Gospel Story Finder

Noting the unwavering, absolute position of the North Star, one writer told the contrasting story of a young boy who became lost on a camping trip. When his father finally found him, his father asked if he had remembered to pick out something in the landscape that he could always see. This, his father said, would have helped him to fix a steady position. The boy said, “I did.”
“What was it?” the father asked.
“That rabbit over there,” the boy said.

My family moved a lot while I was growing up. Adjusting to new places was difficult, but by my freshman year of high school, I loved where we lived. Everything changed, though, when my grandpa passed away and my parents decided to move closer to my grandma. I dreaded moving again. I’d worked hard to get involved at school and make friends.
I became resentful and argued with my parents about moving. My parents encouraged me to pray about it. I tried but didn’t receive any answers. Despite my frustration, I decided to pray one more time. Before I could start, I heard a clear voice in my mind say, “Rachel, you aren’t getting an answer because you don’t want one.” I was stunned. After a moment, I began to pray differently. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father and asked what He needed me to do.
The feeling I received was that my family needed to move. After humbling myself and accepting what Heavenly Father wanted, I felt at peace. It wasn’t always easy, but I knew we were where the Lord needed us to be. This experience helped me draw closer to my Savior and to move closer to becoming the person He needs me to be.
Rachel H., Washington, USA

When Samuel was 21, he went to Harmony, Pennsylvania, where his brother Joseph and Oliver Cowdery were translating the Book of Mormon. On 15 May 1829, just days before Samuel arrived, Joseph and Oliver had received the Aaronic Priesthood from John the Baptist and had baptized each other with that newly conferred authority.

In Harmony, Joseph showed Samuel part of the Book of Mormon that he had translated and “labored to persuade him concerning the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which was now about to be revealed in its fulness.”

Joseph wrote that Samuel wasn’t “very easily persuaded of these things,” so Samuel “retired to the woods, in order that by secret and fervent prayer he might obtain of a merciful God, wisdom to enable him to judge for himself. The result was that he obtained revelation for himself.”2

On 25 May 1829 Samuel was baptized, the third person in this dispensation—following Joseph and Oliver—to receive that ordinance. Later that year Samuel was one of the Eight Witnesses privileged to examine the gold plates. The next spring, on 6 April 1830, he was one of the six original members when the Church was formally organized. Others were also working to share the gospel, but in June 1830, Joseph set Samuel apart to be the Church’s first officially called missionary.

Another season of cross-country had come to an end, which meant it was time for our team’s annual awards ceremony. I had loved running on the team, but as the ceremony progressed, I started to become discouraged. I knew that I hadn’t been fast enough to receive any awards. It frustrated me that I couldn’t run as fast as I wanted to, especially after working so hard.
Right when I’d lost all hope of receiving an award, I heard my name announced. To my surprise, my coach recognized me for being the Most Improved runner. Our coach gave this award only to the person who had achieved the biggest difference between her fastest time from last season and her fastest time from the current one. This year it was me.
I had been so focused on what I hadn’t accomplished that, until then, I didn’t recognize how much better I’d become.
Now, whenever I’m discouraged because I don’t feel like I’m enough, I remind myself to look back and be grateful for how far I’ve come with the Lord’s help.

A few weeks ago someone gave me a gift. As I unwrapped the handsome package and discovered its contents, I was overcome with emotion. It was a precious item. I had seen it before in the office of the one who was now giving it to me. I had openly admired it for its unique capabilities and usefulness. It was finely crafted and very expensive. I was deeply touched as I received this generous gift—not because of its monetary value, but because I recognized the great love that the giving of this gift demonstrated to me. Here was an object I knew my benefactor could not afford to purchase for himself or for me. I knew that someone who loved him had bestowed that gift upon him. He was built up and made happy because of that gesture of love toward him. Now in his desire to bring me happiness, to express his love to me, he was sharing one of the finest material possessions he had.
How grateful I am for this example of Christlike love and for the many other gifts of love which I experience daily in my home and in my associations throughout this great church. These experiences lift me up and give me the desire to extend my love to others.

