Gospel Story Finder

I have always loved horses. I grew up riding them. My family owned a dairy ranch where we had a few horses. When I was seven years old we moved to the city. Because we didn’t have horses there, I rode them whenever I had the chance.
When I was young, my father would take me to church. He and I were the only ones in my family who went to church. But my father died when I was just 13 years old. I continued to go to church after his death, but I didn’t have a lot of friends to go to church with, so I usually walked alone.
I was walking to church one Sunday morning soon after my father died. I passed the house of my friend whose family owned some horses. I had been riding with them before, and we had so much fun. My friend came outside to tell me that her family was about to go ride their horses and wondered if I would like to come along.
Time seemed to stand still as I tried to decide what to do. I loved riding and wanted to go with them. But I could see the church building from where I stood. As I looked at that building, a voice seemed to say to me, “Marlene, if you choose to go horseback riding this day, you will be making a wrong choice. You can go to church even if your father is not here to take you.”
I knew in my heart that going riding would not be the right choice. At that moment I said to my friend, “Thanks for the offer, but I am going to church instead.”
I have never regretted that choice. It has turned out to be one of the most significant decisions I have made in my life. It’s the good choices we make that keep us on the straight and narrow path. From that moment until this day, I can count on one hand the number of times I have missed church.
Diligent church attendance is important to me, so important that wild horses can’t keep me away. I love to associate with my ward family and find joy in serving in my calling. I am so thankful for the blessings I have received from attending my meetings and from having the gospel in my life. I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for the guidance of the Holy Ghost.

Acting as Joseph’s scribe thrilled Oliver. Day after day, he listened as his friend dictated the complex history of two large civilizations, the Nephites and the Lamanites. He learned of righteous and wicked kings, of people who fell into captivity and were delivered from it, of an ancient prophet who used seer stones to translate records recovered from fields filled with bones. Like Joseph, that prophet was a revelator and seer blessed with the gift and power of God.28
The record testified again and again of Jesus Christ, and Oliver saw how prophets led an ancient church and how ordinary men and women did the work of God.
Yet Oliver still had many questions about the Lord’s work, and he hungered for answers. Joseph sought a revelation for him through the Urim and Thummim, and the Lord responded. “If you will ask of me you shall receive,” He declared. “If thou wilt inquire, thou shalt know mysteries which are great and marvelous.”
The Lord also urged Oliver to remember the witness he had received before coming to Harmony, which Oliver had kept to himself. “Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” the Lord asked. “If I have told you things which no man knoweth have you not received a witness?”29
Oliver was astonished. He immediately told Joseph about his secret prayer and the divine witness he had received. No one could have known about it except God, he said, and he now knew the work was true.

Let me give you some examples. I suppose we have all had someone do something to us that we didn’t like, and that made us angry. We can’t forget it, and we don’t want to be around that person. This is called being unforgiving. Now, the Lord has had some very strong words to say to those who will not forgive one another. Many years ago I had an experience with being unforgiving. I felt I had been taken advantage of, and I did not like that person. I did not want to be around him; I would pass on the other side of the street if he came down it; I wouldn’t talk to him. Long after the issue should have been finished it was still like a canker to my soul. I decided that I was going to pray for a better feeling about this person until I had one. That night I got on my knees, and I prayed and opened up my heart to the Lord. But when I got up off my knees, I still didn’t like that person. The next morning I knelt and prayed and asked to have a feeling of goodness toward him; but when I finished my prayers, I still didn’t like him. The next night I still didn’t like him; a week later I didn’t like him; and a month later I didn’t like him—and I had been praying every night and every morning. But I continued to pray, and I finally started pleading—not just praying, but pleading. After much prayer, the time came when without question or reservation I knew I could stand before the Lord, if I were asked to, and that he would know that at least in this instance my heart was pure. A change had come over me after a period of time. The stone of unforgiveness had been removed.

