Gospel Story Finder

Back in my home city, I attended my new ward and was even given callings. I tried to remain active, but everything in life felt like it was against me, resulting in my dwindling church attendance.
I continued along on a crazy rollercoaster ride through life but never lost faith in what I believed in. I knew that the Church held the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and everything I needed in life.
I had occasionally attended different wards during those years of being less active and saw the difference between being welcomed and being unnoticed. Fortunately, missionaries bridged the gap and ministered to my needs until I finally came back to church. My home ward truly welcomed me home. I felt like I belonged the moment I stepped through the doors. Because of those welcoming members, I continued to attend and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel.

The back windows of our home overlook a small flower garden and the woods which border a small stream. One wall of the house borders on the garden and is thickly covered with English ivy. Most years this ivy has been the nesting place for house finches. The nests in the vines are safe from foxes and raccoons and cats that are about.
One day there was a great commotion in the ivy. Desperate cries of distress came as 8 or 10 finches from the surrounding woods came to join in this cry of alarm. I soon saw the source of the commotion. A snake had slid partway down out of the ivy and hung in front of the window just long enough for me to pull it out. The middle part of the snake’s body had two bulges—clear evidence convicting it of taking two fledglings from the nest. Not in the 50 years we had lived in our home had we seen anything like that. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience—or so we thought.
A few days later there was another commotion, this time in the vines covering our dog run. We heard the same cries of alarm, the gathering of the neighborhood finches. We knew what the predator was. A grandson climbed onto the run and pulled out another snake that was still holding on tightly to the mother bird it had caught in the nest and killed.
I said to myself, “What is going on? Is the Garden of Eden being invaded again?”
There came into my mind the warnings spoken by the prophets. We will not always be safe from the adversary’s influence, even within our own homes. We need to protect our nestlings.

I hope a personal example will help you as you do the spiritually invigorating work to learn for yourself what it means to be endowed with God’s power.
One day I received a text message from my daughter-in-law Amy: “Say a prayer for Dottie.”
My granddaughter Dottie hadn’t slept the night before. Amy had been up all night with her and said that Dottie was feverish. Amy gave her some medicine, but Dottie was still hot and restless. And my son Connor was traveling for work and not scheduled to be home for another two days.
When morning finally arrived, Amy found Dottie’s lips blue. Her hands were likewise blue and cold to the touch. Amy immediately had the impression, “Get Dottie to the pediatrician.” She heeded that prompting, called the pediatrician’s office, and was assured they would get Dottie right in.
Fortunately, the pediatrician’s office is across the street from my mom’s house. Amy felt impressed to drive by my mom’s house. My mother was working in her yard and happy to take Dottie’s four-year-old sister, Goldie, while Amy took Dottie to the pediatrician. It was an answer to Amy’s concern about needing to keep track of Goldie and attend to Dottie at the same time.
The pediatrician found that Dottie had pneumonia, likely from aspirating some bath water a few days earlier. Dottie was treated with antibiotics and spent the rest of the day in her mother’s arms, elevated to open her airways and ease her breathing.
I offered to pick up some dinner on my way home. And Amy let me, for which I was grateful. I wondered how Amy had managed after a sleepless night, the stress of having a sick toddler, and the need to attend to Goldie.
I walked in their home with the sack of take-out food and found Amy and the girls peaceful. There was a spring in Amy’s step and light in her countenance. She was calm, even facing another night alone with sick Dottie. She wasn’t afraid. She was confident. It was a peace that defied understanding. I just wanted to sit in the moment and soak it in.
Amy strives to keep her covenants with God and is blessed by His strengthening power. The Spirit had prompted her to take the actions she did to care for Dottie. And the Lord’s power enhanced her capacity to address her family’s needs in patience and love and with a calm reassurance that all would be well.

Children are so capable of learning the significant things of the kingdom. As we listen to them, we can better understand how they are applying what they are learning about the gospel. A father explained to his four-year-old daughter that the family had spent most of the day cleaning the house and every room was clean except one.

“Do you know which room is not clean?” he asked her.

“Mine,” she quickly replied.

“Do you know anyone who could help clean your room?” he asked, expecting her to answer that she could.

Instead she replied, “Well, Daddy, I know that any time you are scared, worried, or need help, you can get down on your knees and ask Heavenly Father to help.”

It is interesting to note that as we listen to our children, they can also teach us. A father shared an experience he had with his eight-year-old daughter. He said: “While I was contemplating remarks for my sacrament meeting talk on ‘Becoming like Little Children,’ I asked my daughter why we needed to become like little children. She responded, ‘Because we are all little children compared to Jesus, and because little children have a good imagination.’”

Surprised by the last part of her answer, he asked why we need a good imagination. She replied, “So we can imagine Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross, and when we take the sacrament we can think about Him.”

