Gospel Story Finder

One Sunday morning in a nursing home in the valley, I witnessed the presentation of a beautiful gift as a young girl shared her musical talent with those lonely and elderly men and women who yearned not for food or for clothing but for someone who cared, someone who shared, and someone who provided a “hyacinth” for the soul.
A hush fell over the wheelchair-confined audience as the girl took bow in hand and played on her violin a beautiful melody. At the conclusion, one patient audibly declared, “My dear, that was lovely.” Then she began to clap her hands to express approval. A second patient joined in clapping, then a third, a fourth, and soon everyone applauded.
Together the young girl and I walked out of the nursing home. She said to me, “I have never played better. I have never felt better.” She had been guided by God and led by the Lord. Aches, pains, despair, and sadness had been conquered. Compassion had gained the victory.

Brother William and Sister Johanna Buckley are converts to the Church and live on the island of Aruba. Years ago, when they were investigating the Church, they became friends with Sister Ana St. Cyr and her four-year-old grandson, Ralph, who attended the Oranjestad, Aruba branch. These two were the only members of the Church in their family and the only Haitian members of the branch. As the Buckleys integrated into the branch they found special joy in watching young Ralph’s testimony and spirituality develop.
In John 4:13–14, Jesus says to the Samarian woman at the well, “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again:
“But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”
It was apparent that Sister St. Cyr and little Ralph had allowed those everlasting waters to spring up within them.
Like the Samarian women who went off to share the good news, Ralph did the same. In 2018, Ralph Desir was called to serve in the Vanuatu Port Vila Mission where he had the opportunity to share the everlasting waters of the Savior, Jesus Christ. He was blessed with many companions from diverse cultures, lived in eight different places, and learned Bislama, the native language of Vanuatu, which helped him to effectively create relationships with the people.
Elder Desir was blessed to see the gospel of Jesus Christ strengthen the people he taught as they overcame the challenges in their lives. Upon completion of his mission, he testifies of the truthfulness of the power of everlasting waters and knows how to allow those waters to continue to bless his own life and the lives of others.
Brother Desir testifies that “serving a mission was the best decision that I have made in my life. I have learned to be like the Savior and teach the gospel by example in all things. I love the gospel with all my heart, and I wouldn’t exchange my mission experiences for anything. One of the reasons I served a mission was because I knew how much it would bless my family and how much joy it would bring to my own life.”
Since returning from his mission, Brother Desir has served as first counselor in the San Nicolas Branch presidency, Aruba, and as a delegation leader for the Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao District that attended the youth conference in the Dominican Republic in 2022. He is now serving as branch secretary. He uses his proficiency in the Dutch, Spanish, English, Papiamento, and French Creole languages to continue to bless lives in Aruba and elsewhere.
Brother and Sister Buckley have followed Brother Desir’s example and are now serving in the ABC district as church communication directors. They continue to enjoy watching him grow and share the gospel.

The first one we will call Jim. Jim comes from a distant state. He is a fine-looking, clean-cut young man not quite thirty years old. He was one of those who opposed the establishment and society in general. He came from a broken home. He had experienced no love in his life. He left home at age seventeen and joined the army. After release from the military, he wandered about the country without goal or purpose in life, finally finding himself in Salt Lake City. He was involved in a theft, arrested, convicted, and sent to prison. He escaped one day, was recaptured, and was placed in maximum security. In his words, “I came out of maximum security and returned to medium, and still did not know what to do with my life.”
One of the prisoners, knowing of some of the turmoil Jim was going through, sent him to see the LDS chaplain. This was the beginning of a completely new experience in Jim’s life. Even though he found himself in prison, he had taken the first step to a freedom he had not known existed.
After a few weeks of exposure to the program of the Church specially designed for prison life, he said he was able to give up smoking. He became involved in the various religious programs sponsored by the Church social service agency. He said, “I haven’t smoked a cigarette since that day. I haven’t had a cup of coffee since December of last year.” He goes on to tell of the good feeling of accomplishment in overcoming bad personal habits.
He also tells about the family home evening program conducted by his home teachers. He explained that he would have given up in discouragement many times had it not been for this wonderful couple who had been assigned as his home teachers. He said they actually loved him as a son, something he had never experienced in his life, even as a little boy. In his own words: “I have been in this program since June 16, 1970. For these sixteen months, I probably made more changes in my life—inside these walls away from the rat race of society—that I know are going to determine my whole future more than the first twenty-three years of my life before prison. I had no idea at all what the LDS people were or what the Church was until I went to prison.
“I am not proud of being in prison, but I am proud of my experience while being there. I am proud of being a graduate of the program that the LDS people have offered to the inmates at the prison.”
This is the young man who conducted the graduation exercises and did it in a most impressive manner. His goal now is to finish paying his debt to society in order to be released from prison so that he might prepare for baptism and membership in the Church.

Like many LDS teenagers in Africa, I was one of a handful of Church members in my high school. I became accustomed to sharing my beliefs with my friends, and I was known for having a certain set of standards. Fortunately for me, I don’t remember ever being ostracized for being different. If anything, I was respected and admired. My friends looked to me as a sort of anchor during an often difficult and confusing period of their lives.
One day during the final year of high school, I joined a group of friends to watch a movie. As we bought our tickets, the movie poster did not give an indication of the movie rating. Somewhat naively, I decided to buy a ticket anyway in the hope that the movie would be aboveboard.
Two minutes into the movie, I realised my hopes were in vain. The opening scene was shockingly vulgar. As I covered my eyes with my hands, I realised there was only one thing to do: leave. I was near the end of a long line of people, some of whom I was keen to make a favorable impression on. There was no way to make an inconspicuous exit. But there was also no way I could sit through that movie and be true to myself.
With a racing heart I leant over to a friend and whispered, “I’ll see you outside.”
Grabbing my popcorn, I picked my way in the inky darkness past the long row of friends. Back in the light of the ticket office, I wondered how to spend the next few hours as I awaited the others. To my surprise, I soon heard steps behind me.
One of my friends appeared, smiling. “I didn’t like that movie either,” she said. Thirty seconds later, we heard a second pair of footsteps, and then a third. After a few minutes, a large group of us had formed.
I looked around me, incredulous. When I had decided to leave, there was no way I could have predicted that more than half of my group of friends were secretly hoping for a way to get out too.
Marianne Williamson said, “As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.”