Rachel Moss knew three people in the congregation.
Seated nearby were her mom and dad and her stake president. Outside of those familiar faces, the place was filled with a bunch of strangers. Well, except for the people she didn’t know but did recognize, namely former U.S. President George Bush and his wife, Barbara, as well as former Secretary of Transportation Elizabeth Dole and General Colin Powell.
Gulp.
Lots of things were going through her mind. “Yeah, I was really nervous,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure that I did everything right.”
As she sat with the other speakers in the sanctuary of Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, her stomach was churning.
Be sure to make eye contact, she kept telling herself. Don’t talk too fast.
Rachel, a Mia Maid in the Marshaltown Second Ward, Philadelphia Pennsylvania Stake, was invited by her stake president to represent the Church and speak at an interfaith worship service that concluded U.S. President Bill Clinton’s Summit for America’s Future in April of 1997. She was one of five youth speakers on the program.
“That’s one of the things I remember most, just sitting there waiting. I’m not much for being in the spotlight,” Rachel adds.
But the spotlight was glowing brightly that day, and it didn’t take Rachel long to realize what a great opportunity she had to teach people a little about her beliefs.
After the microphone was adjusted for her, she began.
“I am grateful for this opportunity to share with you our feelings about the importance of young people and the contribution they can make to the community around us,” Rachel said.
“Before I began, everybody was clapping and talking,” she remembers. “When I went up, it stopped. There was no talking, and everything was completely quiet. I thought it made it kind of easier because I felt like they were actually listening. Really listening. That was neat.”
Rachel’s five-minute talk dealt mainly with the Church’s emphasis on the family. She quoted from the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Church’s proclamation on the family, and the 13th article of faith [A of F 1:13]. She then concluded with this from For the Strength of Youth:
“Joy and happiness come from living the way the Lord wants you to live and from service to God and others. The Lord asks you to keep your life pure, seek his Spirit, maintain your self-respect, and be a good influence on your family and friends,” she said.
Then she sat down.
I’m sure glad I didn’t mess up, was her first thought.
Indeed not.
“I’m glad I was chosen. My testimony got a lot stronger, and I feel like I have more conviction. What I believe is important to me, and speaking in that meeting has made me think of my beliefs more,” she says.
Her talk gave others plenty to think about too.

A woman who took refuge in a Mormon chapel during the typhoon found out afterward that her home had been destroyed when coconut trees fell on it. She and her family did not have the means to fix it, but volunteers helped her to build a new house, and she is now helping another family to construct a home. “I learned to work together with those who are also in need here, so we can recover from [the typhoon] together,” she said.

