Despite the work, Rebecca continued faithful and served willingly. The Prophet Joseph Smith and his family lodged in the Williamses’ home for a time when the Smiths first moved to Kirtland. Rebecca proved loyal to the Prophet and his family as she cared for them through trying times. Once a mob came and surrounded the home looking for Joseph. Rebecca disguised Joseph in her bonnet and cloak. Joseph was able to leave the house and pass through the crowd to safety.
In March of 1832, Rebecca again provided invaluable aid to the Prophet when a mob burst into the John Johnson farm in Hiram, Ohio, and brutally assaulted Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon. After beating Sidney senseless and attempting to pour poison down Joseph’s throat, the mob tarred and feathered the Prophet. When Emma Smith saw her husband, she thought the tar was blood and fainted.5 Rebecca and Frederick spent that night peeling tar from Joseph’s bleeding and torn body and caring for the Smith children. Their succor was helpful, as Joseph found the strength to preach the next morning.
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Rebecca Swain Williams: Steadfast & Immovable
Summary: Rebecca Swain Williams remained steadfast in her faith and loyally supported the Prophet Joseph Smith and his family, even sheltering Joseph when a mob came looking for him. She also helped care for Joseph after the violent tar-and-feathering at the John Johnson farm, showing courage and devotion during dangerous times.
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👤 Joseph Smith
👤 Early Saints
Adversity
Courage
Faith
Joseph Smith
Ministering
Service
Women in the Church
“It’ll Make Your Arms Strong”
Summary: Susan resents raking leaves and struggles until a family home evening lesson and a water-carrying exercise show her how hard work builds strength. Inspired by her ancestor’s example and her own effort, she decides to practice building her muscles and responsibility. She begins helping at home and returns to raking with determination, singing about doing right.
“I don’t see what’s so bad about leaves on the grass,” Susan huffed. She scowled at her father, who was holding out the rake to her. There were six large trees in their front yard, all dropping tons of leaves over everything. Who wants to spend a perfectly good Saturday afternoon raking leaves? Not me! she thought. “Why can’t Jay do it?” she whined aloud. “He’s bigger and stronger, and he likes work!”
“Jay’s already finished his share, Sue. This patch is your part. Besides,” he said, tweaking her nose, “it’ll make your arms strong.” When she made no motion to take the rake from him, he laid it down on some leaves. “Come and get me when you’re done, and we’ll talk about what you can do next.”
“Next!” Susan was so distressed that her intended shout came out a squeak.
Dad just smiled and walked away. As he closed the front door behind him, Susan reluctantly picked up the rake and swiped at leaves. Her patch of lawn seemed to grow before her eyes.
A half hour later, her hands were stinging and her nose was running from the dust. She finally had three pretty-good-sized piles surrounded by small clearings. Suddenly a gust of wind raced across the grass, scattering half the leaves she had worked so hard to rake.
“Oh, I give up!” She dropped the rake and flung herself onto the nearest pile just as Jay carried an armload of trash around the corner of the house.
“What’s the matter, Sue? You’re not letting a little raking get you down, are you?”
“It’s impossible to rake leaves!” Susan ranted. “I’ve worked for hours, and I did only three piles, and now the wind has ruined all my work.”
“Bag each pile as you make it. That way the wind can’t blow them away.” Jay walked off whistling.
Susan’s parents insisted that she work until dark. She finally had two bags full, and not even half of her patch of lawn was cleared. Dad didn’t say anything about how little she had accomplished. He just took the rake and ushered her inside to clean up before dinner. She went to bed very grumpy.
On Sunday Susan rested, went to church, played with Muffin, her cat, wrote a letter to her brother Greg who was in Argentina on a mission, and went with her family to visit her mother’s aunt in a nearby nursing home. She looked the other way when they drove past her patch of lawn.
On Monday after school, she told her mother that she couldn’t rake because she had too much homework.
After dinner, Dad called everyone together for family home evening. “Tonight,” he said, “we’re going to learn about one of our early pioneers—Jesse Nathaniel Smith.” He opened a small red book and showed them a photo of a white-haired man with a big, bushy beard, a long nose, big ears, and thoughtful eyes.
“Who is he, Dad?” Jay asked.
“Jesse N. Smith was a young cousin of the Prophet Joseph Smith. His father, Silas, was a younger brother of Joseph Smith, Sr., the Prophet’s father.”
“Wow!” Jay exclaimed. “I didn’t know that the Prophet Joseph Smith had any cousins in the Church.”
Dad smiled. “The Smith family is a big, wonderful family, Jay. Jesse N. Smith has many descendants in the Church today, and we are some of them. He was an influential mission president in Scandinavia and an early settler in Utah and Arizona. But tonight I want to tell you something about Jesse when he was a boy.” Dad turned to Susan. “His birthday is very close to yours, Susan. He was born in New York State on December 2, 1834.”
“My birthday’s December third—we’re almost twins!”
Dad turned a few pages, and began telling about their ancestor. “Things were not easy or comfortable for Jesse and his family. He was only three years old when they had to leave Kirtland with the rest of the Saints and make the long journey to Missouri. His brother Silas was seven, and his brother John was five. They traveled for six months to reach their new home in Far West. Even before they got there, they were forced to flee from angry mobs on the trail. They had to live one winter in a crude log cabin, and they ate mostly boiled, dried corn because there was no mill to grind the corn into meal. Life was so hard that John died before the winter was over.”
Susan looked at Jay. What would it be like if Jay or Greg died? she wondered.
“Less than a year later,” Dad continued, “the family was in Illinois. There was a lot of illness, and Jesse’s father died in September.”
“Oh no!” Susan jumped up to snuggle beside her dad. “What did they do?”
“They moved to Nauvoo, and the Prophet Joseph and Hyrum helped for a while. When they were killed, Jesse and his family moved across the river to live near his Uncle John Smith in a settlement called Zarahemla. Uncle John helped them, but they had to earn a living for themselves.”
“You mean Jesse had to go to work when he was a little boy?” Susan asked.
“That’s right. When he was ten, he went to work for a farmer who wasn’t very nice to him. He had to live on a farm away from his mother and brother. Every morning he had to get up very early and go a quarter of a mile to get all the water for the day from a well. He worked the rest of the day in the fields. Then he had to bring home the cows. He said, ‘This was the most lonesome and tedious part of my service, as I was sometimes gone in the woods until after dark.’”
“When did he rest?” Susan asked.
“Only on Sundays, when he was allowed to visit his mother.” Dad looked down at the page. “Sometimes Jesse had special chores. He said, ‘On washing days, I carried water the whole day.’ What do you think it was like to carry water all day, a quarter of a mile each trip?”
“Pretty hard,” Jay said. “But I bet I could do it.”
“Not me,” Susan grumbled. “I’d just sit down and not go at all.”
“Well,” Dad said. “Maybe you’re strong enough for one trip. Let’s find out. Everybody come outside with me.”
Sitting on the driveway were four yellow buckets. “One for each of us,” Dad said. “Fill yours as full as you can and still be able to carry it without spilling.”
Dad picked up Susan’s bucket. “Pretty heavy,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You must think you’re very strong.”
“I am. I can carry it a long way—if I want to.”
“Well, our driveway is forty feet long, so it would take a little over sixteen trips down to that end and back here for one quarter-mile trip. Think you can do it?”
“I don’t know.” Susan flexed her arms. “That’s a lot.” She grabbed her bucket and started off down the driveway. Some of the water splashed out, so she slowed down a little. Soon she was back at the chalk line. Her arm felt only a little tired. “One!” she shouted. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Two” and “three,” she called out. By the time she got to four, even with switching the bucket from one hand to the other, her arms were very tired. By six, her fingers started going numb. Ten more! she thought, and she struggled down and back. How will I ever do sixteen? Her arms really ached, and she was feeling cross. “Is it OK to stop and rest?” she asked Dad.
“Sure. But remember, the farmer’s wife won’t want to wait long for the water.”
After a short rest, Susan picked up her bucket. The eighth trip was a little easier, and she made the ninth all right, but by the tenth, the bucket felt so heavy that she wanted to just drag it along.
“Dad, I just have to rest again.” She flopped on her back, arms bent slightly on the leaf-covered grass.
“OK,” he told her, “but we only have time for one or two more trips.”
Susan dragged herself back to her bucket and lifted it with both hands. It felt as though it was filled with gigantic rocks, and it banged into her leg with each step. The driveway seemed twice as long now. When she finally crossed the chalk line, she let the bucket thump down hard. She didn’t even care when it tipped over and all her water ran down the driveway.
“That’s all we have time for tonight,” Dad said, looking at his watch.
“Seventeen!” Jay shouted. “I did seventeen!” Susan stared at him swinging his arms in big circles and jumping around in the leaves. She’d made only eleven trips, and her arms felt like they were on fire.
“So,” Dad said when they were all inside and Mom was passing out cupcakes for a treat. “How was that?”
“It was awful!” Susan admitted. “And I think it was awful that Jesse had to do it every day. Why did he have to work so hard? It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, they needed money, Susan. But I think working was good for him, too. Hauling all that water made his arms grow strong,” Dad said. “And some things soon happened to him that made that a very good thing.” Dad opened the journal again. “He wrote, ‘During the summer of 1845, I took a job of hoeing corn, thus earning the first pair of boots I ever owned.’ Your arms have to be strong to hoe all day long. Then, not long after that, Jesse and his family went west with Uncle John Smith. He had two wagons, and Jesse’s mother had one of her own. Who do you think was assigned to drive one of those wagons?” Dad asked, looking at Susan.
“Jesse?”
“That’s right. Even though he was only twelve, Jesse drove a wagon with four big oxen all the way across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. His Aunt Clarissa rode with him. His arms had to be pretty strong to control the oxen, to keep them pulling that wagon day after day over rivers, through mud, up rocky mountains, and down steep canyons. He even had to hold them steady when the buffalo came thundering by. I’m sure his muscles grew even more, driving the ox teams. And that was a good thing, too.”
“Why?” It was Jay’s turn to be surprised.
“His work wasn’t over just because he had arrived in the valley. He wrote, ‘I herded the cows the whole [first] winter through for Uncle John and … a few others. I was exceedingly hungry, [being] at an age when my appetite was very keen; but there was no help for it. We voluntarily put ourselves on rations; we had about half a pound of flour per day for each person, without any vegetables, and but little meat; sometimes no meat. For months my desire for food was not satisfied.’”
“I can’t imagine working all day when you’re so hungry,” Jay said.