As in all things, the Savior set the example for us in how we should love and teach our children. When He appeared to the Nephites in the Western Hemisphere, the scriptures tell us that as He spoke to the people, “he wept, … and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.”

Referring to this occasion, President Gordon B. Hinckley said, “There is no more tender and beautiful picture in all of sacred writing than this simple language describing the love of the Savior for little children.”

The key to accomplishing effective gospel teaching in the home is to invite the Spirit of the Lord to be with us. Some of the best counsel my husband and I received during some turbulent times of raising our children was to do all that is possible to invite and keep the Spirit in our home. Children cannot learn spiritual things and have spiritual feelings without the guidance of the Spirit.

As parents, we can share our testimony of Jesus Christ with our children often. The bearing of testimony, whether during family home evening or in a teaching moment, will invite the Spirit. President Boyd K. Packer also instructs us to “teach our young people to bear testimony—to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, that the Book of Mormon is true.”

President Hinckley reassures us: “Of all the joys of life, none other equals that of happy parenthood. Of all the responsibilities with which we struggle, none other is so serious. To rear children in an atmosphere of love, security, and faith is the most rewarding of all challenges.”

I know—with an exclamation mark—that children can receive a witness by the Spirit that brings conviction and commitment to their hearts! I bear witness that this is our charge, this is our opportunity: to diligently teach and testify to our children of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that they might also hear the “voice of gladness.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

To Doug Spencer, the most interesting thing to watch is a house being built. “The color of that brand-new wood and seeing it stick framed and slowly coming together—that’s as exciting to me as going to a movie or anything else.”
Not surprisingly then, Doug Spencer of Tooele, Utah, has decided on a career as a builder, more specifically, a carpenter. He is just completing a four-year apprenticeship to become a journeyman carpenter. The program, run by the carpenter’s union, combines on-the-job training with evening classwork. Although Doug does not enjoy schoolwork, the apprenticeship classes were more interesting to him because they related closely with his profession.
Doug’s love of woodworking has been an interest for as long as he can remember. “When I was a kid, the neighbor across the street was a contractor. I would go over to his house because he would let me help him build things and teach me how to use tools.”
Another example to Doug during his growing up years was his Scoutmaster. “It sounds funny,” says Doug, “but when I was a kid I would look at his hands. They were weathered from working hard. I wanted my hands to look like his. He was such a good man. I wanted to be just like him.”
Although Doug says he never cared for school, his family had strong academic ties. Doug’s father was the Dean of Admissions and Records at BYU for years. His parents encouraged Doug to take different kinds of classes and get a taste of everything. His father came up with a unique way to encourage Doug to get good grades in junior high and high school. They had a deal that if Doug maintained a B average, his father would buy him a new tool at the end of the semester.
After high school, Doug left to serve a mission where he faced a challenge. A mission required a lot of study and hard work. Doug knew all about the value of hard work from his part-time jobs. Hard work didn’t worry him. He applied his attitude of never quitting when the going gets tough to the study he needed for his mission. “I learned the scriptures,” says Doug, “and that made me feel good about myself so I could talk intelligently about the Church.”
When he returned from his mission, he started working full-time in an office. But he wasn’t happy. He wanted to build something where he could see his progress day to day. “When I worked in the office job, I couldn’t turn around after a year and see what I had accomplished. I can work for one week framing a house and turn around and see what I’ve done. I just like to be able to look and appreciate the job I’ve done.” With the support of his wife, Janell, and his parents, Doug applied for and was accepted in the carpenter’s union apprenticeship program.
The life of a carpenter can be a good and righteous life. After all, the greatest man to walk the earth knew the feel of tools and the smell of new wood.

I read one experience of a woman in her mobile home. As she heard the winds approaching, she went into her bathroom and crouched down on the floor hoping to avoid injury. She felt her trailer shake, she was jostled around, and then everything was quiet. As she crouched motionless in her bathroom, she heard the voice of her neighbor who lived approximately 50 yards away from her. The voice said, “I am here in the front room.”
She thought somehow her neighbor had come into her trailer and was looking for her. She soon, however, was very surprised to find that was not the case at all, but that the winds had lifted, carried, and landed her trailer upright on the top of her neighbor’s trailer. She had not realized it, but her trailer had been flying through the air. Her neighbor was actually below her, in the neighbor’s own mobile home.

Humphrey of the Upper Hill Ward is also a teacher. He was baptized into the Church just two years ago. As Martin did, Humphrey currently attends boarding school. Part of the reason his faith has grown so much since he joined the Church is that he receives all his seminary assignments by post (by mail), does them, and returns them promptly to his seminary teacher.
When boarding school closes, Humphrey typically has to walk 45 minutes one way on Sundays to get a ride to church. Nevertheless, he is always early at church and ready to serve as assigned.
Whenever he receives an assignment to speak, Humphrey is diligent in his preparation. It is clear to all who listen that he has put much effort into preparing his talk.

