Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes Sabbath observance was difficult as my husband in his work did a lot of travelling outside the country and liked to have me with him. If there was a church in any of the towns we visited, and nothing was planned, he was always agreeable to my attending sacrament meeting, but at the same time I never curtailed his plans for a social get-­together if he chose to do so. Overall, the Sabbath became a firm family unity day for us.

Returning again to Karl G. Maeser, on one occasion he was leading a party of young missionaries across the Alps. As they slowly ascended the steep slope, he looked back and saw a row of sticks thrust into the glacial snow to mark the one safe path across the otherwise treacherous mountains.

Something about those sticks impressed him, and halting the company of missionaries he gestured toward them and said, “Brethren, there stands the priesthood. They are just common sticks like the rest of us—some of them may even seem to be a little crooked, but the position they hold makes them what they are. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.”

I have a very strong testimony of example. The article “In Football or in Life” (November) touched me deeply because of an experience we had a short time ago with a very special father and his sons whom we were teaching. The father said they had been jealous of their neighbors because of the happiness these neighbors had in their home. He concluded that it had to be a result of their religion because they truly live it. He wanted some of that true joy for his own family. I also think of my parents, who are the greatest examples to me. They always taught me true principles and raised me in the way that would please the Lord. They truly show charity (the pure love of Christ) in their everyday lives. My heart is full of love for my Father and mother in heaven, and my eldest brother Jesus Christ, and with gratitude for the love they have given the world. Our brothers and sisters all around the world need the gospel so much, and I’m thankful for the Church leaders who place their time and lives on the altar so that the world may receive the word of our Lord. I love all God’s children and am so thankful for the opportunity to grow by serving them.
Elder John Kevin YoungCalifornia Ventura Mission

Illustration by Stan Fellows
When I got married, I began to diligently store food. My husband and I wanted to accumulate a large supply, but we couldn’t afford to buy it all at once, so we decided we would buy something extra every week. We looked for special offers on the things we bought regularly, especially canned foods.
I loved looking in my cupboard to see my little pile of canned and dried foodstuffs gradually growing bigger. Once we made the mistake of buying canned cheese, which was revolting, but my husband steeled himself and ate a can each week until it was gone. After we had a decent amount of food storage, we began to eat from it, resolving to replace each item eaten with two more items.
Soon our cupboard became quite full, so we bought storage items for our dog and cats. We also began to store herbs and spices, vacuum-packed wheat, water and soft drinks, and anything we used daily that wasn’t food, like soap, deodorant, and detergent.
Then we bought a house, and just before we signed on the dotted line, mortgage rates increased drastically. We had to live on our food storage for almost a year to avoid losing our home.
Food storage is just a part of general housekeeping now. We use it and are blessed by it every day. I am so grateful that we listened to the inspired counsel from the Lord’s prophets because it means that now I can look around in gratitude at my warm and cozy home.

