Gospel Story Finder

I lost my father during World War II, when I was four years old. I learned how to work because my father was not there and my mother gave us children assignments. I helped cook dinner for my family because Mother had to work. My older sister and brother had part-time jobs to help the family, and when I got older, I did too. I worked on a farm and with a fishing business.
After I finished junior high school, I had to work to support myself. As a young man I found a full-time job at a bean-curd shop in a larger city about nine hours away from my home. I went to high school in the evenings, so I got home late. Early the next morning at work, I made bean curds and sold them on the street or delivered them to various stores.
I became very sick from working so hard and had to stay in the hospital. I thought I might die. I was born into a Buddhist family. I always felt that there was a God in heaven, but I had never been taught about God. I was very desperate to talk to Him. I didn’t even know the word for “Heavenly Father,” so I asked, “God, are You there? Please help me.” After eight days I was able to leave the hospital, and I lived with my uncle while I recovered.
A few days later the missionaries came to my uncle’s door. When I saw them I told them to go away. But one of them said, “We have a great message for you. A boy just like you saw your Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” I couldn’t resist because I had been praying and seeking Heavenly Father just a few days before. So I said, “You can have 10 minutes. Come in.”
The missionaries taught me the beautiful and sacred story of Joseph Smith. And I was touched. I really felt the power of the Spirit. The missionaries asked me to pray and ask Heavenly Father if their message was true, and then they taught me how to pray. I prayed that evening. Even now I remember exactly how I felt that day.
I asked the missionaries to come back almost every day after that. I believed what they taught me. I believed that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in the Sacred Grove. But before I could be baptized, I needed to get permission from my mother. I called her and said, “Mother, I’ve found a wonderful church. I need to get your permission to join.”
She said, “No. I lost my husband; I don’t want to lose my son.” She was afraid that if I joined the Church I would leave her.
I said, “I’m not going anywhere.” And then she hung up.
The missionaries fasted and prayed for me, and I did too. I called her again and said, “Please don’t hang up on me until I’ve really explained it.” She suggested that I study more and take some more time to decide. But I felt strongly that now was the time I should be baptized.
Finally she told me, “Son, if you are going to quit right in the middle, don’t do it. But if you will stay with it all the way through, then you have my permission.” That caused me to always take my membership in the Church very seriously.
I am grateful for my mother. I am grateful for Heavenly Father who allowed me to come into contact with the restored gospel. All the experiences I’ve had in the Church have been wonderful. But nothing compares with my depth of appreciation for the Savior, for His grace and mercy, and for what He has done for my wife and children.
When my son was called on a mission to Brazil, we took a father-son trip to the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York. We spent three days doing nothing but walking and talking there. On the final day we sat on a bench and bore our testimonies to each other. I shared my own conversion story once again with my son, and we cried. I hope his children and his grandchildren carry on this legacy of love and faith for years to come.

One day after school, Vernon rode his horse from house to house collecting the milk money for the past two weeks. At each house he put the money into a leather pouch that he hung on the saddle.
When he got close to home, he realized the leather pouch was gone. He looked on the ground around his horse to see where it had fallen, but he couldn’t find it.
Vernon got on his horse again and rode back up the road. He rode all the way back to town searching for the leather pouch, but he couldn’t see it anywhere. As the sun began to set, he rode his horse up and down the dirt road two more times. Still he couldn’t find the money.
As it got dark, Vernon knew his parents would expect him home soon. He also knew that the milk money was all his family had to buy food for the next two weeks. He felt sick to his stomach as he thought about going home without the money. He just couldn’t go home until he found it.
Vernon thought he might get into trouble for losing the money. For a moment he thought about hiding so he wouldn’t get into trouble. But he knew that would only cause his parents to worry. Then he remembered that you should pray to Heavenly Father when you need help. Vernon got off his horse and knelt down at the side of the road. As he prayed, he explained that he had lost the money and couldn’t find it. He asked Heavenly Father to help him find the leather pouch before it got too dark to see.
When he finished praying, Vernon felt that if he would walk instead of ride the horse, he would find the money. But the sun was going down and Vernon knew this was his last chance to look before it got dark. If he rode his horse he could go faster, he thought to himself. But once again, he felt he should walk.
Leading his horse by the reins, Vernon began walking back toward town. As he walked, Vernon looked everywhere—behind weeds and rocks and in old, dried-up mud puddles.
Then, about halfway to town, Vernon kicked a large tumbleweed. There on the road where the tumbleweed had been sitting was the leather pouch. A few of the coins were spilled on the ground. As Vernon gathered the coins, he could see that all of the money was still there.
Vernon knew that if he had ridden his horse down the road again, he would have missed the leather pouch and it would have been too dark to look again. He knelt by the side of the road and thanked Heavenly Father for helping him find the leather pouch.
When Vernon got home, he told his mom and dad about how he had lost and found the money. He told them that he had prayed and had felt that he should walk instead of ride his horse. That night, Vernon and his family knelt together in prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for helping Vernon find the milk money.

