Gospel Story Finder

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Norwich, England, which is about 110 miles from London. During the Second World War, my father served in the British army and was stationed in Italy. In fact, I didn’t meet my father until I was five.
When I was about four years old, Mother would take my brother and me into the city every Saturday morning. At 10:30 we would be walking by a large clock that chimed. Mother would say, “Oh, it’s 10:30.” She would buy us a little something, not anything very significant, but something to try to brighten us up because Dad was away.
One particular Saturday morning when we were about to leave home, Mother said, “I don’t think we’ll go shopping today. I’m going to take you to the woods.”
After we arrived at the woods, we played in the grass and trees and enjoyed ourselves. Suddenly we heard an air raid siren. Planes were coming in overhead, so we hurried home. The next day, we discovered that at 10:30 A.M. bombs had been dropped, demolishing the whole area around the clock in the city.
That incident really had an impact on me. Mother often commented on the feelings she’d had that day. She wasn’t a member of the Church, but, not knowing why, she had had an impression, a prompting, to do something different. That was a great example in my life of parents being guided by the Lord to take care of their children beyond their normal understanding.

I wasn’t very good at studying the scriptures when I was young. I wish I had been! Not until I was living in Seattle, Washington, did a friend and I realize we were hungering to know what spiritual women in our ward knew. We wanted righteous children, “taught by their mothers” to be believing (Alma 56:47). And like a good dinner, the gospel becomes more exciting sharing it with a friend. I had Louise Nelson. We feasted together.

In this conference just a year ago, President Thomas S. Monson shared an example of sacrifice in connection with temple service. A faithful Latter-day Saint father on a remote island in the Pacific did heavy physical work in a faraway place for six years to earn the money necessary to take his wife and 10 children for marriage and sealing for eternity in the New Zealand Temple. President Monson explained, “Those who understand the eternal blessings which come from the temple know that no sacrifice is too great, no price too heavy, no struggle too difficult in order to receive those blessings.”9

Pélé, Brazil’s great team captain who also helped introduce professional soccer in New York, couldn’t afford a soccer ball as a child. Instead, he kicked around a pile of old socks tied together.

The other night when I announced to my family that I was taking my adorable wife to see a certain GP (rated general admittance with parental guidance) movie, my thirteen-year-old daughter firmly stated, “Oh, Daddy, I don’t think you’d better take Mother to that show. It has some bad things you shouldn’t see.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because I’ve seen it, of course, and I just don’t think it’s the kind of show you ought to go to.”
“When did you see it?” I thundered.
Well, it seems that a neighbor had taken her daughter and mine to the GP-rated show.
After my family had given me my allotted time for stern words on the subject of permissive neighbors (my own children think I’m a strict neanderthal), my wife sweetly pointed out that I ought to be grateful that a thirteen-year-old girl would be concerned enough to warn me about a movie she’s seen that isn’t fit for her forty-eight-year-old father and his ageless wife.
That really set me off. If children are going to be that strict with their parents, how will we ever learn about life? Fortunately, in this age of tyrannical youth, my children still permit me to discuss such matters at family night, so the following Monday after our regular discussion I conducted a survey to find out just what my children think about today’s movies.
Meantime, in spite of occasional frustrations, I’m glad to have in this permissive age a strict thirteen-year-old daughter to regulate my own movie going. Other parents should be so lucky!

When Bishop Budge was called to the Presiding Bishopric in October 2020, he assumed he would have his own assignments and didn’t realize the bishopric would work together so closely. He said he has felt the Lord’s guidance as they work in unison, frequently praying together, attending the temple together, and counseling together.

“When I first came to the bishopric, I thought we would divide the world into thirds or something and take responsibilities and divide them up amongst us,” Bishop Budge said. “But we don’t do it that way. We do everything together in unity as a bishopric. And I’ve learned that there’s great power in councils. There’s great power in the unity that comes as we work together with a common objective and common purpose.”

As they participate in different executive councils and committees at Church headquarters and counsel together as a bishopric, they each bring unique talents, backgrounds, and life experiences—just as any presidency in a ward or stake.

