Gospel Story Finder

But in trying for balance, Scott has discovered he needs to set priorities. A year or so ago, he was playing several sports, going to school and seminary, taking music lessons, spending time with friends. “I was thinking of quitting hockey,” he says. “I wasn’t happy, and it took up so much of my time. I realized if I wanted to play hockey I had to give up some of the other stuff.” He decided to put aside other sports and his guitar for a while. The NHL, the crowds, the excitement—it’s a hard dream to let die.

As the Ellsworth Company started its third month of travel, food supplies began to dwindle. During this part of the journey, the pioneers were blessed to come across many buffalo on the Plains. The pioneers replenished their food supplies by shooting a few buffalo, cooking and eating the fresh meat, and then drying some meat for the days ahead. Buffalo chips were used, in the absence of wood, to build fires for warmth and for cooking. The pioneers spent many hours repairing the handcarts that often carried up to 500 pounds of goods over hard roads, through numerous streams and rivers, and up sandy bluffs from Florence, Nebraska, to the Salt Lake Valley. Meanwhile, the Saints already in the valley were organizing to help the approaching companies. Food was sent in wagons to Deer Creek to help the pioneers on the last leg of their journey.
1
Crossed Prairie Creek twice—second time brethren had to carry handcarts across (16 miles)
2
Forded two creeks; saw many buffalo; camped at Wood River (18 miles)
3
Sunday—rested and mended handcarts; ate shellfish from river (no miles)
4
Roads good; camped near Platte River (18 miles)
5
Roads pretty good; wood plentiful; water merely sufficient (16 miles)
6
Saw thousands of buffalo—killed four, which furnished camp with good supply of meat (12 miles)
7
No water found all day; at night dug for water, which was sufficient but very thick (25 miles)
8
Traveled without finding water; Brother Sanders somehow left behind; men unsuccessfully searched for him (13 miles)
9
Found Brother Sanders five miles ahead of camp; brought him to camp on a mule (13 miles)
10
Sunday—many ill; camped in excellent place near cold spring (14 miles)
11
Four men sent to shoot two buffalo; one milk cow died (17 miles)
12
Dried buffalo meat and repaired handcarts (no miles)
13
Roads difficult to travel, owing to rainfall last night (12 miles)
14
Travel hard; one handcart broke down (18 miles)
15
Forded five creeks; camped by Rattlesnake Creek, 352 miles from Florence (14 miles)
16
Camped on east bank of Wolf Creek; buffalo chips not plentiful; good grazing for cattle (17 miles)
17
Sunday—Brother Peter Stalley died; camped opposite Ash Hollow (12 miles)
18
Forded Hustle Creek; camped on banks of Platte River (19 miles)
19
Plenty of buffalo chips to burn; camped opposite Ancient Bluff Ruins (20 miles)
20
Started out at 7:30 A.M.; crossed sandy bluffs; camped by Platte River (20 miles)
21
Tolerably good road; camped two miles past Chimney Rock (16 miles)
22
Delayed in travels for three hours by thunderstorm; camped on Platte River half a mile from Spring Creek (21 miles)
23
Captain Ellsworth shot a buffalo, which was very thankfully received (16 miles)
24
Sunday—at evening meeting, Brother Ellsworth admonished those who had robbed handcarts or wagons to repent (no miles)
25
Saw many Indians; plenty of wood—quite a treat after burning buffalo chips (19 miles)
26
Forded North Fork of Platte River; camped three miles from Fort Laramie (17 miles)
27
Bacon and meal porridge for supper—best supper for many weeks (21 miles)
28
Camped near Horseshoe Creek, 4:30 P.M.; washed clothes and mended handcarts (15 miles)
29
Forded Platte River and camped where wood was plentiful and feed fair (25 miles)
30
Met two Californians, who said wagons from Salt Lake were waiting to meets Ellsworth Company at Deer Creek (19 miles)
31
Sunday—Brother Stoddard died of consumption; at Deer Creek met wagons with provisions for last part of journey (24 miles)

It was the look in his son’s eyes that forced Blaine* to recognize the truth. Suddenly he saw in his child’s hurt and confusion the disaster his adultery had made of his marriage. He felt convicted.
Years earlier, Blaine had begun complaining that his wife spent too much time with the children and Church service. “I felt neglected,” insisted Blaine, who began to view his wife’s love of the children and the gospel as a burden.
Over time, he embraced the views of the world and convinced himself that chastity was not a necessary moral commitment. “An affair is no big deal,” he said to excuse himself. “We all change as we pass through the various stages of life.” Seeking to justify himself, he blamed his wife for his behavior.
But with the disciplinary council behind him and divorce potentially ahead of him, Blaine saw his excuses for what they were—rationalizations and self-deception. He had called good evil and evil good. He was losing his Church membership and perhaps his family. As he looked into his son’s eyes, guilt washed over him, and he saw the anguish he had caused others.
Human sexuality is not just a physical matter. In fact, chastity and fidelity begin in the spirit, not in the body. They are expressions of the condition of our spirit. When our spirit is in tune with gospel truths, we want to live high standards, and our actions reflect that desire. Thus, chastity and fidelity are more than sexual abstinence before marriage and sexual fidelity after marriage. They express the quality of our spiritual life.