Early the next morning we had one of the loveliest experiences of our lives, as we visited the Church School of Western Samoa. As we entered the gymnasium, the largest building on the campus, we saw seventeen hundred children sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor, crowded in as tightly as little sardines in a can. They ranged from small four- and five-year-old kindergarten children in the front to teenaged high-school youngsters in the back of the hall. What a beautiful, thrilling sight they were as they sang “I Am a Child of God”! They were all dressed in their school uniforms in colors of blue and gold. With their beautiful dark hair and big brown eyes, they presented a picture of youth and beauty that was breathtaking. The tears came to our eyes quickly and without shame. At the close of my remarks, I announced to the students that in honor of the occasion I was declaring a holiday for the rest of the day. Judging by the sound of the applause, I think I may have become an instant hero—at least for that day. After the brief meeting, we left the hall with the haunting strains of the Samoan farewell song, “Tofa My Faleni,” ringing in our ears and warming our hearts.

When I was growing up and would run into frustrating times, my Dad would always say: “Well, just remember the Book of Mormon says that ‘it came to pass,’ not that it came to stay.”
I found myself in the midst of one of those times recently, wishing that some of my problems would pass and some of my dreams would come true. But neither seemed to be happening. I began to wonder if sometimes things did come to stay. I wondered why some prayers seemed to go unanswered and why some blessings were withheld.
While visiting my parents I found some answers in the corn patch.
It was Saturday and the vegetable garden needed to be irrigated. Since I was home, I volunteered for the assignment.
“Water everything but the corn,” Dad had said as I headed for the ditch with my shovel. I always wondered what Dad had against corn.
“Are you sure it doesn’t need any water?” I asked. He decided to come and check. We walked out to the garden together and looked at the corn, which was about two feet high by then. The leaves were wilting and had begun to droop from the heat.
The last family home evening in May, we usually planted our garden. A frost would come a few days before the end of the month, and then summer weather began. That was the time for planting.
Grandpa’s rusty old potato planter looked like something out of the ’40s—probably because it was. But it still did a good job of putting the seed potatoes in the ground. Someone had stolen the seat off of it, and Dad sat on a pillow draped over the protruding rod while one of my sisters or I drove the tractor.
We usually planted peas, beans, corn, and potatoes, and sometimes squash. Our garden was growing according to the usual schedule this year. Everything had been watered two or three times since it had been planted except for the corn. It was getting close to July, and still Dad hadn’t watered it.
“I guess now it’s time to water it,” Dad said as he inspected the droopy leaves, and then he explained to me why he had waited so long.
“If you water corn when it first starts to grow, it’ll shoot right up. But it won’t develop a root system to support its height, so it won’t be good for much of anything.”
As he left me, I began thinking about what he had said. He was disciplining the corn so it would be well developed and there would be a balance between the roots and the stalk.
I looked at my own life and thought how much I was like the corn. Crying for water before I’d developed my roots.
I remembered a talk Elder Neal A. Maxwell gave at Ricks College. He talked about being “grounded, rooted, and established.” Maybe the Lord was allowing me to go a little while without water so I would become grounded and well rooted in the gospel. Perhaps there were roots of patience that I had not established. I could work on tolerance and love. I thought of many areas of my life where my roots were shallow.
I have learned not to mind so much the dry spells in my life because I know the Master Gardener will send water in His own due time. And when it comes it will be, as Elder Maxwell calls it, the Malachi measure: “there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Mal. 3:10).

Nineteen-year-old Zeb Jacobs was out on the Mormon Trail because President Brigham Young knew that teenagers like to drive. The prophet hired some older boys, including Zeb, to drive his wagons and carriages in Salt Lake City. But then, early in 1861, Brigham wanted to try a new way to transport immigrants across the plains. He decided to send out “down-and-back” wagon trains—“down” from Utah to Florence, Nebraska, to pick up passengers and bring them “back” to Utah. Needing drivers for the Utah wagons he called Zeb and other “Utah Boys” on down-and-back missions for spring and summer.

Zeb could handle wagons and teams, but he also had skills with a pen. During his down-and-back trip he penned a diary, one of the best trail diaries kept in 1861 and one of the best LDS teenage diaries ever written. Like a camera using words instead of film, his diary recorded some trail pictures, mostly fun pictures that teenagers enjoy. Let’s look in his diary and pick out some word pictures that show what it was like being a teenage driver on the Mormon Trail.

Driving one of the 40 wagons in the Joseph W. Young wagon train, Zeb rolled out of Salt Lake City around April 23, 1861. Three other trains left too, making 200 wagons total heading east that week.

The Utah trains did not travel empty. “In my wagon,” Zeb wrote, “I had a couple of ladies to take East; they are going to Boston.” But his delight in escorting the ladies was short-lived. A westbound company brought news from “the States” that civil war had broken out, so the ladies decided to return to Utah with that company.