One week later, in May 1975, Le My Lien stepped off a crowded bus at a military camp near San Diego, California, on the West Coast of the United States. In front of her was a sprawling city of tents set up to shelter 18,000 refugees from Vietnam.
Lien had no money and spoke little English. And she had her three children to care for while awaiting news of her husband in Vietnam.
On their first night at the camp, Lien did her best to make her children comfortable. The camp had provided her with no blankets and only one cot. Her sons, Vu and Huy, crammed onto the cot while the baby slept in a hammock Lien fashioned out of a sheet and rubber bands.
There was nowhere for Lien to lie down, so she slept sitting on the edge of the cot, leaning against a tentpole. The nights were cold, and her health worsened. Soon she was diagnosed with tuberculosis.
She prayed continually that her husband would remain strong, believing that if she could survive her ordeal, then he could survive his. She had heard nothing from him since her flight out of Saigon.
As Lien rocked her crying baby each morning, she cried too. “Please,” she begged the Lord, “let me get through just this day.”
In 1976, President The was imprisoned in Thành Ông N?m. He was desperate for news of his wife and children, but all he knew about his family’s whereabouts came from a telegram from the president of the Hong Kong Mission: “Lien and family fine. With Church.”
Now, more than a year later, The wondered when he would be free again.
Life in the prison camp was degrading. The and his fellow captives were housed in rat-infested barracks. They slept on beds made of steel slabs. Meager and spoiled food, along with the unsanitary conditions in camp, left the men vulnerable to sicknesses like dysentery and beriberi.
Reeducation on the new government’s principles involved backbreaking labor and political indoctrination. Anyone who broke camp rules could expect a brutal beating or solitary confinement.
The had survived so far by lying low and clinging to his faith. For a time, he contemplated escaping from the camp. But he felt the Lord restrain him. “Be patient,” the Spirit whispered. “All will be well in the due time of the Lord.”
Sometime later, The learned that his sister, Ba, would be allowed to visit him in the camp. If he could slip her a letter to his family, she could send it to them.
On the day of Ba’s visit, The waited in line as guards conducted full-body searches of the prisoners ahead of him. He had hidden the message behind the cloth band on the inside of his hat. He had then placed a small notebook and pen into the hat. With any luck, the notebook would distract the guards.
They examined the pen and notebook, then let him pass.
Soon, The saw his sister and pressed the letter into her hands. He wept as Ba gave him some food and money. He trusted that she would get his letter to Lien.
Six months later, Ba returned to the camp with a letter. Inside was a photograph of Lien and the children. He realized that he could wait no longer.
He had to find a way out of the camp and into the arms of his family.
Nguyen Van The and his wife, Le My Lien, with their son in 1973. She and their three children found refuge in the United States, but The was forced to attend a prison camp. Later, he said, “I was able to survive the ‘reeducation’ camp because … I had faith in Jesus Christ.”
As part of its mission to care for families, LDS Social Services had arranged with Church members in the United States to care for about 550 Vietnamese refugees, most of whom were not members of the Church. Lien and her family were sponsored by Philip Flammer, a professor at Brigham Young University, and his wife, Mildred. They helped the family relocate from California to Provo, Utah.
At first, Lien struggled to find work. Philip took her to a thrift store to apply for a janitorial position. But during the interview, the manager tore her high school diploma in half and told her, “This does not apply here.”
She soon found temporary work picking cherries at a nearby orchard. She then found work as a seamstress and added to her income by baking wedding cakes. With help from Philip, she also earned money by typing reports for BYU students.
Amid her family’s hardships, Lien remained faithful to the Lord. She taught her children about the power of prayer, knowing it could carry them through their ordeals.
Then, in late 1977, Lien learned that her husband was in a refugee camp in Malaysia. He had managed to leave Vietnam on an old fishing boat after finally being released from Thành Ông N?m. Now he was ready to reunite with his family. All he needed was a sponsor.
Lien began working even more hours to save enough money to bring The to the United States.
In January 1978, Le My Lien sat nervously in a car headed for the Salt Lake City International Airport. She was on her way to meet her husband for the first time in nearly three years.
After arriving at the airport, Lien joined other friends and Church members who had come to welcome The.
Before long, Lien saw The descending an escalator. He looked pale and had a lost look in his eyes. But at the sight of Lien, he called out to her. Emotion welled in Lien’s chest.
She pulled The into a hug. “Thank God in heaven,” she whispered, “you are home at last!”

Eunice loved to sing. Her parents, Titus and Diantha Morley Billings, often sang for Church meetings at the request of the Prophet Joseph Smith. At a very early age, Eunice was taught to harmonize with them and sing the alto part. The Prophet Joseph must have enjoyed her singing, because every time he saw her, he took her on his knee and had her sing a song. Eunice attended Eliza R. Snow’s school with the Prophet’s children. Her mother did sewing and doctoring for the Prophet’s family, so Eunice was in his home often.
One day Mother finished a sewing project and asked Eunice to deliver it to Sister Smith. Upon doing so, Eunice saw the Prophet. This was not unusual, except that at the time, Joseph was in hiding for the safety of his life. He had just slipped home for a change of clothes. The Prophet knelt and lovingly sat young Eunice on his knee. He had her sing a song as always. Then he looked deeply into her eyes.
“Eunice,” he said, “no one must know that I am here. My family is in danger. Please rush home and tell no one that you saw me.”
Eunice ran all the way home so that no one could stop her to talk. Long afterward, she said, “I would have cut out my tongue before I would have told anyone I had seen the Prophet that day!”