First, an experience from my childhood.

What is there about a tree that makes a young person crave to climb it? I guess even we older people want to climb, but the yearning is rarely powerful enough to get us up into the branches. All I can remember about the last time I climbed a tree is how long it took to get the sap off of my hands. Children don't worry about sap.

When I was a boy, we lived near a large tract of trees, including evergreens in various stages of development. One of our climbing games required two boys to a tree. For this we sought out springy young pine trees. We chose each tree with great care. It had to be not too big and not too small, with just the right amount of spring. The first boy up the tree went as high as he could with the other boy following. As the second came close to the top, their combined weight would cause the tree to bend slowly downward, bending farther and farther, until the upper trunk had dipped its occupants down to a safe distance from the ground. Their four feet dangling a short way above Mother Earth, the boys prepared to drop from the tree.

With synchronicity usually reserved for a far more sophisticated setting, the two boys, acting as one, released their grip on the sappy limbs. The well-torqued trunk sprang like an unloaded catapult back to upright dignity. The boys dropped to the ground with hardly a thud, their reward the cheers of admiring peers, each of whom judged the feat a 10. What fun we had! Find another perfect tree and go for it again.

In one particularly exciting bout, the smallest of our crew started up a young pine. He had to be matched with the heaviest boy in order to create a combined weight adequate to bend the tree. Sure enough, they moved toward the top and the tree bowed to their wishes. All was going well. The tree lowered to a proper height, hands let go, and the tree sprang up. But this time only two feet hit the ground. The heavy boy had let go before the light one was ready. Our little buddy nearly cracked like a whip as he shot up with the treetop. The snap of the tree shook him loose, and down he tumbled through the branches. The result was two broken arms and a stern parental lecture, and our tandem tree climbing had to be put on hold for a while.

Now, what did we learn from that? The older we get, the more obvious it is to us that we should stay out of trees. A person can get hurt! But we sure do a lot of other things without thinking too much about the consequences. We may not be scaling pines, but we introduce plenty of risk into our lives. We drive too fast; we go too far into debt; we eat too much junk food; we take on too much stress. Most of us, in one way or another, are way out on a limb, never figuring that something will go wrong. None of us young tree climbers ever thought about the possibility of broken arms, either. Our friend learned the lesson the hard way. So, the principle: Never climb higher than you're willing to fall. Applying this principle will give you wisdom and good judgment.

Brandon (16), Jake (15), Melissa (12), and Grace (9) moved to Uruguay for three years when their parents were called as leaders of the Uruguay Montevideo Mission. December was hot and humid in Uruguay, nothing like the cold, snowy Christmases they were used to. Even though being away from home and family for three Christmases was hard, they found happiness as they served people around them. Each Christmas season, the family and the missionaries would wear red “Light the World” shirts as they served around the country.
“We went to the parks and beaches in Montevideo with the missionaries and cleaned up trash and debris from the summer storms,” says Jake. Brandon remembers, “The first Christmas we were in Uruguay, we taped candies to ‘Light the World’ pass-along cards to hand out. At sunset, lots of people would gather along the beach, so it was the perfect spot to give them candy and a card, even though we didn’t speak much Spanish.”
Photograph by Julie Olsen
For these siblings, serving made them feel at home and helped them focus on the Savior and the true meaning of Christmas.
Jake says, “Doing service for Light the World helped Christmas feel special. Even though we were used to having a white Christmas, serving made the warm Uruguayan summer feel like Christmas.” Melissa agrees. “Doing service took my mind off of what I was missing at home,” she says. “Making others happy made us happy and helped us feel more at home.”