Every night of the open house, the temple had to be cleaned and readied for the next day’s tours. Dallas Matthews, 17, of the Orem Utah Windsor Stake, was assigned to the cleaning crew for one night, but on his own he came every night to help where he could. To Dallas, his efforts didn’t seem remarkable. But consider that after cleaning at the temple until 2:00 each morning, he was getting up at 6:00 A.M. for football practice. Dallas is the team captain at Timpanogos High School, where he is a wide receiver and backup quarterback.
Dallas was a little embarrassed when asked about the extra miles of service he put in for the temple open house. His dad says Dallas doesn’t usually talk about himself. But his devotion did not go unnoticed. Those in charge of the cleaning could not help but pay attention when this young man came faithfully every evening, sometimes bringing friends.
“I worked on patching the plastic [that protects the carpet] or redoing it every night if needed,” said Dallas. “I was never tired the next day. I just did it. I didn’t really notice that I wasn’t tired until I thought about it later.”
Every night Dallas would look in the mirrors in the sealing rooms. His reflection seemed to stretch into eternity. He tried to see the end but never could. Eternity is sometimes a hard concept for the mind to grasp, and Dallas thought about it every night. He knew that the temple was the place to be if the eternities are to be a place of progression.
“I felt the temple became a part of me,” said Dallas, “because I spent so much time there. I liked how it felt. It definitely makes me want to go back.”

On another occasion, Emily Williams, widowed, not yet a member of the Church, residing in Michigan, saw her baby girl become very ill and after many days heard the doctor tell her that all hope for the baby’s recovery was gone. Hearing that Joseph Smith was in the area visiting his cousins, she sent for him to come and administer to her child. The Prophet came with his father and kneeling down by the little girl laid hands on her head and promised her that she would recover. Emily reports that “the child turned over, her fits left her and she went to sleep and was completely healed the next morning.

It’s opening night.
Makeup has been applied, costumes put on, and props laid out. The final shout of “break a leg” has finished echoing through the hallway. After hours of utter chaos, it’s peaceful. Actors who moments ago joked and talked with one another now sit side-by-side in silence. Slowly they are making the transition from the everyday lives of modern-day teens to the daily struggles of adults who lived more than 100 years ago.
They are getting into character.
“When you’re in character, you’re acting just like that person, feeling the way they feel, and you have to let that show,” says deacon Jeff Timmons.
Building a character for a play means training yourself to think, feel, and behave the way your character would. In real life, building a character is not that much different. It requires the same hard work, discipline, and dedication as acting. But it also requires making decisions about the attributes that should be included in the part you wish to play—things like willingness to work, to share, and to love others.
In Los Lunas, New Mexico, Jeff and his fellow cast members are participants in a ward play that spreads the gospel message. While they are learning how to act on stage they are also helping each other learn the best ways to act in life.
Part of creating a strong character includes an appreciation of those who have gone before. As part of their stake’s Pioneer Day celebration, the youth in Los Lunas re-created the lives of 19th-century Armenian converts to the Church in their production of “And They Shall Be Gathered.”
“The early converts to the Church faced challenges, just like we do now. They were just different kinds of challenges,” says Geoff Pankretz, a priest who plays the male lead, Sarkis.
The Los Lunas First Ward put the production together with the help of director Norlan Jacobs, who was in the original production of the play at BYU more than 20 years ago. Brother Jacobs, cast members say, taught them many things about acting—concepts like blocking (learning where to stand and how to move on stage), characterization, and motivation. But more important than that, he stressed the significance of the story the play tells: a story of love, sacrifice, and of the great strength early converts to the Church were required to have.
“Brother Jacobs told us about the actual people the play was based on. They left their family behind in Armenia because they knew the Church was true. They decided to come to Utah. After they left, their family was killed. It makes you realize how important this play is. It gives you an appreciation for what people went through,” says 16-year-old Shae Dunkley.
Sometimes building character means knowing when to be a leader and when to be a follower. Putting together a play is no exception.
“This play has taught me a lot about working as a team,” says 17-year-old Libby Farnsworth. “I’m used to getting on the stage and being the center of attention, but this play is not a one-person show. You have to really allow the limelight to be on the person it’s supposed to be on.”
On stage, teamwork means remembering your own lines and helping others out when they forget theirs.
“Libby’s really great at feeding me lines. When I forget what to say next, she repeats the line before, to jog my memory. She’s saved me more than once,” says Geoff.
Backstage, the teamwork is just as important. Lights, sound, and props are all essential to the play. If a light is turned on too early, or too late, or not at all, for instance, the audience and the actors become confused.
“You’ve got to be right on cue on certain parts because people are really depending on you,” says 14-year-old Rex Hoel, sound manager for the play.
Another characteristic these young actors are working to cultivate is a willingness to share the gospel message.
“This play is really great because every single person that’s sitting here will be getting a missionary message,” says 15-year-old Sam Timmons.
“This play has really helped me be a better missionary,” says Alisha Hopper, 15. “I’m not so afraid to go out and talk to people anymore.”
Missionary opportunities are plentiful in the area since there are very few LDS families in the town. They are making their beliefs known, not only through the message of their play, but through their actions among their friends at school, helping to convert some of them along the way.
Eighteen-year-old Matt Dixon, a convert of only a few months, is a member of the cast, and 15-year-old Beau Taylor, who runs the lights backstage, will be baptized just six days after the play opens.
“I’ve been going to church for about a year now, and these guys have really helped me build my testimony by being examples,” says Beau.