Whether living in a bustling, modern metropolis or in a sleepy mountainside village, members find peace and guidance in the gospel. Halfway across the Korean peninsula in the Yang San village, Chun Young Jun and Lim In Sok are raising their four sons with the same values and principles as the Choi family, but in a different setting. After living in Pusan, the couple moved to the village so they could spend more time together as a family. Sister Lim runs a preschool, and Brother Chun pursues a writing career. (Many Korean women retain their maiden names after marriage.)
The Chun family have recently discovered new talents. Reciting a story he had read to his own children from Songdo Wi Bot (the Church’s Korean magazine), Brother Chun recently won a nationwide storytelling contest. Now, complete with makeup and costumes, he and his wife spend many afternoons entertaining a rising generation with “stories with morals.”
As a result of winning the contest, the Chun family was deluged with media attention. Numerous television programs and newspaper articles appeared, telling the Chun story. Leading almost every report was an observation about the unity and commitment found in the family. “The people who visited us were amazed,” his wife observes. “But we were just living gospel principles.”
A few years ago, the Chun family would not have been unusual; the Korean culture is steeped in familial traditions. But South Korea, like other countries battling to keep abreast of worldwide progress, finds that business and economic concerns often overshadow timeless values.
For Cho Young Hyun, who serves as bishop of the Poong Hyang Ward in Kwangju, the determination to live gospel principles has even become an advantage in the competitive business world.
After completing his university studies, Bishop Cho became a candidate for a prestigious chemical engineering position with one of South Korea’s largest oil companies. As part of the hiring process, he interviewed with all of the company’s directors. “They sat in front of me and fired off questions,” he explains.
One of the questions asked was how he felt about family responsibilities in comparison to company responsibilities. “I think they were anticipating that I would assure them my first priority was with the company,” Bishop Cho says. “But I answered, without hesitation, that no success could compensate for failure in the home. My answer surprised them and moved them. And I was able to share the words of a prophet.”
Bishop Cho got the job. But after only five months, he received an offer to teach in the Church Educational System. Despite the fact that his salary would be cut by two-thirds, he accepted the offer and now teaches in Kwangju, a community in southwestern Korea near where he grew up.
“From the time I was young, I wanted to be a teacher,” says Bishop Cho as he reflects on the direction his life has taken. “But teaching math or science or history didn’t interest me. I wanted to teach people things that could change their lives. And now I am.”
The lives that Bishop Cho is changing include those of young students who attend the numerous seminary and institute classes held throughout South Korea. The seminary and institute program has gradually gained momentum in the country as local Church leaders recognize that the youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow and must see for themselves where peace and happiness can be found.
Sister Lee Kyung Hee, a member of the Seocho Ward in Seoul, teaches early-morning seminary. As a returned missionary, she recognizes the importance of establishing gospel priorities at a young age.
“I learn from these kids,” she explains. “As I study and prepare lessons for them, I learn details of the gospel and reinforce my testimony. Teaching seminary gives me a chance to do something for Heavenly Father. I share with the students my testimony, my life, my experiences. And as long as I serve Heavenly Father, he keeps blessing me.”
In Sister Lee’s early-morning seminary class, students learn to apply scriptural teachings to current-day situations. “I love reading about Alma and the sons of Mosiah on their mission,” says one student. “I can learn from their examples and their courage. For the first time in my life, I’m facing conflicts with my friends and my beliefs. I feel power from the Lord as I read the scriptures, attend meetings, and make correct decisions.”
Education is a highly competitive endeavor in Korea; the elementary or primary school years prepare students for exams that qualify them for further education. Attending classes and studying for ten to twelve hours a day is not uncommon. Taking time out for religious activities can present a frustrating conflict, especially if a student is the only Church member in his or her home.
One young member in Pusan is familiar with that dilemma. Forbidden by her mother to attend Church meetings, this teenager has faithfully continued to pray and read the scriptures, believing that someday her mother will relent.
“I know what’s important to me and that if I continue to obey and do what I can, the Lord will bless me,” she states simply.
Han Sang Ick of the Shin Dang Ward in Seoul knows that he has been richly blessed as a result of his obedience. Although his life has not taken the path he had originally planned, Brother Han says, “I am happier today than I ever imagined.”
A university drama student with aspirations to perform and teach, Brother Han was selected as student body president of the Latter-day Saint institute in Seoul. “All the prior presidents had served a mission,” he explains. “I found myself doing some serious thinking about whether I should serve a mission or not.”
Brother Han, baptized at age seventeen and the only member of the Church in his family, struggled with his family responsibilities. His father had died, and as the eldest son, he was responsible for his mother. “She really expected me to graduate, marry, and take care of her. That is the pattern established through the years.”
Instead, Brother Han graduated, arranged for his mother to be taken care of, and, at age twenty-six, became a full-time missionary. “And of course, that was the right decision,” he concludes. “My mother was blessed, and I established a pattern of righteous decisions.”
It was on his mission that Brother Han learned a great lesson about the Book of Mormon. “As missionaries, we were told to tell the people first about the Book of Mormon and the Joseph Smith story. I felt that those things were harder to understand and accept and that it would be easier for investigators to accept the gospel principles gradually,” Brother Han says.
However, he quickly became frustrated with the lack of response from investigators. After fasting and praying, “I received my answer,” Brother Han says. “I knew I had to teach the Book of Mormon first. I recognized that I hadn’t been relying on the Spirit’s ability to touch people and change their attitudes. It surprised me, but when I was obedient, people accepted those gospel principles and ideas that I had thought would be so difficult for them.”
While a twenty-six-year-old full-time missionary might be unusual in most countries around the world, many Korean missionaries are that age. Due to a mandatory 2 1/2-year military stint and strict education requirements, Korean men often serve missions after completing their military service and graduation. Serving a mission is becoming more common for Korean Saints, both men and women. Currently, there are four missions in South Korea, with more than 25 percent of the missionaries being native Koreans.
Of course, learning the gospel from a native Korean has certain advantages; missionaries often share with investigators personal experiences of blending Korean culture with gospel principles. Those personal testimonies can be instrumental in helping new members make major life-style changes.
One of the biggest challenges faced by Korean members, especially those involved in the world of business, is obeying the Word of Wisdom. “Drinking and smoking are a way of life here, especially part of the business and social world,” observes Joo Duck Young, a member of the Dunchon Branch. “After business hours, men go and drink together socially. It is an established and accepted part of work.
“But Korean Latter-day Saints find that after work, they have Church callings to fulfill or family responsibilities to perform. Without personal knowledge that the Word of Wisdom is an eternal principle relating to our health and that the family unit is an eternal unit, you feel that everyone is succeeding in the business world but you. Each member has to know what is eternally important.”
And Brother Joo should know. As director general of the Ministry of Trade, he is the highest-ranking South Korean government official in the Church. His colleagues have come to respect his standards and even envy them.
“The gospel teaches diligence and honesty and conscientiousness,” he explains. “And even more importantly, the gospel teaches us to be kind. Koreans are very private people; they don’t get involved in other people’s lives unless they are related. When I go out of my way to help someone, people are often surprised. But they sense that I am sincere, that I really care.”
Being on the receiving end of such uncharacteristic kindness can change lives. In Naju, sixteen-year-old Seo Jin Oo is alive today, thanks to the faith and love of his family and dozens of gospel friends.
Jin Oo was at school, studying during a recess break, when a classmate flew into a rage and hit him on the head with a club. Dazed but still conscious, Jin Oo moved to the back of the classroom, where he fell unconscious to the floor.
For the Seo family, the next thirteen days were filled with blessings, prayers, and round-the-clock vigils. The summer weather was blistering hot, the hospital was not air-conditioned, and there were few nurses. Jin Oo’s parents, Seo Young Won and Kim Kyung Ja, were responsible for keeping their son’s temperature down by continually applying cool towels to his feverish body.
“There was always a member or a missionary there,” recalls Brother Seo. Members traveled to the hospital to give Jin Oo’s parents much-needed breaks. Jin Oo’s name was put on the prayer roll in the Seoul temple, and members throughout the Kwangju stake held special fasts.
“The doctors and nurses tried to prepare us for his death,” Sister Kim observes. “But we kept on hoping. We had faith.”
After two surgeries, Jin Oo awoke from the coma and, contrary to doctors’ predictions, has suffered no brain damage or lasting effects from the incident.
“It was an extremely emotional time for us,” says Sister Kim. “But we certainly learned what really mattered and where we could turn for help. Jin Oo’s experience has strengthened us as a family and as a branch. We’re closer, more unified, and more aware of others and their needs. We really do have a greater determination to love and serve others.”
Radiating the peace of the gospel, South Korean Saints—who make up one-tenth of a percent of the country’s total population—are determined to keep growing. And that determination, like that of the ever-blooming moo gung hwa, makes a difference for Latter-day Saints in the Land of the Morning Calm.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