“And herding wasn’t all he had to do, either.” Dad continued reading: “‘As the Spring approached, preparations were made for farming and gardening. I drove the team to break the land for [two neighbor men] and [for] my brother and myself a patch of ground. … We planted considerable corn, … also … beans and peas and some few other vegetables … and an acre of wheat.’ Then,” Dad said, looking up, “he had to tend all those crops—weeding, irrigating, and harvesting them. It was hard because he was inexperienced. He said, ‘Our wheat did poorly, not having sufficient water. As we were unused to irrigating, we did not apply the water properly. We had to pull the most of it, as it was too short to cut—’”
“My arms are starting to hurt a lot, Dad,” Susan broke in apologetically.
“Here, let me massage them for you. You’ll need to give them a rest tomorrow, but after that, work them a little more every day, and your muscles will grow, just like Jesse’s. You never know when you might need big, strong muscles to do important work.”
That night Susan lay in bed, her arms still aching. What if we were stuck on the plains because of me? What if my family starved because I wasn’t strong enough to grow food? She fell into a troubled sleep.
The next day Susan babied her arms. As she sat alone on the playground at school, unable to join in the basketball game, she did a lot of thinking. That night, Dad gave her another massage and helped her stretch out the aches.
The next morning the soreness was nearly gone, so she knew that it was time to start on her plan.
“Mom,” she said, before leaving for school, “may I carry the laundry to the basement for you?”
“Why, thank you, Susan,” Mom said, her eyebrows nearly at the ceiling. When Susan finished, she also emptied all the wastebaskets and put the garbage cans out by the curb.
“Wow! Thanks!” Jay said, going out the back door. “You’re great!”
Susan just smiled. This was only the beginning. Stealthily she flexed her arm and felt the muscle. Was it a little bigger?
During recess she went three times back and forth across the monkey bars without stopping. Her arms started to burn a little, so she decided that that was enough for then. She needed to save some muscle power for after school because that was when she put her really big plan into effect. As soon as her snack was finished, she ran out the front door and grabbed the rake.
As she raked and bagged the leaves, she sang, “‘Dare to do right! Dare to be true! You have a work that no other can do.’”*
She got tired, and she was still a little sore, but that was OK—she was growing muscles. You never know when you’ll need to do really important, hard work, she thought, and I’m going to be ready!
“Jay’s already finished his share, Sue. This patch is your part. Besides,” he said, tweaking her nose, “it’ll make your arms strong.” When she made no motion to take the rake from him, he laid it down on some leaves. “Come and get me when you’re done, and we’ll talk about what you can do next.”
“Next!” Susan was so distressed that her intended shout came out a squeak.
Dad just smiled and walked away. As he closed the front door behind him, Susan reluctantly picked up the rake and swiped at leaves. Her patch of lawn seemed to grow before her eyes.
A half hour later, her hands were stinging and her nose was running from the dust. She finally had three pretty-good-sized piles surrounded by small clearings. Suddenly a gust of wind raced across the grass, scattering half the leaves she had worked so hard to rake.
“Oh, I give up!” She dropped the rake and flung herself onto the nearest pile just as Jay carried an armload of trash around the corner of the house.
“What’s the matter, Sue? You’re not letting a little raking get you down, are you?”
“It’s impossible to rake leaves!” Susan ranted. “I’ve worked for hours, and I did only three piles, and now the wind has ruined all my work.”
“Bag each pile as you make it. That way the wind can’t blow them away.” Jay walked off whistling.
Susan’s parents insisted that she work until dark. She finally had two bags full, and not even half of her patch of lawn was cleared. Dad didn’t say anything about how little she had accomplished. He just took the rake and ushered her inside to clean up before dinner. She went to bed very grumpy.
On Sunday Susan rested, went to church, played with Muffin, her cat, wrote a letter to her brother Greg who was in Argentina on a mission, and went with her family to visit her mother’s aunt in a nearby nursing home. She looked the other way when they drove past her patch of lawn.
On Monday after school, she told her mother that she couldn’t rake because she had too much homework.
After dinner, Dad called everyone together for family home evening. “Tonight,” he said, “we’re going to learn about one of our early pioneers—Jesse Nathaniel Smith.” He opened a small red book and showed them a photo of a white-haired man with a big, bushy beard, a long nose, big ears, and thoughtful eyes.
“Who is he, Dad?” Jay asked.
“Jesse N. Smith was a young cousin of the Prophet Joseph Smith. His father, Silas, was a younger brother of Joseph Smith, Sr., the Prophet’s father.”
“Wow!” Jay exclaimed. “I didn’t know that the Prophet Joseph Smith had any cousins in the Church.”
Dad smiled. “The Smith family is a big, wonderful family, Jay. Jesse N. Smith has many descendants in the Church today, and we are some of them. He was an influential mission president in Scandinavia and an early settler in Utah and Arizona. But tonight I want to tell you something about Jesse when he was a boy.” Dad turned to Susan. “His birthday is very close to yours, Susan. He was born in New York State on December 2, 1834.”
“My birthday’s December third—we’re almost twins!”
Dad turned a few pages, and began telling about their ancestor. “Things were not easy or comfortable for Jesse and his family. He was only three years old when they had to leave Kirtland with the rest of the Saints and make the long journey to Missouri. His brother Silas was seven, and his brother John was five. They traveled for six months to reach their new home in Far West. Even before they got there, they were forced to flee from angry mobs on the trail. They had to live one winter in a crude log cabin, and they ate mostly boiled, dried corn because there was no mill to grind the corn into meal. Life was so hard that John died before the winter was over.”
Susan looked at Jay. What would it be like if Jay or Greg died? she wondered.
“Less than a year later,” Dad continued, “the family was in Illinois. There was a lot of illness, and Jesse’s father died in September.”
“Oh no!” Susan jumped up to snuggle beside her dad. “What did they do?”
“They moved to Nauvoo, and the Prophet Joseph and Hyrum helped for a while. When they were killed, Jesse and his family moved across the river to live near his Uncle John Smith in a settlement called Zarahemla. Uncle John helped them, but they had to earn a living for themselves.”
“You mean Jesse had to go to work when he was a little boy?” Susan asked.
“That’s right. When he was ten, he went to work for a farmer who wasn’t very nice to him. He had to live on a farm away from his mother and brother. Every morning he had to get up very early and go a quarter of a mile to get all the water for the day from a well. He worked the rest of the day in the fields. Then he had to bring home the cows. He said, ‘This was the most lonesome and tedious part of my service, as I was sometimes gone in the woods until after dark.’”
“When did he rest?” Susan asked.
“Only on Sundays, when he was allowed to visit his mother.” Dad looked down at the page. “Sometimes Jesse had special chores. He said, ‘On washing days, I carried water the whole day.’ What do you think it was like to carry water all day, a quarter of a mile each trip?”
“Pretty hard,” Jay said. “But I bet I could do it.”
“Not me,” Susan grumbled. “I’d just sit down and not go at all.”
“Well,” Dad said. “Maybe you’re strong enough for one trip. Let’s find out. Everybody come outside with me.”
Sitting on the driveway were four yellow buckets. “One for each of us,” Dad said. “Fill yours as full as you can and still be able to carry it without spilling.”
Dad picked up Susan’s bucket. “Pretty heavy,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You must think you’re very strong.”
“I am. I can carry it a long way—if I want to.”
“Well, our driveway is forty feet long, so it would take a little over sixteen trips down to that end and back here for one quarter-mile trip. Think you can do it?”
“I don’t know.” Susan flexed her arms. “That’s a lot.” She grabbed her bucket and started off down the driveway. Some of the water splashed out, so she slowed down a little. Soon she was back at the chalk line. Her arm felt only a little tired. “One!” she shouted. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Two” and “three,” she called out. By the time she got to four, even with switching the bucket from one hand to the other, her arms were very tired. By six, her fingers started going numb. Ten more! she thought, and she struggled down and back. How will I ever do sixteen? Her arms really ached, and she was feeling cross. “Is it OK to stop and rest?” she asked Dad.
“Sure. But remember, the farmer’s wife won’t want to wait long for the water.”
After a short rest, Susan picked up her bucket. The eighth trip was a little easier, and she made the ninth all right, but by the tenth, the bucket felt so heavy that she wanted to just drag it along.
“Dad, I just have to rest again.” She flopped on her back, arms bent slightly on the leaf-covered grass.
“OK,” he told her, “but we only have time for one or two more trips.”
Susan dragged herself back to her bucket and lifted it with both hands. It felt as though it was filled with gigantic rocks, and it banged into her leg with each step. The driveway seemed twice as long now. When she finally crossed the chalk line, she let the bucket thump down hard. She didn’t even care when it tipped over and all her water ran down the driveway.
“That’s all we have time for tonight,” Dad said, looking at his watch.
“Seventeen!” Jay shouted. “I did seventeen!” Susan stared at him swinging his arms in big circles and jumping around in the leaves. She’d made only eleven trips, and her arms felt like they were on fire.
“So,” Dad said when they were all inside and Mom was passing out cupcakes for a treat. “How was that?”
“It was awful!” Susan admitted. “And I think it was awful that Jesse had to do it every day. Why did he have to work so hard? It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, they needed money, Susan. But I think working was good for him, too. Hauling all that water made his arms grow strong,” Dad said. “And some things soon happened to him that made that a very good thing.” Dad opened the journal again. “He wrote, ‘During the summer of 1845, I took a job of hoeing corn, thus earning the first pair of boots I ever owned.’ Your arms have to be strong to hoe all day long. Then, not long after that, Jesse and his family went west with Uncle John Smith. He had two wagons, and Jesse’s mother had one of her own. Who do you think was assigned to drive one of those wagons?” Dad asked, looking at Susan.
“Jesse?”
“That’s right. Even though he was only twelve, Jesse drove a wagon with four big oxen all the way across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. His Aunt Clarissa rode with him. His arms had to be pretty strong to control the oxen, to keep them pulling that wagon day after day over rivers, through mud, up rocky mountains, and down steep canyons. He even had to hold them steady when the buffalo came thundering by. I’m sure his muscles grew even more, driving the ox teams. And that was a good thing, too.”
“Why?” It was Jay’s turn to be surprised.
“His work wasn’t over just because he had arrived in the valley. He wrote, ‘I herded the cows the whole [first] winter through for Uncle John and … a few others. I was exceedingly hungry, [being] at an age when my appetite was very keen; but there was no help for it. We voluntarily put ourselves on rations; we had about half a pound of flour per day for each person, without any vegetables, and but little meat; sometimes no meat. For months my desire for food was not satisfied.’”
“I can’t imagine working all day when you’re so hungry,” Jay said.
“And herding wasn’t all he had to do, either.” Dad continued reading: “‘As the Spring approached, preparations were made for farming and gardening. I drove the team to break the land for [two neighbor men] and [for] my brother and myself a patch of ground. … We planted considerable corn, … also … beans and peas and some few other vegetables … and an acre of wheat.’ Then,” Dad said, looking up, “he had to tend all those crops—weeding, irrigating, and harvesting them. It was hard because he was inexperienced. He said, ‘Our wheat did poorly, not having sufficient water. As we were unused to irrigating, we did not apply the water properly. We had to pull the most of it, as it was too short to cut—’”
“My arms are starting to hurt a lot, Dad,” Susan broke in apologetically.