It wasn’t until 1975, after Bert and Amanda had returned to Hawaii, that Bert’s testimony of the living prophet was solidly confirmed. Bert had been asked to assist with security measures for President Spencer W. Kimball who was making a short visit to Bogota. Bert’s description of the experience is a moving testimony of the prophet’s influence:
“President Kimball shook my hand, and it felt like electricity going up my arm. He looked into my eyes, and that was it; I knew. We were together a good deal of the time, and it was the most wonderful experience.
“We had family home evening at the mission home, and I was the only one without my family. I sat right next to President Kimball, and he put his arm around me. Then we knelt down, and the mission president asked the President to give the family prayer. My whole life changed in those moments; I just knew he was a prophet. It was the full conversion.”
Meanwhile, Amanda recalls with a knowing smile, while Bert was with the President, “things weren’t going too well back home. I was in a car accident; I wasn’t hurt, but the car was damaged.”
“You have to understand,” adds Bert, “that I was a person who had to have everything neat and clean. You didn’t touch my car, because you might leave a fingerprint on it.”
Amanda says their two sons, “Duane and Doug, kept saying, ‘Oh, boy, wait until Dad comes home and sees the car.’ The day Bert arrived home, they wouldn’t even go to the airport with me to meet him, so I went by myself; there hadn’t been time to get the car fixed.”
But something had changed. “Bert came off that airplane, and I think he was walking above the ground. When he saw me, all he could talk about was what a great experience it was to be with the prophet. He went right past the damaged fender on the car and didn’t even see it.
“When we got home, the boys were peeking out from behind the drapes. Bert said, ‘Okay, when my boys are hiding, something’s happened.’ So I had to show him the damaged fender. He looked at it, turned to me, and said, ‘Oh, Mom, I’m really glad you didn’t get hurt.’ Then he gave me a big hug.”

During school recess I saw something shiny lying in the gravel and stopped to see what it was. It was a Kennedy half-dollar! I was so excited! I thought of keeping it, but instead I took it to the teacher on duty. She told me to take it to the office, so I gave the coin to our school secretary. She said, “Wow, Matthew! Thanks for being so honest!” That made me feel really good! She also said that if no one claimed the coin, I could have it back.
I didn’t hear anything else about it until the end of the year. During the last week of school I found out that I had earned a good citizenship award and a prize for turning in the coin. I felt good inside because I had been honest. I also enjoyed the prize, which was a candy bar!