Two weeks after Sage was burned, the Volkmans were offered the more specialized care available to burned children at a special hospital in Galveston, Texas. Sage was flown the 1,500 kilometers to Galveston on November 6. She was still in a coma.
Among the hospital staff were two Latter-day Saints. Jonathan Brough and Rob Durrans had seen burn victims before, but this case was different. “I had always been able to recognize what part of the patient I was looking at,” Rob wrote in his journal, a copy of which he later sent to the Volkmans.
“When Sage arrived, the doctors were not very optimistic for her future,” he observed. “‘If she makes it through the night, and that’s a big if,’ they emphasized, ‘we are expecting brain damage, loss of vision, chronic lung problems, inability to walk, and probably a major loss of hearing. Anything short of that will be a miracle.’”
In an entry he made in his journal, Jonathan describes what happened next: “Rob and I were asked to give Sage a blessing. We entered the little girl’s room, robed as if for surgery. We approached the bed to find an unresponsive, motionless figure. The respirator was pumping next to the bed, and tubes—for her lungs, for pumping her stomach, and for giving nourishment—entered every opening of her face. She was severely disfigured. Only her small feet were recognizable as those of a formerly beautiful child. If ever I wanted to give a blessing of release from this life it was then. I envisioned the unsurmountable challenges this girl would have to face, as well as the sacrifices her parents would have to make in order to nurse her back to any degree of independence.
“Rob anointed the frail remnant of that little girl’s body and then we both placed our hands on her head to seal the anointing. Few times have I felt the Spirit speak as powerfully through me as it did at that time. To my surprise I heard myself bless her with the strength to overcome the destruction that her body had sustained.”
Both Rob and Jonathan were shocked at the blessing they had just given, especially the promise of full recovery. “Yet we had both been instantaneously told that everything would be all right,” Rob wrote. “As we closed the blessing, I let my fingers linger for a moment on her head—there was a feeling that she was drawing upon my strength, and when I lifted my hands I felt completely drained.”
During the next few days Sage hovered between life and death. Bleeding ulcers set back plans for surgery, and her coma continued. Donations from friends had allowed Ruth DeBuck to come to Galveston to be with Denise, and the two would often stroke Sage’s feet and tell her stories or sing her hymns, hoping that something would get through to the dream world she was in.
Then one day Denise was lying on the bed with Sage. She looked into her daughter’s ruined face and said, “Oh, I love you, Sage.”
And Sage whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Last summer when I traveled from the United States to Orkney, one of Scotland’s northern islands, I learned strangers are only friends you haven’t met yet. When my group visited the small branch in the main city of Kirkwall, we more than doubled the attendance numbers from the usual 5 to 11. At the end of sacrament meeting, the branch president asked my friends and me to bear our testimonies.
As I stood in that small room so far from home, I felt the unity of the gospel family surround me, and I felt the Spirit testify to me of the truthfulness of the gospel. Their strength in living the gospel, even when so many around them did not, amazed me. These five members came faithfully to church each week just as I did at home, showing that they knew how precious the gospel is. They knew the importance of unity in the gospel and of keeping each other strong. As I bore my testimony, I realized what an example these members were to me in showing me love and how to be a faithful Latter-day Saint. I was so grateful for the Spirit testifying of the importance of the gospel to me and that so many around the world had the strength to live the gospel.

