Gospel Story Finder

I decided to go on foot to stake conference, walking about 30 or 40 minutes with my son, then eight years old. Twenty minutes had passed when I realized that I no longer knew which direction we needed to go. My son, Elson, always a great talker, had been telling me one story or another about things that had happened in school or at home. I asked him to be quiet for a moment, explaining that I needed to think because I feared we were lost.
It was then that my son showed me his faith. He suggested that we offer a prayer. I, with all the intelligence and understanding of an adult (and becoming a little impatient because the hands of the clock were nearing the time for the meeting to begin), answered that if he wanted to offer a prayer, to do so—however, I preferred to think. I said to myself, “There are things we do not need to depend on the Lord for; finding the way to the chapel is one of them.”
As though he were reading my thoughts, Elson gave me a lesson in humility, saying, “Why do you insist on doing things the hard way?” After that he became silent, and I know that in his mind and heart he prayed. Minutes later we arrived at the chapel, and I knew that he had received an answer to his prayer.
As Latter-day Saints, we are blessed to be members of the Church of Jesus Christ. My testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel increased when I realized that my son, still a child, knew how to put the principles of faith and prayer into practice, becoming for me an example of how to live the teachings of Jesus Christ.

I want to tell you of an incident that happened many years ago. Two of our sons, then little boys, were wrestling on the rug, and they had reached that line which separates laughter from tears. So I worked my foot carefully between them and lifted the older one back to a sitting position on the rug. As I did so, I said, “Hey there, you little monkeys. You’d better settle down.”
To my surprise he folded his little arms, his eyes swimming with deep hurt, and protested, “I not a monkey, Daddy, I a person!”
The years have not erased the overwhelming feeling of love I felt for my little sons. I was taught a profound lesson by my little boys. Many times over the years his words have slipped back into my mind, “I not a monkey, Daddy, I a person!” I was taught a profound lesson by my little boy.
Now the cycle of life has moved swiftly on, and both of those sons have little boys of their own, who teach their fathers lessons. They now watch their children grow as we watched them. They are coming to know something as fathers that they could not be taught as sons. Perhaps now they know how much their father loves them. Hopefully, they know as well why prayers begin “Our Father who art in heaven.”
All too soon their children will be grown with little “persons” of their own, repeating the endless cycle of life.

I will give one example. As an elders quorum presidency we had some success in preparing couples to go to the temple for the first time to receive their endowments and be sealed for time and all eternity. For the past 20 years I have been blessed with the authority to perform sealings for numerous couples. Although this is a great and sacred honor, I can say without reservation that the gratification I feel in doing so is not as great as that which I felt sitting in an obscure corner of the sealing room watching another sealer perform the ceremony for a couple with whom I had worked to prepare for that occasion. As General Authorities we travel from place to place and have limited opportunities to get personally involved with members.

It had been abandoned beside a barn, and weeds were growing around and inside it. It may not have interested some families; but we were so excited at the prospect of a true, classic automobile to restore that we were almost afraid to ask the owners about it. We drove by the barn three times, looking and talking excitedly. Finally we stopped and, with a surge of courage, made the purchase. We slept little that night and even less during many nights to come as the family planned, unbolted, repaired, restored, rebolted, and refinished the Auburn as a family project.
Around the supper table, usually three nights each week, we talked of the previous night’s progress and planned the work that needed to be done. Rust, grease, and road dirt by the pound, accumulated over nearly half a century, were scraped, wire brushed, and washed away. Many bolts, under stress for years, had to be sawed off to allow complete disassembly of vital running parts. All the bearings required either repacking or replacement. New upholstery with the same fine leather and the original style had to be made to restore the convertible’s interior. Replating all the bright work with copper, nickel, and chromium added to the list of goals to be reached.
We took special trips so the family could learn how to take care of the metallurgical testing of the rods, pistons, crank, and camshaft. We personally observed the lead-pouring of the engine bearings. With fascination we all watched “striking-a-match” to a newly rewound electric starter. Fusing the electrical insulation by fire was actually necessary in such old-type winding.
The second springtime after we had begun the project was especially memorable for us. The mechanical work was nearly completed. The family just had to hear, see, and feel the Auburn in action. After carefully oiling each cylinder and bearing, we rolled the car out into the beautiful, warm, Saturday-morning sun. Because of the tightness of the newly poured lead bearings, rods, and piston rings, the starter couldn’t turn the engine over; so we had to tow the car a few blocks to get it started. It was like Christmas to a five-year-old. The family celebrated the halfway goal we had set for ourselves and each took a turn driving the Auburn around the yard. None of us (and probably none of the neighbors) will ever forget that thrilling morning when the King again roared to life.
The project wasn’t strictly limited to our family, either. Neighbors and friends were caught up in the spirit of the King of the Road. Ted, with his welding torch, a perfect diversion from his chemistry lecturing at the university, put smooth metalwork in place of rusted-out panels. Rebuilding the engine and drive train with new bearings and piston rings would not have been possible without Tony’s skilled hands. Compliments received for the beautifully restored body lines gleaming with a dozen hand-rubbed coats of black lacquer were the result of Richard’s creative ability. It was during hundreds of hours of working together that Richard fell in love with our Auburn, and more important, he and his family learned more of the gospel and were baptized into the Church.
The thrill of driving that masterpiece of design and engineering and the countless hours of labor to restore it have indeed strengthened the life of each individual member of our family. Seeing the goal, planning and working together to achieve it, and finally feeling the achievement of driving that beautiful King has made our family goals, temporal and eternal, very real and important to us.
At the time of restoration, the Auburn was important to every member of our family. Today, in our philosophy of life, it has become merely the symbol of our real achievement. We have found that most of our life problems and challenges can be planned and worked out together much the way we restored the Auburn.