I went on a two-day school field trip with other fifth and sixth graders to study paleontology. I shared a motel room with three of my friends. One of my friends found a Bible in the nightstand drawer. He flipped through some of the pages and then asked me if I would help him read it. I was surprised that he didn’t know any of the Bible stories I thought everyone knew. I taught him about the Creation, Adam and Eve, and the Resurrection. I also told him about Joseph Smith. I told him some of the stories I learned in Primary.
Afterward, I felt like we should have a prayer. I let my friend say the prayer. I led him through it by saying one phrase at a time and having him repeat it. I had a warm feeling, and my friend said he felt good inside.
I never expected that to happen on a school field trip. I was glad that when I had an opportunity to be a missionary, I was prepared and I wasn’t afraid to share my beliefs.

Brian, a Latter-day Saint boy, attended a school run by another church. One day the children were being very noisy as the teacher tried to read from the Bible. She closed the Bible and said, “No wonder there are no prophets on the earth today. You children are so naughty that you wouldn’t listen to them anyway.” Brian had an important choice to make. He could remain silent, or he could tell his teacher what he believed. He gathered his courage, quietly raised his hand, and said, “Teacher, there is a prophet on the earth today. He lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the United States.” The teacher was very interested in this information and asked him to tell her more about his church. Just like Brian and Helaman’s stripling warriors, you can have a testimony that can give you the courage to choose the right. So, as it says in the scriptures, “Be of good courage, and do it” (Ezra 10:4).