“Here, let me massage them for you. You’ll need to give them a rest tomorrow, but after that, work them a little more every day, and your muscles will grow, just like Jesse’s. You never know when you might need big, strong muscles to do important work.”
That night Susan lay in bed, her arms still aching. What if we were stuck on the plains because of me? What if my family starved because I wasn’t strong enough to grow food? She fell into a troubled sleep.
The next day Susan babied her arms. As she sat alone on the playground at school, unable to join in the basketball game, she did a lot of thinking. That night, Dad gave her another massage and helped her stretch out the aches.
The next morning the soreness was nearly gone, so she knew that it was time to start on her plan.
“Mom,” she said, before leaving for school, “may I carry the laundry to the basement for you?”
“Why, thank you, Susan,” Mom said, her eyebrows nearly at the ceiling. When Susan finished, she also emptied all the wastebaskets and put the garbage cans out by the curb.
“Wow! Thanks!” Jay said, going out the back door. “You’re great!”
Susan just smiled. This was only the beginning. Stealthily she flexed her arm and felt the muscle. Was it a little bigger?
During recess she went three times back and forth across the monkey bars without stopping. Her arms started to burn a little, so she decided that that was enough for then. She needed to save some muscle power for after school because that was when she put her really big plan into effect. As soon as her snack was finished, she ran out the front door and grabbed the rake.
As she raked and bagged the leaves, she sang, “‘Dare to do right! Dare to be true! You have a work that no other can do.’”*
She got tired, and she was still a little sore, but that was OK—she was growing muscles. You never know when you’ll need to do really important, hard work, she thought, and I’m going to be ready!
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👤 Children
👤 Parents
Adversity
Children
Family
Family Home Evening
Obedience
Self-Reliance
Me? A Sister Missionary?
Summary: A young woman describes teaching English in Wuhan, China, where she honored her contract not to speak about religion even though she wanted to share the gospel. After returning to BYU, she felt prompted to serve a full-time mission, sought counsel and confirmation through prayer and conference, and submitted her application.
She was called to Asunción, Paraguay, and felt peace and certainty that it was the Lord’s will. She concludes that unlike in China, she will now be able to openly talk about the gospel with everyone she meets.
Teaching English in Wuhan, China, was an amazing experience. I had always wanted to go somewhere and do something service oriented, and this was the perfect opportunity. I was part of a volunteer program organized by a college professor. I found that I loved teaching. Even more, I loved getting to know the students, the Chinese teachers, and the other volunteers. But one thing was tough for me.
We signed contracts as we joined the program stating that we couldn’t say anything about religion. If we did we would be sent home. I spent a lot of time thinking about that. I cared a lot about these people. They were my friends now, and they didn’t have the gospel. But I kept my promise.
When I returned to Brigham Young University, however, I found myself thinking that although I had given service, I still had more I wanted to give. I kept thinking how much I would like to teach people the gospel so they could know what I know. I spent a whole semester thinking about applying to serve a full-time mission. I have always wanted to serve, but I needed to know that’s what the Lord wanted me to do.
I received good advice from my brother and my two brothers-in-law, just by speaking with them about their own mission experiences that were so life-changing. And I talked with my dad, because not only is he my dad, but he’s also my home-ward bishop. No one ever made me feel pressured or pushed. They just encouraged me to listen to the Spirit and do what was right.
I fasted. I prayed. I searched my soul. And I listened to general conference. When I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give his address, “Now Is the Time to Serve a Mission!” it seemed that the Lord was speaking directly to me through him. (See Ensign, May 2006, 87.)
I made the decision to submit my application. I was excited, but I was also a little scared. I think much of the anxiety came from not knowing where I was going to go. My father called me several times up at school, giving me words of encouragement. I think my experience was bringing back memories of his mission, and he had a lot of neat experiences to share.
Even though I was at school, I asked for my call to be sent to my parents’ home in Tempe, Arizona. When the envelope arrived, my dad set up a conference call, so there was my family in Tempe, Tucson, and Mesa. We all sang the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” and I was definitely wondering where that would be. But as soon as my mom read I was going to Asunción, Paraguay, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. I haven’t had a moment’s worry since. I know that’s where the Lord wants me to go, 100 percent. And this time as I go to serve, I don’t have to worry—I can talk about the gospel with everyone I meet.
“With reference to young sister missionaries, there has been some misunderstanding of earlier counsel regarding single sisters serving as missionaries. We need some young women. They perform a remarkable work. They can get in homes where the elders cannot. But it should be kept in mind that young sisters are not under obligation to go on missions. They should not feel that they have a duty comparable to that of young men, but some will wish to go. If so, they should counsel with their bishop as well as their parents.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “To the Bishops of the Church,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, June 2004, 27.
We signed contracts as we joined the program stating that we couldn’t say anything about religion. If we did we would be sent home. I spent a lot of time thinking about that. I cared a lot about these people. They were my friends now, and they didn’t have the gospel. But I kept my promise.
When I returned to Brigham Young University, however, I found myself thinking that although I had given service, I still had more I wanted to give. I kept thinking how much I would like to teach people the gospel so they could know what I know. I spent a whole semester thinking about applying to serve a full-time mission. I have always wanted to serve, but I needed to know that’s what the Lord wanted me to do.
I received good advice from my brother and my two brothers-in-law, just by speaking with them about their own mission experiences that were so life-changing. And I talked with my dad, because not only is he my dad, but he’s also my home-ward bishop. No one ever made me feel pressured or pushed. They just encouraged me to listen to the Spirit and do what was right.
I fasted. I prayed. I searched my soul. And I listened to general conference. When I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles give his address, “Now Is the Time to Serve a Mission!” it seemed that the Lord was speaking directly to me through him. (See Ensign, May 2006, 87.)
I made the decision to submit my application. I was excited, but I was also a little scared. I think much of the anxiety came from not knowing where I was going to go. My father called me several times up at school, giving me words of encouragement. I think my experience was bringing back memories of his mission, and he had a lot of neat experiences to share.
Even though I was at school, I asked for my call to be sent to my parents’ home in Tempe, Arizona. When the envelope arrived, my dad set up a conference call, so there was my family in Tempe, Tucson, and Mesa. We all sang the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” and I was definitely wondering where that would be. But as soon as my mom read I was going to Asunción, Paraguay, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. I haven’t had a moment’s worry since. I know that’s where the Lord wants me to go, 100 percent. And this time as I go to serve, I don’t have to worry—I can talk about the gospel with everyone I meet.
“With reference to young sister missionaries, there has been some misunderstanding of earlier counsel regarding single sisters serving as missionaries. We need some young women. They perform a remarkable work. They can get in homes where the elders cannot. But it should be kept in mind that young sisters are not under obligation to go on missions. They should not feel that they have a duty comparable to that of young men, but some will wish to go. If so, they should counsel with their bishop as well as their parents.”President Gordon B. Hinckley, “To the Bishops of the Church,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, June 2004, 27.
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Friends
👤 Other
Education
Friendship
Missionary Work
Obedience
Service
FYI:For Your Information
Summary: Youth in the Antwerp Branch set a goal to earn their way to the Swiss Temple for baptisms for the dead. They organized activities to raise funds, strengthened missionary work by fellowshipping investigators, and increased unity in the branch. They traveled to the temple, performed baptisms for two days, held a powerful testimony meeting, and returned home with lasting memories.
by Daniella Pilgrim and Marleen Van Laere
The youth of the Antwerp Branch in Belgium wanted a goal to work toward. They came up with the idea and presented it to their leaders. They wanted to earn their way to the Swiss Temple and do baptisms for the dead.
With a little help from the leaders of the branch, they faithfully put in hours organizing barbecues, dances, movies, and family home evenings. They were indeed blessed financially, but as the Lord stated that all things are spiritual, additional blessings came to the youth. Without knowing the full effect, they played an important role in missionary work by fellowshipping investigators, and through these same activities created more unity and love among the members of the branch.
The departure date was set, letters written, and reservations made. After the bus trip, the first thing the group of 25 youth and 11 leaders wanted to see was the temple itself. Many had tears in their eyes, for it was the first time they had seen the temple.
The group spent two days doing baptisms. The night before their return trip, they held a testimony meeting, which was one of the highlights of the trip. Testimonies were borne by group members of the truthfulness of the gospel and the joy they felt in doing temple work. The meeting was closed with the group singing, “The Spirit of God like a Fire Is Burning.”
The group returned home safely with wonderful memories of the temple.
The youth of the Antwerp Branch in Belgium wanted a goal to work toward. They came up with the idea and presented it to their leaders. They wanted to earn their way to the Swiss Temple and do baptisms for the dead.
With a little help from the leaders of the branch, they faithfully put in hours organizing barbecues, dances, movies, and family home evenings. They were indeed blessed financially, but as the Lord stated that all things are spiritual, additional blessings came to the youth. Without knowing the full effect, they played an important role in missionary work by fellowshipping investigators, and through these same activities created more unity and love among the members of the branch.
The departure date was set, letters written, and reservations made. After the bus trip, the first thing the group of 25 youth and 11 leaders wanted to see was the temple itself. Many had tears in their eyes, for it was the first time they had seen the temple.
The group spent two days doing baptisms. The night before their return trip, they held a testimony meeting, which was one of the highlights of the trip. Testimonies were borne by group members of the truthfulness of the gospel and the joy they felt in doing temple work. The meeting was closed with the group singing, “The Spirit of God like a Fire Is Burning.”
The group returned home safely with wonderful memories of the temple.
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👤 Youth
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Church Members (General)
Baptisms for the Dead
Family Home Evening
Love
Missionary Work
Service
Temples
Testimony
Unity
Now’s the Time for Fund Raising
Summary: Grant Third Ward youth created an elaborate spook house in Brigham Young’s Carriage House, featuring dramatic and scary attractions. The event raised substantial funds. Proceeds were designated for a youth conference.
The Grant Third Ward youth committee terrified its way to a lot of money with a Halloween spook house. The location was Brigham Young’s Carriage House. The production featured such treats as a man having his legs sawed off, a girl’s severed head speaking from the oven of a kitchen range, a zoo of starving children, coffins full and empty, electric shocks, horrifying sounds, and other thrills. The funds will be used to sponsor a youth conference.
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👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
Movies and Television
Young Men
Young Women
How Repentance Helped Me Progress
Summary: As a new missionary, the author was asked by her mission president to train a new sister and felt unqualified. She made mistakes but chose to honestly examine her weaknesses and strive to improve. Through this process, she gained a testimony that the Lord uses weakness to humble us and can make weak things become strong, learning that repentance is a daily path to become more like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
When I was still pretty new to being a missionary, my mission president asked me to be a trainer.
