Gospel Story Finder

Years later, when my daughter Hannah was about four, she picked up some crayons from the store. We did not notice that she had them until we were home. Hoping for the same kind of help in teaching the principal of honesty, my wife took her to see the manager of that store. The manager was a nice lady. She could see that Hannah was quite upset, so she said something like, “It is okay, sweetheart. I know you did not mean to do it.” It did not have the same effect as my meeting with Mr. Hayward, so we needed to be Mr. Hayward ourselves, so she could learn the lesson. She did, and she in turn had to teach it to her son Carson years later when he pilfered the fruit snacks. This shows to me how important it is for parents and others to teach correct principles. Four generations here were involved in teaching the lessons of honesty. You wonder what would have happened if my mother had done nothing?

What you have done remarkably well together is to cherish, watch over, and comfort each other. I was a witness of that threefold miracle just one month ago in your service to one sister. As her father, I thank you and I want to extend my thanks to God, who guided one visiting teacher.
Our daughter Elizabeth, who lives in another state and time zone from us, was at home with her three-year-old daughter. Her other child was in her first week of kindergarten. Elizabeth was six months pregnant and looking forward to the birth of her third child, which the doctors said would be another girl. Her husband, Joshua, was away at his work.
When she saw that she was passing blood and that the flow was increasing, she called her husband on the phone. He told her to call for an ambulance and that he would meet her at the hospital, which was 20 minutes from her home. Before she could place the call, she heard a knock at the front door.
At the door she was surprised to see her Relief Society visiting teaching companion. They had no appointment for that morning. Her companion had simply felt she ought to come by to see Elizabeth.
She helped her into the car. They arrived at the hospital minutes before Joshua arrived from his work. The doctors decided in less than 20 minutes to take the baby by surgery to save Elizabeth and her baby. So a tiny girl came into the world, crying loudly, 15 weeks ahead of schedule. She weighed one pound, eleven ounces (765 g). But she was alive, and so was Elizabeth.
The words of Lucy Mack Smith were in part fulfilled that day. A faithful member of the Relief Society, prompted by the Holy Ghost, watched over, cherished, and comforted her sister in God’s kingdom. She and the tens of thousands of others who have given such inspired service over the generations have not only the thanks of those they helped and their loved ones but also of the Lord.
But the miracle of one Relief Society sister arriving to help just in time is multiplied through the power of a unified society of sisters. Here is just a part of the message Elizabeth’s bishop sent to Elizabeth and to Joshua at the hospital hours after the baby was born: “The Relief Society president has everything under control. We are already building a future plan to assist with your girls at home so Elizabeth can travel back and forth to the hospital while the unnamed cute baby remains there. We’ve done it before, long term, and [our] people jump at the chance.”
The bishop went on to say, speaking for himself and the ward: “We’ve even come to the hospital and sat with kids in the playroom when moms didn’t want to leave them somewhere else.”
And then: “We won’t execute our plan without coordination and concurrence from you, of course. Just wanted to let you know not to worry about the things we can [and will] do.”
What they did for my daughter made it possible for her to have a precious moment when she held, for the first time, her tiny daughter.
And then the bishop closed his message to Joshua and Elizabeth with one that sisters send out of their commitment across the earth to serve others for the Master: “Keep the faith.”