Anna sat up in bed. The room was still dark. She strained to hear sounds of Mama fixing breakfast in the kitchen. The only thing she heard was the chirping of crickets. She had been dreaming again—the same dream she had had every night for a week: She was walking out of darkness into a brilliant light. Seated in the center of the light was a man in a white robe, surrounded by children. As she neared him, he looked at her with the kindest eyes she had ever seen. He reached for her with large, strong hands and lifted her onto his lap. Then she woke up. But the feeling of loving hands holding her lingered.
The next day Anna had a hard time keeping her mind on what her teacher was saying. Anna thought, My teacher has promised to spend her whole life serving God. Surely she must know, if anyone does. Anna raised her hand.
“Why, Anna,” her teacher responded, “I didn’t think you were even listening this morning. Can you tell the class the answer?”
“I—I didn’t know that you had asked a question,” Anna stammered.
The children around her snickered. She felt a hot flush burn her cheeks.
“Then perhaps you have a question of your own?” the teacher inquired gently.
“Yes, I do have a question. Does God have hands?”
Again the children laughed. The teacher gave them one of her stern looks. “That’s not the sort of question I expected in the middle of mathematics,” she admitted. “However, class, there is never a wrong time to ask about God.” An orderly quiet returned to the room. Turning back to Anna, she said, “The Holy Bible tells us that God is a spirit. We might say that He is like the wind or the sunshine. We feel His power and love, but He cannot be seen. He does not have hands like you or I. We are His hands as we serve one another.”
Anna had always believed everything her teacher told her. She was very kind and wise. But every time Anna tried to think of God as a spirit without a body, she remembered the hands in her dream and their loving touch. It isn’t true, she whispered to herself. He does have hands. The dream made her feel so good that she knew that it must be true.
Her mother was in the garden when she arrived home from school. “Hello, Anna,” Mama greeted her. “I’ll be finished shortly.”
Anna sat on the warm earth near the flower bed and watched silently as Mama dug up the daffodil and tulip bulbs, separated the old ones from the new, and reburied them.
“My, but you’re the quiet one this afternoon,” Mama said as she finished the last bulb and sat on her heels to survey her work. “Usually it’s talk, talk, talk when you come home from school. Is there a test coming tomorrow that’s got your tongue?”
“No, Mama, there’s no test. I’m just thinking about a dream I keep having.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Mama asked, rising to her feet and reaching for Anna’s hand.
“There’s really not much to tell,” Anna said. “I’m in darkness. Then I see a light. As I go toward it, I see a kind man in white seated among some children. When I get close to him, he reaches out and picks me up. That’s when I wake up.”
“Who do you think this man is?”
“I think it’s God, Mama,” Anna answered. “But my teacher said that God is a spirit and doesn’t have hands.” Anna took one of her mother’s hands in both of hers. “When he picks me up, his hands are just as real as yours are right now, Mama.”
Her mother was silent for a few moments. Then she placed her free hand on top of Anna’s and looked lovingly into her face. “It’s a sweet dream,” Mama said slowly, “but I’m afraid that that’s all it is. Your teacher is right—a spirit has no hands.”
“It’s more than a dream,” Anna insisted. “I know it is.”
Mama patted Anna’s hands and smiled. “If it makes you happy to think of God in that way, I don’t see any harm in it. But I wouldn’t go talking about it at school anymore, all right?”
“All right,” Anna agreed. “I won’t.”
Anna stopped having the dream, and she stopped talking about it, but she never stopped thinking about it. Sometimes when she sat between Mama and Papa in their pew at church, she closed her eyes and thought of those loving hands holding her close.
Several years later two young Americans in dark suits came to Anna’s village. She felt a strange longing to talk to them. Sometimes she followed them a short distance. But when they turned to talk to her, she always ran away shyly.
One afternoon there was a knock on the door just as Anna and her mother sat down to eat. It was the Americans.
“We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” said the taller one. “We have a message of joy that we’d like to share with you and your family.”
“We’re happy with our own church, thank you,” Mama replied quickly and began to shut the door.
Anna jumped up from her chair at the table. “Please, Mama, let them come in. Just this once,” she pleaded.
“All right, Anna. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt just once,” Mama said.
The taller one introduced himself as Elder Thomas, and his companion as Elder Johnson. Anna liked to listen to them talk.
“Anna,” Elder Thomas said now, smiling at her, “I’m glad we finally got a proper introduction. Every time we’ve tried before, you’ve run away.”
Anna blushed. “I see them on my way home from school sometimes, Mama,” she explained.
“So that’s why you wanted me to let them in.”
“I only wanted to ask them about America,” said Anna. “I thought it might help me with my studies.”
“I’m glad that you’re interested in America,” Elder Thomas told her with another smile. “That’s just what we’ve come to talk to you about. You see, something very exciting happened in America—something that isn’t even in the history books.” He paused, then asked her, “How old are you, Anna?”
“Fourteen, almost,” Anna answered.
“Fourteen. That’s how old a boy named Joseph Smith was when something very special happened to him.” Elder Thomas told Anna and her mother how Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in a grove of trees.
Excitement filled Anna’s heart as she listened. “You mean he actually saw God?” she asked when Elder Thomas finished.
“Yes, Anna,” he assured her. “He saw God just as plainly as you can see me at this moment.”
“Did God have hands?” she asked.
Elder Johnson started flipping through the book he carried with his Bible. “This book has what we call the Doctrine and Covenants in it,” he explained. “It contains revelations given to Joseph Smith. Listen to what it says in section 130, verse 22 [D&C 130:22]: ‘The Father has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s; the Son also.’ So he does have hands, Anna. ‘Tangible’ means that you can feel them.”
“I knew it, Mama!” Anna cried. “It’s just like my dream.”
“I had forgotten the dream,” Mama said softly.
As Anna told the missionaries of the dream, she felt as though the whole room was filling with love. “I know that God has a body, just as Joseph Smith said. And someday I will see Him, and He will hold me in His hands.”

Milly’s invitation to Jonathan was followed by many more invitations from Jonathan to others—other members of the Young Men who were not attending church. He and the other active young men in the ward called their invitations “Operation Mormonation.”
Not only did they get on the phone at the start of Young Men class to invite everyone on the roll who wasn’t there to come to church, but they also assigned those young men responsibilities. Those responsibilities helped the young men feel welcome and useful.
Quorum presidencies worked with the bishop to remind people of activities, and each young man was given the opportunity to help teach lessons, organize activities, set up for Mutual, and teach with the full-time missionaries. They also had to call and report on the status of their assignments.
“It was basically just learning how to serve each other and to delegate. The Church is really run through quorums. Everyone has an important role in each quorum, not just the presidents,” Jonathan says.
Serving in their quorum made the young men of the Boston First Ward more dedicated to the gospel. “I know that loving each other and teaching each other and serving each other in the Church will bring us closer to the Savior,” Jonathan says.