Of all the illustrations of faith in the Lord, few stories are more powerful than that told of the pioneer who years later stood to defend the decision of the Martin Handcart Company to start for the Salt Lake Valley late in the year of 1856. He had been one of the nearly 3,000 Saints who walked from Iowa and Nebraska to Utah between 1856 and 1860 in one of 10 companies pushing and pulling handcarts loaded with their belongings.
In a Sunday School class, there was sharp criticism of the ill-fated Martin and Willie Handcart Companies, which met with tragedy because of their late start on the trek to the Salt Lake Valley.
An elderly man arose and said: “I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts … give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart Company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife … too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but … we became acquainted with [God] in our extrem[i]ties.
“I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it. … I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.
“Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company” (as quoted in David O. McKay, “Pioneer Women,” The Relief Society Magazine, January 1948, 8).

We returned to Brigham City for the funeral of my wife’s father, William W. Smith. A young man I knew as a seminary student stood at the casket, deeply moved. I did not know that he knew my father-in-law.
He said: “One summer I worked for him on the farm. Brother Smith talked to me about going on a mission. My family could not possibly support a missionary. Brother Smith told me to pray about it and said, ‘If you decide to go on a mission, I will pay for your mission,’ and he did.”
Neither my wife nor her mother knew that. It was one of those things that grandfathers do.