When I was young, my father was often away from home because of a serious alcohol problem. My mother had to work full-time to support us, and I began to do many of the household chores for her.
Mother taught me how to scrub floors and how to wash clothes in an old washer. In those days we had to put the clothes through a wringer on the washer, and we had to be careful that we didn’t get our fingers caught, because it could do a great deal of damage. We always washed and rinsed the clothes twice. When I hung them out to dry, I hoped that they would be as white as the neighbor’s wash.
Mother was not a member of the LDS Church at that time, and she let us decide whether or not we went to church. I made the decision to go. I ironed all my clothing and shined my shoes to prepare for Sunday.
When I was about 11 years old, many of Mother’s relatives came from out of town to have dinner with us one Saturday night. Such visits were rare, so she spent the whole day getting the dinner ready. She prepared a pot roast and all the vegetables to go with it, mashed potatoes and gravy, salads, hot rolls, and dessert. She cooked all day, and soon the dirty dishes started stacking up.
After dinner, everyone brought the leftover food to the kitchen, then went into the living room and began to visit. I remember going back to the kitchen, thinking, Mother works all week long, and now she’ll have to do the dishes late at night after everyone leaves. Then I thought, I’ll do the dishes for her.
In those days, we didn’t have a dishwasher; the dishwasher was either me or someone else. I filled up the sink and started washing. I stood there for three hours, washing every dish—and I learned that when dishes or pans are dirty, it’s best to clean them immediately, before the food hardens!
Finally I finished drying the last dish, wiping off all the counters, and scrubbing the floor. I heard the relatives walking out onto the porch, and I heard Mother bidding them good-bye.
The kitchen door swung open, and Mother entered. She stopped and looked around and then looked at me. I cannot describe the look on her face. I think that at first it was shock, then appreciation, and then I think it was more than that. It was a feeling of love and pride, and of something I couldn’t measure. I think you understand. There was a light in her eyes. I made the decision then that I would like to always put that kind of light into people’s faces.
Mother hugged me and thanked me, and I went to bed contented and happy, knowing that she wouldn’t have to stand there doing dishes until two o’clock the next morning.
I learned that serving family members is one of the most Christlike things we can do. It’s easy to be kind to people outside of our homes—we would probably never offend them. Yet we shouldn’t offend the people in our own homes either. We ought to love, appreciate, and serve them the most.

Harold learned early to know and heed the prompting of the Spirit. One evening when he was just a toddler, the family sat near the open doorway watching a thunderstorm. Young Harold was “playing back and forth in the doorway when suddenly and without warning, my mother gave me a vigorous push that sent me sprawling backwards out of the doorway. In an instant, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove, out through the kitchen’s open doorway, and split a huge gash from top to bottom in a large tree immediately in front of the house.” Had it not been for his mother’s quick, intuitive action, he would have been killed. On other occasions, his mother was blessed with similar inspiration that saved his life.

I love my family and try hard to help them when I can. I feel sad when I see families or parents who are struggling. I want to help them learn how to be a better and happier family. My dad is a lawyer and sometimes he has cases about families who are not choosing the right and that makes them very unhappy.
My idea was to help make a program to teach mothers and fathers and children to love each other better. I even wrote a letter to the president of the United States to ask what is being done to help families. Then yesterday I was reading “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” I felt so happy that President Hinckley and the Apostles also want families to have love and do things that are right. I think if families will live the gospel every day they will be a lot happier.

I treasure the old photographs of my parents, Larry and Molly Hamilton, sitting on Brighton Beach in the middle of August about 70 years ago. They were on their belated honeymoon. It always amazed me how well dressed they were for the beach. I like the newspaper that remains at their feet from the fish-and-chip lunch they’d just had, and the 3d hire charge printed on the deckchairs. At first glance, they look like any other 1950s black-and-white holiday snaps taken with a Brownie box camera. But these images capture a very special occasion.
In the background of the same photograph is a figure standing on what looks like a chair, trying to talk to people as they walk past. My father recalled the actual day sitting in the deckchair hearing the words of an American missionary, speaking of a Joseph Smith and of gold plates. My father was amazed how the missionary kept pointing to the sea, saying “across the sea in America”. This was the English Channel, and across the sea was France. My parents did not speak to the missionary, but his words and the impression they left stayed with my father.
Why did my father react so eagerly to hear the missionaries? He remembered the words and feelings he had when he heard the missionary on Brighton Beach in 1951. I believe that every testimony borne in faith can touch a heart.
In Romans 10:17 we can read: “Faith cometh … by hearing … the word of God”. Perhaps like Abinadi, whose words changed the heart of Alma, that missionary on Brighton Beach never knew the powerful effect of his words on those who heard him. Many generations of members have served missions and received sacred temple blessings, because one elder had the courage to stand and declare his testimony of the Restoration of Jesus Christ’s gospel—on the beach at Brighton.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
Mandy is busy with her campaign for student council.
Matt promised to help. But he’s been spending a lot of time getting to know his cousin Max in Australia.
Hey, Matt.
Hey what?
You said you’d help with my posters. I could really use your help now.
I did promise.
Be right there!
How’s this?
That’s great. Hope you won’t mind hanging on the wall at school for two weeks.