“Tara has chicken pox?” Barney and I gasped when Sister Cluff told us the bad news.
“That’s right. She broke out yesterday afternoon.”
“You mean she wasn’t at the circus last night?” Barney asked.
Tara’s mom shook her head.
I looked at Barney, and he looked at me. I felt sick just thinking of Tara missing the only circus that had ever come to Maryvale.
“You boys had better run along now,” Sister Cluff told us. “I’ll tell Tara you came by.”
We started home, but as soon as Sister Cluff closed the front door, we crept around to Tara’s room at the back of the house. We peeked in through the open window and saw Tara lying on her bed, looking at the wall.
“Hey, Tara,” I whispered, “how do you feel?”
Tara rolled over and looked at us. “Terrible,” she moaned. The way her voice quivered, I could tell that she’d either been crying or was about to start.
“Is it that bad to have the chicken pox?” I asked.
“The chicken pox aren’t bad at all,” she sobbed. “It’s missing the circus that’s so terrible.”
“Maybe another one will come to town,” Barney said, trying to cheer her.
“No it won’t. That’s the very first one that ever came to Maryvale. If another one ever comes, I’ll probably be an old lady and won’t care about going to it.”
“We could tell you about it,” I offered.
“No!” Tara cried, grabbing her pillow and covering her ears.
“We’ll have to think of some other way to cheer Tara up,” I told Barney as we left.
Barney kicked at a clump of grass and muttered, “I wish we had our very own circus. Then we could —”
“That’s it!” I practically screamed at him. “We’ll bring her our circus.”
Barney scratched his head. “But, Bryan, we don’t have a circus.”
“Maybe we don’t now, but by this afternoon we’re going to have the Bryan and Barney Circus.”
All morning Barney and I rushed around the neighborhood, putting our circus together. Everybody wanted to be in it, and it wasn’t long before we had more circus people and animals than we knew what to do with.
Tara’s mom was going visiting teaching with my mom at 2:00 P.M., so that’s when we told everyone to meet in Tara’s backyard.
Barney and I were the first ones to reach Tara’s house. Since I was the ringmaster, I wore black pants, a white shirt, and a stovepipe hat that Mom had helped me make out of an oatmeal box and newspaper. Barney was a clown. He wore his dad’s bib overalls with the pant legs rolled up; he’d stuffed old rags down the front to make a round belly, and he had on his uncle’s tennis shoes. They were so big that they wobbled and flopped when he walked. His face was painted white, and he had drawn huge red lips around his mouth and taped a red balloon to his nose.
I rushed around to Tara’s window. “Hey, Tara,” I called out excitedly, “guess what!”
Tara didn’t even look up from the book that she was reading.
“You’re going to see a circus!” Barney burst out beside me.
“The circus left this morning,” Tara whimpered.
“Yeah, but a better one showed up,” I told her.
“And,” Barney got out between giggles, “there’s going to be just one performance—in your backyard!”
“You’re fibbing,” Tara said, putting her book down. Looking at us for the first time, she gasped, “Barney, what happened to your face?”
He grinned. “I’m part of the circus.”
“And,” I said, “you’re going to have to pull a chair up next to the window if you want a front-row seat.”
Just then Kyle began to blow his trumpet—a paper towel tube—while Annie and Jackie marched across the backyard in their swimsuits, twirling batons and carrying a big sign that read, “The Bryan and Barney Circus.”
I grinned at Tara, who was hurriedly scooting a chair over to the window.
I marched back a few steps, bowed, and shouted in a deep voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the greatest show on earth, the one and only Bryan and Barney Circus! For our first incredible act, Jesse Jim, a daring young man, is going to swing on the high trapeze!” I pointed to Jim, who was standing on a stepladder by the Cluff’s maple tree. He had tied a rope to one of the branches and was getting ready to jump. “This tree,” I went on, “is five hundred feet tall. Jesse Jim’s going to be the first man to swing from it without a net.”
Just as I finished speaking, Jim came swinging over the lawn. Before I could move out of the way, he banged into me, knocking me down, then crashed into the patio furniture.
“Why didn’t you wait till I was out of the way?” I squawked, jumping up.
Jim was lying on his back. “I slipped,” was all that he had breath to say.
I shoved my stovepipe hat back on and continued, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, Terrific Tyson, the lion and tiger tamer, is going to go into a den of the most ferocious, deadly man-eating tigers and lions in the whole world!” I looked toward Tara’s window, and she was actually smiling!
Tyson marched out with a rope whip in one hand. He made a big bow, then shouted, “Send out the lions and tigers!”
Tony, Kyle’s big St. Bernard, came bounding out with a big black wig tied on his head. He was supposed to be a ferocious lion, but when he reached Tyson, he sat down and began tearing at the raggy old wig on his head. “Down!” Tyson shouted at him, waving the whip over his head. But Tony was already down, and the only thing that he cared about was getting rid of the wig.
Then Pop and Pete, Joe’s two bassett hounds, ran out. They had tiger stripes painted all over them. When Tyson saw them coming, he waved his whip and shouted, “Down!” But the dogs didn’t pay any attention to him. One went running between Tyson’s legs, almost knocking him over, and the other grabbed one end of the rope whip and began playing tug-of-war.
I shook my head disgustedly, then looked around desperately for Barney. “Are you ready?” I whispered loudly. When he nodded, I warned, “Don’t blow it like the others.” Then I announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, now we will show you the most terrible monster ever to be found in a circus. Baritone Barney has captured and trained a man-eating, two-horned unicorn. He will—”
Even before I could finish, Barney’s pet goat, Harriet, came galloping around the corner of the house, pulling a red wagon. Barney, flopping around in his clown suit, chased after her, waving his arms and shouting, “Harriet, slow down! I have to get into the wagon.” But Harriet didn’t slow down until she’d reached the other side of the lawn and started eating Sister Cluff’s petunias.
I shook my head. So far, this was the worst circus in the whole world. I swallowed and began to shout again. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our next act, we have the world’s strangest animal, a two-headed cat!”
As I spoke, Annie came out carrying her two cats wrapped together in an Ace bandage with both their heads sticking out. The cats squirmed and twisted until they broke free of the bandage. As they jumped out of Annie’s arms and dashed for the tree, Tony spotted them. He ran after the cats, with Pete and Pop following him, barking and howling.
When Barney’s goat, Harriet, heard the racket, she bleated and started charging around the yard, pulling the red wagon behind her. Barney lunged after the goat but tripped on his floppy shoes and fell flat on his face. His balloon nose popped, and half his belly stuffing came out.
When the dogs realized that they weren’t going to get the cats, they charged after Harriet. Harriet went crazy. She ran in circles, still dragging the wagon behind her. She knocked over the lawn chairs, then raced up and down Sister Cluff’s petunia bed.
I knew that we had to stop Harriet before she tore up every flower in the Cluff’s yard, so I lunged for her and grabbed her around the neck. She just shook her head, kicked her legs in the air, and sent me crashing into the flower bed!
As I started to get up, I heard a terrible scream. The Bryan and Barney Circus came to a sudden halt. All of us—the animals, too—turned around and saw Sister Cluff staring in shock at the terrible mess in her yard. “What’s going on here?” she yelled. “Look at my … Oh, my!”
None of us answered. I felt sick inside. I didn’t know how to explain to Sister Cluff what had happened. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stared at the ground.
Then I heard someone laugh. At first it was just a little giggle, but soon it exploded into side-splitting laughter. I lifted my head a tiny bit and looked toward the house. There was Tara at the window, laughing so hard that big happy tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“It’s the Bryan and Barney Circus,” she explained to her mom between laughs. “And it’s the best circus that’s ever come to Maryvale.”
“A circus?”
Tara nodded, still giggling.
“But who’s going to clean up this mess?” Sister Cluff asked. She didn’t sound angry anymore, though.
“Oh, we’ll clean up the mess,” Barney spoke up, beaming and grinning. “The Bryan and Barney Circus is a lot more than a regular, ordinary circus. We clean up messes too.”
Sister Cluff looked at me. I nodded and smiled. Sister Cluff smiled back, and before she could say another word, the Bryan and Barney Circus started cleaning up the yard.
When we were finished, I turned to Tara, who was still at the window, and said, “I wish that you could have seen Annie’s snake act, Justin’s frog race, and—”
“Maybe I can see that another day,” she cut in merrily. “And as soon as I get over the chicken pox, I want to join the Bryan and Barney Circus.”