Some 50 years ago I received an invitation to meet with President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church, a statesman of towering stature, and a scholar of international renown. My profession then was in the field of printing and publishing. President Clark made me welcome in his office and then produced from his old rolltop desk a large sheaf of handwritten notes, many of them made when he was a law student long years before. He proceeded to outline for me his goal of producing a harmony of the Gospels. This goal was achieved with his monumental work Our Lord of the Gospels.
In my library is a personally inscribed, leather-bound copy of this classic treatment of the life of Jesus of Nazareth. As I have perused its pages, I have paused at the section entitled “The Miracles of Jesus.” I remember as though it were yesterday President Clark asking me to read to him several of these accounts while he sat back in his large leather chair and listened. That was a day in my life never to be forgotten.
President Clark asked me to read aloud the account found in Luke concerning the man filled with leprosy. I proceeded to read:
“And it came to pass, when he was in a certain city, behold a man full of leprosy: who seeing Jesus fell on his face, and besought him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.
“And he put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will: be thou clean. And immediately the leprosy departed from him” (Luke 5:12–13).
He asked that I continue reading from Luke concerning the man afflicted with palsy and the enterprising manner in which he was presented for the attention of the Lord:
“And, behold, men brought in a bed a man which was taken with a palsy: and they sought means to bring him in, and to lay him before him.
“And when they could not find by what way they might bring him in because of the multitude, they went upon the housetop, and let him down through the tiling with his couch into the midst before Jesus.
“And when he saw their faith, he said unto him, Man, thy sins are forgiven thee” (Luke 5:18–20).
There followed in the scriptural account snide comments from the Pharisees concerning who had the right to forgive sins. Jesus silenced their bickering by saying:
“What reason ye in your hearts?
“Whether [it] is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Rise up and walk?
“But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power upon earth to forgive sins, (he said unto the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy couch, and go into thine house.
“And immediately he rose up before them, and took up that whereon he lay, and departed to his own house, glorifying God” (Luke 5:22–25).
When I had read these scriptural stories aloud, President Clark removed from his pocket a handkerchief and wiped the tears from his eyes. He commented, “As we grow older, tears come more frequently.” After a few words of good-bye, I departed from his office, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his tears.
As I reflect on this experience with President Clark, my heart fills with gratitude to the Lord for His divine intervention to relieve the suffering, heal the sick, and raise the dead. I grieve, however, for the many, similarly afflicted, who knew not how to find the Master, to learn of His teachings, and to become the beneficiaries of His power. I remember that President Clark himself suffered heartache and pain in the tragic death at Pearl Harbor of his son-in-law Mervyn S. Bennion, captain of the battleship West Virginia. That day there had been no ram in the thicket, no steel to stop the shrapnel, no miracle to heal the wounds of war. But faith never wavered, and answered prayers provided the courage to carry on.