“What’s up, Coach?” DeLyle said.
“Come in,” Coach Gardener said. “Sit down.”
DeLyle Condie walked into his coach’s office and pulled up a chair. He held his red basketball jersey in his hands. It was almost time for practice.
“I hear you’re going on a mission,” Coach said. “Let me show you something.” He turned on the projector.
DeLyle blinked in surprise. Coach often showed films of other teams playing. But these were pictures of palm trees and beaches.
“This is Hawaii,” Coach said. “The team’s going there next year. You’re going to miss it.”
“I know. But I’ve already decided,” DeLyle said. “A mission is the right thing to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Coach said. “But if you go, I don’t think you’ll ever play basketball again.”
DeLyle looked at his jersey. “I love basketball,” he said, “but some things are more important.”
“Good luck, then.” Coach sighed. “Now get to practice. You’re not a missionary yet!”
A few months later, Elder DeLyle Condie got on a ship in San Francisco, California, USA. It was 1955, and missionaries often traveled by boat back then. Three weeks later the ship arrived in Sydney, Australia. There, Elder Condie took an overnight train to Melbourne. Two elders were waiting for him.
“Wow! You’re a tall one!” Elder Johnson said. “You’d have been a great Mormon Yankee!”
“What’s that?” Elder Condie asked.
“More like what was that,” Elder Johnson said. “Missionary teams used to play in local basketball leagues. It was a way to help people get to know about the Church. One of the teams was called the Yankees. But we don’t do it anymore.”
“That’s OK,” Elder Condie said. “That’s not why I came on a mission.”
“Well, let’s get to the office,” Elder Johnson said. “It’s time to meet President Bingham, our mission president.”
President Bingham assigned Elder Condie to Tasmania, an island near Australia’s southern coast. There weren’t many Latter-day Saints there. In fact, in all of Australia, there were only about 1,200 Church members.
Elder Condie soon met lots of friendly Australians. But most weren’t interested in discussing the gospel. What they did want to talk about was the Olympics.
“Why are so many people interested in the Olympics?” Elder Condie asked.
His companion grinned. “The games are coming to Melbourne next year,” he said. “It’s a chance to put Australia on the map. Besides, lots of people are sports crazy already. I think that’s why the Mormon Yankees were so popular. I wonder if they’ll ever do that again.”
At the same time, 200 miles away in Melbourne, two men were discussing exactly that.
The coach of the Australian Olympic basketball team sat across the desk from President Bingham. “We need your help,” he said. “I know you used to have teams called Mormon Yankees. Some of your missionaries were pretty good. With the Olympics coming, it’s a long shot that Australia will win any games. We need to practice against players with talent and experience. Some friendly practice games will help people know more about your church, and they will help us get ready for the Olympics. Can you put a Mormon Yankees team together one more time?”
After the meeting, President Bingham found one of his assistants. “Bring Elder Condie back to Melbourne,” he said. “Missionaries will still be missionaries. But we’re going to help Australia prepare for the Olympics. And I’ll need Elder Condie to help choose a team.”
To be continued …

Now, it’s probably not as hard to remember the day you were baptized—your second birth. Listen to what Lan-Ting, a Beehive girl from the Philippines, wrote about her baptism: “I felt like I had been born again. What an extraordinary feeling of cleanliness, sinlessness! My mother’s tears flowed like a fountain of pearls, and I could tell these were tears of joy! My mother told me sincerely, ‘Lan-Ting, today I am relieved to say I can turn you over to the Lord. I trust He will accompany you along the roads of your life’” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

Little did I guess what would happen next. In May, I received a letter from an old friend, an American doctor named James Ferwarda. I had met Dr. Ferwarda during his visit to Mali in 1985. At his request, I had accompanied him on a tour of my country. Now, to my great surprise, he was sending me a round-trip airplane ticket and inviting me to visit him at his home in the United States!

I was astonished, overwhelmed at his offer. But it seemed impossible for me to leave my family at this critical time. The Church members urged me to accept the invitation, however. Perhaps, they said, the Lord would open the way for me to go to the temple while I was in the United States. Like many members, I cherished the dream of attending the temple “someday.”

Still dumbfounded, I did go, “not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.” (See 1 Ne. 4:6.) It was incredible that someone who was barely surviving financially could make such an expensive trip. After I arrived in the United States, Dr. Ferwarda learned of my deep desire to attend the temple, which was more than 2,000 kilometers away. Although he was not a member of the Church, he told me, “I respect your opinion, and I will pay for your ticket to Salt Lake City, too.”

I visited the Church offices as soon as I arrived in Salt Lake City. I will never, ever forget that day. Elder Alexander Morrison of the Seventy ordained me an elder. Then I went to the temple and received the endowment. Everyone in the temple was so kind. The beauty and serenity there moved me deeply. I was also impressed by the young missionaries, whom I saw for the first time. Now I knew that I wanted my sons to serve missions.