“It’s not that you take one plus one plus one and get the combined abilities of three people. But we work in unity together. And by working together in unity, we accomplish more than the sum of the three parts,” Bishop Budge said.

“It can’t be done. It won’t work.” That’s what everyone said. But when 17-year-old Tanya Fisher took a courageous stand against an embarrassing “eyesore” in her community of Laramie, Wyoming, she made it work.
A huge retaining wall (100 feet long and 22 feet high) covered with graffiti stood at the intersection of two of the busiest streets in the city. Many efforts had been made by the city council to eradicate the graffiti. They had tried painting over it with white wash. But that encouraged youthful street artists to write on it again. Then the city council spent lots of money to have large streetlights installed hoping to deter the activity. All that did was give the artists more light to work by. It seemed to be a losing battle.
One day Tanya and her mother were chatting at the kitchen table when Tanya came up with the idea to paint a giant mural on that embarrassing retaining wall. She thought it would be a great project for the student council of Laramie High School. An ambitious idea was born that day, but to bring it to full maturity took a lot of time and energy.
Tanya fought opposition everywhere, especially with her peers. They said it wouldn’t work, that graffiti would cover the drawings immediately. But Tanya didn’t give up. During the summer of 1988 Tanya visited Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with her family. She contacted the Anti-Graffiti Network there and gathered more information. She took pictures of a wall that had been partially painted with a mural. Interestingly enough, there was graffiti all over the unpainted part of the wall. But the mural was left untouched. This gave her hope.
After much research Tanya’s first step was to present her idea to the student council at Laramie High School. It took a written proposal and some tall talking, but she finally won their support. The second step was to get the city council’s approval. Surprisingly, she was met with enthusiasm by both the council and the mayor, and the project took hold in the summer of 1989. It had taken more than a year to get to this point.
Ryan Fulton, a counselor at Laramie High School who became the sponsor of the project, said of Tanya, “That girl ramrodded the project and spent her time researching possibilities from other walls in other cities. She wasn’t afraid to present her ideas to the city council. That’s something for a high school student.”
The theme of the mural represents the three educational institutions of the community: Laramie High School, Wyoming Technical Institute, and the University of Wyoming. It was decided that there would be no advertising involved and neither the names of the schools nor the artists would appear anywhere in the drawings. Logos of the institutions are depicted in a kind of “new wave” art according to Tanya.
With about a dozen students from the high school and another dozen from the tech school, Tanya launched her project. John Kearnes, a Wyoming Tech student, was very helpful in the design and drawing of the mural.
Tanya had already met many challenges, but as the project began she found there were many more ahead. While the paint was still wet, rain washed away the first base coat. Hail ruined the surface in places another time. Tanya described the problems with the size of the wall. “There are 29 sections, only four where you can really stand. To get to the rest of it, we had to tie ropes around our waists and hang down the wall while we put in the measurements, did the sketching and the painting.” Over 600 man-hours were spent on this project. And Tanya personally contributed 87 hours. She also used this as her Young Women values project in the Laramie First Ward, Laramie Wyoming Stake.
Tanya’s mother Darlene Fisher, says, “Months have gone by and the wall is still fine. The whole city is proud of it. My husband (Monte Fisher) and I overhear people talking about the wall, and they don’t know we’re the parents of the girl who spearheaded the project. It makes us feel so good.”
What about upkeep on this huge project? The senior class of Laramie High School has formed a committee from the student council to provide maintenance on the wall. And the city council donates the paint.
Tanya said, “Everyone said it can’t work. But I said ‘Yes it can. If it can work in Boston and Chicago, it can work in a small town like Laramie.’” And it did! One young, determined girl, with a sense of community commitment, proved it.