Josh wiggled his fingers and toes in the warm sand. The salty breeze blew in his face and Josh licked his lips.
“I can taste the ocean!” he announced. He dug his plastic shovel into the sand. “Brooke, will you help me make a sandcastle?” Brooke didn’t look up. She quickly turned the page of her book, eagerly seeking the next words in the story.
Dad pushed the beach umbrella into the sand while Mom spread out their towels. She looked at Brooke and laughed gently. “Brooke, do you want to stop reading and look at the beautiful view? This is a perfect start to our vacation!”
Brooke slowly closed her book. She tried to focus on the bright blue sky and the palm trees waving in the breeze, but in her mind she was still in the dark pine forest with Princess Rosalie and Sir Nathanael. It was her favorite kind of story—knights on majestic horses, a beautiful princess, a priceless treasure guarded by terrible monsters. She tried to picture what the treasure would be: gold coins, sparkling jewelry, riches for the grandest kings and queens.
Brooke gazed at the glittering ocean. It stretched as far as she could see. “There could be buried treasure out there,” she said. “I’ve read about ships that got caught in storms and sank with all their treasure.”
Dad winked at her. “Maybe we’ll find some while we’re here. We can have a treasure hunt.”
“No thanks, Dad,” Brooke said. “I’m going to read some more.” She stretched out on her beach towel and opened her book again. Would Princess Rosalie find the secret door in time? Would Sir Nathanael find a way to defeat the monsters?
A while later, Josh came running up to Brooke carrying his plastic beach pail. “Look! Dad and I found treasure!” He reached into the pail and pulled out a delicate sand dollar. It was followed by a collection of smooth stones and shells.
She picked up a piece of a shell. “This isn’t treasure.”
“Why not?” Josh demanded.
“These are just rocks and shells. They’re not worth anything.”
Dad sat down on the sand. “A treasure doesn’t have to be worth a lot of money, Brooke,” he said. “It isn’t always a pile of gold coins like you’re always reading about.” He grinned and tugged playfully on her hair. “A treasure is something that means a lot to you. It’s something that you want to take care of and remember.” He picked a shiny pink shell out of Josh’s pail and handed it to Brooke. She looked at it doubtfully. “Just think about it,” Dad said.
The next morning Dad said they were going to visit Grandma Connors. As Brooke put her book in her bag Mom touched her shoulder. “You can take your book, but please don’t read it while we’re at Grandma’s.”
Brooke frowned. “But there’s nothing else to do at her house. It’s boring there,” she said. “Besides, I’m getting to the really good part! Sir Nathanael is about to fight the monsters!”
“Grandma Connors is lonely and she misses us a lot,” Mom said. “She’s looking forward to visiting with all of us.” She smiled. Brooke didn’t smile back.
When they pulled up to Grandma Connors’s house, she was waiting for them in her front yard. “Hello, dears!” she called and waved to them. She led them inside, talking and laughing. She cut everyone a piece of cake, and they all went outside to sit on the back porch. Josh sat next to Grandma and she kept patting his hand.
Grandma, Mom, and Dad began talking about uncles and friends and cousins whom Brooke didn’t know. She swung her legs restlessly in her chair. “Will Princess Rosalie find the treasure?” she wondered. Her fingers itched to feel the familiar weight of the book, but she didn’t want to disobey Mom.
Brooke went inside, hoping she could find something to do. She found a bookcase filled with large, brown books. She pulled one out. The cover was plain. There weren’t any pictures of princesses or gold or jewels on it. Brooke half-heartedly opened the cover. Inside she found pages of photographs, some of them faded or turning yellow with age. She studied the faces but didn’t see anyone she knew. But then she saw a little girl with a braid who looked like her. She carried the album to the back porch.
“Well, look what you found,” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.
Brooke pointed to the picture. “Who’s this, Grandma? She looks like me.”
Grandma smiled. “That’s your mother when she was about your age,” she said. She turned a few pages and pointed to another picture. “That’s your grandfather and me at our first dance together.”
Brooke settled next to Grandma and pointed to a black-and-white photograph. “Who are those kids?” she asked.
“That’s me!” Grandma said. “Me and my brothers, Jacob and Steven. And that was our dog, Smarty.”
“Smarty?” Brooke laughed.
Grandma turned to more pictures and told stories about family members Brooke never knew. But seeing their faces as Grandma spoke helped their stories come alive.
Before Brooke knew it, it was time to leave. “Before you go, I want to show you one more,” Grandma said. She turned to a photograph in the very back of the album. It was black and white, and worn from being handled a lot. A young couple stood together. The woman had long, dark ringlets that rested on a high-collared, lacy white dress. The man wore a suit.
“That’s you and Grandpa when you were married,” Brooke said.
“Yes,” Grandma said. Her voice was softer. “Looking at this picture and seeing his smiling face helps me remember all the wonderful times we had together. I’ve treasured this picture since the day it was taken, and it means so much more to me now that your grandpa is gone.”
Brooke studied the picture for a moment. “When we get home, I’m going to send you a picture of my smiling face so you can be happy,” she said.
Grandma hugged Brooke tightly.
A few weeks later, Dad brought home some pictures they took on their vacation. Mom, Brooke, and Josh crowded around him to see.
“There we are at the beach!” Josh said.
“There’s that beautiful garden I saw,” Mom said.
“There’s me and Grandma!” Brooke said, pointing to the photo of their young and old faces close together.
Dad propped up the picture on the mantle. Then he smiled and winked at Brooke. “Do you think we found a treasure?”
“I just need one more piece of gold,” Brooke said. She ran to her room and quickly returned. Next to the photo she placed a shiny pink shell. “Now our treasure is perfect,” she said.

My father was very fond of reading the Bible. He wasn’t a Catholic, but my mother was. She took us to the Catholic church from the time we were very small. Then, in 1956, when I was twelve, the LDS missionaries came to our home. My mother didn’t want to listen to them and, rather than offend them, told them to come only when my father was home. They did and began to teach us. Only two of my brothers were still at home with me—the others were all married.
The missionaries were not only competent but very inspired in getting my mother and us children involved. Each time they came, they read something to us from the scriptures—almost always from the Book of Mormon—and the next time they came, they asked us to report on what they had told us and on what we had read. The three of us and my father and mother were baptized six months later.

The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.