Illustration by Brad Teare
“Twinkle, twinkle …” Caleb’s fingers slowly moved over the piano keys as he searched for the next note. He’d only been taking lessons for a few weeks, and playing the piano was harder than it looked. This one, he thought as he pressed a white key. Wrong! He frowned and hunched over the piano as he tried again. Oh, this one, he thought, pressing another key. Right!
“That song is challenging,” said Mrs. Lee, his piano teacher, when he finished playing. “But it sounds better than it did last week! I can tell you’ve been practicing really hard. I think you deserve a trip to the treasure chest.”
The treasure chest! Caleb’s eyes turned to the big golden box in the corner of the room. It glittered with sparkly jewels and was filled with granola bars, pads of yellow paper, stickers, candy, and other fun prizes. This would be Caleb’s first trip to the treasure chest.
As Mrs. Lee started to teach her next student, Caleb searched through the treasure chest. Should he take the pad of paper, the dog stickers, or the orange gum? Then he saw it—a neon green folder. It was his favorite color, and he could use it to carry his drawings. He reached for it.
But then he saw the fruit snacks. They were strawberry, his favorite flavor. That would be a great prize too.
The folder or the fruit snacks? Caleb knew his mom would be there soon to pick him up, but he still couldn’t decide what to pick. The folder would be perfect for his drawings, but he could almost taste the fruit snacks. His hand hovered between the two prizes as he tried to make up his mind.
Then Caleb had another thought. Maybe he could take both. Mrs. Lee had so many prizes in the chest that she would never notice. It wouldn’t even be stealing, really—next time Mrs. Lee sent him to the treasure chest, he just wouldn’t take anything. That would be OK, wouldn’t it?
Caleb looked at Mrs. Lee. She was busy helping her student with his scales. Quietly Caleb slipped the fruit snacks and the folder into his bag and crept out of the room.
But Caleb didn’t feel very good. When he left Mrs. Lee’s piano room, he felt a small knot in his stomach. By the time he reached her front door, he felt like he had swallowed a bowling ball. He looked at his prizes, hoping that would help, but seeing them only made him feel worse.
Usually Caleb said a prayer when he felt bad, but he knew Heavenly Father couldn’t make him feel good about a bad choice. And taking both prizes, he knew, was a bad choice.
He looked at the prizes again. His question wasn’t Folder or fruit snacks? anymore. It was Choose the right or choose the wrong? Caleb knew what he had to do.
Honk! That must be Mom. He opened the door and waved. “Just a minute!” he called. He took out the green folder and started back to Mrs. Lee’s piano room. Apologizing wouldn’t be easy, and he still wanted the green folder, but already he felt more peaceful. Honesty turned out to be the best prize of all.

A true story from the USA.
“Time for school!” Mom called.
Bella frowned at herself in the mirror. Her jeans felt tight, and her shirt looked awkward on her shoulders. She remembered what David said on the bus last week—“You’re so fat!” She knew she shouldn’t let his words bother her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Mom knocked on the door. “We’re going to be late!”
Bella grabbed her backpack. “I’m coming.”
“You look cute today!” Mom said.
“Thanks,” Bella mumbled.
As she walked to class later, she kept her head down. She wished she could be invisible.
“Hey, Bella!” Her classmate Ashley handed her a flyer. “Do you want to be in the school play? It’ll be really fun!”
Bella read the flyer. The auditions were tomorrow. Bella liked to sing and dance with her younger sister. Sometimes they put on shows for the family. Maybe it would be fun!
But then she remembered what happened on the bus. If Bella tried out for the play, so many eyes would be on her. She stuffed the paper in her backpack and tried not to think about it.
When Bella got home from school, Mom was making dinner. “How was school?” she asked.
“It was OK.” Bella put her backpack down and zipped it open. The flyer was still there.
“Oh, the school play!” Mom said, looking over her shoulder. “Are you going to audition?”
“Probably not,” Bella said.
“Why?”
Bella thought about it. “I just don’t like the way I look, I guess. I don’t want people staring at me on stage.”
Mom gave her a hug. “I know it can be hard to feel comfortable with your body,” she said. “But God created your body to be more than what people look at. Think of all the things it can do!”
Maybe I should audition for the play, Bella thought. It wouldn’t hurt to at least try.
The next day, she walked into the theater. There were lots of kids inside, laughing and talking. Maybe this was a bad idea.
When they called her name, Bella walked slowly onto the stage. Her heart was beating so fast. She said a quick prayer in her head. Heavenly Father, please help me not be so nervous.
Bella felt a little calmer. She sang one of her favorite songs and read lines from a script. After everyone was done, the theater teacher read a list of those who got a part.
Bella heard her name. She couldn’t believe it. She would be in the play!
Over the next few weeks, Bella practiced dancing, singing, and saying her lines. It was hard, but she got better every day. Her body was made for the stage! Her feet loved to dance to the music. Her arms loved to move props across the stage. Her brain loved learning the words to the songs. And her heart loved all the new friends she made.
Bella was so excited when the day of the play finally came. It was showtime!
She put on her costume and looked in the mirror. She loved how it sparkled in the light. During the show she danced, sang, and said her lines on stage. When it ended, she found her family in the crowd.
Mom gave her a hug. “You were so confident up there!”
Bella smiled. “God helped me!”
Illustrations by Shawna J. C. Tenney