From their bed in the garret, Joseph Smith and his younger brother, William, could hear the night wind slide over the bark roof of their two-story log house. Presently, William leaned his head over the side of the bed and put his ear close to the floorboards. He could hear the voices of his parents above the whispers and sighs of the wind. “… great excitement … everyone for miles around … down in the woods …”
William wriggled back under the quilt and shook his brother. “Joseph, it’s time for another camp meeting. When will it be?”
“The first week of July … down in the woods.”
William’s eyes popped in the darkness and a grin creased his cheeks. Nothing could make a boy’s heart beat faster than thoughts of a revival. A camp meeting in 1819 meant a holiday, with more going on than one could possibly take in. There would be picnics and games and friends to play with, along with the preaching and praying. But more fun than anything, though William didn’t ever speak it, was watching the weeping and wailing of the sinners.
“We’ll be going, I expect.”
“For certain,” Joseph answered.
On the morning of the great Genesee camp meeting, Joseph was up early to attend to his chores. Then the little handcart that his father had fashioned to use for selling refreshments was lifted into the wagon. Joseph and his father often traveled to other villages and camp meetings to sell Lucy’s pies and gingerbread, as well as hard-boiled eggs, root beer, and other “like notions of traffic.” Today the whole family was going and there was a feeling of gaiety in the air.
Sophronia brought out the baskets of baked goods that would be offered for sale to the crowds of people. “Some say there will be four to five thousand,” she said expectantly.
Joseph knew that some folks would attend because of a desire to “get religion” but many would be there just for the excitement.
By the time they were ready to leave, the sun had begun its daily climb. Joseph tried to appear calm as a farm-bred boy ought, but the happiness in his heart pushed out in a whistled song.
The family followed the road that ran diagonally between Palmyra and Vienna, where the meeting would be held in the woods. When the Smiths arrived there was already a confusion of people and wagons. Everyone was trying to find a place on the outer edge of the clearing. Some had already made tents by stretching bed covers between their wagons and small trees, with a layer of straw on the ground for sleeping.
Joseph’s father drove their wagon close to a platform made of rough boards. It was built off the ground so the crowds could see and hear the preachers.
Lately Joseph had been doing a lot of thinking about religion, comparing what the various churches believed with what Jesus taught in the Bible. And he wasn’t alone. An excitement over religion was affecting young and old alike.
As Joseph sold his mother’s baked goods among the crowds, he saw many of his friends from Palmyra. He stopped long enough to play a game of pulling sticks or to wrestle, but for the most part he listened to the preachers calling the sinners to repentance. Some of the sessions lasted all day and into the night. One minister after another took the stand to preach long, powerful sermons. Sometimes they directed prayer circles or the singing of hymns. While the meetings were going on, many people “got religion” by shouting and crying for mercy.
In his own thoughtful, quiet way, Joseph found himself caught up in the tremendous emotions of the revival. Much of what Joseph heard didn’t agree with what he read in the Bible, so the preaching and exhortations of each day added to the confusion he felt within.
Joseph was a thinker. He enjoyed debating with the other boys in the neighborhood. It helped to satisfy his yearning for understanding and truth.
One evening when Joseph reached the village of Palmyra, a light snow had fallen and the cold penetrated his clothing, carefully patched to make it last through the season. The lamplight flickering through the windows of the village store beckoned him on. His long legs lengthened their stride.
Joseph stood for a moment outside the door, studying the figures in the crowded room. Orsamus Turner and Pomeroy Tucker, two of the older boys, were already there, as were some of the men of the village.
Joseph stamped the snow from his shoes and entered the store. It smelled strongly of burning wood, cheese, and wet wool. He joined the group around the stove, scrubbing his hands in its warmth until he was scorched through.
When all the boys had gathered they discussed a subject to debate. Joseph’s penetrating blue eyes deepened as he offered a suggestion. “Ever since the big Genesee camp meeting people hereabouts have been stirred up over religion …”
Some mornings later, when the world was pink with sunrise, young Joseph slipped quietly out of his log home. His steps were quick with anticipation now that he had determined what to do to resolve his search for the truth.
Joseph thought it rather strange as he recalled the events of the previous night. He was reading a certain passage in the Bible, when the words seemed to leap from the page and found their way into his heart where they would not be stilled. Over and over his mind reflected on them. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see those words in the first chapter of James clustered together on the page: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”
If anyone needs wisdom, I do, Joseph decided. And if God will give me an answer and not consider it a bother, I’ll venture it, he thought humbly.
Joseph cut directly across the clearing, striding over tree stumps that protruded from the earth like wooden eruptions.
The Smith family had moved to their new farm in Farmington (later Manchester), New York, some three miles from the village of Palmyra, a little more than a year ago. Joseph had helped log the trees, and hauled many wagonloads of wood into the village to be sold for fuel. Some of the stumps had been burned out, but mostly they were left and the soil was tilled around them. Soon he would help scatter kernels of wheat into the broken ground, rich and fertile from layer upon layer of decayed leaves. Then the earth would need to be dragged over with a large maple limb to level it.
It was wearying work to clear forestland and make it tillable for farming, though somehow it didn’t leave him as tuckered out as trying to clear up the confusion in his mind. For some time Joseph had been in the midst of a “war of words” over religion. Some settlers argued for one church, some for another, and many ministers claimed that theirs was the only true church. The bad feelings that arose were not too well hidden either.
Joseph thought of his mother as almost a saint, and he believed his father was as good as Moses back in ancient times ever was. But even they could not agree on a religion. His mother and three of the children, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel, attended the Western Presbyterian Church in Palmyra. Joseph’s father agreed with his father, Asael Smith, who wasn’t satisfied with any religion. He just kept studying the Bible; said he was looking for “the ancient order, as established by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and His apostles.” Joseph was somewhat inclined toward Methodism, and had attended some of their meetings. Yet in the midst of all the agitation around him, how could a boy be sure?
As he climbed a fence at the far end of the clearing he recalled how often he had asked himself: “What should I do? Who is right? How shall I know?” At times his yearning for the truth had almost been a hurt within him.
But now Joseph knew how to find the answer. Since he had read those words in the Bible, they were carved on his consciousness as clearly as initials on the trunk of a tree. He had decided to follow them implicitly, and he was going into the woods to pray. He would ask God which church to join, believing that God meant just what He said, “… and it shall be given him.”
Why didn’t I think of it before? he wondered. (To be continued.)

