked one evening a week with Brother Wimmer learning how to do it, and then they tied quantities of flies in anticipation of the trip. In addition, every meal of the five-day camp was carefully planned in advance. Then, a few days before the trip, the food was bought and repacked so it would be easier to carry. They used off-the-shelf grocery items rather than the more expensive dehydrated backpacking foods. They even made their own oven-dried jerky to save on weight and expense.
Once the gear was out of the vehicles and strapped on backs, everyone started up the trail together. The few miles to the lake seemed more like a dozen since each person not only had to carry his own personal gear but also had to take a turn helping to carry one of the canoes.
At the lake, supplies and Scouts were ferried across the water to a lovely campsite. Scouts built simple, plastic-covered shelters under the pines, and had camp completely set up and organized in time to take in an evening’s fishing.
It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”
The next morning Bishop Bean found fresh moose tracks around his sleeping bag, and there were deer tracks all through camp. After that everyone kept watch for the abundant wildlife in the area. Every morning and evening they were able to watch moose saunter down to the lake for a drink and a swim.
“The wildlife provided the unusual and the unexpected on this trip,” said Brother Wimmer. “Each day most of the boys got to see deer and moose in their natural setting. The animals didn’t even seem frightened of us. We didn’t bother them, and they seemed content to let us share their lake for a few days.”
Everyone caught some fish, and even one boy who had been cool on the trip in the first place had a terrific time. He told the leaders when they were planning the trip, “I don’t want to go up in the woods somewhere and play cowboys and Indians.”
““He sure got interested when the fish started biting,” said Bishop Bean. Like the rest of the boys, he had set goals he wanted to accomplish on this trip. Each boy became more proficient at some skill, and they were all better trained to operate as a group than ever before.”
During lunch one day one of the adults was swatting at some of the huge horseflies that seemed to be everywhere. “These horseflies are terrible,” he said.
Brother Wimmer piped up, “Don’t say that! Nothing up here is terrible!”
“Okay, I’ll just say the horseflies are mildly aggravating.”
“Fine,” said Brother Wimmer with a smile, and then let silence complete the sermon. It was a sermon that was relived time and again as the boys later shared the memories of this experience at troop meetings and a special ward banquet in their honor.