When I was 11 years old, my brother and I had a fight, and I refused to forgive him. For three long years, he worked to win my forgiveness, but I kept snubbing him and ignoring his efforts. I always felt guilty—as though I were carrying the heaviest load of my life. But I was selfish, and I had too much pride to admit I was wrong. I don’t know how my brother was so patient with me.
Now I am 14. Recently I was given the opportunity to prepare to go to the Manila Philippines Temple to be baptized for the dead. I realized I had to do something to fix the situation with my brother. I wanted to repent and be friends with my brother again, but I didn’t know how. Every night I thought about how to tell him I was sorry, but I was too shy to talk to him about it. For several nights, I struggled with what to do. Finally, after praying about it, I decided to write him a letter. I put the letter in his room before leaving to attend the temple.
I felt lighter than ever before. My heavy burden was gone, and I was filled with joy. More important than that, I felt worthy to enter the house of the Lord. I realized that if I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I would have forgiven my brother long before. And I prayed that my brother and the Lord would forgive me for holding the grudge so long.
I am grateful for the power of forgiveness and that the Atonement of Jesus Christ can help our family be happy once again.

Juan’s parents taught him as a child to follow standards that bless his life. These helped him grow and develop his talents. “Since I was little, I set goals in Primary and Young Men to learn instruments,” he explains. “I play the violin, flute, piano, and now the guitar. I like the guitar most of all.”
Juan also set personal fitness goals based on Fulfilling My Duty to God. Over the years he has studied tae kwon do, swimming, and gymnastics, and he was even on his school’s running team.
“I love to learn. That’s why I always took the challenge to learn a new instrument or sport, to learn something more,” he says.
These goals also supported a larger objective. “Everything I’ve done, all that I have studied, all the physical preparation, all the goals I’ve set—everything has been with the object of going on a mission,” he explains. “And going on a mission is just part of another goal: to be sealed in the temple and become a good husband.”

I was invited to a friend’s house. I was excited because he had moved to the other side of town, and I didn’t get to see him very often. On the way there, Mom and I reviewed what is expected of me at a friend’s house.
I was having a good time with my friend when he started playing a movie that was rated PG-13. I told him that I’m not allowed to watch PG-13 movies, and that I would not watch it. Then he put in an R-rated movie. I told him I would not watch that either. My friend would not listen to me. This made me sad.
I called my parents, and my mom came and got me. When she found out what had happened, she was very proud of me and took me out to eat. I am sad that my friend chose what was wrong. But I felt the Holy Ghost when I left my friend’s house, because I chose what was right.

Car horns blared and taxis and buses jostled for a place in the traffic. As Benjamin Misalucha sat in the marketplace watching the automobiles roll by, he reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He hoped his wife would be done with the shopping soon. The weather was hot and muggy, as it often is in the Philippines, and he was eager to get home and relax with his children.
Then he noticed a sign, high on the side of one of the buildings overlooking the square. “No other success can compensate for failure in the home,” the sign read. He found himself contemplating the message and believing in its truth.
“During those times I was young, about 30, and had four children. We had everything, comparatively speaking, compared to other Filipinos, but I was not satisfied with life. In my heart I knew I was searching for something more,” he said.
He didn’t guess that the quotation from President David O. McKay had been inscribed on the sign by missionaries living in the building, the same kind of Mormon missionaries who had already visited with him for three weeks when he lived in Manila, the capital city. He had also been visited twice by the elders here in Davao, another large city in the south.
A short time later, Benjamin Misalucha was transferred by his pharmaceutical company to Cebu City, an important community on one of the central islands. It was in Cebu that Mr. Misalucha and his family would discover the secret of what had been lacking in their lives.
In a society in which sharing is so accepted, it might seem unusual that someone would stand out as being particularly kind and generous. But such was the case with the local Parent Teacher Association (PTA) president. Right from the start she went out of her way to help the Misaluchas adjust to their new city. Soon Mr. Misalucha was serving on the PTA board. He eventually found out that the PTA president was also the wife of the local Mormon bishop. His curiosity grew and grew.
“One day I saw both of them walking home, and I ran over to catch up with them,” Mr. Misalucha explained. “I told him I wanted to know more about his church. He said he could recommend a couple of nice young men who could teach me about it.”
For the next ten months, the elders became a regular fixture in the Misalucha home. Benjamin Misalucha would entertain them with stories about previous encounters with missionaries, before he fully understood who they were: “They knocked on my door and asked me if I was the head of the house. I was all hot and perspiring from doing some chores, so I told them, ‘No, I’m just the janitor here.’ It’s something I say jokingly to my family all the time, but they believed me!”
Avelina would always provide cold water or juice, cake, or even siopao (doughy, white, steamed Chinese bread stuffed with sausage and eggs). And of course, the children, who numbered five by now, would have fun teasing the missionaries and telling jokes before the serious gospel discussions began.
“I wanted answers from the Bible,” Benjamin said, “because I didn’t believe in the Book of Mormon yet. And they showed me answers in the Bible. I was totally perplexed by how they could always get answers to questions I couldn’t even answer myself.” Slowly, his perplexed state gave way to understanding. The missionaries could find the answers because they knew the truth. He summoned a family council.
“Take this individually into prayer,” he told his wife and children. At the next family council, they all voted in favor of becoming Latter-day Saints. The family was baptized on April 29, 1978, a Saturday.