I felt so unqualified. How was I supposed to teach a new sister how to be an amazing missionary when I wasn’t sure I had it all figured out myself?
To be honest, I did make a lot of mistakes as a trainer, and I felt really bad about them for a while. But as I began to examine my weaknesses and shortcomings and tried to be better, I gained a testimony that the Lord gives us “weakness that [we] may be humble” because He can make “weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). I began to learn a lot about repentance, which isn’t just for when we mess up—it’s for any time we want to become more like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
I felt so unqualified. How was I supposed to teach a new sister how to be an amazing missionary when I wasn’t sure I had it all figured out myself?
To be honest, I did make a lot of mistakes as a trainer, and I felt really bad about them for a while. But as I began to examine my weaknesses and shortcomings and tried to be better, I gained a testimony that the Lord gives us “weakness that [we] may be humble” because He can make “weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). I began to learn a lot about repentance, which isn’t just for when we mess up—it’s for any time we want to become more like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
Humility
Missionary Work
Repentance
Teaching the Gospel
Testimony
Role Models
Summary: Soon after baptism, the family was confronted by a former member who shared anti-Church materials. The author felt fear, but when missionaries were present, peace returned. The family learned to recognize the difference between faith and fear and chose faith.
While we were still new members, we encountered a man who had left the Church. He gave us a lot of anti-Mormon literature, and I was shocked. It was my first encounter with opposition to the Church, and my testimony was still tender. While he was confronting us and attacking everything the missionaries had taught us, I was filled with fear. But when the missionaries were with us, they brought peace. Because of the missionaries, our family learned to tell the difference between faith and fear, and we chose faith.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Adversity
Apostasy
Courage
Faith
Family
Missionary Work
Peace
Testimony
Friend to Friend
Summary: At about eight years old, Elder Wirthlin was asked to give the benediction in Sunday School and felt frightened and unsure about his prayer. Brother Frederick J. Pack hugged him and called it an inspired prayer. The kindness left a lasting impression on him.
“Another ward member who affected my life was Brother Frederick J. Pack, a professor of geology at the university and a prominent scientist. When I was about eight, I was asked to give the benediction in Sunday School. I was frightened and nervous, and I’m sure that my prayer was not very well said. But Brother Pack gave me a warm hug, saying, ‘That was an inspired prayer.’ I have never forgotten that gesture of kindness from a man whom I looked up to as a great Latter-day Saint.”
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👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Children
Children
Friendship
Kindness
Ministering
Prayer
Pioneer Journals
Summary: The story follows a girl who is rejected by friends and classmates after they learn she is Mormon, leaving her feeling isolated and misunderstood. As she grows, she continues to face social exclusion but repeatedly chooses kindness and faith over popularity, helping others even when it costs her invitations, dances, and companionship. In the end, she sacrifices her own fun so others can enjoy the ward social, and she feels peace in doing so.
My heart is breaking. Today my best friend slapped my face. I had finished helping Mrs. Thompson prepare the sewing circle, so I ran outside to be with the other girls. Rowena, Hattie, and my dearest friend, Sally, were hemming sheets under the maple. I had snatched glimpses of them while I worked, sharing some delicious secret, and I could scarcely wait to hear it.
The girls stood when they saw me coming. Then Sally stepped forward and slapped me across the cheek. “Hazel Alice Williams,” she said in an awful voice, “henceforth and forever you are banned from the Gainesville Junior Sewing Circle!”
“What have I done?” I asked.
“Are you a Mormon?” Sally demanded.
The question surprised me. What did that have to do with this?
“Were you and your father baptized by those Mormon missionaries?” Sally demanded again.
When I nodded, she hissed, “Then you are an infidel and a devil!”
She shoved me, and I turned and ran. Is this what being a Mormon means?
I know I was excited about moving, but I really miss my friends. Today before science class began, a girl two rows over called out, “Trisha, are you a Mormon?”
Suddenly the chatter stopped. All eyes turned to me. I said yes.
One of the boys asked, “What’s a Norman?”
The girl said, “Not Norman, Gregg. Mormon. It’s a church.”
“They don’t believe in Jesus Christ,” someone piped up.
“Yes, we do,” I protested, but the bell rang and drowned out my words.
I heard someone across the room say, “My dad says Mormons are really weird.”
I’m the only Mormon in this whole school. Will I ever have any friends?
Today I asked Father to teach me to chop and split wood. He replied that Mother would not have wanted me to do a man’s work. That is true. Mother always wanted me to be a lady. But Father has too much to do. He can get no man to help with the farm and no woman to help in the house because we are Mormons. I explained that I keep running out of wood for the range, and if we want hot meals, I must learn to handle an ax.
So he taught me. It is harder than it appears, and tonight my hands are blistered badly. I intend to wear my second-best Sunday gloves tomorrow when I chop.
Tonight I asked Mom to teach me how to cook from scratch, like she used to before Dad died and she had to go to work. I’m tired of watching her worry about bills, and I know that cooking from scratch would save money and be healthier.
“It would take a lot of your time,” she said. I said I figured it was time for me to pull my share of the load. Mom hugged me tight. “OK,” she laughed. “Lesson one …”
Father and I are ready to leave in the morning to join the Saints. Uncle Samuel came today all the way from Avery to persuade Father to give up Mormonism. My dearest cousin, Lydia, came with him. I haven’t seen Lydia since Mother’s funeral. Lydia told me that I needn’t go with Father. I could live with her family. She said Father had been deluded and led astray by the Mormons.
I told Lydia that I also believed the Mormon church is the only true church on earth.
She said, “But that Joseph Smith is dead now. Father said he was possessed by devils!”
My heart hurt when I heard those words. “No,” I told her, “Joseph Smith was a prophet just like the prophets in the Bible. I know this is true!”
Lydia stared at me. “I feel sorry for you. I guess we’ll never see each other again.”
Am I going to be without friends for the rest of my life?
They changed our basketball game from Tuesday to Monday. Because it’s a really important game, Coach said we would have a practice on Sunday afternoon.
“I can’t practice on Sunday,” I told him.
“I know that you’re a Mormon,” he replied, “but this is really important. I’ll talk to your mother.”
“It won’t make any difference,” I told him. “I still won’t be able to come.”
All the girls were staring. “Are you going to be in church?” one asked.
“No,” I answered. “My church is in the morning.”
“Well, where are you going in the afternoon?”
“Nowhere, I guess,” I said. “Just home.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s the Sabbath,” I mumbled. After a lot of exchanged looks and rolled eyes, they went into the locker room, leaving me sitting alone on the bench.
I wish I had a close friend.
Friends. Why can’t we all be friends? Today I was walking about Winter Quarters with Mariah Jewett and Leticia Harwood. Oh, how I have wanted to be Mariah’s friend! She is pretty and clever, and she plans dances for which her father plays the fiddle. I love to dance. She promised to invite me to the next one.
While walking, we saw a family arrive in an overflowing open wagon. I love to see more Saints joining us. Tucked in among the household goods was a girl who looked to be about our age. “How exciting! Let’s go welcome her,” I said.
“Wait,” Mariah said. “Don’t go near her. She’s probably got vermin. Look at her dress. Did you ever see anything so ugly?”
I was anxious about the vermin, so I stared impolitely. Her dress wasn’t ugly, only very plain. Just then the girl saw us watching, and she smiled shyly. Was she feeling as I had felt when we finally joined the other Saints? Was she heartsick at losing friends, and hoping to find new ones?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s go be friendly.”
“Hazel!” Mariah’s voice stopped me. “If you mingle with that riffraff, I shall be forced to exclude you from my list of associates.”
I am ashamed that I hesitated, thinking of having fun with Mariah at the dance. Then I remembered the great and spacious building in the Book of Mormon, and I knew where I wanted to be.
“So be it, Mariah,” I said, and I left her. Even in the midst of the Saints, life has trials.
It must be my destiny to be a loner. I was walking to an assembly with Melinda and Denise, who are on the basketball team too. We passed a girl just standing there, looking lost. She also looked like a total nerd. Besides her clothes being all wrong, her hair was like my grandma’s. She was obviously new, and my heart ached for her. I knew just how she felt.
I said, “Are you going to the assembly?” When she nodded, I said, “It’s this way.” Melinda and Denise looked at me like, “You know her?”
She began following us, and Melinda muttered, “Get rid of her.”
But I couldn’t. She needed a friend. She followed us up the bleachers and sat down next to me. Melinda and Denise gave me a disgusted look and moved over to the next section.
Good-bye, Melinda and Denise.
All week long I have looked forward to the dance tonight. Life on the trail is so dreary, just plodding along day after day. I don’t think I ever fixed supper faster or cleaned up more quickly than I did tonight. I called over to Sister Fuller in the next wagon to see if she needed help getting ready. She has two small children and a grandfather who has been ill. She replied that she wasn’t going to the dance. Her grandfather was feeling very ill, and someone had to stay with him.
Poor Sister Fuller. She loves to dance and sing and was probably looking forward to it even more than I. “I will watch your grandfather,” I told her. “I can come get you if he turns worse.”
“But you don’t want to miss the dance,” she protested.
“There are plenty of dances ahead of me. Go with your husband and enjoy yourself.”
Her smile lit up her entire face, and she hugged me. “God bless you, Hazel,” she whispered, and she hurried to freshen up.
So I spent the evening taking care of the grandfather and watching the sleeping babies. I heard the music and the happy voices all evening, and missed it dreadfully. But I was not sorry I stayed so that Sister Fuller could go. If I don’t feel happiness in my soul tonight, at least I feel peace.
Talk about anticipation! Thinking about the ward social Friday night was what kept me going all week. Other girls in the ward were sure to be there, and Church is the only place I can relax and not feel different.
Mom and I left early to pick up Sister Grogan. We found her balancing her crying three-year-old on one knee while feeding the baby in his high chair. Her house was a mess, and she was too.
“I guess I’m not going,” she told Mom. “The babies are fussy, and I can’t handle that tonight.”
Mom picked up the crying toddler. “You need this night out,” she told Sister Grogan. “I’ll stay with your children, and you drive on to the social with Trisha.”
Sister Grogan brightened up. “I can’t let you do that,” she protested weakly.
Mom said “Nonsense,” and started to push her toward the bedroom.
I looked at Mom, and she looked as tired as Sister Grogan did. They both needed this night out.
I took the toddler from Mom. “You’re going to the ward social, too,” I said. “I’m staying with the children.”
“I can’t let you do that.” But she looked as hopeful as Sister Grogan had.
“No problem,” I said. “Go have fun.”
I may not have had fun tonight, but I sure feel good inside!