Kristina sat on the milk stool in front of the fireplace, warming her hands.
“Remember, tonight is the night for our family hour,” Mama Brigham said as she stirred the stew in the big black kettle.
“Do we have to have it?” Kristina asked.
“Kristina Margaret Brigham!” Mama exclaimed. “You know what President Young has told us about having our family hour!”
“But with all of the little kids, it isn’t much fun,” Kristina complained.
Kristina, twelve, was the oldest of six girls, and it seemed to her that Papa always prepared the evening for the younger ones. It’s always the same old thing, Kristina thought as she got the plates out of the pie safe.
After dinner Kristina sat obediently in the big rocker. Lucky Carolyn, she thought, her father doesn’t make them have family hour!
“Tonight,” Papa began, “we’re going to talk about the Indians.”
Kristina sat back in the chair, trying to hide her boredom.
Father continued, “You know President Young has told us to share with the Indians. The missionaries have been teaching them our ways, but to show that we want to be their friends, we should also learn some of their ways. Tonight we’re going to learn some of their sign language.”
Kristina only half listened as Papa showed them the signs and explained what they meant. She wished President Young hadn’t told families to have an hour each week where important things could be discussed and everyone could grow and learn together. Kristina didn’t think Indian language was something she needed to know. The Indians came to Dover only when they were hungry or when there had been trouble. They hadn’t been near for over a year. And there were so many other things she’d like to be doing.
That night as Kristina was getting ready for bed, Mama stopped her. “Kristina,” she said, “remember, tomorrow is the day I want you to take the bread, butter, and cheese to Sister Adams. She is still sick.”
“I remember,” Kristina smiled. “I’m even glad. I wanted to go riding tomorrow anyway. I asked Carolyn to go with me.”
“It’s a long trip. I wish your father could go, but he’s too busy this time of year. Thank you for going.”
The next morning Kristina got up with the sun, as usual. The small room was cold, so she quickly threw on her clothes and ran downstairs to warm herself by the big fireplace.
“Your papa keeps promising a stove,” Mama said, as she stirred the mush in the big kettle. “I hope it comes soon.”
“It will, Mama,” Kristina said, as she kissed her mother on the cheek and started to set the table.
Kristina rode alone for nearly a mile on a narrow dirt path before she reached the Larson cabin, where she stopped for Carolyn.
It was a ten-mile ride through sagebrush-covered hills to the Adams’ cabin. The girls laughed, sang, and played games. Before they knew it, they saw Brother Adams chopping wood in front of his cabin.
They found Sister Adams sitting up in bed. “Well, hello!” she welcomed them. “It’s so good to see you.
“Stay for lunch,” Sister Adams insisted. “You’re the only visitors I’ve had since I took sick, and you must keep me company.”
“Well, only if you let us cook,” Kristina said.
Soon the girls had the fire going, and the sweet smell of beef stew filled the cabin. Brother and Sister Adams were so much fun that Kristina and Carolyn forgot all about the time.
Kristina was surprised to see the sun setting as she threw the dishwater out the door.
“We were enjoying you girls so much that I forgot to pay attention to the time,” Brother Adams said. “It’s so late, maybe I’d better ride back with you.”
“We know the way,” Kristina said. “We’ll be fine.”
Brother Adams glanced at his wife, and she nodded her head. Then he explained, “The people south of here have been having Indian trouble. I think I’d better go with you.”
“We’re going north,” Kristina answered, “and we’ll be just fine.”
Brother Adams still hesitated, but finally he let the girls go alone. They rode as fast as they could while there was still some daylight, but when darkness came, they had to slow down. “I can’t even see the path!” Carolyn admitted.
“I know where we are. Don’t worry,” Kristina said. “See that light way over there. That’s home.”
“Good!” Carolyn answered as she urged her horse into a trot.
The girls rode a little further and then came to a stream. “We didn’t cross a stream this morning,” Carolyn exclaimed.
“We are just going a different way,” Kristina explained. “What else could that light be?”
Soon they were close enough to see that what they had thought was a light of home turned out to be a campfire. No one was near so the girls looked around. Suddenly five Indians jumped from behind some bushes. Carolyn screamed as two of the Indians grabbed her.
Kristina kept outwardly clam, remembering Papa’s words, “They are our friends.” Her throat was dry and her hands and knees were shaking. Then she remembered something Papa had said at family hour. With shaking hands she carefully motioned to them in sign language, “I am your friend.”
The tall Indian said something to the others. The only word Kristina understood was Mormon. They put Carolyn down, and the tall one made the sign that said “friend.” Kristina nodded her head.
“Go!” he said in English. Kristina could not remember anything else from the family hour. Oh, I wish I had listened last night, she thought. All she could think to do was shrug her shoulders and nod her head, but somehow the Indians seemed to know what she meant.
The tall Indian got on his horse and signaled for the girls to follow him.
“Where is he taking us?” Carolyn’s voice shook.
“I don’t know. But they’re our friends,” Kristina said. “Let’s just follow him.”
Finally they reached the top of a hill. At the bottom the girls could see a cluster of cabins. The Indians stopped and pointed.
“Oh, thank you!” Kristina said. She could feel the tears starting down her cheeks as she spurred her horse on. Carolyn’s parents were waiting at the Brigham cabin with Kristina’s family.
“Oh, Kristina,” Mama Brigham cried as she hugged her daughter. “I’m so glad you’re home!”
Quickly the girls told their story. Father Brigham smiled. “We’ve always treated the Indians fairly. They know we wouldn’t burn their village. We’re friends, so they helped you.”
“How did they know we’re Mormons?” Carolyn asked.
“We’ve reached out to them as friends in many ways, one of which is by learning some of their language,” Papa answered. “That’s why we talked about it last night at our family hour.”
“You know,” Brother Larson said, “I haven’t been having my family hour, but we’re going to start it this very night.”

Karen and Emily, still doing things together, had baby girls within a week of each other. I took a pink dress to Emily’s little Julie and absolutely fell in love with her. Karen’s mother told me in church one day that Karen, David, and their little Melissa would be coming in March to show off the baby and get her blessed where Grandpa and all three of Karen’s adoring older brothers could stand in the circle.
As I made my way down the stairs and into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me, and just before the meeting, Emily leaned back guiltily and whispered to me, “I forgot this was fast Sunday until I looked at the program. We just finished eating a turkey dinner at Ted’s, so I guess I’ll have to fast twice next month.” I smiled and just then my stomach growled uncomfortably, testifying to the fact that I had remembered.
Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. I was glad that she had made it but sorry I’d missed her before the meeting. I’d have to hurry to the front after the closing prayer to talk to her.
After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, “This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.” Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. “Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.”
As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, “Oh Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?”
“I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,” I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, “and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.” Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.
And now, even though a year has passed, and even though the dark-haired women in this once strange country contrast vividly with blonde Emily, whenever my companion and I are out tracting, or we go to a branch meeting and I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily.

Some years ago, a client seeking my professional advice described to me the nature of his business, which involved selling secondhand furniture and household goods in partnership with his father. They acquired their stock by attending auctions and market sales and by clearing unwanted items from homes. They were always careful to ensure that they could realize more money in reselling than they had expended in the purchase.
On one occasion, the son had contracted to clear the contents of a home following the death of an elderly occupant. Hanging in one of the rooms was a painting. Pausing to examine it, he considered the possibility that one day he would discover an antique or painting of far greater value than the previous owner had realized. But concluding that this painting was not in that category, he removed it from where it was displayed, carried it to his vehicle, and put it among the other items.
Later, as he and his father were unloading the vehicle, the father picked up the artwork, examined it carefully, and said, “I wish I knew more about paintings and how to tell if they are valuable.” The son responded that he was sure this one would not be classified as such. Nevertheless, the father felt it would be worth having the painting checked by a friend who managed an art gallery.
Several days later, the father’s friend informed him that the painting probably had a value of at least £12,000 (almost U.S. $29,000 in the early 1970s). Excited by the news, the father and son set out for the art gallery to collect the painting. This time they took a blanket in which they carefully wrapped the work of art. The son held it securely in his arms as they returned to the shop. The painting sold at auction for £12,500.
In telling this story, my client concluded by saying, “I can’t imagine why anyone would be prepared to pay so much for such an ordinary painting.”