Volleyball season came. We knew we were the best team in the stake. For two years we had been knocking on the door, and this was our year. We had the veteran “senior” boys. We had the height; we had the talent. And we even had a mascot—Billie. We even let Billie play. Just hitting the ball was a major achievement, but everyone clapped and encouraged him, so Billie really felt that he was making a contribution.
Being at each game was more important than ever to him. During the regular season, Billie might have cost the team a few points, or even one game in a series, but everyone recognized the sparkle in his eye when he played and we all felt good because of our sacrifice.
Finally the stake championship came. It was the same rivalry that had been there for the last two years. This time we would win. We had beaten them during the regular season, and we would beat them in the championship. Perhaps as an extra precaution someone “forgot” to tell Billie about the game.
Saturday afternoon at game time some of our players were overconfident and had run down to the store for some pop. The first game started without them, but the second string was good enough. Then in came the bishop with Billie. Both teams were well coached. The game was close, but we lost. We couldn’t afford to hold back. We had to have the next game if we were to win two out of three.
Billie had been at the coach’s side the whole first game. “Now? Should I go in now? Do you want me to play now?” His persistence was distracting. The coach spoke firmly but kindly, “Go sit down; I’ll tell you when, Billie.”
At the end of the first game, Billie couldn’t wait any longer. Scores didn’t mean anything. The only thing that was important was playing. The coach looked at Billie; for a long minute he agonized. He had always played all the boys. Would he change the rules now? Was the principle more important than the game?
This was a unique group of boys. Just weeks before, the coach had told us that sometime in his life every coach should get a chance to work with a group like ours. He felt that we could understand principles. There wasn’t any choice; he had to let Billie play.
The other team served—right to Billie. Another serve—to Billie; and another. Again and again the serve was to Billie. The other coach called time-out; he was talking to his server. Another serve—right to Billie. The score was 11 to 0; no service had been returned. Finally a service went into the net, but it was too late. The final score was 15 to 6. It was our year to win, and we lost.
The other team walked off the court with heads lowered. We were fighting back tears. We didn’t understand. We went outside, and the coach tried to talk. “I thought I knew what was right.” Even he was fighting for composure. “I believe it’s important for everyone to play. I’ve always let everyone play. I hope I’m doing what’s right.” The bishop was there with Billie. He looked as if he wanted to talk but didn’t know what to say. Finally Billie broke in and said, “Well, we won another one!”
Something happened after that. The bishop gave a lesson in priesthood meeting on winning. He said something about an inactive father going to the temple because his handicapped son was loved by our quorum. He said that was winning. Somebody said if Billie could play volleyball he could come to priesthood meeting. All of a sudden Billie was really part of us. We’d invested a volleyball championship in him, and he was important to us.

A few weeks later, my mom and I went for a vacation to Idaho with her sister. A couple of my cousins invited me to a youth dance at the church, and I had a great time. I danced with a young man who had received a mission call to Korea. He asked if he could write to me, and I agreed.
In his first letter, this young man shared missionary experiences with me and bore his testimony of the gospel. I don’t know whether I was swept off my feet by him or the Spirit. But after all those years of inactivity, I decided to go back to church and check things out.
I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

One attempt I remember well. About eighty men, women, and children escaped in a small boat. Within two days, we reached international waters, but the boat’s engine failed. We drifted for fifteen days. We ran out of food and drinking water and just lay motionless on the boat’s deck awaiting death.
Finally we heard the noise of a ship’s engine. We waved for help. It was a ship from Europe. After giving us food and water, they towed our boat back to Vung-Tau harbor and the North Vietnamese. We wept openly. Many men, unable to accept such a fate, jumped into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The police imprisoned us. Luckily, I spent only a few months in jail.

As I consider some of the problems people cause themselves by failing to look ahead, I think of a letter I clipped a long time ago from a newspaper. It was first published in England. I hope you will pardon a bit of humor. I use it only to set the stage for what I wish to say.
It appears that an English company owned a property in the West Indies. A violent storm damaged one of the buildings, and a man was sent to make repairs. Of his experience, he wrote the manager as follows:
“Respected Sir,
“When I got to the building, I found that the hurricane had knocked some bricks off the top. So I rigged up a beam with a pulley at the top of the building and hoisted up a couple of barrels full of bricks. When I had fixed the building, there was a lot of bricks left over.
“I hoisted the barrel back up again and secured the line at the bottom, and then went up and filled the barrel with extra bricks. Then I went to the bottom and cast off the line.
“Unfortunately, the barrel of bricks was heavier than I was, and before I knew what was happening the barrel started down, jerking me off the ground. I decided to hang on, and halfway up I met the barrel coming down and received a severe blow on the shoulder.
“I then continued to the top, banging my head against the beam and getting my finger jammed in the pulley. When the barrel hit the ground, it bursted its bottom, allowing all the bricks to spill out.
“I was now heavier than the barrel and so started down again at high speed. Halfway down, I met the barrel coming up and received severe injuries to my shins. When I hit the ground, I landed on the bricks, getting several painful cuts from the sharp edges.
“At this point I must have lost my presence of mind, because I let go of the line. The barrel then came down, giving me another heavy blow on the head and putting me in the hospital.
“I respectfully request sick leave.”