Jimmy Stewart stars in “Mr. Krueger’s Christmas” this Christmas season, a television special produced by the Church and featuring the Tabernacle Choir. The half-hour program is directed by Kieth Merrill, the Mormon movie director who won an Oscar for “The Great American Cowboy.” Jimmy Stewart plays Mr. Kreuger, a widowed custodian preparing to spend a lonely Christmas by himself until he’s interrupted by Yuletide carolers.

“What made it impossible for me not to do this program was that I would have the privilege of directing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir,” said Mr. Stewart. “I’ve been an absolutely devoted fan of the Tabernacle Choir for many, many years. This is one of the greatest honors I’ve ever had.” To find out how Mr. Kreuger’s Christmas turns out, check your local television listings for December.

May I share with you a letter from a young man which reflects the spirit of love and which helped to make firm a testimony of the gospel:
“Dear President Monson:
“Thank you for speaking to us at the National Scouting Jamboree held at Fort A. P. Hill, Virginia. On the tour that we took we saw a lot of famous places like Niagara Falls, the Statue of Liberty, the Liberty Bell, and many other places. The one I enjoyed the most was the Sacred Grove. Our parents had written us all letters to read by ourselves while in the grove. After I had finished the letter my parents had written to me, I knelt in prayer. I asked if the Church was really true and if Joseph Smith really did see a vision and is a true prophet of God, and also if President Hinckley is a true prophet of God. Right after I was done praying I felt this feeling of the Spirit that these things were indeed true. I had prayed before about the same things but never received such a powerful answer. There was no way that I could deny that this Church is true or that President Hinckley is a prophet of God.
“I feel so blessed to be a member of this Church. Thanks again for attending the Jamboree.
“Sincerely,
“Chad D. Olson
“P.S. We gave our tour guide and our bus driver a copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies in it. They are the greatest! I want to be a missionary.”
Like Joseph Smith, this young man had retired to a sacred grove and prayed for answers to questions phrased by his inquiring mind. Once more a prayer was answered and a confirmation of the truth was gained.