I met Paulo on a hot day in southern Brazil. Church meetings had ended, and the meetinghouse was almost empty except for a few members sitting in the hallway. My husband, then serving as president of the Brazil Curitiba Mission, was meeting with Edson Lustoza Araújo, the district president from Guarapuava, in Paraná.
“Sister Paulsen,” said Brother Jason Sousa, who was serving as a counselor to my husband, “did you notice the brother sitting in the hallway with mud on his boots?”
Many roads in southern Brazil are made of red dirt, so mud on shoes is common.
“You mean the thin, dark-haired man in his late 20s?” I asked.
“Yes, his name is Paulo Tvuarde. He walks to church almost every Sunday, except when the mud is so thick that he can’t make it. He’s been doing that for 14 years—since he was 15.”
“How far does he walk?” I asked, unprepared for Brother Sousa’s response.
“Oh, 40 kilometers,” he said matter-of-factly. “He leaves at 3:00 a.m. to make it to church on time. It takes him eight hours.”
Quickly converting kilometers to miles, I realized that Brother Tvuarde walked 25 miles to attend church in Guarapuava!
“Why would he do that?” I asked incredulously.
“Because he believes that the Church is true.”
“Well, of course,” I said, a little embarrassed at the obvious answer. “What I meant was, why does he have to walk that far?”
Brother Sousa explained that Paulo lived in the country, taking care of the family farm so that his 74-year-old mother, who had a heart condition, could live in Guarapuava, where she received medical attention. President Lustoza was her cardiologist.
“Paulo lives by himself, plows the fields, and feeds the few animals that they have,” Brother Sousa said. “There is no electricity or running water. The farm is eight kilometers from the nearest bus stop. Worse than that, the bus doesn’t run on Saturdays or Sundays. So he walks to church.”
President Lustoza, who had entered the room with my husband, said Paulo usually attended three out of every four weeks. “He doesn’t miss unless the roads are impassible,” he said. “He stays overnight on Sundays so he can take the bus back on Monday.”
If Paulo attended church three out of every four Sundays, then he spent more than 300 hours walking nearly 1,600 kilometers (1,000 mi) each year just to attend church!

I’d like to tell you about a woman who grew up in a room filled with darkness—I’ll call her Jane.

From the time Jane was three years old, she was repeatedly beaten, belittled, and abused. She was threatened and mocked. She awoke each morning not knowing if she would survive until the next day. The people who should have protected her were those who tortured her or allowed the abuse to continue.

In order to protect herself, Jane learned to stop feeling. She had no hope of rescue, so she hardened herself to the horror of her reality. There was no light in her world, so she became resigned to the darkness. With a numbness that can come only from constant and unrelenting contact with evil, she accepted the fact that any moment might be her last.

Then, at age 18, Jane discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and hope of the restored gospel penetrated her heart, and she accepted the invitation to be baptized. For the first time, light entered her life, and she saw a bright path before her. She left the darkness of her world and decided to attend school a great distance away from her abuser. At last she felt liberated from an environment of darkness and evil—free to enjoy the Savior’s sweet peace and miraculous healing.

However, years later, after her abuser had died, Jane was again troubled by the horrible events of her youth. Profound sadness and anger threatened to destroy the wonderful light she had found in the gospel. She realized that if she allowed that darkness to consume her, her tormentor would have a final victory.

She sought counseling and medical help and began to realize that, for her, the best path for healing was to understand and accept that darkness exists—but not to dwell there. For, as she now knew, light also exists—and that is where she chose to dwell.

Given her dark past, Jane could easily have become vindictive, venomous, or violent. But she didn’t. She resisted the temptation to spread the darkness, refusing to lash out in anger, hurt, or cynicism. Instead, she held fast to the hope that with God’s help she could be healed. She chose to radiate light and devote her life to helping others. This decision enabled her to leave the past behind and to step into a glorious, bright future.