Reflecting on my own life, I realize how I gained an appreciation for the core values that are necessary for the development of a sound character. Where did I learn loyalty, integrity, and dependability? I learned these qualities in the home from the example of my parents. How did I gain an appreciation for the value of selfless service? I did so by observing and enjoying my mother’s devotion to her family. Where did I learn honor and respect for daughters of God? I learned from the example of my father.
It was in the home that I learned principles of provident living and the dignity of work. I can still visualize my mother spending numerous nights at home, using a foot-treadle sewing machine to stitch shoes for a local shoe factory. This was not to enable her to purchase anything for herself but to help to provide financial support so that my brother and I could attend college. She later expressed how this act of service was a source of satisfaction for her.
My father was a wise, industrious man. He taught me how to cut timber using a handsaw, how to replace or attach a plug to a power cord of a domestic appliance, and many other practical skills.
All of these lessons carried a common theme: never be satisfied with anything less than your best efforts.
I developed the ability to make important decisions by talking with my parents and learning from their counsel. Add to the aforementioned accountability, consideration for others, and encouragement to pursue educational opportunities, and the list would still be incomplete.

The best thing to do is to stay true to your standards and stand up for what you believe in. Explain to your peers that you can’t tolerate that sort of language. I did something similar with my friends, and they stopped the language. They respect me more for standing up for what I believe.
Thomas L., 19, Colchester, England

I had a really bad day yesterday. When I got up, Lisa, my gerbil looked awfully sick. I was afraid she’d die while I was at school.
Then, at breakfast, I was just reaching for my juice glass and somehow my elbow knocked my bowl of cereal all over the table. To top it off, I missed my bus. Mom wasn’t exactly thrilled about driving me to school. And all of that happened before school.
After I got there, things went steadily downhill. I failed my spelling test, and I struck out at softball during morning recess. Then I found out that Alicia, the class brain, was furious at me for getting a higher score than she did on the last science test—for the first and last time ever.
At lunch we had my least favorite meal: macaroni and white stuff (I don’t dare call it cheese) with lima beans!
In the afternoon our seat assignments were changed. That’s something I usually look forward to, but the way things were going, I should have figured what would happen. You guessed it—my new seat was right next to Alicia! She just sat there glaring at me.
At afternoon recess I finally got a hit in softball but was called out at first base, even though I thought I was safe. I trudged back to the sidelines, mad and crabby. There stood Alicia with a big grin on her face. She handed me her pocket calculator. “This might help you get a math grade half as good as mine. But,” she added with a smirk, “you don’t need it to figure your batting average—not when it’s zero!”
I pushed the calculator away. How was I to know that she would drop it or that “Moose” Williams would walk by just then and step on it?
Alicia started wailing like an off-key fire siren. It was just my luck that Mrs. Harmon, the strictest teacher at school, was on playground duty. The calculator wasn’t even broken, but she hovered over Alicia like she was a poor, injured bird and sent me in for the rest of recess.
If it hadn’t been for my teacher, Miss Sweeney, I don’t think I would have made it. When I came into the room, she asked me what was wrong. When I told her everything that had happened, she put her arm around my shoulders. “I know how you feel, Bradley,” she said. “We all have bad days. But tomorrow when the sun comes up, it will be a brand-new day, and things will probably go a lot better.”
After she said that, I started feeling better. She let me feed our class’s rabbit, too—my favorite thing to do.
Well, when I woke up this morning, I found that Miss Sweeney was right. It was a better day. When I checked on Lisa, I discovered that she hadn’t been sick—she’d given birth to Alfie, Gretta, Susie, and Robert! I didn’t spill anything at breakfast, and I was five minutes early for the bus.
When I entered Miss Sweeney’s room, I was almost knocked over as Mrs. Harmon came stomping out. She slowed just long enough to scowl at me, then went quickly down the hallway.
I gave Miss Sweeney a smile and a cheery “Good Morning.” She greeted me, but her smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. I think Mrs. Harmon must have complained to her about our class.
I felt sorry for Miss Sweeney, but when the bell rang, I had other things on my mind—how to survive another day sitting next to Alicia. But when I sat down, Alicia didn’t even notice me! She was staring dreamily at her latest math paper with “100%” written at the top. What luck! Things were certainly going much better for me today.
At the end of morning recess, we had more excitement in our room, Sandi came running into the room, screaming. The whole front of her blouse was stained red, and blood was gushing from her nose. Miss Sweeney grabbed her and rushed her to the girls’ bathroom.
It wasn’t long before the class took advantage of the situation. Nick started a chalkboard-eraser war. Our side was winning, when the door opened and Miss Sweeney stepped in, only to have a Nick-thrown eraser bounce off her forehead.
What a pitiful sight—there she stood with a blotch of white on her forehead, her pretty pink blouse polka-dotted with blood splatters, and an eraser lying silent at her feet. Nick hustled up to the front of the room, returned the eraser to the chalk tray, and stood in his usual spot in the corner, all without saying a word. He didn’t even turn around once all morning to pull faces at us.
Finally, near the end of the day, things seemed to be returning to normal. Then the door squeaked open, and in stepped Mr. McGruffen, our principal. He walked to the back of the room, found an empty chair, and sat down. Miss Sweeney looked a little nervous. I wondered if Mrs. Harmon had complained to him, too, about our class.
Everyone worked pretty well for the hour Mr. McGruffen was there—even Nick, who had been allowed back in his seat for the afternoon. Mr. McGruffen was just getting up to leave, however, when Alicia let out a howl of anger. We had traded history quizzes to grade, and Russell had put a zero on hers as a joke.
I laughed so hard that I fell out of my chair, which made the rest of the class laugh even harder. Poor Miss Sweeney just looked from Mr. McGruffen to Russell, to Alicia, to me on the floor, and back to Mr. McGruffen again. Fortunately the final bell rang just then, and the class stampeded out.
I was about halfway home when I realized that I’d forgotten my spelling list for tomorrow’s test. I figured I’d better go back to get it so that I could make up for yesterday’s failure.
When I got back to the room, Miss Sweeney was still sitting at her desk. She didn’t say anything to me when I came in, which was really unlike her. She was dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief.
She suddenly looked really down in the dumps. That was when I knew what I had to do. First I glanced toward the open door to make sure that none of my friends were still hanging around. Then I walked up to Miss Sweeney’s desk, put my arm around her shoulders, and said, “I know just how you feel, Miss Sweeney. We all have bad days, but tomorrow will be a sunny new day.”
I know that wasn’t too original, but it didn’t seem to matter to Miss Sweeney. She got teary-eyed all over again but smiled and said, “Thanks, Bradley, I really needed that!”
I know the guys would never let me live it down if they saw what I did, but I’m glad I did it. After all, I guess teachers have bad days, too, just like the rest of us.