The girls stood when they saw me coming. Then Sally stepped forward and slapped me across the cheek. “Hazel Alice Williams,” she said in an awful voice, “henceforth and forever you are banned from the Gainesville Junior Sewing Circle!”
“What have I done?” I asked.
“Are you a Mormon?” Sally demanded.
The question surprised me. What did that have to do with this?
“Were you and your father baptized by those Mormon missionaries?” Sally demanded again.
When I nodded, she hissed, “Then you are an infidel and a devil!”
She shoved me, and I turned and ran. Is this what being a Mormon means?
I know I was excited about moving, but I really miss my friends. Today before science class began, a girl two rows over called out, “Trisha, are you a Mormon?”
Suddenly the chatter stopped. All eyes turned to me. I said yes.
One of the boys asked, “What’s a Norman?”
The girl said, “Not Norman, Gregg. Mormon. It’s a church.”
“They don’t believe in Jesus Christ,” someone piped up.
“Yes, we do,” I protested, but the bell rang and drowned out my words.
I heard someone across the room say, “My dad says Mormons are really weird.”
I’m the only Mormon in this whole school. Will I ever have any friends?
Today I asked Father to teach me to chop and split wood. He replied that Mother would not have wanted me to do a man’s work. That is true. Mother always wanted me to be a lady. But Father has too much to do. He can get no man to help with the farm and no woman to help in the house because we are Mormons. I explained that I keep running out of wood for the range, and if we want hot meals, I must learn to handle an ax.
So he taught me. It is harder than it appears, and tonight my hands are blistered badly. I intend to wear my second-best Sunday gloves tomorrow when I chop.
Tonight I asked Mom to teach me how to cook from scratch, like she used to before Dad died and she had to go to work. I’m tired of watching her worry about bills, and I know that cooking from scratch would save money and be healthier.
“It would take a lot of your time,” she said. I said I figured it was time for me to pull my share of the load. Mom hugged me tight. “OK,” she laughed. “Lesson one …”
Father and I are ready to leave in the morning to join the Saints. Uncle Samuel came today all the way from Avery to persuade Father to give up Mormonism. My dearest cousin, Lydia, came with him. I haven’t seen Lydia since Mother’s funeral. Lydia told me that I needn’t go with Father. I could live with her family. She said Father had been deluded and led astray by the Mormons.
I told Lydia that I also believed the Mormon church is the only true church on earth.
She said, “But that Joseph Smith is dead now. Father said he was possessed by devils!”
My heart hurt when I heard those words. “No,” I told her, “Joseph Smith was a prophet just like the prophets in the Bible. I know this is true!”
Lydia stared at me. “I feel sorry for you. I guess we’ll never see each other again.”
Am I going to be without friends for the rest of my life?
They changed our basketball game from Tuesday to Monday. Because it’s a really important game, Coach said we would have a practice on Sunday afternoon.
“I can’t practice on Sunday,” I told him.
“I know that you’re a Mormon,” he replied, “but this is really important. I’ll talk to your mother.”
“It won’t make any difference,” I told him. “I still won’t be able to come.”
All the girls were staring. “Are you going to be in church?” one asked.
“No,” I answered. “My church is in the morning.”
“Well, where are you going in the afternoon?”
“Nowhere, I guess,” I said. “Just home.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s the Sabbath,” I mumbled. After a lot of exchanged looks and rolled eyes, they went into the locker room, leaving me sitting alone on the bench.
I wish I had a close friend.
Friends. Why can’t we all be friends? Today I was walking about Winter Quarters with Mariah Jewett and Leticia Harwood. Oh, how I have wanted to be Mariah’s friend! She is pretty and clever, and she plans dances for which her father plays the fiddle. I love to dance. She promised to invite me to the next one.
While walking, we saw a family arrive in an overflowing open wagon. I love to see more Saints joining us. Tucked in among the household goods was a girl who looked to be about our age. “How exciting! Let’s go welcome her,” I said.
“Wait,” Mariah said. “Don’t go near her. She’s probably got vermin. Look at her dress. Did you ever see anything so ugly?”
I was anxious about the vermin, so I stared impolitely. Her dress wasn’t ugly, only very plain. Just then the girl saw us watching, and she smiled shyly. Was she feeling as I had felt when we finally joined the other Saints? Was she heartsick at losing friends, and hoping to find new ones?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s go be friendly.”
“Hazel!” Mariah’s voice stopped me. “If you mingle with that riffraff, I shall be forced to exclude you from my list of associates.”
I am ashamed that I hesitated, thinking of having fun with Mariah at the dance. Then I remembered the great and spacious building in the Book of Mormon, and I knew where I wanted to be.
“So be it, Mariah,” I said, and I left her. Even in the midst of the Saints, life has trials.
It must be my destiny to be a loner. I was walking to an assembly with Melinda and Denise, who are on the basketball team too. We passed a girl just standing there, looking lost. She also looked like a total nerd. Besides her clothes being all wrong, her hair was like my grandma’s. She was obviously new, and my heart ached for her. I knew just how she felt.
I said, “Are you going to the assembly?” When she nodded, I said, “It’s this way.” Melinda and Denise looked at me like, “You know her?”
She began following us, and Melinda muttered, “Get rid of her.”
But I couldn’t. She needed a friend. She followed us up the bleachers and sat down next to me. Melinda and Denise gave me a disgusted look and moved over to the next section.
Good-bye, Melinda and Denise.
All week long I have looked forward to the dance tonight. Life on the trail is so dreary, just plodding along day after day. I don’t think I ever fixed supper faster or cleaned up more quickly than I did tonight. I called over to Sister Fuller in the next wagon to see if she needed help getting ready. She has two small children and a grandfather who has been ill. She replied that she wasn’t going to the dance. Her grandfather was feeling very ill, and someone had to stay with him.
Poor Sister Fuller. She loves to dance and sing and was probably looking forward to it even more than I. “I will watch your grandfather,” I told her. “I can come get you if he turns worse.”
“But you don’t want to miss the dance,” she protested.
“There are plenty of dances ahead of me. Go with your husband and enjoy yourself.”
Her smile lit up her entire face, and she hugged me. “God bless you, Hazel,” she whispered, and she hurried to freshen up.
So I spent the evening taking care of the grandfather and watching the sleeping babies. I heard the music and the happy voices all evening, and missed it dreadfully. But I was not sorry I stayed so that Sister Fuller could go. If I don’t feel happiness in my soul tonight, at least I feel peace.
Talk about anticipation! Thinking about the ward social Friday night was what kept me going all week. Other girls in the ward were sure to be there, and Church is the only place I can relax and not feel different.
Mom and I left early to pick up Sister Grogan. We found her balancing her crying three-year-old on one knee while feeding the baby in his high chair. Her house was a mess, and she was too.
“I guess I’m not going,” she told Mom. “The babies are fussy, and I can’t handle that tonight.”
Mom picked up the crying toddler. “You need this night out,” she told Sister Grogan. “I’ll stay with your children, and you drive on to the social with Trisha.”
Sister Grogan brightened up. “I can’t let you do that,” she protested weakly.
Mom said “Nonsense,” and started to push her toward the bedroom.
I looked at Mom, and she looked as tired as Sister Grogan did. They both needed this night out.
I took the toddler from Mom. “You’re going to the ward social, too,” I said. “I’m staying with the children.”
“I can’t let you do that.” But she looked as hopeful as Sister Grogan had.
“No problem,” I said. “Go have fun.”
I may not have had fun tonight, but I sure feel good inside!
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👤 Youth
👤 Friends
👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Early Saints
Adversity
Baptism
Conversion
Doubt
Friendship
Judging Others
Young Women
The Saints of the Guadeloupe District Testify of the August 2023 Indexing Campaign
Summary: A member learned indexing at a large activity led by Sabrina Bastien but initially found it difficult. After another activity with young consultants, they tried indexing at home with help from Sister Bastien and FamilySearch resources, eventually making it a weekly habit. Through prayer they gained patience and clarity, and during the first COVID-19 lockdown they indexed daily. They now feel joy helping unite families through indexing.
A few years ago, I learned to index during a large indexing activity organized at the Les Abymes meetinghouse, led in part by Sabrina Bastien. It didn’t particularly captivate me as I found the documents difficult to read. Another time, I participated in an indexing activity on a Sunday with young people who had been called to serve as temple and family history consultants. I then began trying to do it alone at home, calling Sister Bastien for help when problems arose, and reading explanations on FamilySearch. I started indexing every Sunday afternoon. It became a way for me to help my family with their genealogy, as we are all part of our Heavenly Father’s family. If I find it easy to locate my close family, it’s because others have done work for me.
So, it’s my turn to return the favor. I noticed that by asking for help from our Heavenly Father, I could read certain writing more easily. This allowed me to have patience. During the first major COVID-19 lockdown, I indexed every day. And then every Sunday. I am happy to be able to help, through indexing, in bringing families together on both sides of the veil.
So, it’s my turn to return the favor. I noticed that by asking for help from our Heavenly Father, I could read certain writing more easily. This allowed me to have patience. During the first major COVID-19 lockdown, I indexed every day. And then every Sunday. I am happy to be able to help, through indexing, in bringing families together on both sides of the veil.
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👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Youth
Baptisms for the Dead
Family
Family History
Patience
Prayer
Service
Temples
Why I Served A Mission
Summary: Early in his Scotland/Ireland mission, the narrator was repeatedly asked why he had come and eventually realized he didn’t know. Months later he was asked a new question—why he stayed—which forced a present-tense decision. As he pondered, he recognized that the grace of Jesus Christ underpinned his efforts and became the reason he stayed, leading to deep learning about the Savior.
Like all homecomings, mine was bittersweet. I spent two years as a missionary for the Church in the Scotland/Ireland Mission, speaking Mandarin Chinese. The call was unique, and not a day went by that wasn’t similarly special. My mission took me to soaring heights, but also to lows I never thought I’d experience. It filled my life with a wide range of color and emotion I hadn’t thought possible, things I figured were exclusive for other people, but not for me. It felt like I’d spent my whole life playing a video game, and suddenly I’d been dropped straight into it for real.
The day I arrived in the mission field, I found a question staring me in the face everywhere I looked: Why did you come? Companions, the mission president, and ward members all asked us why we came on a mission. I had a good, general response to it. But, for whatever reason, maybe because I repeated it so much, those words began to sound hollow. So, I began to question, and one day, not too long into my mission, I woke up with the scary realization that I honestly had no idea why I had come.
Serving a mission had always been in my future. It was something I’d planned on and even enthusiastically looked forward to for my entire life. And yet somehow I didn’t understand fully what a mission would entail. I’d have to talk to people? Teach them? Why did something so basic come as such a shock to me? Was I really prepared for this? How did I get here? Why had I come?
It wasn’t until a few months later I was posed a different question, which put everything into perspective.