Besides passengers, the Utah wagons were stuffed to their bows and covers with flour and supplies to be dropped off at various stops on the “down” trip for use on the “back” trip.

The trail seemed new to Zeb, who was only six when he traveled it to Utah. So, like a tourist, he watched for famous landmarks along the trail. At one, Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, he examined the spot where the snowbound handcart companies holed up in November 1856. Those pioneers had left behind much of their baggage and buried many prized possessions until someone from Utah could pick them up. According to Zeb, he and the Utah Boys “dug out a piano, and several sacks of salt, which had been cached 4 years ago. They were not damaged in the least.”

In May and June he noticed much traffic on the trail. On June 8 his diary noted that Zeb “met 205 emigrant teams bound for California.” Two weeks later he wrote that they passed a large band of Sioux Indians “going to fight the Pawnees.”

For eight weeks Zeb guided wagon and team eastward. Then in late June he parked his wagon in the Joseph W. Young train’s campground about two miles northwest of Florence, Nebraska. For the next two weeks Zeb was a taxi driver, taking his wagon into Florence, picking up passengers for the Young train, and shuttling them to the campground. July 5 was a typical taxi day for him: “I left camp and went to Florence, after a load of Saints. The day was very warm, and I was very tired after my day’s work.” Missouri River steamers unloaded company after company of Saints at the giant LDS campground in Florence, congesting it; “emigrants stowed away in every nook and corner,” is how Zeb described it.

On July 11 Zeb and his train pulled out and started the “back” part of the trip, 1,000 miles to Utah.

Some immigrants were troubled by the rough-looking, rough-talking Utah Boys. According to Englishman William Yates, another diarist on the trail that year, the boys looked and acted like poorly educated frontiersmen. Brother Yates, however, was fooled by appearances, for his own diary is notches below the quality of the one kept by Utah Boy Zeb Jacobs.

The immigrants learned quickly to appreciate the boys’ abilities with oxen and wagons. And they liked to see the Utah Boys do much of the wagon trains’ dirty work. Zeb and the others had to hunt for firewood and buffalo chips, build fires, track down missing cattle, set up and break camps, haul water, and spend hours in rivers helping wagons to cross. At Loup Fork crossing, for example, Zeb “had the pleasure of getting a dunking several times, helping the wagons over.” Near Fort Laramie he wrote: “I was in the water most of the afternoon helping the teams across. The weather was cold.” The boys seemed to enjoy showing off their expertise and strength, however, especially when teenage girls were watching.

The boys’ main assignment was caring for cattle and wagons—hitching, unhitching, feeding, shoeing, corralling, guarding, and mending harnesses. This work provided Zeb with some unexpected adventures. One day, according to his diary, “I was helping to shoe an ox, and witnessed the mosquitoes and horse flies driving off the horses and cattle, and in gathering the animals we kept what is called the dog-trot for about a mile. I finally caught a horse and jumped on him, and with considerable difficulty I succeeded in getting the animals back to camp.”

One night the “mules and horses took a notion they would go and accordingly they went.” The boys started in pursuit “but the night was so dark that we had to take the advantage of the lightning to tell us which way we were going.” When Zeb saw something move in the distance he tried to run to it. “At last I got lost in a swamp but managed, after much trouble, to get back to camp without finding the animals.” Next morning, on foot, the boys found the animals more than nine miles from the camp.

One night Zeb let the terrain keep the cattle from wandering: “Being on guard, I took the mules up a large ravine and stayed until midnight, then Bro. Henry Parker relieved me.”

For teenagers life can never be all hard work. The Utah Boys had fun on the trail too. One day they “caught a string of fish.” Another time they “had a family swim in the Platte.” One morning Zeb and one of the men “crossed the river and found plenty of chokecherries and currants. After satisfying our own appetites we filled our hats and pockets.” In recrossing the river “we got ducked several times, but we hung on to the fruit.” Back at camp they shared the berries and “finding breakfast ready, we ate heartily.”

On July 24, Pioneer Day, the Utah Boys decided to help the campers celebrate. With good-humored exaggeration Zeb wrote of their fun:

“We were up at daylight and called out the ‘National Guard’ [the boys] which fired a volley of musketry, and any kind of guns that were handy. Then the ‘Martial Band’ struck up ‘Hail Columbia’ (the band was composed of tin pails, pans, bake-kettle lids, bells, and various instruments of music); then there was another volley by the Guard; and at sunrise, the firing of cannon (which was about 3 inches in length), and concluded the morning performance with an Indian jig.”

That night the boys held a “grand ball” at the “Bachelors Hall,” meaning a square dance in front of their tents.

August 17 provided one of the highlights of the boys’ fun on the trail. According to Zeb: “As we woke up in the morning all hands began laughing at each other, as our faces were besmeared with tar and wagon grease. Some of the boys from the other camp had paid us a visit and left their compliments upon our faces.”