If good fences make good neighbors, these young men and women are the best neighbors in the world, because their back fence is the Niagara River and Niagara Falls. A group of young Latter-day Saints from Niagara Falls, New York, and Hamilton, Ontario, got together recently on the Canadian side of the falls to enjoy one of the most awesome borders in the world.
Their first, and most important, order of business was just looking. That may be a lazy sort of activity in some places, but here it taxes the imagination to its very limits. People often go away from the falls feeling they have not seen everything there is to see. Not, as with the circus, because there are so many different things going on, but because the one thing going on is too overwhelming for the mind to absorb it.
But what can be seen is worth seeing. The falls, rainbow-spanned, plunge into a deep stone gorge through which the river runs on between high banks, heading north toward Lake Ontario. Far below, mist-shrouded tourist boats butt against the current, and tiny people in yellow slickers walk along shimmering wet paths.
Above the falls, the river sweeps down in a broad turn of shallow rapids, forking around green islands. The Canadian falls curve away in a great turquoise and white arc, and on the other side of the river the American falls cascade down onto broken slabs of stone. The viewer feels himself drawn over the abyss with an overwhelming sense of power. The falls pull with a weight of gravity equal to the whole massive world, reeling the water and the imagination irresistibly downward. You can’t help thinking with a delicious shudder, “What if I were in a boat and …”
And yet, even as millions of gallons of water go thundering over, a strange illusion of silence and motionlessness reigns. Later, remembering, you will not recall the thunder, and the water will go over the brink in ponderous slow motion. At the lip of the falls the water is drawn so swift and shallow that you can see the bottom as if through glass, each rock distinct and unwavering, each little wave and ripple as motionless as crystal. And from the chaos below springs up a rich, thick mist, as sustaining to the heart as a feast of ambrosia.
Standing by the falls you seem lost in a wilderness, which is amazing because this is no wilderness spectacle. The river is sandwiched between two cities. Hotels, towers, curio shops, and parking lots crowd its banks. Nearby, wax museums, carnival rides, and side shows blare out to attract tourists. It is hard to imagine a more commercialized natural wonder, and yet it seems to shake all that off like an elephant dispatching a mosquito. There is a sense of delicious solitude, even though you must maneuver your way to the rail to get a viewing spot, rubbing shoulders with a sea of tourists speaking a babble of unknown tongues. You can imagine yourself an Indian standing here long ago in the young green wilderness, or a European explorer suddenly frozen in wonder as you first glimpse the thunder you have heard from far upriver.
For a long time the young men and women looked and looked and looked. All around them others from all around the world stood shoulder to shoulder with them doing the same thing. In one sense they had all seen everything there was to see at a glance, but in a truer sense they all knew that they had not even begun to see it yet, because there is a magic here that cannot be reached by seeing. It demands reverence. Even blind people have been known to stand by the railing and look and look and look.
But no one can look forever, and when the group had taken in as much of the reality as they could, they turned to other things—playing catch with a frisbee and a football, talking, relaxing on the grass, or just watching an incredible cross-section of humanity walk past—turbaned, tennis-shoed, or tuxedoed; gowned or grubby. They talked about the falls as a proud parent might speak of a bright child, feigning nonchalance, but enjoying the enthusiasm of others. They spoke reverently of the falls in winter—bearded, solemn, and venerable—as pagans might speak of some sacred object.
Leaving the falls behind after a few last looks, they crossed over to the American side en route to Fort Niagara, stopping for lunch at a drive-in. The American drive-in readily accepted Canadian money because here tourism is king, and money, after all, is money. The Canadian youth got a kick out of the “funny money” they got back as change.
Fort Niagara is built on Lake Ontario at the mouth of the Niagara River. The French established it there because from that spot they could control the water route into and out of the continent. The French flag was later replaced by the British and then the American. As the young men and women crossed the moat and walked through the heavy gates, they sensed that they were in a place where history lay as thick as incense. As they viewed the iron and stone implements of death, the hard wooden bunks, the musty stone chambers, the awareness grew in them of the hard life those early soldiers led. This had been a land abounding in beauty and solitude but very short on pity or compassion. As they went from building to building reliving the exploits of fur traders, generals, and colonists, they began to feel they knew these colorful, flint-hard men.
The fort was well designed for defense. On three sides impregnable sea walls rose from the lake or the river. The landward side was well defended by thick walls, earthworks, moats, and banks of cannons. The gates they passed through for an inexpensive ticket would have cost lives to breach in the old days.
But for all its hard past, the spot is peaceful and beautiful now, with a park outside its gates and the blue horizon of Lake Ontario behind it. The young men and women learned much about history there, and they learned about each other as well, forging bonds of friendship. The two groups, from different nations but one gospel, brothers and sisters forever, made plans for joint activities as they strolled through the fortifications. Then they parted, the Americans to return to their homes, the Canadians to theirs to put in several hours at their stake farm. As the Canadian youth passed the border stations on their way home, they knew better than ever that in the gospel there are no borders, and no passports are required except the ones we carry in our hearts.