“When I was in Korea,” I continued, “I carried my small Book of Mormon and the book Principles of the Gospel that the Church supplies to all LDS servicemen. Habitually I slipped my Book of Mormon into the breast pocket of my uniform and read it during every available moment. Having studied it in seminary, it meant a lot to me. And even though I can’t carry a tune in a barrel, I liked to sing the hymns in the back of my Principles of the Gospel book when I was alone.

“On October 4, 1951, we were caught under fire in some rice paddies and could almost feel the whiz of shells overhead—they were that close. There were 150 men in our company. We managed to pull into a draw where we waited to advance up a sparsely covered mountain 30 miles from Uijongbu.

“Next day the Air Force laid a smoke screen around that mountain to prepare for our attack. Hearing orders to advance, I started to put my Book of Mormon in the breast pocket of my fatigues, as usual, then instantaneously dropped it into my deep hip pocket and moved out, keeping close to my platoon leader, a first lieutenant.

“We were near the top when the North Koreans stopped us with a volley of grenades. I was knocked out! When I came to, I looked down at my leg. My pants were completely soaked with blood. I spotted the lieutenant lying on the ground nearby—a twitching finger told me he was dead. That one shell got seven of our platoon right there. I was the only live soldier in sight. And I knew I wouldn’t be alive very long if I didn’t clear out. Boy Scout training saved my life. I pulled the towel from under the radio at my neck and put a tourniquet above the gaping wound in my thigh. At that point I didn’t know what had happened, but I did know the shrapnel had hit my thigh and traveled down my leg. Why hadn’t it blown my leg right off?

“My radio wasn’t knocked out. ‘Groucho one! Groucho one!’ I spoke into the set. That was our code. Headquarters responded. I said, ‘Platoon leader KIA. I’m hit. Send a medic. We’re in heavy fire.’