Humor also helped Zeb describe how the mosquitoes plagued them at swampy stretches of the trail. “Some of us went in the river to bathe,” he wrote once, “but we found the mosquitoes there ahead of us. They very soon got rid of us.” Another evening he said the boys were “entertained with a large and renowned band of minstrels (mosquitoes); they kept us dancing all night.”

On August 30, in the middle of Wyoming, the teenage driver received a special honor. Captain Joseph W. Young needed to rush ahead of his train to catch up with another wagon company, so he selected Zeb to drive him in a wagon pulled by mules. (Mules travel much faster than oxen.) Zeb drove as fast as he could for three days and then Captain Young, needing to travel even faster, hailed a passing stagecoach, boarded it, and left Zeb to travel alone.

Zeb liked the fast mule team which moved him 20 to 45 miles a day, double what wagon trains could cover. But driving alone on the hot, dusty trail and camping by himself at night had its lonely moments. So he enjoyed catching up to other travelers and visiting with them. Late on September 3 he overtook the Joseph Horne train “where I joined the people in that camp in a dance.” An injured man in the camp needed to be hurried to Salt Lake, so Richard Horne joined Zeb as a traveling companion, “and I was very glad of his company,” Zeb confessed.

Zeb, the teenage driver, put his mule-pulled wagon and injured passenger into Salt Lake City in near record time, arriving on September 7 at breakfast time. He beat his Joseph W. Young wagon train there by 16 days. In total, down and back, Zeb had been on the trail for 18 weeks.

It is not known if Zeb kept any diaries after 1861. He made down-and-back trips again in 1862 and 1863. In 1866, at age 24, he married. He served in the Blackhawk War as a sergeant in the cavalry. By career he became a railroad man, working as a popular conductor on the Utah Central Railroad. Late in life he became a guard at the state penitentiary. He remained a lifelong faithful Latter-day Saint.

My dear brothers and sisters, can you see the importance of the Kirtland period that we have discussed tonight? As I conclude, may I share with you a never-to-be-forgotten experience I had in presiding at a sacrament meeting in the Kirtland Temple. President Wallace B. Smith of the RLDS Church graciously granted permission for us to hold a sacrament meeting in the temple. Not since the 1840s had the sacrament been blessed and passed to Latter-day Saints. We felt a power and a spirit there that may have been comparable to that felt in some of those meetings in the 1830s. When the General Authorities blessed and passed the sacrament, the Lord poured out his Spirit upon all those in attendance. These leaders today are also giving their all to build the Church in our day. The Lord blessed us with spiritual power and renewed testimonies of this work. While singing “The Spirit of God,” that great hymn written for the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, all in attendance had feelings that will never be forgotten. Most all were wiping away the tears streaming down their cheeks. We were aware on that occasion of how close those on the other side of the veil are to us.

One Missouri ward reports: “The bishopric and elders quorum presidency fasted and prayed to know the names of men whom they should activate and invite to a meeting the following Sunday. That week they each invited a man to a meeting the next Sunday. Four of six brethren came to a special meeting. During this meeting the bishop asked for comments. One brother stated that on the previous Sunday (at the same time their names were being considered) he felt a great desire to straighten out his life, and made a commitment to go to church that day. Another brother said that on the previous Sunday he, too, had felt a similar desire to straighten out his life. He had not been to church for forty years, but he made a commitment to attend. A third brother sought the bishop out after the meeting and pledged himself to full activity.”
Within that stake thirty inactive families were selected, with sixteen immediate, positive results.

Since my article “But Will I Get My Eagle” was published in the May 1983 New Era, I have been receiving comments from all over. And whether they were offering me bouquets or brickbats, they almost all asked the same question: “Did John receive his Eagle?”
Well, believe it or not, the question is not easy to answer. John advanced to Star normally, as a result of the program of his Blazer leader and Scoutmaster, but when he was on his own to continue, he let four years pass before he earned his Life Scout progress award. This was barely six months before his 18th birthday.
The application originally prepared for review (well after his 18th birthday due to John’s involvement in school activities) had the leadership deficiency I had been concerned about, but it was augmented and submitted to the council office after John was off to college.
The local Scout council was persistent. When John came home temporarily he was pounced on, and the necessary Board of Review was held. The approved application was forwarded to National Council. John went back to college. The local council explained to National Council why the long delay in submission had occurred and confirmed that all work had been completed in time. National Council considered the evidence and authorized the awarding of the Eagle badge at an appropriate time and place and with the proper ceremony which we commonly call the “Eagle court” and which is actually a national court of honor.
So does John have his Eagle badge now? One small problem: Elder John is now engaged on another continent in a higher mission than Scout advancement. I rejoice in what he is doing, but he is obviously not here to attend a court of honor.
I was going to say that the story has a happy ending. John is an Eagle Scout, even if he does not yet have the badge. But when I think of what might have been, I am not so sure. John did not have his Eagle court and cannot attend the great Eagle Scout recognition banquet. The younger Scouts did not receive the leadership and help he could have given them had he fulfilled his leadership requirements within the Scouting program instead of outside it. The focus became whether he would get his badge rather than how he could have served others. He is making up for that now as a missionary, but only for the present and future. What he might have done earlier is now sealed. And perhaps worst of all, when people read that John is now an Eagle Scout, this might encourage future generations of Scouts and Explorers to also aim at the last minute with predictable results.
John wrote me a letter from the mission field after my article was published. He said, among other things, “The Eagle is still very important to me, but like you said, it means more when you really work for something. I worked, but not with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. If I had really stretched myself and made it more of a growing experience, it would have meant a lot more. (I did grow, of course, but not as much as I could have.)
“I would probably have gotten my Eagle four years earlier if the age limit had been 14. That’s a weakness I had, and I’ve had to work on it—so I look at this as a special growing experience. The New Era article helped me to realize more fully what a bad weakness procrastination can be.”
Robert H. JohnsonSan Francisco, California