During trips to Newcastle, 17-year-old Aidan and his mother went to see various shows. One of these was the Book of Mormon musical.
After leaving the show, they encountered some real missionaries standing outside. Curious to know more of the Church, Aidan set up an appointment for him to meet with them another day. Aidan has always believed in God, been interested in hearing about different religions and has been curious to find and meet with missionaries.
When the missionaries spoke of the plan of salvation, the restoration, and the Book of Mormon, Aiden felt that this was exactly what he had been waiting for all this time. It immediately made sense to him. In between the lessons, Aidan also did his own research into the beliefs of the Church. He quickly decided to be baptised.
Aidan’s mother has been very supportive of her son’s decision to join. From the beginning, she attended church with him in Alnwick, Northumberland to support his wishes. One local member said, “It has been great to watch them attend church together, and you can only admire the mother with the way she both protects and supports him”.
As the months have gone by, Aidan’s mother also decided she wanted to be baptised.
As people embrace their curiosity, seek out authentic sources, and explore their faith together, miracles can occur.

Yu stepped out of cram school onto the busy sidewalk. His head was full of math facts from his after-school class. People hurried by with umbrellas. Fat raindrops were falling fast, and the street was soaked.
Yu’s friend Lin stepped out beside him. “You should call your dad to pick you up,” Lin said. “Mr. Zhang says it’s flooding in some parts of the city.”
“I can get home on my own.”
“But look at all the water!” Lin said, pointing to the water flowing swiftly in the gutter.
For a moment, Yu had a funny feeling. Was Lin right? Maybe he should call Dad to drive him home before the streets flooded. But he and Dad had an argument last night, and Yu was still angry. He didn’t want to ask Dad for help.
Yu unchained his bike and said goodbye to Lin. If I pedal hard, he thought, I can make it home before the streets flood.
He pedaled hard, but soon his hands were cold, his clothes were soaked, and he was exhausted. Once again, the thought came to call Dad. Was the feeling from the Holy Ghost? The missionaries who baptized him had said that the Holy Ghost could be his guide. Yu glanced at the sky. It was so grey that he couldn’t see the tops of the buildings. But he was still mad at Dad.
Yu ignored the feeling and kept pedaling. The water got so high that shop owners closed their stores. People moved belongings to higher floors. Yu saw a mother pulling her two children through the flood in a little plastic boat.
With the water now past his ankles, Yu could no longer pedal his bike. He got off and pushed. It was probably too late to call Dad now, and the rain was still coming down. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed above him. Yu felt afraid. And he was so tired! He looked ahead. Home was still far away. He shouldn’t have ignored the Holy Ghost just because of a silly argument.
Yu stopped to say a short prayer. He couldn’t hear his voice above the rain and thunder, but he knew that Heavenly Father could hear him.
“Heavenly Father,” Yu prayed, “please help me get home safely.” When he finished, he felt strong enough to keep going.
At last, Yu could see his house on the hill. Cold, tired, and somehow missing a shoe, Yu trudged up the hill. He saw Dad waiting for him outside. Dad rushed down the hill to meet him, splashing water as he ran.
When Dad reached him, he put his arms around Yu. “I was so worried!” Dad said. “You should have called me!”
“I thought we were mad at each other,” Yu said.
“I am never too mad to help you,” Dad said. Then he took Yu’s bike and pushed it the rest of the way up the hill.
Even with thunder echoing between the tall buildings and heavy rain pelting down, a warm feeling filled Yu’s heart. He felt peace and safety as he followed Dad home.

“I love the Personal Progress program. I have learned to do things I never knew I could,” says Mindy Sutton of the Twenty Wells Ward. Mindy believed a choir experience would help the youth in her Grantsville Utah Stake feel the Spirit in their lives, and Mindy needed a Laurel project. So she organized and directed a choir for stake Standards Night.
But the task wasn’t easy. Mindy says although she loves music, she has no natural ability. In fact, she was very discouraged after the first practice. “It was so hard to be in front of my peers trying to tell them what to do. But my stake leaders encouraged me to pray for help and promised the Lord would bless me.”
She went home and fasted and prayed. Her prayers were answered when the choir’s outstanding performance two months later not only brought the Spirit into the choir members’ lives but inspired those in attendance.
“I feel a lot closer to my Heavenly Father and know He has helped me so much,” Mindy says.