She became a schoolteacher, and today, decades later, her love has influenced the lives of hundreds of children, helping them to know that they have worth, that they are important. She has become a tireless defender of the weak, the victimized, and the discouraged. She builds, strengthens, and inspires everyone around her.

Jane learned that healing comes when we move away from the darkness and walk toward the hope of a brighter light. It was in the practical application of faith, hope, and charity that she not only transformed her own life but forever blessed the lives of many, many others.

Yet, the most important decision I have ever made in my life was to marry my wife, Mary Jayne Broadbent, in the Manti Temple. Everything else pales in comparison to that most important act.

The years have come and gone—three sons and now nine grandchildren. It is impossible to count the blessings that have been mine for being guided by the Lord to seek her hand in marriage. She has been my faithful companion these forty-four plus years. We have traveled to many parts of the world on business and Church assignments; she has been my helpmeet in times of storm and sunshine.

My admonition to each of you is to seek out your eternal companion and work very hard to be sure your companionship is a fulfilling and rewarding experience for both of you every day.

The speaker that day, Edmond Lee, is a successful entrepreneur and the fourth of 13 children. He related the following story:
In the late 1960s Dad supported our family by working full-time at Boeing during the daytime and delivering newspapers in the early morning. He would rise at 3:45 a.m. to work the paper routes, return at 5:45, eat a quick breakfast, then drive us to early-morning seminary on his way to work. There was little time for rest. In addition to overtime work and the day-to-day demands as father of a large family, he spent two evenings per week serving as a stake missionary.
Dad’s modest income somehow met the family’s needs. However, by 1969, with three children serving full-time missions, two in college, and eight to follow, additional income was needed.
About this time there was advertised an opening for a part-time janitor position at the institute of religion building. It required evening work three nights per week. The Seattle economy was slow, so there were numerous applicants, all waiting in line for a chance at the job. Dad didn’t feel confident in his chances.
However, during his interview the institute director didn’t ask the typical questions. Instead he simply asked Dad to explain the circumstances of his life.
Upon hearing of the 13 children, the paper routes, the church service, and the added financial obligations of missions and college, to Dad’s great surprise, he was offered the job on the spot.
Additionally, the institute director made special arrangements to make the job a family affair. Instead of Dad toiling alone late in the evening, we would often work there as a family and do the job in an hour or less. Not only did it take less time, but the chance to work together served to teach us responsibility and to strengthen our family.
This institute director was none other than Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, now a current member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and former president of Brigham Young University.

My mother worked in a fashion boutique in Paris and liked the Americans she met there. She grew to love the English language and encouraged me to study English even as a young child. During the summers, she sent me to England or Scotland to stay with English-speaking families. One year she encouraged me to get involved in an American summer camp exchange program. Through this program I became a camp counselor in Sharon, Vermont—the birthplace of Joseph Smith. Perhaps the Lord, even then, was trying to turn the wheels once more. Unfortunately, I heard nothing of Joseph Smith or the Mormons while I was there.

Several years later, however, the wheels turned again, with great power. I was studying English, with a specific focus on American culture, at Paris’s Sorbonne University. As I began thinking about a master’s thesis topic, I remembered the documentary about the Mormon pioneers. I asked my adviser if I could do something on them. No one at the Sorbonne had written a thesis about the Mormons, and so my adviser thought the subject might prove interesting. But he insisted that I pick an aspect of Mormonism that was unique.

After doing some preliminary research, I discovered that there was not enough information about the Mormons in the university library. I concluded I would have to talk to them. By then I had learned that the official name of the Mormon Church was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. With that information, I located the headquarters of the Paris Mission and boldly knocked on the front door. I asked the missionary who answered, “Is there someone here who can tell me about the Mormons?”

The surprised young man managed to stutter, “Yes, yes, come in!”

As my research at the mission home progressed, I learned that Latter-day Saints believe in ordinances performed for dead ancestors. The more I read about temple work for the dead, the more I wanted to use that topic. The title I finally chose for my thesis was enough to make even long-time members of the Church pause: “Genealogy and the Mormon Church.” That’s how I became known in the Paris Mission as the “Genealogy Girl.”

It was at this point, just two months after my first visit to the mission home, that I met my future husband. He was a freelance American photographer and writer traveling in France. The missionaries told him about me, and he decided to interview me for a possible article for the Church magazines. After talking with me about the Church, he asked if I had ever considered joining. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m really just curious.”

But as an afterthought, I reflected, “There is something unusual about your church. I always feel a sense of peace when I come to the mission home. Actually, I welcome reasons to come back.” Still, I insisted that my interest was only academic curiosity.

A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.

During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”

One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”

I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.

A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.

Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.