My grandmother, Isabelle Bawden Bangerter, was known to be a woman of great faith. She acquired her faith as a child and worked to increase it all her life. She taught Relief Society for many years, and among Relief Society sisters she was known as a theologian, a woman who knew the gospel well and could teach it from the scriptures. She was still studying the scriptures when she died at the age of 97. Grandma Bangerter was a woman who was confident in her eternal roles and responsibilities. When I was a young mother, I asked her if it was possible to rear a righteous posterity in a world filled with wickedness. She raised herself up, and pointing at me, she emphatically said, “Yes! You must! That is why you are here!” Her teaching inspired me to become more intentional about my responsibilities and to approach life with greater faith. It is possible to have that kind of direct and inspired teaching every week in Relief Society.

One Sunday morning, we were sitting on the veranda when my oldest daughter, who was three years old, asked me a question that caught me by surprise. She saw some of her friends going to church in their nice clothes. “How come we don’t go to church?” she asked. At that time we weren’t attending church because my wife and I belonged to different churches and neither wanted to join the other’s church.
My daughter’s question really made me think. I was troubled because before I was married, I always went to church. That night I was inspired to kneel and seek divine guidance. I recall even saying that I would offer my life to serve the Lord.
A few days later, two young men knocked at our door and introduced themselves as messengers of the Lord. When I saw their calling cards, I remembered some things I knew about their church. When I was young, I used to read western novels that referred to Mormon pioneers and settlements. I had also read about some members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in American magazines. When we started talking about the doctrines of the Church, I was surprised to find that I already believed most of its teachings. I had read the Bible and knew that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost were three separate beings, and I felt that there must be prophets and revelation.
The elders continued to teach me for several months, but somehow I could not gain a testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. I had read the passages in the Book of Mormon that the missionaries marked for me, but I had trouble accepting their challenge to read the whole book.
I enjoyed having them in our home, but I had the feeling that they were getting discouraged with me. One day when they challenged me to read and pray, I felt that it would be the last challenge. I didn’t want them to stop their visits, so I decided to read. This time before starting, I prayed with a real desire to know if the book was true. A miracle happened: instead of getting bored as usual, I was so interested that I couldn’t stop reading.
That night, after reading many chapters, I knew that this was the word of God. Now that I had a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon, it was very easy for me to accept Joseph Smith as a prophet. When the missionaries returned and asked me if I wanted to be baptized, I said yes. I was baptized in November 1964. I felt the Spirit of the Lord so strongly during my baptism that I really felt reborn. Besides the covenant of baptism, I made a private covenant that I would serve the Lord all my life.
I am very grateful to be a member of the Church. I hope that you children of the Church will learn through prayer and study that the gospel and the Book of Mormon are true. My wife and I have eight children whom we have raised in the gospel. I am grateful my oldest daughter, when she was a small child, asked me that important question. Because of her, I began to seek the truth and to serve the Lord and others. You can help your parents and families remember the Lord, as my daughter helped me.

An example from Victor Hugo’s novel Les Misérables, though fictional, has always touched and inspired me. Near the beginning of the story, Bishop Bienvenu gives food and overnight shelter to the homeless Jean Valjean, who has just been released from 19 years in prison for having stolen a loaf of bread to feed his sister’s starving children. Hardened and embittered, Valjean rewards Bishop Bienvenu’s kindness by stealing his silver goods. Later detained by suspicious gendarmes, Valjean falsely claims the silver was a gift to him. When the gendarmes drag him back to the bishop’s house, to Valjean’s great surprise, Bishop Bienvenu confirms his story and for good effect says, “‘But! I gave you the candlesticks also, which are silver like the rest, and would bring two hundred francs. Why did you not take them along with your plates?’ …
“The bishop approached him, and said, in a low voice:
“‘Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man.’
“Jean Valjean, who had no recollection of this promise, stood confounded. The bishop … continued, solemnly:
“‘Jean Valjean, my brother: you belong no longer to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God!’”
Jean Valjean indeed became a new man, an honest man and a benefactor to many. Throughout his life he kept the two silver candlesticks to remind him that his life had been redeemed for God.

Sherman and Austin are two of many chimpanzees living at the Yerkes Regional Primate Research Center in Georgia. They, too, have learned to communicate with humans by means of sign language. Taking it one step further, however, they have now begun to converse with each other by this means. Located in separate rooms with a small opening between them, Sherman will use his computer keyboard to ask Austin for a certain food. Austin will read his request and then proceed to fill his order, choosing from among as many as fifteen different delicacies, such as orange drink, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and candies. These chimpanzees are now at the point where they are asking each other for specific tools to help them reach food in hard-to-get-at places.

When we grew older, I had another test of being a pioneer. I had many friends, and a lot of them didn’t know Jenny. Although they were never rude, I always felt torn between Jenny and my other friends. It was hard and definitely a conscious effort, but I decided to help them get to know her. In time my other friends felt more comfortable with Jenny.
To this day, I am still friends with Jenny. She goes to my same high school, and I see her almost every day. I truly feel proud to walk around the halls with her.