When my family saw how involved I was becoming in the Church they insisted that I stop attending. To honor my parents, exactly as The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was teaching me, I decided to continue my attendance with my family at the Seventh Day Adventist church on Saturday, and then also attend church on Sunday with the McCombs family. This worked for a little while but when I was about 14, my family put an end to my Sunday attendance. The Spirit was burning strong in my heart, and I was thankful for the McCombs, Church leaders and fellow students that continued to invite me to a seminary class.

After I turned 18 years old, I asked Larry to baptize me. I was baptized in their pool after a Sunday evening seminary class. Anton Ferrier, who was the branch president at the time, conferred the gift of the Holy Ghost upon me. It was a perfect day for the completion of the long-awaited blessing of baptism.
I then went on to attend Brigham Young University-Hawaii, without the support of my family. I did not hear from them for the next few years but as I reached out to them, forgiveness blossomed. My father sent money to help me complete my schooling towards a bachelor’s degree in social work and I continued to be blessed as I chose to serve in the Texas Corpus Christi Mission, Spanish speaking.
I have never regretted my decision in 37 years. I know this gospel to be true and it has continuously blessed my life. I notice the Lord’s hand in my life through people like the McComb family and others, and hope that my light of the gospel is bright enough to encourage others to feel the Savior’s love. I encourage you to look for those who share His love and then listen for the Spirit and trust your feelings, because this is where true joy can be found.

Samuel especially found it difficult to understand the condition and all that it entailed. Looking back, he says, “I wished that there had been a book I could have read that let me know everything was going to be okay! As a type-1 diabetic, my life was very different and explaining that to my friends was like talking to an alien. They just didn’t understand.”
Instead of feeling sorry for himself, Sam felt inspired to help others in a similar situation. He explains, “It was hard after I was diagnosed, but I felt that I wanted to help others to have hope as they experienced the same feelings that I had at that time. It was then that I first thought of writing a children’s book about an alien called Zegg. I wanted to give hope to children who were newly diagnosed. One of my favourite authors is Dr. Seuss, so I tried to write it in his style.”
Samuel then had to work hard to make his book a reality, which happened early in 2021. He has already gifted 50 copies of the book to the hospital that helped him and plans to donate books to other health trusts for children who are beginning their own type-1 journey.
Sam, who is now 13, will always require insulin, and still experiences highs and lows, but his life is full of adventure, joy, and hope.
He has been raising funds in lots of imaginative ways to get copies of his book printed. Anyone can help by donating money for copies of the book (see https://samuel-grant.co.uk). He eventually hopes to gift the book to NHS trusts across the whole of the UK, so they can distribute copies to as many diagnosed Type-1 children as possible. Samuel adds, “Every year, an average of 5,000 children’s lives are changed forever by a Type-1 diagnosis. I hope that this book will help teach and educate people about the disease—being aware of it and understanding it, may help families live and cope with it better. This is one way I have been able to kind of minister to other people during hard and dark times.”

I grew up in Hawaii. I loved to swim in the ocean, to catch the waves, to bodysurf. Lest you think I was a pro, I was only about ten years old. Sometimes, as I looked out at an incoming wave, I would catch a glimpse of a beautiful bubble floating on top of the water. I would do anything in my power to move away from that bubble. The bubble was beautiful, alluring, and very deceptive. It was a Portuguese man-of-war, a small jellyfish. I knew the consequences of coming in contact with that bubble, with its long, almost invisible threads stretching out into the water below. The sting was terrible. It felt like dozens of bee stings as the strands brushed against your skin or wrapped around you.

At times, when we arrived at the beach, there would be a caring adult or another child who would warn us of the danger: “Don’t go in the water. There are a lot of Portuguese man-of-wars today.” If we were wise, we would listen and not go in the water. If we were not so wise, we would at least be alert and watchful. I was always very grateful to have someone warn me and prepare me for the danger.