As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

I have had personal experiences with ineffectively coping with irritation. A year ago my temper overcame me, and I ended up breaking my hand on a wall. Two months after I got my cast off, I broke the same hand on another wall. As a result of my immaturity, I lost the cherished respect of family and friends.

When you get angry, don’t lash out at people or things. Calm down and realize that the world is not going to end. Rarely will you experience righteous indignation as Jesus Christ did when he overturned the tables in the temple. People judge you by the way you react to stress, and who likes someone inclined to temper tantrums? Self-control is requisite for progression in the Lord’s eternal plan.

Max Booher, 16Bellingham, Washington

When one of Brother Kim’s former students confided that she was severely depressed and considering suicide, he told her:
“Dear sister, I know of a gospel—a wonderful gospel—capable of giving you new hope, new life. If you study it and pray to God, I promise you these things: health, happiness, joy and a desire to help others find those things, too.”
She and her daughter were among the first four baptisms in Korea, at Songdo Beach in Pusan on 3 August 1952. The other two new members were Brother Kim’s son Tai Whan and daughter Young Sook.

As a young graduate student, scientist Hope Jahren investigated the chemical composition of hackberry fruit pits, seeking insight as to their hardy survival in various climates. Late at night, alone in a lab, she exposed their material to X-rays. She describes what happened next and how it affected her:
The readout from the X-ray displayed one clear, unequivocal peak at exactly the same angle of diffraction, each time I replicated the measurement.... It clearly indicated that my mineral was an opal.... I was the only person, in an infinite, exploding universe, who knew that this powder was made of opal. In a wide, wide world, full of unimaginable numbers of people, I was, in addition to being small and insufficient, special... because of the tiny detail I knew about creation.... I finally knew what real research would feel like. [1]

The second lost horizon may be in physical soundness. More than a strengthening of muscles, there comes a strengthening of resolve, self-discipline, and carriage when one participates in athletic endeavors. My brother Gus and I occasionally would have to walk the eight kilometers from our high school to the area where we lived after having participated in a football scrimmage or training for a track meet. To many this seemed foolish, but there was a certain satisfaction in having persevered in an overwhelming physical challenge.

In the Jyväskylä Stake in Finland, members from Lappeenranta Ward took food items to a refuge that houses young adults who have grown up with parents suffering from substance abuse. The food was gratefully welcomed. When he saw bananas and mandarins one young man said, “Many of us haven’t had fruit for years.” When the residents were also given sweets and lemonade, their eyes glistened, and some had tears in them. One of the organisers said, “These young adults have slipped through the net, and they have rarely seen this kind of love.”

When I first began college, I wasn’t sure what career to pursue. All I knew was that I felt happiest when I helped people.
Through studying, pondering, and praying, I finally decided to go into a medical field. But this career choice meant taking some difficult classes. I did all right in my basic biology, math, and chemistry courses, but I wasn’t confident I could handle the required upper-level courses.
Soon I found myself in a cellular biology course that was daunting, to say the least. I felt if I could pass the first exam, I could complete the course and eventually fulfill my goal. In preparation for this test, I studied extra hard—reading each chapter from the textbook two or three times, reviewing my class notes until they were almost memorized, and making flash cards with key words and concepts to review.
Just before the exam, my institute teacher taught a lesson on inspiration. One scripture he shared especially struck me: “Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:15).
It dawned on me that the Lord might be willing to help in matters other than those strictly spiritual. I knew I had done my part in preparing for the test, but I also felt I could use His divine help.
The night before the exam, I went through my flash cards one last time, then knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father for assurance and clarity of mind during the test. I felt immediate peace and comfort, and I knew the Lord would be with me.
That night I dreamed I was taking the exam. In my dream I entered the classroom, sat at my desk, and went through the exam page by page, answering each question with ease. It was a good dream and gave me a feeling of confidence the next morning.
As I went to class, I knew everything would be OK. I sat at my desk and opened my exam. The questions were remarkably similar to those on the exam in my dream. “What’s going on?” I wondered. Then I remembered the verse my institute teacher had shared with us. I knew the Lord had enlightened my mind. I felt He had answered my prayer—not only helping me with the test but showing me He approved of my decision to pursue this course of study.
I breezed through the test, reviewed it once, and was the first student to hand it in. The following day, the teacher smiled as she handed me my exam with a bold “100% Great job!” written in one corner. It was the only perfect score in the class.
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out my heart in gratitude for Heavenly Father’s abundant blessings. I knew if I had not done my part and studied as never before, the Lord might not have given me the help I needed. But I had studied, and I had been blessed more than I could have imagined.