John Akpik hunched behind his father on the seat of the snowmobile. The machine clacked noisily as it sped across the tundra snow. Although it was noon, only a faint sun shone above the horizon. However, the brightness of the snow and the filmy clouds overhead lighted the way.
John and his father were speeding from Kivalina to Point Hope to see Grandfather Akpik, who was dying. Grandfather was a storyteller, and John remembered the many times that he had listened to Grandfather tell of the old ways of the Eskimos.
As he thought of his grandfather, John kept a sharp eye on the country that they were passing through. It seemed to be an unrelieved white blanket of snow and ice. Yet, for those who looked closely, the country showed its secret directions: an ice ridge looked like a dog sleeping; wind lines on the snow pointed north; the smooth frozen flatness was the Kukpuk River.
Suddenly Father hollered and pointed to the left. “A whiteout! We’ll have to stop.”
The machine came to a halt. John had seen a whiteout in his village, but he had never been caught in one on the tundra. Now he watched the whiteout sweep toward them. The low clouds over the tundra seemed to gather what light there was and scatter it down. Shadows disappeared. John could still see some things in the distance, but he couldn’t tell how far away they were.
Soon the snowmobile seemed to be encased in light cotton. Without any shadows, the snow mounds, the ridges, the hills all blended together. If he and Father kept going, they might head up an ice ridge and zoom right off the other side, never realizing its height. Or they might see a river and believe it to be a mile away, when it was only several feet away. There was no way to tell by looking.
In spite of the whiteout, John thought that they should keep going. They had to see Grandfather, to say good-bye to him.
Father shook his head. “We can’t travel in a whiteout. It’s too dangerous. We could run into a river with unstable ice and not even know it was there.”
“I could walk ahead,” John said. “Grandfather told me a story once about a driver who walked in front of his dog team in a whiteout. He threw his whip ahead of him, and he could see where it landed and if it was safe to keep going. I have my knife. I could throw the sheath ahead of me and watch where it falls.”
The older man thought for a minute. Then he said, “Let’s try it. We can’t wait here. It might be days before the whiteout lifts.”
John walked ahead of the snowmobile as it inched along. It was like moving in a fog, except that the air was clear. Without shadows, John couldn’t tell if his footing would go up or down with each step. But the sheath, dark against the whiteness around them, told its story and helped them each time John tossed it. It fell low in the dips of the snow, it landed high when the land sloped up, and it clattered noisily against any snow cliffs in their path. Progress was slow but steady. Each footstep brought them that much closer to Point Hope.
And just as suddenly as it had arrived, the whiteout faded away. Shadows appeared around them and deepened. Slopes showed their heights, and ridges disclosed their depths. The snowmobile could now go fast without the great danger that the whiteout had caused.
“Grandfather helped us,” John said. “This time I will tell him a story. I will tell him how a great storyteller helped rescue his son and grandson.”

A priesthood leader wrote to me about a group of young Aaronic Priesthood youth who were baptized by their priesthood leaders for the soldiers: “In almost every case, when the young brother had finished his 14–15 names, he would turn and embrace his leader and shed a few tears of joy. What an example of true priesthood love and service! I had the experience of being a witness at the font and gained, in a few cases, the undeniable witness of the Spirit that those young soldiers who had died had accepted the baptisms that were being performed in their behalf.”