Once upon a time there was a little Slobovian boy named Gorb who lived in a little boardinghouse with 10,000 Slobovians. Every morning all 10,001 of them were served the most nutritious breakfast cereal available anywhere—Captain Steadfast’s Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies. Now federal agencies and senate hearings had proven not only that Captain Steadfast’s was the best breakfast food known to man but also that it was, spoonful for spoonful, the most economical cereal on the market. And it tasted great.
One morning just at breakfast time a stranger walked into the boardinghouse and casually tossed a new cereal onto the table that, he said, was groovy, outasight, and everyone was eating. It was called Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop. Some of the guys said they had heard it was pretty bad, but 10,000 hands nevertheless reached for the box and heaped their bowls high because, after all, it obviously was the thing to do. However, when the box came to Gorb he kindly said, “No, thank you,” and he poured himself a bowl of Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies.
“Comment!”* roared a chorus of 10,000 Slobovian voices.
“Well, it isn’t any great mystery,” replied Gorb. “I just read on the box here that Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop has no vitamins, no proteins, none of the good stuff Captain Steadfast’s has, and it even admits to having some real junk in it. The price looks pretty expensive, and I’ve heard it can really taste gross. Besides—I like these Crunchies.”
At that point 10,000 fists hit Gorb on the jaw. “What gall,” mused Gorb as he shrugged his shoulders and went on eating his Captain Steadfast’s.
But even as Gorb was taking his lonely stand, some strange things began to happen around the table. Many of the 10,000 said they were sick; some said they were seeing strange things; a few said they couldn’t see anything at all. Several fell face first into their Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop, and at least one just cried and cried. But those who were still able kept forcing down the G, T, & S because, after all, somebody had said it was groovy and outasight and everybody was eating it.
It wasn’t long before just one person remained sitting at the table; 10,000 others were screaming around the room or sobbing at their benches or just retching on the floor. The place was a bad scene that didn’t look either groovy or outasight, but at least everybody was doing it—except Gorb. He just quietly finished his Whole Wheat Crunchies and wondered why new always meant better to so many people.
Moral: 10,000 Slobovians can be wrong.

I was amazed at how proud I still felt of our new chapel as I attended seminary that morning. It was so beautiful!
I heard the voices of my fellow brothers and sisters, my best friends, and Sister Payne, our seminary teacher. They all greeted me with smiles and good mornings. My heart was full, and I knew that was where I should be.
After a song and a prayer, we began our lesson. Soon I was thinking about my friend who had recently stopped attending Sunday meetings. I was feeling guilty because we had had a disagreement that now seemed senseless. And I was thinking that my friend’s inactivity was a result of our disagreement.
My thoughts were interrupted by Sister Payne reading Doctrine and Covenants 64:9–10 [D&C 64:9–10]:
“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.”
Then I realized that I had been too proud to even apologize to my friend.
At that moment, I knew what to do about my friend. I would go to her and apologize. And I knew that once again, through the scriptures and a teacher, Heavenly Father had given me the strength to do what I knew in my heart was right.

While most of their southern California peers were out soaking up rays at the beach, the youth of the Glendora California Stake spent their spring break getting dishpan hands, aching muscles, and sore feet from serving at a mission for the homeless in the heart of Los Angeles.
And they wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. “Serving at the mission was the greatest thing we could have ever done for a youth conference,” said Heath Hamilton, 17.
At first, some of the youth were skeptical. Chris Walker, a priest, said, “Lots of people thought that it couldn’t be a youth conference without going away to the mountains or some place like that. Those who went to the mission discovered that this is what the gospel is all about—helping someone else, not yourself. 17 where it says ‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God,’ hit me hard.”
Jeremy Baird, a teacher, said it this way, “I thought this youth conference was going to be a bummer, but it was a great learning experience. At the mission I talked to a man who had been successful in business, but was now homeless and had lost his family as a result of drugs. It taught me that what I had thought about all the people who are homeless is not true.”
Some people were a little concerned about going into the inner city. Caroline James, a Mia Maid, said, “When we first got to the mission, we were scared to get out of the car. After we were there, though, it was real neat talking to the people about the Church.”
Two three-hour shifts of 12 young people each went to the Los Angeles Mission daily, where they served a noon meal and an evening meal to nearly 600 homeless people. They also sorted clothes and helped prepare for the Easter meals.
In addition, the youth filled more than 150 Easter baskets with toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and other personal hygiene items. Collection boxes had been placed in each ward building and in several community locations to receive the donated items. Some candy and stuffed animals were included for the children, and the baskets were distributed Sunday afternoon.
On Sunday, the youth committee and leaders traveled the 25 miles from their suburban homes to downtown Los Angeles, in two shifts, so no one would have to miss any meetings. Tables were set up next to the Union Rescue Mission, where breakfast was served in the early morning and a traditional Easter dinner was served in the afternoon. Nearly 2,500 meals were served on each shift.
When the bulk of the serving was complete, the youth were invited to sing. “As I Have Loved You” and “I Am a Child of God” brought tears to everyone involved, and “Because I Have Been Given Much” took on a whole new meaning.
“All the homeless there at the mission were reaching out for something in addition to the food we were serving. I know it is the gospel they need,” said Harleigh Williams, 17.
After serving the Sunday meal, many of the youth sat around talking to the homeless. Jeff Fuller discussed Bible points with one man. “This was definitely one of the best experiences of my life,” he said.
“They are all children of God. They gave me great advice on staying away from things by telling me how they got there.”
Of course, the youth conference did include the traditional activities like a “Funniest Ward Video” contest, breakfast prepared by the bishops, workshops, games, and a dance. But at the fireside capping the conference, the main topic of the testimonies was the service project and how it had affected their lives.
“I know that you who had a negative attitude going down there definitely changed your attitude about the needy. It was by far the most rewarding youth conference I have ever participated in,” said Lisa Summerhays, 17, youth co-chair of the conference.
Justin Beck, the other youth co-chair said, “I know the people at the mission have problems, but we still need to appreciate them because Heavenly Father loves each of them.”
Becky Patterson, 17, agreed. “One thing I have learned this week is that everybody is equally important. It doesn’t matter who or where you are; Heavenly Father loves you.”
“The bottom line,” said Sister Arnetus Raymond, second counselor in the stake Young Women presidency who worked with the young people to help plan the conference, “is that we learned that to develop love and unity, we have to serve. Service is the key. Our youth learned firsthand the meaning of serving ‘one of the least of these.’”