I would like to use my own family as an illustration of what I have in mind. Mother and I were filling a mission together over in Holland when we had a little girl born to us, and after we had been home a few years she passed away. When she was born, my wife has told me over and over again that she felt she saw an angel bring that spirit to her. And yet she is gone. Then I think of her four sisters. You voted here today to sustain one of them as a counselor in the general presidency of the Relief Society. Her other three sisters are just as noble and wonderful, although their talents may be just a little different.

When I think of this little one that we laid away when she was three-and-a-half years old, I thank God I have the faith to believe that God reigns in the heavens above and in the earth beneath and that this little one will ultimately enter into her glory and be equal to any of her four sisters who have tarried here upon this earth and raised their families. I thank God for the statement of the apostle Paul when he said that “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” (1 Cor. 15:19.) In this brief period of mortality, it would not be possible for God to accomplish for all of his children all that he has in mind for them, the ones that are true and faithful.

I think of the statement of Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” (Moses 1:39.) I wonder sometimes if we ever stop to analyze that statement. I think we can understand what “to bring to pass immortality” is, that we will never die after we come forth in the resurrection, as President Romney pointed out this morning. But what about eternal life? As I interpret this, I find in it the feeling that all that God has ultimately planned for his children who are faithful and true shall come to them in his own due time.

We read in the Book of Mormon that we are not all born at the same time (and that doesn’t matter) and that we don’t all die at the same time. (See Alma 40:8.) I think of the words of Abraham when he saw the placing of the spirits here upon this earth, that the Lord would prove them to see if they would do all things whatsoever he had commanded them. Then he adds: “And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon.” (Abr. 3:26.) That was in the spirit life before we came to mortality. “They who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.” (Abr. 3:26.) This little girl of ours kept her second estate as far as she could at her age.

Then I think of the statement of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph Smith when he said: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught.” (D&C 3:1.) In other words, no one can stand in the way of God achieving what he has decreed for his children. Then a further statement in the Doctrine & Covenants where the Lord said: “His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand. From eternity to eternity he is the same.” (D&C 76:3–4.)

Then there are the words of the Lord to the prophet Nephi when he said: “For my work is not yet finished; neither shall it be until the end of man, neither from that time henceforth and forever.” (2 Ne. 29:9.) Now that should enable us to comprehend and realize that there will never be a time when God will cease to do his work to bring to pass, as we read in the Pearl of Great Price, the glory that will be added upon their heads forever and ever.

Coming back to our family, we had four daughters before we got a boy and he grew into beautiful young manhood; we lost him in an accident down at the beach in California while I was the president of the stake there. He was just turning 16 and he stood as tall as his father, and to think now of his own brothers who are here: they have their families, and one of them has just been serving as one of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I can’t believe that boy will come out any less exalted in the eternities that are to come than his brothers who have lived here in mortality. When he died, the principal of the high school came to our home (and he was not a member of the Church) and told Sister Richards that our son was the best boy he had ever had in his school, and we felt that, too, as he grew into manhood.

It just took a little imagination and a good idea and Patricia Louderback ended up a winner. A member of the Moanalua Ward, Honolulu Hawaii West Stake, Pat was a top contributor to her state health fair. Pat won trophies for her poster urging drinking parents to “Go Home to Your Family” and another emphasizing “Alcohol Doesn’t Make Your Problems Go Away. It Adds to Them.” George R. Ariyoshi, Governor of Hawaii, presented the awards to Pat.
After graduating from Moanalua High School next year, Pat hopes to enroll as a sociology major at Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho.