Young Thad, Orderville’s rope maker, decides to make a strong and beautiful horsehair rope for the town fair. He obtains the raw materials by secretly cutting the manes and tails off Orderville’s horses. The young men of nearby towns are blamed for the act, and there is talk of revenge.
“People sure are upset about the horses’ manes and tails being clipped,” Theo, my twin brother, said one night. “The other towns laugh at us already for our Order clothes that are all alike. Now they’ll probably call our horses broomtails (an untrained horse of inferior quality) because we grow broom straw, and our horses got clipped. We’ll have to get even.”
The next day Brother Spencer asked me, “Was your Uncle Claude over from Kanab last Saturday when the horses got clipped?”
“No,” I told him truthfully. “He was out on Buckskin Mountain moving cattle.” But I could see that innocent people would suffer for my actions unless I did something soon.
That night I asked father, “When does the bishop hold his weekly council meeting?”
“Every Thursday night about seven o’clock,” Dad replied.
Thursday night after dinner, I walked slowly over to the bishop’s home. Extra horses, all with clipped manes and tails, were out front.
I walked quietly up onto the porch. I could hear voices inside but couldn’t understand what they were saying. Fear came over me, and I turned to leave. But I knew that I couldn’t. I had to clear up the wrong I had done in cutting the hair without asking. I knocked on the door. As I waited for someone to answer my knock, the little speech I had practiced for the last two days went through my mind. The bishop’s clerk opened the door. “Come in, Thad.”
The bishop and his counselors and several priesthood leaders and clerks were all sitting around the table in the dining room. The bishop got up and came over to me. “Come in,” he said, shaking my hand. “What can we do for you?”
Without waiting, I gave my prepared explanation. “Brothers, I am the one who cut the manes and tails of the horses at the Saturday dance. I needed the hair to make a special rope to show in the town fair. Since the horses belong to the Order, so does the rope. I didn’t know that everyone would get so upset. I should have asked. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Thad, for coming and telling us,” the bishop said. “Is the rope finished?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I finished it tonight.”
“Brother Thad,” the bishop said, “please wait on the porch while we discuss this.”
They talked for a long time. At first I wished I could hear what they were saying. Then I was glad I couldn’t. I was praying silently when they opened the door and asked me to come back in.
I stood first on one foot and then on the other as they seemed to look right through me. Then the bishop spoke. “Thad, what do you think you should do to make amends?”
I had thought about that a lot. “I should confess to the people I wronged and then groom their horses and clean their stables.”
The bishop nodded. “Thad, please bring the rope to sacrament meeting on Sunday and put it on display by the door on a small table so that all the people can see it as they come in. During the business part of the meeting, I will call on you to explain what took place and tell everyone that you are sorry you didn’t ask permission to cut the hair. Then you can ask them to forgive you, Will you do that?”
My heart started beating again. I took a big breath and answered in a squeaky voice, “Yes, bishop.”
“Good night, Thad,” the bishop said. “See you Sunday.”
I felt better about the rope as I walked home. I told my parents what I had done and what the bishop had required. They said, “We will support you, Thad, and we’re proud of you for owning up about this. It shows that you’re growing up.”
On Sunday evening I followed the bishop’s instructions and got to church early. I got a small table and placed it beside the big front doors and put the rope on it. Everyone would see it as they came in.
I was glad when my family came and I could sit between Mom and Dad. Mom held my hand, and Dad put his arm around me. Oh, how I needed their support and love!
People started filling up the rows. There was going to be a big crowd today. I didn’t dare turn to see how people reacted to my rope, but I could hear them talking about it. “Why, it looks just like twisted taffy, except that it changes color!” someone exclaimed.
“Look how neatly the ends are finished,” someone else said. My hard work had paid off. If they only knew how many times I had walked up and down that plank, twisting each strand of hair into twine, and how long it had taken to fill the spools! Now if they would only forgive me.
I watched Sister Chamberlain working hard at the pump organ as she played the prelude music. The bishop and his counselors came to the stand. With them were two men I didn’t know. They looked very official.
As they sat down, they had a whispered discussion with the bishop, who then passed some message on to his counselors. The counselor conducting got up, welcomed everyone, then announced, “Brothers and Sisters, we are honored to have with us Brother Miles Romney, general superintendent for the building of the St. George Temple, and Brother Robert Gardner, who is in charge of obtaining lumber for the temple. They have been sent here on assignment by President Brigham Young. We will hear from them later.”
After the opening song and prayer, the bishop got up to conduct business. I felt sure that I would now be asked to come to the stand, but he only announced the sacrament song and sat down. I looked at the hymnbook but could not sing because of the huge lump in my throat. I wondered if I was worthy to take the sacrament, since I had not yet made my confession. But I had been willing to, so I did take it when it was passed to me.
The counselor then announced that our regular program would be postponed and the meeting turned over to Brother Romney. Brother Romney got up and said, “Dear Saints of the United Order of Orderville. The work on the temple goes forward. The walls have been finished, and the end of our long labors is in sight. Now we ask you to commit men, teams, and wagons to help us transport timber from the mountains so that the interior can be completed.”
I forgot my problem as he went on to tell of the wonderful things they were doing to build the temple. I was glad to be at church to hear them.
Then he said, “Throughout the construction of the temple we have had trouble finding enough strong rope. Now, more than ever, we need it to lift timber and bind heavy logs to the wagons that will carry them from the mountains to the sawmill. We have been praying for a way to make better rope. Today, as we came into the building, our prayers were answered. Would the person responsible for the rope on the table by the door please get it and bring it up here?”
Father helped me up, and Mother gave my hand a squeeze. As I slipped past my brother, his mouth was open and his eyes were big. I got the rope and took it to Brother Romney. He put his arm around me and continued, “I have never seen such a big, smooth, uniform horsehair rope. I understand your name is Thad. Tell me—how long is this rope?”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. They liked my rope! They needed my rope! I swallowed hard. “One hundred and eight feet,” I replied.
Brother Romney smiled. “That is exactly the length we need. Thad, will you please come over to the bishop’s house early in the morning before we leave and cut the manes and tails off our horses and start on the second rope. We will send out a request to all the communities of southern Utah to collect their horses’ hair and send it to you. This first rope will be sent to Mr. Trumball so that the work of transporting lumber can be hastened. Now, bishop, would you ask the people if they can support the donation of the rope to the building of the temple.”
The bishop stood up and said, “All in favor, please raise your right hand.”
Everyone raised his right arm to the square. I joined them. The bishop said, “The voting is unanimous. The rope is for the temple.” Putting his arm around me, he added, “And now I believe Thad has something to tell you.”
It wasn’t hard at all, because I could see nothing but smiling faces. I explained what I had done and asked for their forgiveness, adding that I would be coming around to groom their horses and clean their stables. The bishop called for a vote on my request, and again every hand went up. With a light heart, I walked back down to sit between Mom and Dad. Tomorrow I’d start on the second rope, and it would be even better. A rope for the town fair could wait till next year. Meanwhile, I’d do my very best to make rope for the temple.