“Hurry, Cathy,” Anne called over her shoulder. Her tennis shoes pounded along the side of the road, and her ponytail swished from side to side.
“I am hurrying!” Cathy yelled back, barely three steps behind her. Laughing, they turned away from the road and ran across the gravel parking lot of Mr. Parkins’s Plant Place. Breathing hard, they burst through the front door into the rich smells of potting soil and damp, growing things.
“Well, hello, girls.” Mr. Parkins had a smile in his voice as he looked up from the cash register. “Did you come to work?”
“Yes, please,” Anne said. “Today and tomorrow.”
In the early spring Mr. Parkins often paid the neighborhood children to help transplant seedlings. “Where is your cousin Emmy today?” he asked.
“She went to help Granny,” Cathy said.
“Well, come along.” Mr. Parkins led them through the back door and into one of the long, low greenhouses. “We’re working on the petunias right now. I need all the help I can get. Are you saving up for anything special?”
Anne and Cathy exchanged a secret smile. “Yes,” Cathy answered. “A Mother’s Day present for Mum.”
“I know where you could get her some nice bedding plants at a good price.” Mr. Parkins winked at them.
“So do we!” the girls said together.
At the end of the greenhouse, Mr. Parkins opened another door and led them into another greenhouse. There, long tables were covered with solid flats of young petunia plants. Allen, Tom, and Lance were already working and laughing loudly.
Mr. Parkins stayed only long enough to make sure that the girls knew what to do, and to check on the boys’ work. “I’m sure glad the five of you could come,” he said as he left.
The greenhouse smelled warm and damp. The potting soil was crumbly and moist on Anne’s fingers as she carefully separated the tiny plants. Cathy worked silently beside her, filling each of the tiny container compartments with soil and planting the seedlings. For a long time no one said anything.
Then Lance elbowed Allen and whispered something in his ear. Allen laughed loudly, then whispered in Tom’s ear. Tom snorted.
Anne’s fingers started to shake, and she felt slightly sick. They were doing it again. “I wish Emmy was here,” she whispered to Cathy.
Cathy nodded. “So do I.”
In the next few minutes, Lance stopped whispering and started saying nasty things out loud. Some of it Anne didn’t understand, but she knew that it wasn’t good because of the way it made her feel. Again she wished Emmy was here. Emmy would know what to do. She was as brave as Nephi.
Just last week, Anne and Emmy had been walking home from school with several other girls. The sun was shining, but they all walked with their hands in their pockets, moving quickly to keep warm. Then someone started singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” in a really silly way. Everyone laughed and joined in. The next song they sang even sillier, singing high and then low. It was fun until one girl started singing “I Am a Child of God” in the same way. It hadn’t felt funny to Anne anymore. It had given her the same sick feeling then as the bad talk in the greenhouse was giving her now.
But Emmy had known what to do.
“Hey, let’s not make fun of Church songs, OK?” she had said quietly. She made it sound friendly.
The other girls had looked surprised for a moment, but one said, “OK,” and started singing the song the right way.
But Anne wasn’t Emmy, and she didn’t know what to do. She was afraid that if she asked the boys to stop, they’d just get worse. Now they were using words that Anne knew were not right.
She looked over at Cathy. Her sister’s lips were pressed tightly together, and she looked as if she was going to cry.
“Shall we leave?” Anne whispered to her.
“But I want to buy something nice for Mum,” Cathy said quietly.
“Yeah. Me too.” They were silent for a few seconds, trying to not listen to the boys. “Besides,” Anne added, “Mr. Parkins said he needs all the help he can get.”
Cathy nodded and blinked as two tears slid down her cheeks. She tucked her chin down so that Lance, Allen, and Tom wouldn’t know that she was crying.
Anne moved closer to her. She was angry now. It was hard to remember to be gentle with the plants. If only Emmy was here! she thought. If only I knew what to do! Suddenly she had an idea.
Softly, almost too softly to hear, she started humming “A Child’s Prayer.” When Cathy heard the first few notes, she looked up at Anne in surprise. She smiled. By the end of the song, both of them were softly humming together.
The boys were still making ugly jokes, but Anne didn’t feel angry any more. She started humming “I Am a Child of God,” only just a little louder. By the end of that song, Lance was quieter, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Anne, feeling braver, gave him a big smile as she started singing “Nephi’s Courage” out loud. Cathy joined in, and their two voices echoed sweetly off the walls and ceiling, while the boys’ voices softened to silence.
Anne and Cathy were still singing one Primary song after another when Mr. Parkins poked his head in an hour later. “Sounds good, girls.” He came over to the long table. “Your work is good too. But it’s almost dark—you’d better get on home. I’m glad you’ll be coming back tomorrow—I can always use good, cheerful help.”
Rubbing the soil off their fingers, the children followed Mr. Parkins out of the greenhouses and into the early evening light. Lance, Allen, and Tom scooted past Anne and Cathy.
“Primary babies,” Lance hissed as he went past. Anne just smiled at him again.
The air was cooler now, and goosebumps dotted the girls’ arms, but they didn’t feel cold.
“I feel all warm and happy,” Cathy said, looking up at the pink sky.
“Me, too,” Anne said. “Race you home!”