“At last a medic arrived. Removing the tourniquet, he put on a big compress bandage. As he prepared a shot of morphine for the pain, shells again exploded, and he took off. My buddy Harold Wiggint from Minnesota and a Spanish-American buddy found me and dragged me down the mountain. Once my foot was caught in the crotch of a fallen tree. The pain was unbearable. Finally I reached the hospital ship Repose.

“My doctor, from Logan, Utah, was the first LDS man I had found in Korea. Following surgery, he came to my bed and handed me a riddled, blood-soaked Book of Mormon.

“‘This was in your hip pocket. If that shell hadn’t been stopped by this book, it would have taken your leg with it,’ he said.

“‘And in my position, it probably would have gone right through both legs,’ I added.

“‘Could be. It takes tremendous force to go through a book like this,’ he replied.

“I was later sent to a general hospital in Sendi, Japan, where my leg received further treatment from another LDS army physician, Sherman Thorpe from Salt Lake City.

“In my letters home, I hadn’t told Grandma I’d been injured seriously. (Grandma had raised me.) But Dr. Thorpe’s mother lived in Salt Lake City, and she called Grandma, so my secret was exposed. The Church makes this a small world.

“In Japan as soon as I was able to get out of bed, Dr. Thorpe arranged for Church services to be moved to the hospital so I could attend in a wheelchair for the first time since I’d been in Korea. Then when I was well enough to get up and around, he took me into town to church. He was like a father to an 18-year-old soldier.”

Taking the stained, riddled Book of Mormon from my pocket, I let eager class members examine it. I now stood squarely on both my legs—saved by a prompting of the Holy Ghost to put the book in the proper pocket.

The first lady of Honduras, Rosa Elena Bonilla de Lobo, met with President Thomas S. Monson and President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, on Tuesday, November 8, 2011, a meeting she called “a great privilege.”
During her visit to Church headquarters, she also toured Temple Square, the Family History Library, the Conference Center, the Church Humanitarian Center, and Welfare Square.
She explained that the Church was helpful recently during terrible flooding in Honduras. “Just two weeks ago you delivered 90,000 tons [81,600 tonnes] of food for the people who were affected by the rain and flooding, and this is one of the many things you do,” she said. “I now have faith that the Church does not have borders or limits in their ability [and] commitment to help those in need.”

In his journal, Elder Woodruff wrote that he felt the Lord guided him to this spot. He traveled many kilometers by coach, then walked many more kilometers. He met John Benbow, a wealthy farmer, who with his wife, Jane, belonged to a large group that had broken away from the traditional religious denominations of that time. Wilford Woodruff recorded:
“[John Benbow] sent word through the neighborhood that an American missionary would preach at his house that evening. As the time drew nigh, many of the neighbors came in, and I preached my first gospel sermon in the house. I also preached at the same place on the following evening, and baptized six persons, including Mr. John Benbow, his wife, and four preachers of the United Brethren. …
“… The parish church that stood in the neighborhood of Brother Benbow’s, presided over by the rector of the parish, was attended during the day by only fifteen persons, while I had a large congregation, estimated to number a thousand, attend my meetings through the day and evening” (quoted in Matthias F. Cowley, Wilford Woodruff: History of His Life and Labors [1964], 117–18).
Many of those thousand listeners were baptized, and the converts formed some of the earliest branches of the Church in England. John and Jane Benbow and Thomas Kington also financed the first British edition of the Book of Mormon and a Latter-day Saint hymnbook.
During those few months in 1840, Wilford Woodruff preached to and baptized all the members of that breakaway group except for one man—a total of about 600 people. Elder Woodruff also baptized more than 1,200 from other denominations. Many of those baptized sold their land and possessions and left England to gather in Nauvoo, where they became stalwarts of the Church. They later were driven out of Nauvoo, crossed the plains, and established new communities in the western United States. Today their influence is felt throughout the earth, and many of their descendants continue doing the Lord’s work.
This small pool of water on the John Benbow farm was the scene of hundreds of baptisms in 1840. On 5 March, Wilford Woodruff baptized John and Jane Benbow and four preachers from the local congregation of a group called the United Brethren. Elder Woodruff spent most of the following day, as he wrote, “clearing out a pool of water and preparing it for baptizing, as I saw that many would receive that ordinance. I afterwards baptized six hundred persons in that pool of water” (quoted in Wilford Woodruff, 117).