I was pretty excited. The big day was getting closer. All of our Wednesday practices, all of our work, and it finally came down to one day of winter camping competition known as the Klondike.
“Load up the sled,” said Brother Tolson, our Scoutmaster, who also happened to be my dad. “It’s getting late.” We piled our shovels, wood, and other gear on the sled we had built the previous Saturdays. I helped lash our things down with a rope and tied one of the knots we had learned.
The air was frosty, and our breath hung in the air as we struggled up the hill. “This looks like a good spot,” Dad said.
“See,” he said, piling up snow, “you want to pack it down a little as you go. We don’t want our snow caves falling apart.”
“What do you think, Doug? Will it be safe?” I asked, as I dug snow out of our cave and piled it on top of the pile. Doug was our senior patrol leader and I respected his ability.
“I think it’ll hold,” he said. “And it can’t be any colder than a tent.”
After two hours of work, we got inside of the cave. To our surprise, it was really warm. We helped build a few more caves, covered the floor with plastic, and then put the firewood inside.
“The wood will stay dry on that plastic, and it will be really easy to take our food and packs up here when we come back on Friday,” Dad said.
We then walked back to the car in the moonlight, racing with the sleds when we came to downhill parts of the trail. We could hardly wait for Friday night when we could return to our camp.
When we arrived near our campsite on Friday, Doug’s brother John, another member of our troop, said, “I’m so glad we don’t have to set up tents.” But when we came over the last hill, we knew something was wrong. Our igloos had been destroyed. We could tell somebody else had found our caves, ruined them, and stolen part of our wood. We angrily looked around and noticed footprints leading toward another camp.
“Let’s get them,” John said. We all murmured in agreement. “I’ll bet it was those guys down there,” he continued. “We’ve got more people than they do, and they need to learn a lesson!” We started down the hill.
“Wait!” Doug yelled.
Just then, my dad came over the hill. “What happened?” he asked.
After hearing the story Dad told us he would leave it up to us how we dealt with it, but that he thought it was more important for us to rebuild our shelters. “It’s not going to get any warmer,” he said. We debated and argued for a while, and Dad walked away.
Finally, Doug spoke up. “Look,” he said, “we’ve been working on this trip for a long time. If our camp doesn’t look good, we lose points. I think we can win the Klondike, and that’s more important. I don’t want to get kicked out of this.”
John wasn’t so sure. “Doug, you’re always too good. Come on, let’s get those guys first. Then we’ll fix the camp.”
“I’m with Doug,” said Chad.
“Me, too,” I said.
John and the rest grumbled as we decided to rebuild the caves. After dinner over a small fire, we went to bed.
The next morning, we went to the competition. We were very well prepared, and our camp got full points. Somehow we did everything perfectly as we were the fastest in fire building and first aid. Later, we discovered our point total had been the highest ever recorded at the Klondike.
I’ve always been grateful to Doug for doing the unpopular thing, which led us to something far better than revenge.

Harriet stared at the picture of Papa on the wall. It had been eight months since he died. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She missed him so much.
Knock, knock, knock.
Harriet opened the door of their little apartment. Two young men stood outside.
“Guten Tag! Hello! We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’d love to talk to your family about Jesus Christ.”
Harriet smiled. Something about what they said made her feel good inside. “I’ll ask Mutti (Mom).”
Harriet found Mutti. “Missionaries are at the door,” she said. “They want to talk to us about Jesus.”
Mutti frowned. “Tell them we don’t have time.”
“But they seem so nice,” Harriet said. “It won’t take long.”
Mutti glanced at the clock. “All right. For a few minutes.”
The missionaries came in and talked to Mutti, Harriet, and Harriet‘s sister, Carmen. They told them about Jesus and a book called das Buch Mormon, the Book of Mormon. Then they gave Harriet’s family a copy to read.
“I guess we can read a few pages,” Mutti said, opening the book. Over the next few days, Mutti kept reading and reading. She read parts out loud to Harriet and Carmen.
I wish Papa could read this. He would love it, Harriet thought.
When the missionaries came back, they taught about God’s plan. “We lived with God before we were born. We came to earth to learn and become like Him. When we die, we can be with Him again.”
What about Papa? Harriet wondered.
The missionary looked at Harriet. “Because Jesus died and lived again, we can be with our families forever. Even with loved ones who have died.”
Harriet felt a rush of hope. She could be with Papa again! Mutti had a big smile too—the first in a long time.
Harriet, Mutti, and Carmen kept learning from the missionaries. They went to church. Harriet became friends with a nice boy named Dieter.
Now Harriet’s apartment felt like there was sunshine in every room. Soon Harriet and her family decided to be baptized.
The night before their baptism, Harriet knelt with Mutti and Carmen to pray. “Heavenly Father,” Harriet said, “we are so grateful for the missionaries, the gospel, and our family. We can’t wait to be baptized.”
When Harriet opened her eyes, she looked at the picture of Papa and smiled. She couldn’t wait to see him again someday.
When Harriet grew up, she married the nice boy named Dieter.
Dieter is now one of the Apostles—Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf!
Elder Uchtdorf says Harriet is “the sunshine of [his] life.”