Importantly, forming these critical relationships is often not connected to highly successful activities. When I was 13 or 14, my own Young Men group was bonded together with our leader on a California snow campout. As we slept in the very first snow that most of us had ever touched, it started to rain in the middle of the night, seeping into our tents, saturating our sleeping bags and clothes, leaving us all miserably freezing. Drenched and nearly hypothermic, after building a pathetic fire from wet wood that would not melt a snowflake, we eventually huddled together into a drafty crew-cab pickup truck and barely escaped with our lives as we headed home before the sun had even fully risen.
The activity was a disaster—except that the most important things that could have happened did happen. We came to know we could do hard things and that we could trust each other and our leaders. As time went on, these leaders helped us along the covenant path. When they said, “Missions matter,” missions came to matter more to us, to me.

I don’t know what got into me that brisk autumn Sunday evening. My mom always said only Church magazines on Sunday and no television until “The Wonderful World of Disney.” But I never once heard her mention stealing pumpkins.

I went to visit a family I was assigned to home teach. Their middle daughter (who happened to be the love of my life) mentioned that they needed a jack-o’-lantern for the upcoming holiday. “There are no stores open,” I thought, “and even if there were we couldn’t buy one on Sunday.”

“Come with me,” she said, flipping her soft golden hair over her right shoulder. And then, the eyes. Those mischievous green eyes suggested that she had something in mind.

I know. We didn’t need eight pumpkins, but the collecting process was great fun. Some were at the end of the driveway, others on the front porch. Some victims owned dogs, big dogs, and others guns. Good heavens, we’d be shot for sure. We drove all over the township of Argyle, New York. A younger sister and a friend insisted on coming along, so the four of us, with the eight pumpkins, were very cozy in the small car.

Then came the Great Harvest Pumpkin. It was four feet wide and two feet tall and weighed 70 pounds. We spotted it in the moonlight, guarding an unlighted porch on the east end of the house. Leading to the monster was a crunchy leaf-covered sidewalk. The porch was old and creaky, and there was a dog, with a bark like a Doberman, hiding in the ominous shadow behind the house. People’s voices could be heard in the lighted west end of the house. This would surely be the pumpkin that would qualify us for the 1990 Olympic pumpkin-stealing team.

We tried to step where the leaves weren’t as we approached the porch, hoping that George house owner and Fang the dog would not discover our presence. We climbed onto the creaky porch, hugged the giant vegetable, and quietly strained to lift it. We wobbled down the sidewalk, ran a five-second 100-meter dash to the getaway car, and sped into the darkness.

Upon our arrival at home, we laughed, joked, and carved. Even then I knew it was wrong. But somehow it seemed okay because it was also fun.

A year later, I was a full-time missionary. On a cool autumn night, my companion and I were teaching the discussion that describes remorse, recognition, repentance, and restitution. Wow, that hit me. This plan sure was complete. I thought to myself, “Sure is a good thing I’ve never stol …” Suddenly I was filled with guilt. I had stolen something! Nine somethings! I was guilty! How could I restore those pumpkins? How could I remember where I had taken them from? I would get home two years after I’d stolen the pumpkins and two weeks after Halloween! Well, I figured, at least it would be great to be home for Thanksgiving.

“That’s it!” I said. “Pumpkins and Thanksgiving!”

One year, one month, and two days later, in Argyle, New York, my younger brother and I went to the store and bought nine pumpkin pies. I was somehow able to remember each house and how many pumpkins I had taken from each. Each one received the like number of confessions, apologies, and pies. That was the most humiliating thing in the world.

Almost. Because now, as I look back, I’m still embarrassed when I think about my attitude back then. Having fun didn’t excuse anything. How could I think it did? The one thing I am glad about is that the Lord prompted me to realize it and gave me the courage to do something about it.