Because of the fire, two families that were already friends became even better friends sharing the same house as brothers and sisters in the gospel. “When we learned their house had burned down, we said, ‘Why don’t you come live with us in Chico?’” says Luke B., 11. “Sometimes it’s been a little crowded, but we’ve learned a lot about sharing and being kind,” Luke says.
Grady B., 14, says, “When we have home evening together, I always try to share a scripture that has helped me understand how faith can help us get through trials. I’ve learned that there’s a lot of comfort in the scriptures.” Just as there is comfort in helping each other.

The Browns are a traveling family. Each summer they take a big trip. They camp along the way, and they always take David’s hand-powered tricycle. David has ridden his trike in many wonderful places: the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol in Washington, D.C.; the Grand Canyon; Niagara Falls; Disney World; and even across the Royal Gorge Bridge. But David and his family agree that the best trips they have ever taken are the two trips they made to the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Every member of the family had a costume and a part in the pageant. David’s dad even played the part of Lehi one year.
David has many friends in Primary. His favorite Primary song is “I Want to Be a Missionary Now.” He hopes to go on a mission to Germany one day because his dad went there on his mission. David’s big smiles and hugs make Sunday a special day for lots of people.
David says, “I just want to be treated like any other kid.” But his happiness and his love for others make him one of a kind.

For example, many of my ancestors were early members of the restored Church. They were pioneers who left their homes and families and journeyed to the Great Salt Lake Valley. They had the faith to wade through affliction, even though it meant losing loved ones along the way. They walked over a thousand miles, sometimes wearing only rags to cover their feet after their shoes were worn out. Yet, they did it all in response to a prophet’s call.

My third great-grandmother was known as “Wee Granny” because she was a very tiny Scottish woman. She and several of her family members heard the gospel and joined the Church in Scotland. Her son, John, brought his family to Utah in the early 1850s. Several years later, Wee Granny boarded the ship to join her son here and was assigned to the Martin Handcart Company. Being in her seventies, she found the journey to be very difficult. By the time the company arrived at Chimney Rock, Nebraska, she was overcome by exhaustion and could go no further. Just before she died, she said to those with her, “Tell John I died with my face towards Zion.” This example of faith has been taught to my family for generations, and has been a lasting legacy for us to follow.

I would like to finish my thoughts with one of my favorite stories that has been handed down over many generations from an old and, by now, anonymous rabbi. This may be a rabbinical story, but it is a story that was lived by a Christian called Raoul Wallenberg.

This wise, old rabbi had his students gathered around him one day, and he asked them the following question: “How can you tell the moment at which the night begins to turn to day?”

His brightest student raised his hand and said, “Well, I think it is when you are walking through the village and it is dark and you are still far off, but you can tell the roof of your own home from that of your neighbor.”

The rabbi said, “No, that is not the way to tell when night begins to turn to day.”

A second student spoke up and said, “It is perhaps the moment when a man who is walking through the woods at twilight sees a large animal approaching him and he can tell whether it is a bull or a large dog.”

The rabbi shook his head no and gave this answer: “The moment when the night has begun to turn to day is the moment when you can look into the face of a stranger and you recognize that he is your brother.”

That is the meaning and message of Raoul Wallenberg’s life. In the midst of the darkest night the world had known, he looked into the faces of strangers who looked so different from himself and saw that they were his brothers and his sisters. In recognizing this, he brought light into the terrible darkness and hastened the coming of the dawn.