Ten-year-olds are pretty smart. We like to figure things out on our own.
My dad always tells me to liken the scriptures to myself. Liken means that you try to use what you learn from the scriptures in your life. So, when we’re reading together as a family, I sometimes blurt out something before Dad can explain it to us. Like, “I know, Dad, we’re supposed to fast and pray, like it says in the scriptures.”
He smiles because I always get the right message.
But one time, I found out that the scriptures really can be a lot like my life! It all happened when we went on a family reunion backpack trip.
I carried my own big backpack and sleeping bag, and I didn’t complain. After all, it was only supposed to be four miles (6.5 km) to the lake. I could make it, no problem.
The hike wasn’t too hard, but I was glad to stop for a rest after two miles (3 km). Then we saw the first trailhead sign. It said that the lake was still six miles (9.5 km) away. My dad didn’t have to tell me that the trail was really twice as long as we first thought. I already figured that out. He did need to remind us to make our water last longer.
My dad’s advice was important but hard to follow. The afternoon sun felt hot, and we hardly had any shade on the trail. It seemed like we were never going to reach the lake.
The grown-ups stayed in the back with the youngest kids, and the older cousins went on ahead. I stayed with three cousins my age, and we ended up somewhere in between.
When we couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind us anymore, we started to get nervous. Our backpacks felt heavy, and our water bottles were empty. How much farther did we have to go?
Finally, we got so worried and tired that we decided to stop and pray.
After the prayer, we picked up our backpacks and trudged on.
Just a little while later we heard hoofbeats coming up the trail. We waited and saw a man on a horse riding toward us.
He stopped and gave us some water. He explained that our older cousins had hurried to the lake with a water filter to start pumping water to bring back to us. The man heard about how we needed water and had agreed to help. “Do any of you need help with your backpacks?” he asked.
I looked at my cousins, and they smiled back at me. We actually felt pretty good!
“You better go on and help the others,” we said to the man. “We’re fine.”
And it was true! The rest of the way to the lake it felt like angels were lifting our packs and pushing us along. When I told my parents about it later, Dad beamed and Mom got tears in her eyes.
A week later my family read Mosiah 24. My eyes opened wide when we read these words: “And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (verse 14).
“That’s what happened on the trail,” I blurted out. I didn’t have to think about how to use this scripture in my life—this scripture already described my life! It was amazing! I could hardly wait to find other scriptures that were like my life.
And that’s how I learned I could liken the scriptures to me, and I could also liken me to the scriptures!

“Not again!” Howard gasped, sick at heart, as he peeked from behind the bushes in his neighbor’s yard. But no one heard his quiet plea, and the neighborhood boys again stuffed the soaked, terrified kitten back into the sack. One boy gave the sack a hefty toss, and again it flew into the canal.
This time, however, the kitten could barely struggle free. As the sack and kitten floated down the canal, the boys finally lost interest.
As soon as the boys turned their backs, Howard dashed from behind the bushes, jumped the neighbor’s fence, and raced to the kitten’s aid. The poor animal could barely meow, and Howard had no trouble fishing it out of the canal and wrapping it gently in his shirttail. As Howard hurried home, tears filled his eyes. He prayed that the kitten would somehow survive.
“Howard William Hunter, what have you got there?” Dorothy, Howard’s younger sister, asked him. She stood on the front porch, hands on hips, trying to look as stern as she thought her mother would.
“Howard William Hunter,” his mother echoed, coming up behind Dorothy. “What have you got there?” She placed her hands on her hips as the screen door banged shut behind her. Both mother and daughter looked at him expectantly.
Howard was still too upset to speak. Instead, he carefully unwrapped the kitten.
“Oh my goodness!” Mother exclaimed, covering her mouth in surprise. Shaking her head, she gently placed a hand on Howard’s shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she explained to her tenderhearted son, “I know how much you love animals, Howard, but I’m afraid we can’t save this poor kitten.”
“Mother, we have to try!” Howard wailed. “We have to!”
Mother thought for a moment. “Come on, Howard. I think I know what to do.” She turned and hurried into the house.
Inside the hall closet, Mother found an old quilt and a small wooden box and placed them on the kitchen table. Howard and Dorothy watched as their mother lined the box with the quilt. “Now, give me the kitten,” she told Howard. He quietly placed the animal in her gentle hands, and she wrapped it in the quilt. “We’ll put the box where it’s warm,” she said, sliding it carefully under the stove.
“Now what should we do?” Dorothy asked.
“Be very quiet,” Mother said, putting her finger to her lips. “Play outside, and don’t be noisy in the house. We’ll let the kitten rest and see if it’s better in the morning.”
“How will we know if it’s all right?” Howard wondered.
“Don’t worry.” Mother smiled and patted him on the back. “We’ll know.”
Howard didn’t sleep well that night. He dreamed that the neighborhood boys had found the kitten under the stove and were trying to steal it.
Before the sun came up the next morning, Howard heard meowing. He sat straight up in bed and rubbed his eyes. When the kitten meowed again, he raced to the kitchen.
The kitten had climbed out of the box and was meowing for its mother as it wandered around the kitchen. Howard dropped onto the floor beside the kitten, who looked up hopefully into Howard’s eyes. He gently patted the kitten’s soft, warm fur. “I’ll get you some milk,” Howard said, taking a saucer from the cupboard. He poured some milk from the tin can in his mother’s cool pantry, and set the saucer in front of the hungry kitten.
“It’s going to be just fine now,” Mother said as she came into the kitchen and saw the kitten hungrily lapping up the milk. “That was a wonderful thing you did, Howard.”
Howard smiled up at his mother. He felt warm inside as he watched the kitten drink.