Sean Covey, one of our fine young players, is now serving a mission in South Africa. He is an excellent young quarterback prospect who I’m sure you will be hearing more about in future years. I have a neighbor, Jon Collins, who is a great friend of Sean’s and is serving a mission in Scotland. Jon’s mother related a story regarding Sean and Jon. Sean recently had written a letter to Jon in Scotland and shared with him the importance of his mission. He told Jon in his letter, “Just think, this weekend BYU will be opening the football season in Pittsburgh before 50,000 fans. If I were home, I would be there with the team, being a part of this very thrilling experience. Instead, I will be baptizing a lady and her daughter. I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything in the world.”

Having earned some ready money with the orchestra on the ship, Howard bought a Ford roadster. It was neither fancy nor new, and it gave him trouble the day after he bought it. But being an excellent mechanic, Howard spent the next two days fixing it. He has been “Mr. Fix It” ever since. In the 1980s when he was in his midseventies, he drove a large white car that was reaching antique status, and as the parts would wear out, he could find no replacements. The car held great sentimental value, so he machined the parts himself with home equipment.

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

My family and I had been on a cruise, and I had become really sick. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much medicine with us and were not near any local doctors to get the help I needed for my infection and the pain I felt.
One night I felt tremendously sick. The little medicine we had was not working. I could not sleep, and my moans and groans were waking my brothers and sisters. After all that my parents and I could do, my father asked, “Do you want a blessing?”
I had never had a priesthood blessing because of an illness before. I didn’t know what to say. I thought it would help, but I was still not sure. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please let the blessing work.”
“Sure, I would love one,” I weakly said to my dad.
During the blessing I had a wonderful feeling inside, despite all my pain. Very slowly I felt the pain go away, and suddenly I felt very tired. I could tell that my infection had not gone away, but the pain left. After the blessing I was filled so much with the Spirit I was unable to speak.
I now know that priesthood blessings are given to help us through life’s troubles. I know what to do now when I am asked the question “Do you want a blessing?”

One Saturday, soon after school started, Sister Williamsen left Lucy at our place to play while she and Mama went to the store. We were practicing for the circus we had been planning, and Lucy was learning how to ride standing on Bessie’s back so we could be twin riders. Ed was trying to do flips in the haystack, and Georgie was clowning around with Spot. Frank came out of the barn carrying his whip and a cat in each arm.
“Why don’t you do what I tell you?” he scolded. “I’m only going to give you one more chance!”
He put each kitten on one of the steps in his lion taming cage. “Now stay there!” he shouted and cracked his whip. Both cats streaked off through the fence and right in front of Bessie’s nose. The horse reared, and Lucy flew off and hit a fence pole.
“Now look what you’ve done,” I shouted at Frank and ran over to help Lucy get up.
She was lying there still and white, with a red stream of blood trickling down her face. Ed and Frank came running over to see. I was scared, but just then she opened her eyes. “You hit your head,” I told her. “But it’s going to be all right. Let me look at it.”
I found a deep cut on her scalp and tried to stop the bleeding by pushing it together. “It has to be sewed up,” I said. “Go get Papa, Ed. He’s down in the field somewhere. And hurry, she’s bleeding badly.”
Ed jumped on Bessie and galloped off to find Papa.
“Frank,” I said urgently, “go into the house and get the needle and thread and scissors, and a match.”
“You aren’t going to stitch it are you?” he asked fearfully.
“Of course not, but we need to have it all ready for Papa when he gets here.”
He came back with a darning needle and cotton thread.
“Not that kind, dummy! The curved needle and the black silk thread Papa uses on the animals.”
While he was gone I clipped the hair away from the cut. The blood was still oozing out though not as fast as at first. Lucy was pale and silent.
I pinched the wound together, and when Frank came back I instructed him how to sterilize the needle with the match and put the thread through it.
In a little while Ed galloped up. “I can’t find Papa anyplace,” he reported. “He’s not in the corn patch or the garden. Where else shall I look?”
“Maybe he’s fixing the fence. Keep looking, and hurry.”
He was gone a long time and my fingers were cramping from holding the cut together. But every time I released the pressure, it bled some more. Finally I decided I would have to sew it up myself.
“Will it hurt?” Lucy wanted to know.
“Don’t know,” I told her. “Haven’t ever been sewed up. Probably will sting a little.”
I was finishing the last stitch when Papa and Ed rode up. Papa jumped quickly from his horse. “What’s the trouble here?” he asked and took a look at Lucy’s head. “Why it’s stitched up already,” he marveled, examining my work.
“Couldn’t have done a better job myself. You’ll be as good as new,” he told Lucy. “Now why don’t you girls go over by the house and play something quiet until your mamas get home?”
We were sitting on the back steps, cutting out dancing paper dolls holding hands when Mama and Sister Williamsen drove up.
“Get your hat and come along, Lucy,” her mama called from the wagon. “We need to hurry home and get some supper for your daddy.”
“OK,” Lucy said, folding her dolls back together and standing up.
“What’s that white spot on your head?” Sister Williamsen asked.
“Oh, that’s just where I cut off some hair before I sewed her up,” I explained.
“See,” Lucy said and showed her mother the spot.
All the pink had gone out of Sister Williamsen’s face, and I could hear a little gasp and see her lean against Mama.
“Papa says she’ll be as good as new,” I assured her. “It won’t leave hardly any scar at all.”
“Run get Sister Williamsen a drink of water, please, Dora,” Mama directed. “She’s had a shock.” Then she helped her out of the wagon and into a chair on the porch. In a little while she quit shaking and took another look at Lucy’s head. “She could have bled to death if you hadn’t known what to do.”
“Papa would’ve done it, but we couldn’t find him,” I replied.
“You did just fine,” Sister Williamsen said. “And I’m mighty grateful.”
Lucy wore a wide ribbon around her head until her hair grew out. She always had one to match her dress, and I almost wished I had had my head stitched up so I could have pretty hair ribbons like that.