Friday was fish day, and Emily always went to the market with her mother on Fridays to buy their supper. Today Emily’s mother had given her a penny to buy a sugar cake. The two of them walked down the narrow streets because Mother couldn’t afford to hire a carriage. But Emily didn’t mind. She enjoyed swinging the grocery basket, watching the ladies sweep by in their long skirts, and hearing the clobble-clobble of horse hooves.
A boy selling newspapers yelled, “Read all about it!”
Emily glanced at the date on the newspaper as they passed by—October 14, 1865.
“Mama!” she cried. “Tomorrow’s Papa’s birthday!”
“I know,” Mother said. “I’m going to make his favorite dish for his birthday supper—steak-and-kidney pie.”
“But what about me?” Emily asked. “What can I give him?”
“You could read to him,” Mother suggested. “He loves listening to you read Mr. Dickens’s stories. He says it’s very restful after a long day in the mill.”
“But I can read to him anytime,” Emily said. Then she remembered the penny in her hand. What can I buy for a penny? she wondered.
When they arrived at the market, Emily felt a rush of excitement. The stalls were filled with all kinds of things! Fishmongers swiftly cleaned fresh fish with their flashing silver knives. A baker held his stick of piping hot sugar cakes high in the air.
“Run along,” Mother said. “But meet me in an hour by the greengrocer’s stall.”
Emily raced off. Seeing a hurdy-gurdy man playing his organ-grinder, she laughed when a monkey in a tiny red jacket held out his tin cup. But she didn’t stop to listen because she wanted to hold on to her penny.
There must be something I can buy for Papa’s birthday, she thought.
Dogs darted in and out of the crowd. She remembered how much Papa admired collies. “I’d love to own one,” he had said. “But it’s hard to keep a dog in the city. One of these days—if we’re lucky—we’ll move to the country.”
Papa’s always saying that, Emily thought. If only my penny could buy us a cottage in the country—one with a white fence around it and a little garden!
But Emily was only day-dreaming, and it was almost time to meet her mother. Emily’s wandering had taken her to the end of Market Street. As she turned to go back, something caught her eye. The last stall stood apart from the others. Behind a counter filled with spices and strange-looking vegetables was an old Oriental man. He wore a golden satin jacket with a high collar, and on his feet was a pair of embroidered slippers the same color as his jacket.
Those slippers! Emily wanted a pair just like them for Papa. She imagined him sitting in front of the fire with his slippered feet propped up while she read to him from Mr. Dickens’s stories.
She walked up boldly to the Chinaman’s stall. “Excuse me,” she said. “Where did you buy those slippers you’re wearing?”
“My daughter-in-law makes slippers,” he replied in a papery-dry voice. “Very fine.”
“Yes, they are,” Emily agreed. “I would like to buy a pair like them for my papa’s birthday.”
The old man smiled. “Ah, a present for your papa. Well, little missy, how much money do you have?”
Emily held out her penny.
The Chinaman’s smile was not so wide now. “Oh, my,” he said. “My daughter-in-law charges much more than that. She uses the finest satin, and she spends many hours embroidering.”
“That’s all right,” Emily said, turning away to hide her disappointment. Her elbow knocked over a little cage on the counter.
“I’m sorry!” she cried, setting the tiny bamboo cage upright again. She smiled when she saw what was inside. “A cricket! Why do you have a cricket in a cage?” she asked.
The old man replied, “It makes very fine music. In China emperors keep crickets in cages made of ivory or jade. But for Li-Fu, bamboo is just as fine. When my cricket sings, it reminds me of my home.”
A cricket! Emily tried hard to remember something she had read …
She offered her penny again. “I know it’s not much, Mr. Li-Fu, but I would love to give this cricket to my papa for his birthday.”
The old man thought for a moment. “Done!” he said finally. He handed Emily the tiny cage.
“The cage too?” she asked.
“It is the cricket’s home. Consider it a present from me.”
Smiling her thanks, Emily pressed the penny into his wrinkled palm. Then, carefully carrying the cage, she hurried to find her mother.
The next night Emily couldn’t sit still through supper. She picked at her steak-and-kidney pie until Father said, “You’re bursting with a secret, Emily. What is it?”
Emily ran out of the room and returned with her hands hidden behind her back.
“Happy Birthday, Papa!” With one hand she presented him with the tiny cage.
“What on earth?” He stared at the cricket in the bamboo cage.
With her other hand, Emily revealed a book and flipped it open. “Your gift is explained in one of Mr. Dickens’s stories. See? Right here it says, ‘A cricket on the hearth is the luckiest thing in the world.’”
“Mr. Dickens is usually right,” Papa said. “We’ll keep our lucky cricket here by the fire where it belongs.” He set the cage on the mantle. “But I’m already the luckiest man in the world to have such a wonderful wife and daughter.”
From its perch on the mantle the cricket chirped, as if in agreement.