This is the story behind the painting:
“In Missouri in 1862, the 14-year-old Mary Wanlass promised her dying stepmother that she would see to it that her disabled father [and her four much younger siblings would all make] it to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. … Mary drove the oxen and milk cows that pulled the wagon, in which her father [was bedridden, and] she cared for her … siblings. After each day’s journey, she fed the family by foraging edible plants, flowers, and berries. Her only compass was the instruction she had received to keep traveling west ‘until the clouds become mountains.’
“They reached [the] Utah Valley in September, having traveled all spring and summer. Her father died not long after the family settled in Utah County, where Mary later married and raised her [own] family.”

In the early spring mornings as the sun took a first peek over the mountains, Jan and I started walking together. As newly assigned visiting teaching partners, we were both young mothers with growing families and busy, demanding schedules.
Jan and her family were recent move-ins to our ward, and I wasn’t sure what we would talk about. Struggling, out of breath, up and down the inclines of a nearby mountain road, we walked and talked day after day.
In the beginning, our conversations were lighthearted chatter about our husbands and children, their interests, and the schools in the area. Little by little we opened our hearts to one another, processing spiritual ideas and delving into our experiences to find the kernels of truth. It seemed as we worked to get our bodies in shape, we began to get our souls in shape. I loved this wonderful exertion.
I learned two unforgettable lessons from my journey with Jan that continue to enlighten my mind and fill my soul with joy. The first is that whatever the circumstances in your life, if you are spiritually prepared, there is no need to fear (see D&C 38:30).
Long after we began our walks together, I discovered that years earlier Jan had made choices which took her step-by-step away from the Church and down a path she now regretted. About the time our lives intersected, she had determined to put her life in order. The longing in her heart was to prepare herself so that she could be sealed to her husband and children in the temple. Hers was a single-minded yearning, as Nephi phrased it, “[to] be reconciled unto Christ, and enter into the narrow gate, and walk in the strait path which leads to life, and continue in the path until the end of the day of probation” (2 Ne. 33:9).
You might expect that once Jan had determined as earnestly as Lamoni’s father in the Book of Mormon to “give away all [her] sins to know [the Lord]” (Alma 22:18), her journey would be smoothed. Such was not the case. She was faced with some of life’s most soul-wrenching trials. Jan was diagnosed with a brain tumor, her husband lost his job, then the family lost their home and their car.
Yet Jan’s faith in Jesus Christ grew steadier as her way grew harder. As we trudged along together on our morning walks, I learned so much from Jan about how her faith in the Lord and daily spiritual preparation helped her conquer fear. She seemed to understand perfectly what President Gordon B. Hinckley has taught: “We would be wise to kneel before our God in supplication. He will help us. He will bless us. He will comfort and sustain us” (Standing for Something [2000], 178).
Although she was in the midst of terrible trials, it was obvious to me that Jan knew our prophet’s words are true. She never stopped her personal spiritual preparation as she moved forward fearlessly a day at a time with a radiant sense of calmness in her life. Over the course of those early hours together, I literally watched “the morning [break], the shadows flee … [and] the dawning of a brighter day” (“The Morning Breaks,” Hymns, no. 1) as Jan’s repentance brought her a release from sins and then a deeply personal spiritual enlightenment.
I asked Jan how she had come to feel peace when her life was in such turmoil and things were collapsing all around her. I believe the words of a hymn capture best what she felt and subsequently shared with me about the power of the Atonement in her life:
The Lord is my light; the Lord is my strength.
I know in his might I’ll conquer at length.
My weakness in mercy he covers with pow’r,
And, walking by faith, I am blest ev’ry hour.
(“The Lord Is My Light,” Hymns, no. 89)
Because of her abiding faith, the Lord’s Atonement brought daily renewal to Jan. She submitted her will to the Lord one prayer, one scripture, and one act of service at a time.
Shortly before her death while she was in her 30s, I was among those gathered in the temple quietly rejoicing as she, her husband, and their children knelt at the altar and were sealed together for eternity.