“Why do you stay?”
That was a more immediate question, so it required a more immediate answer. Rather than looking deep into the past for a reason I wasn’t sure was there, I could look at myself in the here and now and decide. Why did I stay today? Why would I stay tomorrow? Well, for one thing, I couldn’t well give up on something I’d just started. The work was anything but comfortable, but I didn’t feel so out of place as I sometimes had back home. I knew I was accomplishing something, even if I wasn’t sure what it was. But there was something more than that. As I pondered, I realized that throughout all of the ups and downs and lefts and rights, the highs and lows and every shade of color you can imagine, there was one thing underpinning it all. It was the grace of Jesus Christ.
That is why I went on my mission, and why I stayed; nothing else has taught me so much of the Savior and allowed me so much unfettered access to His divine power and love. Christ is real. He lives, He loves each of us, and He is with us in ways we cannot even imagine. Trust in Him, hold fast to His teachings, live by His words, and even in the darkest of night, life will carry a special glimmer that you cannot find anywhere else. That is so necessary in missionary life, but oh so much more vital in our daily lives.
The day I arrived in the mission field, I found a question staring me in the face everywhere I looked: Why did you come? Companions, the mission president, and ward members all asked us why we came on a mission. I had a good, general response to it. But, for whatever reason, maybe because I repeated it so much, those words began to sound hollow. So, I began to question, and one day, not too long into my mission, I woke up with the scary realization that I honestly had no idea why I had come.
Serving a mission had always been in my future. It was something I’d planned on and even enthusiastically looked forward to for my entire life. And yet somehow I didn’t understand fully what a mission would entail. I’d have to talk to people? Teach them? Why did something so basic come as such a shock to me? Was I really prepared for this? How did I get here? Why had I come?
It wasn’t until a few months later I was posed a different question, which put everything into perspective.
“Why do you stay?”
That was a more immediate question, so it required a more immediate answer. Rather than looking deep into the past for a reason I wasn’t sure was there, I could look at myself in the here and now and decide. Why did I stay today? Why would I stay tomorrow? Well, for one thing, I couldn’t well give up on something I’d just started. The work was anything but comfortable, but I didn’t feel so out of place as I sometimes had back home. I knew I was accomplishing something, even if I wasn’t sure what it was. But there was something more than that. As I pondered, I realized that throughout all of the ups and downs and lefts and rights, the highs and lows and every shade of color you can imagine, there was one thing underpinning it all. It was the grace of Jesus Christ.
That is why I went on my mission, and why I stayed; nothing else has taught me so much of the Savior and allowed me so much unfettered access to His divine power and love. Christ is real. He lives, He loves each of us, and He is with us in ways we cannot even imagine. Trust in Him, hold fast to His teachings, live by His words, and even in the darkest of night, life will carry a special glimmer that you cannot find anywhere else. That is so necessary in missionary life, but oh so much more vital in our daily lives.
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👤 Jesus Christ
👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Doubt
Endure to the End
Faith
Grace
Jesus Christ
Missionary Work
Testimony
Hair-raising, Care-raising, Barn-raising
Summary: A skeptical teenager describes being sent to youth conference to help build two barns in Duvall, Washington, and expecting it to be boring. Instead, he finds the work challenging, the group bonding unexpectedly meaningful, and the project deeply satisfying as the youth build for two families in need.
The story emphasizes how service changed his attitude, especially as he worked side by side with others and saw the gratitude of the recipients. By the end, he connects the experience to Jesus Christ and reflects that the youth conference succeeded because it focused on serving and loving others.
My neighbor came across the street and said, “Hey, guess what we’re doing for youth conference? We get to build two barns.”
I grunted. “Two barns? Thrill city. Whoever came up with that dumb idea? Youth conferences are supposed to be fun.”
“We’ll have fun working.”
“Get real,” I told him. “I have a hard time cleaning my room.”
Maybe the adults thought I was Laman or Lemuel at the next stake dance committee meeting. I asked them, “Whatever happened to white river rafting for youth conference? Do you really expect us to get up at 5:00 A.M. on the first three days of our summer vacation?” One of the girls on the committee decided she wouldn’t go as she’d wreck her fingernails. She threatened to organize something for her own ward. None of our complaining did any good. The stake youth leaders stuck to their plan.
A fierce hailstorm pelted Duvall, Washington, the night before the conference. “Bummer, now they’ll have to cancel our exciting barn building extravaganza,” I said sarcastically.
Miraculously, the weather cleared, and I found myself standing with 180 kids in carpenter aprons, pockets full of nails and wearing a T-shirt that read, “You Love Who You Serve.”
We were given the choice of helping to build a barn/shed or a barn/house. I picked the barn/shed. It sounded easier. We banged nails. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t awful. Ward Roney, the to-be-owner of the barn/shed was a sturdy man, weathered by long hours on the tractor. He told me his favorite sound was the belch a cow makes when she’s in a warm shed eating hay. His old shed blew down in a bad storm, and the insurance wouldn’t pay to replace it. He was either brave or foolish to let a bunch of teenagers build his shed. Surely he realized we’d never finish the huge thing. If we could do it, one observer noted, it’d be an Amish barn raising by Mormons for Catholics.
Brother Beecham, the builder in charge of our shed, held the American Homes world record for the fastest home framed. The old record stood at 36 hours, and Beecham’s crew accomplished it in four. I got a kick out of watching him stroll across thin high timbers like they were sidewalks. With the construction boom in Seattle, I knew Brother Beecham was passing up a lot of money to teach us.
Normally, when I work I look at my watch every five minutes. Before I knew it, the walls were up, and we were ready for a crane to position the giant trusses of the roof. But there was no crane. Instead of machine power, we’d use muscle power, and some of the muscles were mine. The ground crew strained to position one truss. Then three of us on the roof pulled up the point with a rope as the ground crew hoisted. We cheered when the truss was securely nailed into place. What a team. Up there, 30 feet off the ground, a great sense of brotherhood developed between the “roof crew.” It was great up there. It was fun. I really developed a closeness to all of them as we worked and sweat and hammered our thumbs hour after hour.
The first day some of the girls were afraid to hit the nails on the head. By the second day they were mean. They’d developed aim and aggression in their hammering. Unfortunately, the girls used their new skills on the boys at the pie eating contest, which turned into a pie throwing war.
Meanwhile the people at the barn/house site made decent progress on the first floor. They were laboring for an LDS family of eight who’d used their savings to drill a well that turned out to be dry. The Dazey family was packed into a small trailer. They’d obtained a small, portable sawmill and cut logs into lumber. Building their barn/house was a dream come true. One of my friends who worked on the site said, “We were digging a ditch for the septic system. After a few hours, it got to where I started taking pride in the ditch and I thought the straight sides were kind of pretty. I’ve never felt that way about a ditch before.”
I grunted. “Two barns? Thrill city. Whoever came up with that dumb idea? Youth conferences are supposed to be fun.”
“We’ll have fun working.”
“Get real,” I told him. “I have a hard time cleaning my room.”
Maybe the adults thought I was Laman or Lemuel at the next stake dance committee meeting. I asked them, “Whatever happened to white river rafting for youth conference? Do you really expect us to get up at 5:00 A.M. on the first three days of our summer vacation?” One of the girls on the committee decided she wouldn’t go as she’d wreck her fingernails. She threatened to organize something for her own ward. None of our complaining did any good. The stake youth leaders stuck to their plan.
A fierce hailstorm pelted Duvall, Washington, the night before the conference. “Bummer, now they’ll have to cancel our exciting barn building extravaganza,” I said sarcastically.
Miraculously, the weather cleared, and I found myself standing with 180 kids in carpenter aprons, pockets full of nails and wearing a T-shirt that read, “You Love Who You Serve.”
We were given the choice of helping to build a barn/shed or a barn/house. I picked the barn/shed. It sounded easier. We banged nails. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t awful. Ward Roney, the to-be-owner of the barn/shed was a sturdy man, weathered by long hours on the tractor. He told me his favorite sound was the belch a cow makes when she’s in a warm shed eating hay. His old shed blew down in a bad storm, and the insurance wouldn’t pay to replace it. He was either brave or foolish to let a bunch of teenagers build his shed. Surely he realized we’d never finish the huge thing. If we could do it, one observer noted, it’d be an Amish barn raising by Mormons for Catholics.
Brother Beecham, the builder in charge of our shed, held the American Homes world record for the fastest home framed. The old record stood at 36 hours, and Beecham’s crew accomplished it in four. I got a kick out of watching him stroll across thin high timbers like they were sidewalks. With the construction boom in Seattle, I knew Brother Beecham was passing up a lot of money to teach us.
Normally, when I work I look at my watch every five minutes. Before I knew it, the walls were up, and we were ready for a crane to position the giant trusses of the roof. But there was no crane. Instead of machine power, we’d use muscle power, and some of the muscles were mine. The ground crew strained to position one truss. Then three of us on the roof pulled up the point with a rope as the ground crew hoisted. We cheered when the truss was securely nailed into place. What a team. Up there, 30 feet off the ground, a great sense of brotherhood developed between the “roof crew.” It was great up there. It was fun. I really developed a closeness to all of them as we worked and sweat and hammered our thumbs hour after hour.
The first day some of the girls were afraid to hit the nails on the head. By the second day they were mean. They’d developed aim and aggression in their hammering. Unfortunately, the girls used their new skills on the boys at the pie eating contest, which turned into a pie throwing war.
Meanwhile the people at the barn/house site made decent progress on the first floor. They were laboring for an LDS family of eight who’d used their savings to drill a well that turned out to be dry. The Dazey family was packed into a small trailer. They’d obtained a small, portable sawmill and cut logs into lumber. Building their barn/house was a dream come true. One of my friends who worked on the site said, “We were digging a ditch for the septic system. After a few hours, it got to where I started taking pride in the ditch and I thought the straight sides were kind of pretty. I’ve never felt that way about a ditch before.”
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👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Charity
Family
Self-Reliance
Service
Perfect Prayer
Summary: During a sacrament meeting, Billy, a newly ordained priest with speech challenges, repeatedly restarts the sacrament prayer after missing words as the bishop lovingly signals corrections. As the congregation grows anxious, Billy’s older brother Andy quietly kneels beside him for support. With his brother at his side, Billy completes the prayer perfectly, teaching the congregation about love, patience, and growth.
Calmly the bishop turned his head toward the sacrament table and gave the dreaded “no” sign. The young priest had missed a word while blessing the sacrament.
Give the kid a break, I thought to myself, trying in vain to transmit my brainwaves to the bishopric. After all, this was Billy we were talking about. This was a kid who had a tough enough time talking in complete sentences, let alone reading prayers in front of a congregation of people, speaking words verbatim from a card.