I once read a quote by Theodore Roosevelt that said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” In a world where everyone’s life experiences are freely shared through social media, I felt constantly driven by unrealistic comparisons to friends, family, and prominent social figures. My deepest shortcomings were being matched with another’s greatest accomplishments, and I was often left feeling inadequate. In this time of negative self-reflection, I realized that I needed to change my mindset.
I took a break from all forms of social media and started to work on personal positivity and seeing the best in others. In a short amount of time, my thoughts began to change. I quickly stopped comparing my negatives to others’ positives like I had so often done before. In fact, I began to secretly celebrate the successes of others! This practice instantly melted away the wall of pride and jealousy I had built up over time. What followed was a clear mind and the ability to view things from an eternal perspective.

Joseph Fielding Smith spent many hours riding his horse, Junie, and he took good care of her. After a ride, he always walked her and brushed her. At night he was careful to lock her in her stall in the barn.
But Junie was a smart horse. After Joseph left the barn at night, she used her nose and teeth to undo the strap that held the door of her stall shut.
Whenever she got out, she never ran away. Instead, she turned on the water tap in the Smith’s yard, then walked through the garden or across the lawn.
4. If Joseph heard the water running in the night, he knew that Junie had unlocked her stall—again. Joseph’s father teased him, saying that maybe the horse was smarter than Joseph.
5. Joseph’s father decided that he would lock Junie in so that she could not get out. He buckled the strap around the post and under a crossbar. “Young lady,” he told the horse, “let’s see you get out now.”
6. As Joseph and his father walked back to the house, they heard Junie walking along behind them. Joseph couldn’t resist asking his father who Junie was smarter than now!
7. Joseph Fielding Smith had a good sense of humor, and he enjoyed life. Many years later, when he became the tenth President of the Church, he encouraged other Church members to enjoy life.

James: Cristi has this Christlike ability to see the good in others. She has a deep testimony of her Savior and a great desire to do missionary work.

Cristi: I remember trying to bargain with the Lord. For a while, it was like, “Come on, heal me. I want to gather Israel!” I tried to boss God around, but it didn’t work. Then I thought, “OK, my name, Cristi, means ‘follower of Christ.’ While I’m still here, I want to bring as many souls to Christ as I can.

James: And that led to another prompting.

Cristi: I started doing a social media message each day, a little message of hope and love. I called it “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive.” People started hearing about it. My sister-in-law was an atheist, but she said, “Will you start sending me your messages?” Over time she became a believer, and now she’s a member of the Church. And my brother started reading the messages. They helped him to find faith again. Now he’s active in the Church.

James: I was traveling a lot for work, going to small towns in Texas and Georgia. Cristi often went with me. We’d meet people we wanted to stay in touch with, and she would say, “Can I send you one of my messages? Then you can decide if you want to keep receiving them.”

Cristi: The number of people who wanted my messages kept growing. Now there are about 200. Some are Church members; some are not. For a long time, I sent out a thought every day, but now that’s getting harder and harder. I think the messages will be like a little history. When I’m gone, my family and friends will still have my witness about what I know is true.