One morning, a friend of mine who is a lifeguard on the Gold Coast was sitting on his lookout carefully watching the people swimming between the flags when a boy came running up the beach. His father had been swimming just down the beach with another young son on his shoulders. The father had suffered a heart attack, and both went down. They were 200 meters from the flags. The lifeguards did everything humanly possible, but by the time they got there, both father and son had drowned.

I did not serve a regular mission until my wife and I were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed 22 years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.

Once I had my family history computer disk in my hands, I realized that the most important part of the work was still missing. I needed to go to the temple and provide my family beyond the veil with the ordinances that would enable them to be saved and join my family’s generations for eternity.
I was able to go to the temple when I went on my mission to Cochabamba, Bolivia. I began preaching the gospel in October 2000. A few months later my companion and I visited the temple with the youth from the ward where we were serving. I took my disk and was able to provide 599 names for ordinance work.
While I served as witness, my companion baptized the young people on behalf of my ancestors. What great joy I felt. The Spirit was with me, testifying of the truthfulness of what we were doing. I could feel my ancestors’ happiness and gratitude.
But there were other ordinances that still needed to be done. Because there were so many names, I turned them over to the temple. But I kept the names of my great-grandparents and their children, and later that month my companion and I, with the help of other missionaries, performed the work for them.
I am grateful to my Heavenly Father because, although I was far from my country and perhaps thought that I would baptize only the living, I was also able to participate in the work of redeeming the dead.

One Monday, when we were celebrating the U.S. holiday of Washington’s birthday, I was down at my mother’s sawing a log in the backyard. She came out to give me some direction and see how I was doing it, and she wasn’t very pleased. She thought I ought to do it differently. She went back into the house and in a few minutes my younger brother arrived. She said to him, “I think you’d better go out in the backyard and give Bruce some help and see that he does this thing right.” And then she said to him, “Bruce isn’t very bright.” Well, so I’m not. So I start where I am, and I go forward from there. I start using such talent as I have, and I begin to apply the principles of eternal truth to my life. I consult and counsel with the Lord in the process, and no matter where I am, the gospel takes me forward and onward and upward, and blessings flow to me in this life and eventually give me glory and honor and dignity in the life to come.

In January 2009, my husband and I flew to Germany. He had accepted a job there, and we spent a week in Berlin to prepare to move our family.
Instantly, I felt overwhelmed by the differences between Germany and the United States. That night, I didn’t dare leave our hotel.
But the next morning, Sunday, I gathered my courage to attend sacrament meeting. When we entered the chapel, a kind man recognized us as Americans and gave us an English hymnbook. As I sat on the back row and sang different words from everyone else, I felt like an outsider.
The ward offered English translation and gave us headphones. Halfway through the meeting, I wanted to tear mine off and return to my American ward. But when I sang the second verse of “How Firm a Foundation,” the Holy Ghost took hold of my heart.
At home or abroad, on the land or the sea—
As thy days may demand, … so thy succor shall be.1
The hymn felt like a message from the Lord. Tears poured down my cheeks as I hurried to the foyer, where a soft-eyed man gave me his trusty pocket packet of tissue. (Nobody in the ward was ever without one.)
Fast forward three and a half years. In the same chapel on a Sunday morning in June, the organist began playing a hymn. I opened my German hymnbook and started to sing.
That’s when the Holy Ghost enveloped me again. I was again singing “How Firm a Foundation,” but everything was different.
I looked around. Instead of seeing strangers, I saw friends. Behind me sat our former stake president, who had quickly learned our names. On the front row my deacon son rubbed shoulders with the young men who had visited him in the hospital when he was diagnosed with diabetes. Near them sat the ward Young Women leader, who had taught my daughter to make delicious potato pancakes.
Throughout the chapel sat young people I had taught and loved in an English-speaking institute class, my faithful visiting teachers, and others who cheerfully joined the ward ballroom dance classes the bishop had asked me to teach.
Tears blurred my vision, but this time I didn’t run from the chapel. Instead, I dug into my purse for my own trusty pocket packet of tissue.
Nobody in the ward was ever without one.