I was down on the Indian reservation when I met a sister who had just joined the Church, a beautiful Navajo woman. My, they dress beautifully down there. I have never seen an immodestly dressed woman—never seen an Indian indecently exposed. Those beautiful velvet dresses. … It’s wonderful to be modest. They get on these beautiful dresses and go out and buy their groceries at the trading post.

Anyway, after I had met this sister, one of the missionaries called me off to the side and said, “A few months ago my companion and I went into a hogan and that lady, that Indian sister, was lying on the ground on a sheepskin. She had been lying there for six long years. We called on her, and when we were leaving she called us back and said in broken English, ‘Isn’t there something you do for sick people?’ And we said, ‘Yes.’ She said, ‘Please do it for me.’” So they got down on their knees and administered to her, by the authority of the priesthood and in the name of Jesus Christ. Then they left, and they weren’t away fifty yards when she came out of the hogan after them and said, “Come back and see what you have done for me.” She walked.

It’s been years since that happened, and Jess now has a husband and children of her own. She still has unanswered questions and struggles every day with the consequences of her brother’s death. But over the years, she has found some peace. And she’s seen firsthand how the teachings of the gospel and love from other people help in healing.

Over time, peace can come. “I would love to say that the ache in your heart goes away, but it doesn’t,” Jess says. “But Jesus Christ’s Atonement has healed me in ways I never thought possible.” Reading scriptures, praying, and attending church help her see the light at the end of the tunnel. Through those small things, she’s received revelation for other ways that she can find help, such as meeting with a professional counselor. Now she takes things “a minute at a time” and tries to fill her day with gratitude and service.

“I have a strong testimony that our Heavenly Father loves every single one of His children.”

Allie was so happy that she felt bouncy!
She got in the car to ride home.
“Today was great!” she told Mom. “We drew pictures. And I met a new teacher. Her name is Miss Gregg. Now I have two teachers!”
Allie had been in kindergarten for three weeks. She loved everything. Activities. Projects. Lunchtime with friends. Her teacher, Mrs. Coleman. And now she had another teacher, Miss Gregg. It was perfect!
“Wait,” Mom said. “You aren’t going to have two teachers. Just one. Miss Gregg is your new teacher. That’s why you went to her class today.”
Allie frowned. “What?” Her bouncy feeling popped like a balloon.
“Mrs. Coleman’s class was too big,” Mom said. “The school chose you for a new class.”
Allie thought about her friends in Mrs. Coleman’s class. “I don’t think the class was too big.”
“You’ll have fun in your new class,” Mom said.
But Allie didn’t want a new class. She would miss Mrs. Coleman and her new friend Caitlin. This morning school was perfect. Now it was ruined.
At bedtime Allie kneeled to pray.
“Why don’t you ask Heavenly Father to help you in your new class?” Mom said.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Allie said, “please help me have fun at school.” She started to feel a little better. But she was still nervous.
The next morning more worries filled her head. Will I like my new class? Will I see my friends? But new thoughts came too. I can be brave. Heavenly Father will help me.
After school, Allie was happy.
“How was your day?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Allie said. She climbed into the car. “Miss Gregg is really nice. I saw Caitlin on the playground. And I got to make a goody bag!”
“That does sound like a good day,” Mom said.
Allie smiled. “Heavenly Father answered my prayer!”