Just a week before, Billy’s dad had ordained him a priest. With that prayer came a promise that the Lord would help him overcome his handicaps. The following Sunday, that promise was put to the test. Billy was kneeling behind the sacrament table, confronted with a task that demanded nothing less than perfection.
Billy prayed again, and with loving composure, the bishop once again signaled for him to say the prayer over. Billy’s face filled with disappointment as he dropped to his knees, cleared his throat, and prayed. An anxious reverence filled the chapel.
As Billy began again, I prayed along with him, mouthing each word as if I could somehow control his speech. Amazingly, the technique seemed to be working. With only a few phrases to go, Billy’s prayer was perfect. And then the unthinkable happened as the words that I mouthed and Billy spoke went suddenly out of sync.
There would be no need for Billy to look at the bishop. Billy knew he had to start over. For one awkward and eternal moment he remained on his knees as all eyes focused on the bishopric. And then Andy arose from the congregation, walked quietly to the sacrament table, and knelt down next to his younger brother.
Bowing our heads in gratitude, we waited for Andy to offer the prayer and put an end to Billy’s suffering. But it was Billy’s voice—not Andy’s—that broke the silence. I held my breath as Billy tiptoed through the phrases with his brother at his side.
Then at last came “amen,” and the bishop smiled and nodded.
Billy emerged from behind the sacrament table wearing the same big grin he seemed to always have. For one sweet moment he had tasted perfection, and he knew it. We all knew it, and I more fully understood the wisdom of our bishop.
He was well aware of Billy’s weaknesses. But he loved Billy. He loved him enough to allow him the chance to magnify his priesthood and to let him try and fail until he found perfection.
In that perfect prayer that Billy uttered, we were all lifted and edified. We all saw a priest of great courage who knelt with his older brother and preached a powerful sermon from the sacrament table.
Give the kid a break, I thought to myself, trying in vain to transmit my brainwaves to the bishopric. After all, this was Billy we were talking about. This was a kid who had a tough enough time talking in complete sentences, let alone reading prayers in front of a congregation of people, speaking words verbatim from a card.
Just a week before, Billy’s dad had ordained him a priest. With that prayer came a promise that the Lord would help him overcome his handicaps. The following Sunday, that promise was put to the test. Billy was kneeling behind the sacrament table, confronted with a task that demanded nothing less than perfection.
Billy prayed again, and with loving composure, the bishop once again signaled for him to say the prayer over. Billy’s face filled with disappointment as he dropped to his knees, cleared his throat, and prayed. An anxious reverence filled the chapel.
As Billy began again, I prayed along with him, mouthing each word as if I could somehow control his speech. Amazingly, the technique seemed to be working. With only a few phrases to go, Billy’s prayer was perfect. And then the unthinkable happened as the words that I mouthed and Billy spoke went suddenly out of sync.
There would be no need for Billy to look at the bishop. Billy knew he had to start over. For one awkward and eternal moment he remained on his knees as all eyes focused on the bishopric. And then Andy arose from the congregation, walked quietly to the sacrament table, and knelt down next to his younger brother.
Bowing our heads in gratitude, we waited for Andy to offer the prayer and put an end to Billy’s suffering. But it was Billy’s voice—not Andy’s—that broke the silence. I held my breath as Billy tiptoed through the phrases with his brother at his side.
Then at last came “amen,” and the bishop smiled and nodded.
Billy emerged from behind the sacrament table wearing the same big grin he seemed to always have. For one sweet moment he had tasted perfection, and he knew it. We all knew it, and I more fully understood the wisdom of our bishop.
He was well aware of Billy’s weaknesses. But he loved Billy. He loved him enough to allow him the chance to magnify his priesthood and to let him try and fail until he found perfection.
In that perfect prayer that Billy uttered, we were all lifted and edified. We all saw a priest of great courage who knelt with his older brother and preached a powerful sermon from the sacrament table.
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👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Youth
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
Bishop
Courage
Disabilities
Family
Prayer
Priesthood
Sacrament
Sacrament Meeting
Young Men
Cartoon Choice
Summary: A newly baptized second-grader felt uncomfortable during a classroom cartoon when the characters started dancing inappropriately. Sensing the Holy Ghost's warning, the child stopped watching and chose to draw instead. They later reflected that the Holy Ghost protected them from bad thoughts and from copying the dance moves, which could have led to trouble.
I was baptized a few months ago and received the gift of the Holy Ghost as my companion. One of His jobs is to warn me about bad things.
On the first day of school, it was too hot outside for my second-grade class to go to recess, so our teacher let us play and watch a cartoon in the classroom. The movie was funny. But then the way the characters were dancing made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t like it, so I went back to my chair and started to draw instead of watching the movie.
I know that I was feeling uncomfortable because the Holy Ghost was trying to tell me that it wasn’t good for me to watch the cartoon anymore. He was trying to protect me from bad things getting stuck in my mind.
Sometimes I like to copy funny things I see on TV and in movies. If I had copied those dance moves, I could have gotten in trouble. So the Holy Ghost protected me another way too.
I’m really glad that I was baptized and have the Holy Ghost’s extra help. I’m really, really glad that I listened to the Holy Ghost!
On the first day of school, it was too hot outside for my second-grade class to go to recess, so our teacher let us play and watch a cartoon in the classroom. The movie was funny. But then the way the characters were dancing made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t like it, so I went back to my chair and started to draw instead of watching the movie.
I know that I was feeling uncomfortable because the Holy Ghost was trying to tell me that it wasn’t good for me to watch the cartoon anymore. He was trying to protect me from bad things getting stuck in my mind.
Sometimes I like to copy funny things I see on TV and in movies. If I had copied those dance moves, I could have gotten in trouble. So the Holy Ghost protected me another way too.
I’m really glad that I was baptized and have the Holy Ghost’s extra help. I’m really, really glad that I listened to the Holy Ghost!
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👤 Children
👤 Church Members (General)
Baptism
Children
Holy Ghost
Movies and Television
Temptation
Finding Peace in the Storm of Addiction
Summary: For years, the author's family hid her brother’s addiction out of shame, blaming themselves and avoiding questions. They later chose to face it together, seeking and offering support. They discovered many families struggle similarly and resolved to replace secrecy and judgment with compassion and open conversation.
My family suffered in silence regarding my brother’s struggles for a long time. We endured self-imposed shame for years. Addiction was taboo, so we didn’t talk about it. We thought drug addiction wasn’t supposed to affect families who were doing their best to live the gospel and follow Jesus Christ. We were so afraid of what people would think if they found out. My parents constantly blamed themselves for my brother’s decisions, I would hide what was happening from my friends, and we would dodge all questions about my brother. Little did we know that not talking about it made our circumstances more painful than they already were.
Now I face my brother’s addiction differently. And that’s the key word: face. For so many years, I turned away from it and hid it from everyone else, but now I face it head-on with my family. We seek support and we try to support others. As the years have gone by, we’ve discovered that addiction affects many families in many different forms—and there’s no need to feel ashamed or to hide. It needs to be talked about, and those who have been hurt by it, whether they be loved ones or those who struggle themselves, need less judgment and more support, compassion, understanding, and love. No one should have to suffer alone.
Now I face my brother’s addiction differently. And that’s the key word: face. For so many years, I turned away from it and hid it from everyone else, but now I face it head-on with my family. We seek support and we try to support others. As the years have gone by, we’ve discovered that addiction affects many families in many different forms—and there’s no need to feel ashamed or to hide. It needs to be talked about, and those who have been hurt by it, whether they be loved ones or those who struggle themselves, need less judgment and more support, compassion, understanding, and love. No one should have to suffer alone.
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👤 Parents
👤 Other
Addiction
Adversity
Charity
Courage
Family
Judging Others
Kindness
Love
Mercy
Service
Hunter’s Warning
Summary: During a ward fathers and sons campout, a group of boys chose Hunter as their leader while hiking. Hunter felt prompted not to go around a canyon curve, so they turned back. Later, when they hiked the same way with their dads, Hunter’s dad almost stepped on a rattlesnake near that curve. The narrator is grateful Hunter listened to the Holy Ghost.
I went on a fathers and sons’ campout with my ward. My friends and I hiked down a canyon. We chose the oldest boy, Hunter, to be our leader. When we came to a curve in the canyon, Hunter warned us that we shouldn’t go around the curve. He had a feeling that something bad would happen if we did. So we turned around and walked in the other direction. Later, when we were hiking with our dads and we went around that curve, Hunter’s dad almost stepped on a rattlesnake! A rattlesnake’s rattle is a warning, but the Holy Ghost can warn us about all kinds of danger. I am thankful Hunter listened to the Holy Ghost so we could all be safe.
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👤 Youth
👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 Church Members (General)
Faith
Holy Ghost
Revelation
Young Men
The Great Beasts of the Plains
Summary: Bhutto asks his father for permission to hunt alone. His father teaches him through a story about the Mazumbas and then gives him a bow. Bhutto learns to be thoughtful about when and why he hunts, recognizing the lasting impact of taking from the earth. His father, satisfied with his understanding, allows him to hunt alone.
The hot sun beat down on Bhutto’s shoulders as he crossed a dry riverbed. He found his father on the other side, sitting beneath a baobab tree, making a bow to be used for hunting. Without saying a word, Bhutto knelt by his father’s side and watched him work. First his father poured sand over a large leaf. Then he wrapped the leaf around the bow and rubbed it up and down. Slowly the rough wooden surface of the bow became smoother.
“It is a hot day for one so young to be walking about,” said Bhutto’s father.
“I am not so young,” Bhutto quickly answered. “I am almost twelve years old.”
“Ah.” His father smiled. “So you are. But why have you come looking for me, Bhutto?”
Bhutto took a deep breath and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I have come to ask you if I may begin hunting alone.”
Bhutto’s father stopped working and looked at Bhutto. “You are a good hunter. You have worked hard to learn how to hunt. Now you must learn when to hunt.”
“And how will I learn this?”
“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
Bhutto sat very still and listened to the wind. It howled like a lonely animal at night.
“Here,” said Bhutto’s father, handing him the bow. “I was making this for you.”
Bhutto took the bow from his father and ran his fingers up and down the wood. He turned it over and pulled the string. “Oh, Father, it is a wonderful gift! I shall take very good care of it!”
“And my story? Did you learn anything from it?”
Bhutto was quiet for a long time. He thought about the Mazumbas. He thought about the Great Beasts and how beautiful they must have been. “I have learned to try to choose wisely about when to put an arrow in my bow and to be certain I need what I kill. For every time I take something from the earth, it can never be quite the same again.”
Bhutto’s father looked at him and smiled. “And now,” he said, “you are ready to hunt alone.”
“It is a hot day for one so young to be walking about,” said Bhutto’s father.
“I am not so young,” Bhutto quickly answered. “I am almost twelve years old.”