Probably the most significant thing I learned while on my mission, other than the gospel, is the importance and power of prayer in missionary work—prayer plus appropriate and timely fasting.
While serving in Edinburgh, Scotland, my companion and I had decided not to proselyte in a certain area of the city because we thought other areas would be more productive. There were only two missionaries in all of Edinburgh, a city of about a half a million people. We went about our work in other areas of the city, but we had a feeling that there may be someone we needed to teach who lived in the area in which we had chosen not to proselyte. We decided to set aside a certain day to fast and pray for that area and to proselyte there. We prayed that we would find someone who was prepared for the gospel.
On that day we knocked on the door of Alex and Lilly Clark, a young couple who invited us in right away. We taught them the first discussion and gave them a copy of the Book of Mormon. We asked them to read it and pray about it. We asked if we could return to share more of our message.
They told us that Alex was leaving the next day for a six-month military assignment. Feeling it inappropriate to meet with Lilly in Alex’s absence, we gave them each a copy of the Book of Mormon and repeated our challenge to read and pray about it. We also gave them the address of our chapel.
My companion and I were impressed by them and hopeful for them, but we were not optimistic, knowing what often happens when investigators go for such a long time without contact with the missionaries.
In the meantime I was transferred from Edinburgh to Nottingham, England. About six months after our visit with the Clarks, the mission president asked me to travel back to Edinburgh to handle some mission business. While there, my companion and I attended Sunday services at the Edinburgh branch. You can imagine my surprise and thrill when I saw Alex and Lilly Clark walk into the chapel.
Alex had just returned from his military assignment, and the two of them were soon on their way to baptism. The Clarks became active members of the Church in Edinburgh. When the Edinburgh Scotland Stake was created, Alex Clark was called to be its first stake president.
Forty-one years later, Lilly told my wife and me and two of our grown children that when my companion and I knocked on their door that day, she and Alex were busy getting him ready for his assignment. They didn’t think they had time for one more thing. But when she opened the door, she was overcome with the thought: “You’ve come! It’s you, and you’ve come.”
Alex and Lilly were not looking for religion that day, but when we knocked on their door, Lilly knew she had to let us in. Because she followed this prompting, her family’s lives were changed forever. And so was mine!
As the Lord states in D&C 31:7: “Yea, I will open the hearts of the people, and they will receive you. And I will establish a church by your hand.”
Truly the Clarks’ hearts were opened that day by the power of prayer in missionary work.

On a clear winter day I was driving with a friend along the freeway which connects downtown Manhattan, New York, with suburban Westchester. He pointed out to me several of the historic sights which abound in this area where man has indiscriminately constructed his ribbon of highway through the pathway of history.

Suddenly, like an old friend, there came into view Yankee Stadium. Here it was—the stadium of champions, the home of my boyhood heroes. Indeed, what boy has not idolized those who, before cheering thousands, played superbly well the game of baseball.

Being winter, the parking lot surrounding the stadium was deserted. Gone were the crowds, the peanut vendors, the ticket clerks. Still present were the memories of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Joe DiMaggio. The record of their prowess and skill is forever safe—they have been elected to the prestigious Baseball Hall of Fame.

As with baseball, so with life. In the interior of our consciousness, each of us has a private hall of fame reserved exclusively for the real leaders who have influenced the direction of our lives. Relatively few of the many men who exercise authority over us from childhood through adult life meet our test for entry to this roll of honor. That test has very little to do with the outward trappings of power or an abundance of this world’s goods. The leaders whom we admit into this private sanctuary of our reflective meditation are usually those who set our hearts afire with devotion to the truth, who make obedience to duty seem the essence of manhood, who transform some ordinary routine occurrence so that it becomes a vista whence we see the person we aspire to be.

For a moment, perhaps each of us could be the qualifying judge through whom each hall of fame entry must pass. Whom would you nominate for prominent position? Whom would I? Candidates are many—competition severe.

I nominate to the Hall of Fame the name of Adam, the first man to live upon the earth. His citation is from Moses: “And Adam was obedient unto the commandments of the Lord.” (Moses 5:5.) Adam qualifies.

For patient endurance there must be nominated a perfect and upright man whose name was Job. Though afflicted as no other, he declared: “My witness is in heaven, and my record is on high.
“My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.” (Job 16:19–20.) “I know that my redeemer liveth.” (Job 19:25.) Job qualifies.

Every Christian would nominate the man Saul, better known as Paul the apostle. His sermons are as manna to the spirit, his life of service an example to all. This fearless missionary declared to the world: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation.” (Rom. 1:16.) Paul qualifies.

Then there is the man called Simon Peter. His testimony of the Christ stirs the heart:
“When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?
“And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.
“He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
“And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” (Matt. 16:13–16.) Peter qualifies.

Of another time and place we recall the testimony of Nephi:
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1 Ne. 3:7.) Surely Nephi is worthy of a place in the Hall of Fame.