Nita Blackwing dragged her bleating one-year-old sheep across the corral. “You’re going to get your first shearing,” she told him. “But don’t be afraid—it won’t hurt.”
Mother and Granny were shearing the whole flock that spring day. Some of the sheep belonged to Nita’s older brothers and sisters. This was Nita’s first sheep. With a pair of big hand shears Granny expertly sheared the wool from Nita’s sheep in one whole piece.
“How skinny he looks!” Nita declared. “Poor thing!” She wished she could wrap his woolly coat around him and make him a baby lamb again.
Feeling a bit sad, Nita walked home with Granny as the glowing sunset turned the earth and rocks of the Navajo reservation red.
Running ahead of the older woman, Nita shouted, “The cactuses are in bloom, Granny!” Nita kept a safe distance from the spiny pads of the prickly pear cactuses as she stroked the dark pink petals of a colorful blossom. They were big and as shiny as wax. “I wish I could take one home,” she said.
“A cactus flower lives only a short while,” Granny cautioned. “Let it turn into a fruit that we can use.”
The Blackwing hogan was a round house made of logs and bark, plastered with mud the same color as the rocks around it. The boys helped their father with the horses and ponies and the crops of corn and squash. The girls herded the sheep and helped prepare the wool for weaving. Mother wove good blankets and rugs, but Granny was known far and wide as one of the best weavers among the Navajos.
Nita and her sisters spent the hot summer days in front of the hogan, beating the wool with sticks to make the burrs and dirt fly out. Then they carded it into strands by combing it with metal-toothed paddles. Nita carded her own sheep’s fleece especially well so that Granny would want to use it in her rug.
Every night Nita watched Granny spin the wool into yarn on a spinning stick. “Why do you whirl it around so many times?” she asked.
“The more you spin, the finer the yarn,” Granny explained. “The finer the yarn, the better the rug.”
Mother, who liked new ways and bright colors, bought the dye for her yarn in paper packages at the trading post. One night when they were all snuggled down under their sheepskins, the children chose the colors they wanted for their wool.
“Turquoise!” said Maria. “Like the sky.”
“Yellow!” said Jolie. “Like the sun.”
“Red—bright red!” Ben shouted.
Those three colors would go into Mother’s rug.
“My sheep is black, so I don’t have to choose,” said Ramon.
“I want mine to stay white,” said Johnny. “And my wool will be twisted with Ramon’s to make gray.”
Both Mother and Granny used the three natural colors—black, white, and gray. But Granny wouldn’t use dyes from the trader. She made her own by boiling roots, bark, fruit, and leaves from plants.
“I guess you’ll have to choose brown, Nita,” said Maria. “That’s about the only color Granny ever makes.”
But brown was dull, and Nita liked bright colors too.
One day Nita went with Granny to the nearby mountains to find plants for making dye. The trees and shrubs were turning red and yellow in the frosty air.
“What a pretty tree,” said Nita as they dug up roots of a mountain mahogany with reddish bark and leaves. “Does this make red dye, Granny?” She hoped it did.
But Granny replied, “No. Brown.”
On the way home they came to the prickly pear cactus, now bearing dark red fruit. “We’ll pick some of these to make rose-colored dye,” said Granny.
“You’ve never woven a rose-colored rug before!” Nita said excitedly.
“I mix it with brown to make a good Indian color—the color of the earth that takes care of us.”
Nita looked toward the hogan framed against the rocks. It was a kind of rosy brown in the setting sun. “Like that?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes, I see a design in my head that has many squares of the Indian earth color at sunset.”
“Then I want that for the color of my sheep’s wool,” Nita declared.
When the snow came and the coyotes howled, Nita sat in front of the loom and watched Granny weave her rug. It had a gray background and a black border and a design in squares and rectangles of white and black and the rosy Indian earth color.
When the frozen ground thawed and the snowstorms were replaced by dust storms, Granny took the rug off the loom and laid it on the floor. Nita touched the rosy brown squares.
“There is my sheep’s wool,” she said. “And there are the colors from the prickly pear flower and the mahogany tree.”
Granny began to roll up the rug. “Now I must take it to the trading post. We need flour, sugar, and canned food, and some cloth for blouses and skirts.”
Tears came into Nita’s eyes as she thought about the beautiful rug that must be traded for supplies.
“Come,” said Granny. “Your father will drive us to the trading post in his truck. The trader will give you a peppermint stick.”
Nita smiled. “It’s almost time for the ewes to have new lambs, isn’t it? Will I get to choose another one to be mine?”
“Of course,” said Granny. “You will have a new lamb, and your old sheep will have new wool. The cactus will bloom again, and we will go again to the mountains for our plant dyes. That is how the earth takes care of us.”
“And I will learn to weave rugs full of beautiful things like yours,” said Nita.

I remember blessing a young mother who came seeking renewed strength to endure a difficult pregnancy with her third or fourth child. She had great faith, and as I blessed her, as her bishop, I felt power streaming down my arms and through my fingers into the crown of her head. I felt it course through her body, even to the tips of her toes. It was a powerful, cleansing, rejuvenating force, almost electric in its energy, yet calm and soft and assuring. After the blessing she arose and, with tears in her eyes, said, “I felt that all the way to the tips of my toes.” Priesthood power is power from Jesus Christ, the Redeemer, and is a great trust and a great responsibility.

When Elder LeGrand Richards was getting along in years, he generally gave extemporaneous conference talks. As you know, we have some time restraints. There was concern as to how to notify him when his time was up. A little flashing light was put on the podium, and during one of his talks he said, “There’s a light here that keeps flashing.” The next conference they made the light red, but he just put his hand over it. So I might resort to some of that today. As we age, we get to the point where the teleprompter doesn’t work for us anymore; then the printers seem to be doing a poor job in printing the text; and then the ink doesn’t seem to be as good as it used to be either! But I am honored and grateful to be here with you.