In the first of what will be an annual event, the youth of the Bristol England Stake held a super raft race on a marine lake.
The group gathered at Weston-Super-Mare on a sunny but brisk day in June. The rules were simple. Each group had to make their own raft and using manpower take it across the lake and back. But it was easier said than done. The eight rafts gave the word unstable a new meaning. But through team effort the Weston Ward won.
After everyone dried off, the group held a barbecue and dance to complete the activity. Although the water was cold and the wind brisk, the glow of good fellowship added a special warmth to the day.

He married Louie Emily Shurtliff in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898. One year later he was called on a mission to Great Britain for two years and was loyally supported by his wife. Upon his return, the two resumed their lives together and were blessed with the births of two daughters. Sadly, during a difficult third pregnancy Louie passed away.

In his sorrow Joseph prayed, “Help me, I pray Thee, to so live that I shall be worthy to meet her in eternal glory, to be united again with her, never again to be separated. … Help me to rear my precious babies that they shall remain pure and spotless throughout their lives.”8

At the urging of his father, the bereaved father of two prayerfully sought for a wife and a mother for his young children. His righteous desires were blessed in having Ethel Georgina Reynolds brought into his life. They were married in November 1908 in the Salt Lake Temple. This marvelous woman became the mother of Joseph’s first two daughters and later gave birth to nine additional children.

On one occasion, his wife’s burdens weighed heavily on the Apostle’s mind as he traveled to a stake conference. He wrote her a letter in which he said: “I am thinking of you and wish I could be with you constantly for the next few weeks, to help take care of you. I will help you all I can as it is, and hope you will be able to feel my influence. Tell the children to be kind to you and to each other.”9 He then shared with her the deep feelings of his heart in the form of a poem, which later became one of our hymns, “Does the Journey Seem Long?” (no. 127).

Sadly, Ethel passed away in 1937. At the time of her death, there were five unmarried children in the home. Elder Smith felt impressed to seek another wife and companion. In 1938 he married Jessie Evans Smith in the Salt Lake Temple.

One who knew them well wrote: “Despite a difference of twenty-six years in their ages and differences in temperament, background, and training, Joseph Fielding and Jessie Evans Smith were remarkably compatible. … The thing that bridged the wide gulf between these two disparate personalities was the genuine love and respect they had for each other.”10 (See pages 6–23 of the manual.)