There is yet another I choose to nominate—even the Prophet Joseph Smith. His faith, his trust, his testimony are reflected by his own words, spoken as he went to Carthage Jail and martyrdom: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men.” (D&C 135:4.) He sealed his testimony with his blood. Joseph Smith qualifies.

In our selection of heroes, let us nominate also heroines. First, that noble example of fidelity—even Ruth. Sensing the grief-stricken heart of her mother-in-law, who suffered the loss of each of her two fine sons, and feeling perhaps the pangs of despair and loneliness which plagued the very soul of Naomi, Ruth uttered what has become that classic statement of loyalty: “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.” (Ruth 1:16.) Ruth’s actions demonstrated the sincerity of her words. There is place for her name in the Hall of Fame.

Shall we not name yet another, a descendant of honored Ruth? I speak of Mary of Nazareth, espoused to Joseph, destined to become the mother of the only sinless man to walk the earth. Her acceptance of this sacred and historic role is a hallmark of humility. “And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.” (Luke 1:38.) Surely Mary qualifies.

Could we ask the question, “What makes of these men heroes and these women heroines?” I answer, unwavering trust in an all-wise Heavenly Father and an abiding testimony concerning the mission of a divine Savior. This knowledge is like a golden thread woven through the tapestry of their lives.

Who is that King of Glory, even the Redeemer, for whom such heroes and heroines faithfully served and valiantly died? He is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, even our Savior.

His birth was foretold by prophets; angels heralded the announcement of his earthly ministry. To shepherds abiding in their fields came the glorious proclamation:
“Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10–11.)

This same Jesus “grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom: and the grace of God was upon him.” (Luke 2:40.) Baptized of John in the river known as Jordan, he commenced his official ministry to men. To the sophistry of Satan, Jesus turned his back. To the duty designated by his Father, he turned his face, pledged his heart, and gave his life. And what a sinless, selfless, noble, and divine life it was. Jesus labored. Jesus loved. Jesus served. Jesus wept. Jesus healed. Jesus taught. Jesus testified. On a cruel cross, Jesus died. From a borrowed sepulchre, Jesus came forth to eternal life.

The name—Jesus of Nazareth—the only name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved, has singular place and honored distinction in our Hall of Fame.

Some may question: “But what is the value of such an illustrious list of heroes, even a private Hall of Fame?” I answer. When we obey, as did Adam, endure as did Job, teach as did Paul, testify as did Peter, serve as did Nephi, give ourselves as did the prophet Joseph, respond as did Ruth, honor as did Mary, and live as did Christ, we are born anew. All power becomes ours. Cast off forever is the old self and with it defeat, despair, doubt, and disbelief. To a newness of life we come—a life of faith, hope, courage, and joy. No task looms too large. No responsibility weighs too heavily. No duty is a burden. All things become possible.

In our quest for an example, we need not necessarily look to years gone by or to lives lived long ago. Let me illustrate. Today Craig Sudbury presides over a ward here in Salt Lake City, but let me turn back the clock just a few years to the day he and his mother came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for the Church and indeed did not belong to the Church.

Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents. He shared his innermost hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He pleaded earnestly with me for a suggestion. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be rewarded. Such inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents and, on occasion, write to Dad personally and let him know that you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.”

He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office. I was not to see Craig’s mother for some 18 months. She came to the office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig departed for his mission. His faithful service has qualified him for positions of responsibility in the mission field, and he has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently my husband Fred stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and said, ‘All of you know that I am not a member of the Church, but something has happened to me since Craig left for his mission. His letters have touched my soul. May I share one with you?
“‘Dear Dad, Today we taught a choice family about the plan of salvation and the blessings of exaltation in the celestial kingdom. I thought of our family. More than anything in the world, I want to be with you and with Mother in that kingdom. For me it just wouldn’t be a celestial kingdom if you were not there. I’m grateful to be your son, Dad, and want you to know that I love you. Your missionary son, Craig.’
“Fred then announced, ‘My wife doesn’t know what I plan to say. I love her and I love our son, Craig. After 26 years of marriage I have made my decision to become a member of the Church, for I know the gospel message is the word of God. I suppose I have known this truth for a long time, but my son’s mission has moved me to action. I have made arrangements for my wife and me to meet Craig when he completes his mission. I will be his final baptism as a full-time missionary of the Lord.’”

A young missionary with unwavering faith had participated with God in a modern-day miracle. His challenge to communicate with one whom he loved had been made more difficult by the barrier of the thousands of miles which lay between him and his father. But the spirit of love spanned the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, and heart spoke to heart in divine dialogue.

No hero stood so tall as did Craig, when in far-off Australia he stood with his father in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Fred Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

The prayer of a mother, the faith of a father, the service of a son brought forth the miracle of God. Mother, father, son—each qualifies in a Hall of Fame.

May they and each of us so live as to merit the heavenly pronouncement:
“I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end.
“Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.” (D&C 76:5–6.)

Our place in an everlasting and eternal Hall of Fame will thereby be assured. This is my earnest plea as I leave with you my witness that Jesus of Nazareth is our Savior and Redeemer, even our Advocate with the Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, the Lord. Amen.