Illustrations by Anna Sutor
On July 29, 1977, Sister Cook and I had just finished visiting the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission as part of my assignment as a member of the Seventy when we had a layover in the Cochabamba, Bolivia, airport for about five hours. We were very tired, so we were both delighted to have a few hours to rest. As I was drifting off to sleep, I had a strong impression that I should awaken and write down some ideas flowing into my mind.
I wrote for nearly three hours, solving some organizational problems I had struggled with in my responsibility at Church headquarters for a number of years. I felt a great outpouring of the Spirit and excitedly wrote down each inspired thought.
Finally we left for La Paz, Bolivia. We were graciously met by President and Sister Chase Allred at the airport and driven in their van to the mission office. We locked the van, leaving our luggage and my briefcase inside, but only did so because Sister Allred asked an elder to keep his eye on the van.
Upon entering the office, the president was confronted by a woman whose husband was dying. Both the president and I helped calm her and assist with her needs. Meanwhile, Sisters Cook and Allred left for the mission home.
When the president and I returned to the van, all of our property was gone. I assumed that Sister Cook had taken the things with her to the mission home. But while we were driving toward the home, I discovered that the right front small window-wing had been damaged and began to fear that perhaps our property had been stolen.
Upon arrival at the mission home, we realized that all of our property had indeed been stolen. The loss of the clothing and a large amount of cash created an immediate but only temporary problem. What was more disheartening was that my scriptures were in the stolen briefcase along with the inspired ideas I had just received in Cochabamba. I was overwhelmed with discouragement, anger, and feelings of helplessness.
After we had all prayed for the recovery of our possessions, we tried to enjoy our dinner but could not. My scriptures had been given to me by my parents, with a sacred inscription to me from my mother and my father before he died. I had spent thousands of hours marking, cross-referencing, and loving the only earthly possessions I had ever considered to be of much value.
Though President Allred and I had much to discuss, I felt a strong impression that we must do all in our power to recover the scriptures. So after supper all of those present knelt to pray once again. I pled with the Lord that the scriptures would be returned, that the persons who had taken them would be led to know of their unrighteous act and repent, and that the return of the books would be the means of bringing someone into the true Church.
We determined to search the area near the mission office and in a nearby field, hoping that the thief or thieves might have taken the saleable items and discarded the English books.
About 10 of us then loaded into the van with flashlights and warm clothing. We drove up and down streets, scouring vacant lots and talking with people until we’d exhausted all possibilities. No one had seen or heard anything. Finally we returned home dejected. President Allred and I finished our business late into the night, and the next day Sister Cook and I flew back to our home in Quito, Ecuador.
Over the next few weeks, the missionaries in Bolivia kept searching. In sheer desperation, they decided to place an ad in two daily newspapers offering a reward.
Meanwhile, in Quito, I was struggling. I had not studied the scriptures at all since mine were stolen. I had tried to study, but every time I read a verse, I could recall only a few of the many cross-references I had made over 20 years. I was disheartened, depressed, and had no desire to read. I prayed many times that my scriptures would be found. My wife and young children also continued praying every day for three weeks, saying, “Heavenly Father, please bring back Daddy’s scriptures.”
After about three weeks I felt a strong spiritual impression: “Elder Cook, how long will you go on without reading and studying?” The words burned, and I determined that I must be humble enough and submissive enough to start all over again. Using my wife’s scriptures, I began reading in Genesis in the Old Testament, and with her permission, marking and cross-referencing once again.
On August 18, a Church employee, Brother Eb Davis, arrived in Ecuador from Bolivia with a package from the mission president in La Paz. He laid my scriptures on my desk along with the inspired notes I had made of my spiritual impressions.
The joy I experienced is indescribable. To realize that the Lord, in some miraculous way, could lift those books out of La Paz, a city of 700,000–800,000 people, from the hands of thieves and return them intact—not one page removed, torn, or soiled—is still beyond me. That day I promised the Lord I would make better use of my time and my scriptures than I had ever made before.
A few days later I returned to Bolivia and discovered that a lady had been in a marketplace—one of hundreds in La Paz—and saw a drunken man waving around a black book. She was a member of a Protestant church and had a strong spiritual impression that something holy was being desecrated. She approached the man and asked him what it was. He did not know but showed her the book. She asked if he had anything else. He pulled out another black book. She asked if there was more. He removed a folder full of papers that he said he was going to burn. She then asked to purchase those things from him, to which he agreed, for the price of 50 pesos (about U.S. $2.50).
Afterward, she felt unsure why she had purchased the books. They were in English, but she didn’t even know English. And they had been expensive—nearly 10 percent of her monthly income. She had no reason to buy the books except for her spiritual impression. She immediately began a search for the church that was named on the front of the books: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After approaching a number of churches, she finally arrived at the mission office of the Church in La Paz. She hadn’t heard about the reward or seen the ad in the newspaper, which was to appear that day. She did not ask for any money, not even to reclaim the 50 pesos she had paid. The elders received the books with joy and paid her the reward anyway.
She told the missionaries that she was associated with a Pentecostal sect but listened intently as they told her about the gospel. She recalled reading something about Joseph Smith from a pamphlet she had picked up in the street two or three years previously. She accepted the missionary lessons, and after the second lesson, she committed to baptism. Two weeks later, on September 11, 1977, on a Sunday afternoon at a branch in La Paz, Bolivia, Maria Cloefe Cardenas Terrazas and her son Marco Fernando Miranda Cardenas, age 12, were baptized.
The Lord had transformed my overpowering feelings of helplessness when the scriptures were lost into great feelings of joy at seeing His hand revealed. The Lord said, “Therefore I say unto you, What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them” (Mark 11:24).
God does hear and answer our prayers if we exercise faith in Him and in His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

Seminary students in the Capitol Ward, Annandale Virginia Stake, had the memorable experience of assisting at the prededication activities of the new Washington Temple. Their duties were varied. Some of the young people were ushers, elevator operators, parking attendants, and errand runners. Many helped tourists in wheelchairs.
It was a special, spiritual feeling to help in the house of the Lord, and it was a thrill to hear the comments of the visitors as they viewed the magnificent temple.