My sister Rylee is allergic to nuts. If she eats any, they can make her stop breathing. One night we ate some salt water taffy, not knowing that some of the pieces had nuts in them. Rylee’s mouth started burning. Mom gave her some medicine, but it didn’t help. Next, Rylee’s throat started to burn, and she couldn’t swallow. Then her chest started to burn. It soon became hard for her to breathe.
Dad was out of town, so he wasn’t around to give her a blessing. Mom decided to call 911. The operator told her to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrived.
My sisters Kelsey and Haley and I were really worried about Rylee. We knelt on the kitchen floor and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father not to let Rylee die. Soon the paramedics arrived, but Rylee was already doing better. Mom was really surprised at her recovery.
Later, after everyone had left, we told Mom about our prayer and asked if she thought it had helped. She told us that it was probably the reason why Rylee was all right. I am grateful that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Mason Cate, age 4, with help from his familyLayton, Utah

“Can we go to the library, please?” Jack asks.
“No, thank you. I don’t want that one.”
“Can you please get that one for me?”
“Oops, sorry!” Jack says.
“Here are your books.”
“Thank you!” says Jack.
Jack feels good when he speaks kindly to others.

Elizabeth loved going to Primary every week. She loved singing Church songs and feeling the peaceful spirit there. She loved all her friends in Primary. But then her Primary class changed.
A new boy named Joseph moved in, and he seemed different from the other kids. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, and he didn’t seem to know when to talk and when to be quiet. He never raised his hand.
When Elizabeth talked to her mom about the new boy, her mom said that Joseph came from a “hard situation.” Elizabeth wasn’t really sure what that meant, but she noticed that Joseph’s family didn’t come to church with him.
A few weeks after Joseph started coming to Primary, the trouble started.
“Everyone sit down so we can begin class,” Sister Johnson said. All the kids started to take their seats, but when Joseph sat down, everyone moved away from him.
From then on, if Joseph sat on one side of the room, everyone hurried and moved to other side. It was like a game of musical chairs, where everyone tried to move as far away from Joseph as possible. Elizabeth had been taught to be kind, but even she began to play the musical chairs game. Sister Johnson told everyone to stay in their seats, but it was obvious—no one wanted to sit by Joseph.
Then one week at church, Joseph wasn’t there. Then another week, and another week passed, and Joseph still didn’t come.
Elizabeth wondered about Joseph and why he wasn’t coming to church anymore. She thought that maybe it was because of his “hard situation.” Or maybe he had moved away. But she just couldn’t get rid of an icky feeling that she had done something wrong. The more she thought, the more Elizabeth realized that their musical chairs game had been mean and wrong and that maybe it was the reason Joseph stopped coming to church.
One night after family prayer, Elizabeth gave her mom a hug and started to cry.
“Mom, I think I did something wrong. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
Elizabeth told her mom about how no one in her Primary class wanted to sit next to Joseph. She told her how they had all laughed and tried to get the farthest seat away from him and how she felt bad for being mean to him. Elizabeth and her mom talked about repentance and what she could do to feel better and make things right.
Mom said, “Joseph is a child of God. It doesn’t matter if he looks and acts different; Heavenly Father loves him. We should always treat others like they are valuable, because they truly are.”
Elizabeth promised herself that she would never treat anyone like that again. Even if it meant being less popular, she would treat everyone like a child of God.
One Sunday, Joseph finally returned to Primary. When the other kids started to giggle and race to find a seat away from Joseph, Elizabeth chose the seat right next to him.
“Hey, Joseph! What’s up?” she asked with a warm smile.
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story.
For Elizabeth, the musical chairs game was over. Joseph would always have someone to sit by now.