Perhaps you have had an experience like the one I had when I was 11 years old. I had a friend whom I admired because she seemed to know so much. One day she offered me a cigarette. She told me she would help me learn to smoke, and she pressured me with words like “It won’t hurt—just this once.” I didn’t want to offend her, but I had decided when I was very young that I would never smoke. This decision made it easier to say no. Show you know by obeying the Word of Wisdom.

“I’m pregnant!”
Conflicting feelings awoke in my heart as my friend shared the news with me. One half of my heart was so happy for her, truly. But on the other half, I felt a raw, biting ache that I immediately tried to push down into nonexistence.
When you don’t acknowledge pain, it’s not real, right? (Wrong!)
I wish that were the case.
This was the 10th friend of mine who had announced a pregnancy in the past few months, and trust me, I was immensely excited for them all.
However, I couldn’t help but feel deep sadness in my soul. I strive to not be a jealous person, but on this day, as someone who is living the reality of reproductive struggles, I felt I had come across one too many baby announcements. The pain in my heart overflowed.
This part of my life felt so unfair, so uncertain, and so unbelievably hard.
However, in that moment of self-pity, I remembered a source of spiritual strength I always turn to when I am feeling vexed about my circumstances:
My patriarchal blessing.
What is it about patriarchal blessings that makes them so special?
Recently, Elder Kazuhiko Yamashita of the Seventy talked about the significance of patriarchal blessings. He taught, “Your patriarchal blessing is a message from your Heavenly Father and will likely include promises and inspired counsel to guide you throughout your life.”
What a gift—seriously.
I received my blessing at 13 years old because I was struggling with some big challenges and I wanted to better connect with Heavenly Father.
And while it did bring me the connection to Him and peace I needed at that time of life, it also continues to do so today.
I have read these sacred words more times than I can count. Strangely, although the words have never changed, they have comforted and inspired my soul in different ways. Without fail, this blessing from heaven seems to say exactly what I need to hear at any moment in time.
When you read and sincerely ponder your patriarchal blessing, you truly can feel that Heavenly Father is speaking words of affirmation, assurance, and comfort to your soul.
Since I was young, I’ve had an illness that I knew would impact my ability to bring children into the world. Through a lot of prayers, temple attendance, and simply trusting the Lord, I’ve felt peace and hope about my situation many, many times.
So I was frustrated with myself for once again feeling isolated from the rest of the young expectant mothers around me.
This wasn’t my first time trying to wrangle these difficult emotions.
And like always, when I turned to the words in my patriarchal blessing for solace, I felt the Spirit’s comforting presence fill my soul.
When I read about my divine identity, I feel connected to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
When I read about my spiritual gifts, I feel empowered to face my challenges with grace and to share the light of Jesus Christ with others.
When I read about the promises the Lord has made to me, I feel a renewed sense of reassurance that He will provide my life with blessings in His time, even if I need to wait on Him.
Elder Randall K. Bennett of the Seventy recently taught, “Cherishing my patriarchal blessing while I was young blessed me with courage when I was discouraged, comfort when I was fearful, peace when I felt anxious, hope when I felt hopeless, and joy when I needed it most.”
I can say the same.
If you haven’t yet received your patriarchal blessing, I invite you to do whatever is necessary to prepare to receive it. Few things in this world have made me feel more connected to my divine identity—and to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—than this sacred message.
If you have received your blessing, don’t take those words for granted—remember this blessing is your “personal Liahona.” Receiving a patriarchal blessing allows us to more fully realize how much our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know us individually and want to guide our lives toward joy.
Elder Yamashita also testified: “[Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ] love us. Patriarchal blessings are sacred gifts from Them. When you receive your blessing, you will realize and feel how They love you and how They focus on you individually.”
I feel the gap between myself and Them minimize every time I read my patriarchal blessing. Although it doesn’t reveal all the details about how my life will unfold, it does reveal that I can turn to Them for guidance and that I can have hope for the promised blessings I’m seeking to come into my life when the time is right.
My patriarchal blessing deepens my trust in Them, which allows me to replace the bite of unfairness and jealousy in my heart with the warmth of peace and hope.
It can do the same for you.