“Ah.” His father smiled. “So you are. But why have you come looking for me, Bhutto?”
Bhutto took a deep breath and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I have come to ask you if I may begin hunting alone.”
Bhutto’s father stopped working and looked at Bhutto. “You are a good hunter. You have worked hard to learn how to hunt. Now you must learn when to hunt.”
“And how will I learn this?”
“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
Bhutto sat very still and listened to the wind. It howled like a lonely animal at night.
“Here,” said Bhutto’s father, handing him the bow. “I was making this for you.”
Bhutto took the bow from his father and ran his fingers up and down the wood. He turned it over and pulled the string. “Oh, Father, it is a wonderful gift! I shall take very good care of it!”
“And my story? Did you learn anything from it?”
Bhutto was quiet for a long time. He thought about the Mazumbas. He thought about the Great Beasts and how beautiful they must have been. “I have learned to try to choose wisely about when to put an arrow in my bow and to be certain I need what I kill. For every time I take something from the earth, it can never be quite the same again.”
Bhutto’s father looked at him and smiled. “And now,” he said, “you are ready to hunt alone.”
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👤 Parents
👤 Children
Agency and Accountability
Children
Creation
Parenting
Stewardship
My Friend Arthur
Summary: At 15, the speaker moved to San Luis Obispo without friends and found a mentor in Arthur Godfrey, the local branch president and high school teacher. Arthur helped him secure a job and corrected him when he arrived late, teaching the importance of duty and punctuality. Arthur’s belief in him imparted confidence and direction.
As a 15-year-old boy, I needed a friend, especially when my family moved hundreds of miles away from my home community, my high school, my ward, and my best friend. Entering San Luis Obispo High School in California as a junior, without a friend, I found that friend. He wasn’t my age. There were no Latter-day Saint young men my age in the San Luis Obispo Branch. Looking back, I know that the friend who, perhaps more than any other, influenced my life for good, was a man the age of my parents.
Arthur Godfrey was president of the San Luis Obispo Branch of the Church and a teacher of agricultural science at the high school. Positive and sincerely interested in all of us, he became our friend. When I needed a job, he helped me find one in the community cannery. When I arrived late for work one afternoon, he forcefully taught me the absolute necessity of being on time, of how essential were duty and keeping promises.
A 15-year-old boy benefits when a friend believes in him. President Godfrey did that for me. He understood me, knew my weaknesses, yet believed that I could accomplish something with my life. Such trust imparted new confidence in me.
Arthur Godfrey was president of the San Luis Obispo Branch of the Church and a teacher of agricultural science at the high school. Positive and sincerely interested in all of us, he became our friend. When I needed a job, he helped me find one in the community cannery. When I arrived late for work one afternoon, he forcefully taught me the absolute necessity of being on time, of how essential were duty and keeping promises.
A 15-year-old boy benefits when a friend believes in him. President Godfrey did that for me. He understood me, knew my weaknesses, yet believed that I could accomplish something with my life. Such trust imparted new confidence in me.
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👤 Youth
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
Adversity
Employment
Friendship
Kindness
Young Men
Earning a Ride
Summary: Henry, a young boy traveling to Utah, persuades a freighter named Amos to take him by showing his skill with horses and then works hard throughout the journey. After arriving in Salt Lake City, he is found by his relative George Lowe and welcomed into family and church life. Over the next year, his father, mother, brothers, and sister each arrive separately, and Henry is grateful for Heavenly Father's protection as they reunite.
Henry walked up to the man named Amos. He had a snarly red beard, and he wasn’t smiling.
“Excuse me?” Henry said in a small voice. He felt nervous but remembered that the freight master had said Amos was a good man.
“What do you want?” Amos growled.
“I … I heard you could take me to Utah,” Henry stammered.
“I don’t take passengers,” Amos said. “I run a business.”
“I’ll work my way,” Henry said.
Amos laughed. “What work could a boy like you do?”
“I can do lots of things!” Henry said.
Amos scratched his beard. “Do you know anything about horses?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Henry answered. “My papa worked on a big estate in England, and I helped him with the horses all the time.”
“Is that so?” Amos smiled. He jerked his thumb at two horses tied to the back of the wagon. “Let’s see you hitch up Old Buck and Rufus.”
Henry walked over to the horses, patted their noses, and talked softly to them. Without any difficulty, he led them to the wagon and fastened the harnesses.
“Well, I’ll be hornswaggled! Old Buck’s usually cranky with strangers. You might be handy to have along after all,” Amos said. “Climb in the wagon and let’s go.”
Amos was fun to travel with. He told interesting stories and listened to Henry talk about life in England.
But the trip was hard work too! Henry took care of the horses, gathered firewood, and carried water. He helped Amos hunt for dinner. When they couldn’t catch anything, they ate beef jerky and dried apples. At night they slept under the wagon.
After many weeks Henry spotted the tops of mountains against the bright blue sky. “The Utah Territory is just on the other side,” Amos said.
When Henry got his first look at the land that would be his new home, he was surprised. It was nothing like the big cities or bright green fields he had left behind in England.
“Are you sure this is Utah?” Henry asked. “Maybe we took a wrong turn.”
Amos just chuckled.
Henry said goodbye to Amos in a town called Castle Gate and bought one last train ticket. Before he knew it, the train was hissing to a stop at the Salt Lake City depot. Henry jumped onto the wooden platform with a smile. He had made it!
Or had he? Henry quickly realized that he still didn’t know how to find his cousins. He started asking people if they knew the Lowe family. His stomach growled, and he shivered as the sun faded away.
Finally, he saw a man riding directly toward him.
“Henry? My name is George Lowe,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “My family will be so happy to meet you! Climb in the wagon. You must be exhausted.”
That night Henry had a warm bed and good food. He was soon able to go to church. Utah started to feel like home.
It was a whole year before Henry’s father came to Utah. Then his mother and two brothers followed. Finally his older sister arrived.
Each of them had a different journey, and Henry was grateful that Heavenly Father had protected them all. They were together again at last!
“Excuse me?” Henry said in a small voice. He felt nervous but remembered that the freight master had said Amos was a good man.
“What do you want?” Amos growled.
“I … I heard you could take me to Utah,” Henry stammered.
“I don’t take passengers,” Amos said. “I run a business.”
“I’ll work my way,” Henry said.
Amos laughed. “What work could a boy like you do?”
“I can do lots of things!” Henry said.
Amos scratched his beard. “Do you know anything about horses?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Henry answered. “My papa worked on a big estate in England, and I helped him with the horses all the time.”
“Is that so?” Amos smiled. He jerked his thumb at two horses tied to the back of the wagon. “Let’s see you hitch up Old Buck and Rufus.”
Henry walked over to the horses, patted their noses, and talked softly to them. Without any difficulty, he led them to the wagon and fastened the harnesses.
“Well, I’ll be hornswaggled! Old Buck’s usually cranky with strangers. You might be handy to have along after all,” Amos said. “Climb in the wagon and let’s go.”
Amos was fun to travel with. He told interesting stories and listened to Henry talk about life in England.
But the trip was hard work too! Henry took care of the horses, gathered firewood, and carried water. He helped Amos hunt for dinner. When they couldn’t catch anything, they ate beef jerky and dried apples. At night they slept under the wagon.
After many weeks Henry spotted the tops of mountains against the bright blue sky. “The Utah Territory is just on the other side,” Amos said.
When Henry got his first look at the land that would be his new home, he was surprised. It was nothing like the big cities or bright green fields he had left behind in England.
“Are you sure this is Utah?” Henry asked. “Maybe we took a wrong turn.”
Amos just chuckled.
Henry said goodbye to Amos in a town called Castle Gate and bought one last train ticket. Before he knew it, the train was hissing to a stop at the Salt Lake City depot. Henry jumped onto the wooden platform with a smile. He had made it!
Or had he? Henry quickly realized that he still didn’t know how to find his cousins. He started asking people if they knew the Lowe family. His stomach growled, and he shivered as the sun faded away.
Finally, he saw a man riding directly toward him.
“Henry? My name is George Lowe,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “My family will be so happy to meet you! Climb in the wagon. You must be exhausted.”
That night Henry had a warm bed and good food. He was soon able to go to church. Utah started to feel like home.
It was a whole year before Henry’s father came to Utah. Then his mother and two brothers followed. Finally his older sister arrived.
Each of them had a different journey, and Henry was grateful that Heavenly Father had protected them all. They were together again at last!
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👤 Pioneers
👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Adversity
Faith
Family
Friendship
Gratitude
Self-Reliance
Fifteen:
Summary: Two weeks after the birth, the mother hemorrhaged and was hospitalized again, leaving the fifteen-year-old daughter to care for her father, four siblings, and the newborn. Exhausted yet devoted, she even refused ward sisters’ help to take the baby. When the mother returned, everyone had survived, and the baby had thrived under constant care.
Two weeks later, however, my mother was back in the hospital. She had started to hemorrhage and was hospitalized for another two weeks.
Like most fifteen-year-old girls, I had had my share of thoughts about romance, marriage, and babies. But nothing I had ever dreamed of had prepared me for what I then faced. Not only did I have my father to cook for, but I had the four other children as well—breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. There was also the laundry to wash and, to top the list, a two-week-old baby to care for.
At times I thought I wouldn’t make it. But that new little girl and I developed a very close bond; I felt as though she were mine. I recall one day when a few sisters from our ward came by to help out by offering to take the baby for a while. But after all we had gone through to get this little one, I told them they couldn’t have her and ordered them out of the house. (I had a hard time explaining my actions!) My mother called all of the ladies later to explain how very tired I was, and that I didn’t mean to be so rude.
How happy we were when mother came home! She found a very fat little baby girl (and why not? I had thought if the baby cried she must be hungry, so I fed her constantly), and in spite of me, everyone had survived.
Like most fifteen-year-old girls, I had had my share of thoughts about romance, marriage, and babies. But nothing I had ever dreamed of had prepared me for what I then faced. Not only did I have my father to cook for, but I had the four other children as well—breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. There was also the laundry to wash and, to top the list, a two-week-old baby to care for.
At times I thought I wouldn’t make it. But that new little girl and I developed a very close bond; I felt as though she were mine. I recall one day when a few sisters from our ward came by to help out by offering to take the baby for a while. But after all we had gone through to get this little one, I told them they couldn’t have her and ordered them out of the house. (I had a hard time explaining my actions!) My mother called all of the ladies later to explain how very tired I was, and that I didn’t mean to be so rude.
How happy we were when mother came home! She found a very fat little baby girl (and why not? I had thought if the baby cried she must be hungry, so I fed her constantly), and in spite of me, everyone had survived.
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👤 Parents
👤 Youth
👤 Children
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Children
Family
Love
Parenting
Service
Young Women