Many years ago, our family had an experience which left an indelible impression as to the importance and value and power of a father’s blessing. The lessons learned may be of interest to you.
When our oldest children were ready to begin formal schooling, Sister Bateman and I decided that a father’s blessing would be given to each child at the beginning of the school year. The family home evening preceding the start of school would be the occasion. The year our oldest son, Michael, entered the third grade holds special memories for us. During the preceding summer he had participated in Little League baseball. He loved the sport. When we gathered for family home evening just before the start of school, Michael announced that he did not need a blessing. He had completed his first season in Little League, and blessings were for younger children.
Sister Bateman and I were stunned. We encouraged him, suggesting that a blessing would help him with his schoolwork. It would be a protection to him. It would help him in his relations with his brothers, sisters, and friends. Our encouragement, along with some coaxing, failed. He was too old. Believing in the principle of agency, we were not about to force a blessing on an eight-year-old. All of the children except Michael received a blessing that year.
The school year proceeded normally. Michael and the other children did well in school, and the family enjoyed their associations together. Then the following May arrived, and it was time for Little League baseball to begin. Following the last day of school, Michael’s coach called a team practice. Michael’s anticipation could not have been greater. His dream was about to be realized. He was to be the starting catcher. The baseball diamond was only a few blocks from our home. The boys and the coach walked to the baseball field, crossing a busy highway. Following the practice, the boys and coach started for home. Michael and a friend ran on ahead of the coach and the other boys. As the two boys approached the busy highway, Michael failed to look and darted in front of a car driven by a 16-year-old young man out for his first drive. Can you imagine the fear that must have struck the young man’s heart? He slammed on the brakes and swerved in an attempt to miss the boy. Unfortunately, the side of the front fender and bumper hit Michael and threw him down the highway.
A short time later, Sister Bateman and I received a telephone call from the police. Michael, in critical condition, was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital. It was important that we hurry. Before leaving, I called a friend and asked him to meet us at the hospital and assist in giving a blessing. The 20-minute drive was the longest of our lives. We prayed fervently for the life of our son and to know the will of the Lord.
As we parked the car by the door of the emergency room, we saw a policeman exiting with a young man who was crying. The policeman recognized us and introduced the young man as the driver of the car. We knew enough of the story to put our arms around him and tell him that we knew it was not his fault. We then entered the hospital to find Michael. As we entered his room, the doctors and nurses were working feverishly, attending to his needs. My friend had arrived, and we asked if it would be possible to have two or three minutes alone with him. My priesthood brother anointed, and I sealed. As I laid my hands upon Michael’s head, a feeling of comfort and peace came over me, words flowed, and promises were made. He was then rushed to the operating room.
For the next four weeks, Michael lay in a hospital bed with his head bandaged and his leg in traction. Each Wednesday, his Little League teammates would visit him after the game and give him a report. Each Wednesday, tears would well up in Michael’s eyes and run down his cheeks as the boys relived the game. After four weeks in traction, Michael was put in a body cast from his chest to his toes. On two or three occasions we took him to a game to watch his friends play. Another four weeks passed, and the body cast was replaced with a cast from his hip to his toes. Two days before school was to begin, the final cast was removed. As the family gathered the next night for school blessings, is there any wonder as to who wanted the first blessing? A nine-year-old boy, a little older and a lot wiser, was first in line.
Over the years our children have come to understand that accidents are not always prevented by priesthood blessings, but they also know that more than one type of protection is available through the priesthood. Today, our grandchildren are the recipients of priesthood blessings. The tradition is in the second and third generations. We believe that this practice, like the family, will prevail through the eternities.

Several times during the trip, the pioneers talked with mountain men. Jim Bridger discouraged them from settling all the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley until they knew if grain could be grown there. He didn’t think it could, and he offered a thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn grown. But God was leading the Saints. President Young told Bridger, “Wait a little, and we will show you.”

Zina Diantha Huntington Young first encountered the Book of Mormon when she was 14 years old and living in Watertown, New York. She later wrote, “One day on my return from school I saw the Book of Mormon, that strange, new book, lying on the window sill of our sitting-room. I went up to the window, picked it up, and the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit accompanied it to such an extent that I pressed it to my bosom in a rapture of delight, murmuring as I did so, ‘This is the truth, truth, truth’” (see Ensign, March 1984, 37).

For a Kansas Day play at school, Erin sang a solo. (Kansas Day commemorates the day Kansas became a state in the United States.) She said that singing alone was scary.