Every year since he was three years old, Tommy Tipana had gone into the wilderness with his grandfather, Utak, for a short period of time to learn the old ways of his people. Tommy’s father, however, was a modern Eskimo who lived in a sturdy wooden house and had a snowmobile. He did not approve of the old ways, but he allowed Tommy to learn what he could from Utak.
The year Tommy was ten, Grandfather Utak invited him to go on a trip through Anaktuvuk Pass by dogsled. So, early one morning Tommy waved good-bye to his parents, then snuggled down under a bearskin robe on his grandfather’s sled. Utak cracked the long whip that sent the dogs bounding toward the snow-covered tundra, and the journey began.
At the end of the day, Utak and Tommy stopped the dog team and fed them strips of caribou meat. Afterward Utak tapped on the snow with his ayoutak (long stick used for probing), and they listened for a deep, resounding squeak. “A good spot,” Tommy said, pointing.
His grandfather smiled and nodded. “Yes, the snowdrift is firm and deep here, Grandson. It will make a good igloo. You learn well.”
Together they cut out blocks of snow and stacked them. Then they packed the joints and cracks with loose snow, leaving only a small doorway for them to enter. They built a fire, and all was warm and cozy for the night. Next they cut a hole in the ice and fished for arctic charr. As Tommy and Utak ate their meal, Utak smiled in the light of the fire, for he was pleased with his grandson. “It is good that you learn the ways of our people,” Utak said encouragingly. “Soon there will be few who remember, and the new ways are wrong.”
“Father lives the new ways,” Tommy said, bewildered. “How can they be wrong?”
“Your parents go to the store to buy their food and clothes. They have forgotten how to fish and hunt and tan hides and sew. They have no dogsled, but ride on a snowmobile. All that we need is outside our igloo, Tommy, if we know how to use it.”
Utak slept, and Tommy sat curled in his bearskin, watching the fire. Outside, he could hear the whistling snow as it covered everything with a white blanket. He wondered which way was best—the old way or the new way. Tommy liked them both.
Early in the morning, Tommy and Utak ate and dressed quickly, for the fire was low. Tommy coiled thongs of caribou skin around his boots to make them skid proof. Pulling the hood of his fur coat closely around his face, he crawled out into the blazing whiteness of the new day. The dogs, shaking the snow from their coats, barked and strained at their tethers while Tommy threw them strips of frozen whale blubber. When they were through eating, Tommy helped them into their traces and waited for Utak. But Utak did not come out of the igloo.
“Grandfather!” Tommy called, kneeling at the doorway. “The dogs are ready.”
“Tommy, come here,” came his grandfather’s faint answer.
Tommy crawled back into the igloo. His grandfather sat leaning against the wall amid their belongings. His hand was massaging his chest.
“Grandfather,” Tommy whispered, “are you ill?”
Utak motioned for Tommy to come closer. “You must leave me here, Tommy. I am a sick old man, and it is the old way to deal with sickness.”
“I cannot leave you!” Tommy cried. “You are my grandfather.”
“Adjornarmat (that is life),” Grandfather said, shaking his head slowly. “Now do as I say! Leave me here. Take the sled and return to your parents … but do not forget the old ways.”
“I will not leave you, Grandfather,” Tommy replied. “There is much I do not know yet, and you are the only one who can teach me.”
Tommy hurried outside to get a wide strip of baleen (whalebone) from the sled and bring it into the igloo.
“Here, Grandfather, let me help you.”
Tommy helped Utak onto the baleen, then pulled his grandfather to the sled. Slowly Utak climbed onto the sled, and Tommy wrapped him in bearskins. Then Tommy packed their few belongings and turned the dogs toward home. His grandfather slept.
The dogs knew Utak was not driving them, and they growled, refusing to pull. Finally, Tommy lifted the heavy whip and commanded them as his grandfather had done so many times before. The whip cracked sharply in the frozen morning air; the lead dog growled one more time, then began to pull. They had a new master now, but he had learned much from their old master.
Back along the frozen tundra the sled raced, mile after mile, without Grandfather to guide it. Nevertheless, the boy remembered all he had learned and drove the sled in a straight line. Late that night, they arrived home.
The next morning Utak awoke in a hospital bed with white sheets. There were curtains at the windows. A nurse was leaning over him.
“Your grandson saved your life, Mr. Tipana,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see him?”
Utak nodded, and Tommy walked into the hospital room, followed by his parents. He bent and hugged his grandfather gently. “Thank you, Grandfather,” he whispered.
“You saved my life and yet you thank me?” Utak was puzzled.
“For the old ways,” Tommy said and smiled. “If I had not known them, I would not have been able to bring you to the new ways that have saved your life.”
Tommy’s father frowned. “Utak! You must give up the old ways—the new ways are better and safer.”
Tommy simply smiled to himself as his father and grandfather argued about the old and new ways. He wondered why they did not understand as he did that both ways were good. Tommy knew he would live somewhere between them, for he had learned to love them both.

1 England was a busy place in the early 1800s, but John Taylor liked the hustle and bustle of the country where his family had their farm.
2 John worked many hours on the farm, and he also learned the skill of wood turning.
3 When he was twenty-four years old, John had the opportunity to migrate to Canada to join his family, who had moved there two years before.
4 Before John’s ship left the English Channel, however, there was a horrible storm. Many people on the ship got sick as the storm tossed the ship from side to side.
5 Ships all around John’s were being destroyed by the storm, and the officers and crew of his ship prepared for the worst.
6 But John wasn’t worried. He even walked calmly around the deck at midnight during the raging storm! He knew that he had a work to do in Canada, and he trusted Heavenly Father to protect him so that he could do that work.
7 After John reached Toronto, Canada, he located the Methodist Church, where he became a member and a preacher. In May of 1836, Parley P. Pratt taught him the gospel of Jesus Christ, and John was baptized into the Church.
8 John Taylor continued to trust in the Lord, and he became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.