Later, Joseph stood beside a stream and witnessed the baptisms of his mother and father into the Church. After years of taking different paths in their search for truth, they were finally united in faith. As his father came out of the water, Joseph took him by the hand, helped him onto the bank, and embraced him.
“My God,” he cried, burying his face in his father’s chest, “I have lived to see my father baptized into the true church of Jesus Christ!”24
That evening, Joseph slipped away into some nearby woods, his heart bursting with emotion. He wanted to be alone, out of sight of friends and family. In the 10 years since his First Vision, he had seen the heavens open, felt the Spirit of God, and been tutored by angels. He had also sinned and lost his gift, only to repent, receive God’s mercy, and translate the Book of Mormon by His power and grace.
Now Jesus Christ had restored His Church and authorized Joseph with the same priesthood that Apostles had held anciently when they carried the gospel to the world.25 The happiness he felt was too much for him to hold in, and when Joseph Knight and Oliver found him later that night, he was weeping.
His joy was full. The work had begun.26

Sheryl Hague of Yakima was also at church when the volcano erupted. “I thought it was a blessing that we were all in church when it happened, in a safe place,” she said, “I go to a singles’ branch, but I knew my family was in church at their ward, and my dad, who’s a stake president, was in church somewhere. My bishop was making sure we had wet paper towels over our mouths so we didn’t breathe the dust in, and people were making sure that everyone who wanted a ride home had it and that we were all okay. Right away we organized a calling committee to make sure that everyone had food and any help they needed.”
Many of the Young Adults at Sheryl’s ward opted to stay at the institute building where church was being held, until things quieted down. Food was brought in to the group by the Relief Society and elders quorum presidents.
“The prophet tells us constantly to be prepared, but often we don’t really listen until something like this happens, which is too bad,” added Sheryl. “During the first day especially I thought a lot about the Second Coming and how if you’re not prepared you’re going to panic, like a lot of unprepared people here did. I found out how important food storage is, too. Some people here didn’t have enough food to last them for even a couple of days. On the radio people were advised to store water, which our family had already done long before. We stored quite a bit more, though, including a bathtub full.”

The flame in the kerosene oil lamp flickered and Mrs. Sheridan looked anxiously to see if all the oil was gone. She knew that the jug in the cupboard contained only enough kerosene to fill the lamp one more time.
As the flame settled, Mrs. Sheridan continued checking her supplies: the big sugar container was empty, the cornmeal was gone, there was perhaps enough flour in the barrel for one more batch of bread. As Mrs. Sheridan replaced the lid on the flour barrel, she gave a long, deep sigh.
Jed, who had just turned ten years old and who was supposed to be asleep, knew why his mother sighed. Just this afternoon he had brought in the last of the carrots and potatoes from their storage. He watched his mother as she turned the wick of the lamp lower and lower until the light was gone.
Jed waited for mother to get into bed. Instead, by the pale moonlight that shone into the room under the lower edge of the window curtains, he could see mother hunched over the table. He knew she was crying. It was not loud crying, because she wouldn’t want father to know she was crying. She always smiled for father and said funny things to make him laugh and think everything was going all right.
It hurt Jed to see his mother cry, although he knew she had many things to cry about. Father was too ill to get out of bed and needed a doctor, and the winter food supply was gone. Father had told mother not to worry when they had given a large supply of flour, sugar, bacon, and potatoes to a hungry Indian family. He had said he’d hitch up the horses and wagon and take a day or two to go to the store for more supplies. But then father had become ill, and though every day he said that in a day or two he’d be well enough to go for supplies, he seemed to be getting worse.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his two younger brothers, Jed slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and placed a hand gently on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, mother,” he said encouragingly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Oh, Jed!” mother whispered. “I didn’t know you were awake. Jed, maybe you and I could drive to the store for supplies. Do you think you could ride Bess at the head of the horse team and guide her across the river while I handle the reins?”
“Sure I could!” Jed replied bravely, though deep inside he was frightened. Even in the summer when the river was not so high—with father riding Bess and mother holding the reins for the team—it was scary. The river was wide and swift, and there were only a few places where it was safe to cross.
“Good,” said mother. “I knew I could depend on you. We must make it there and back in a day. We’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. Come, now, we must get some sleep.”
Mother quietly tucked the covers more snuggly around little Rachel as she slept in her cradle, then slipped into bed.
Just as quietly Jed crossed the room and climbed into bed beside his sleeping brother.
Although Jed knew the day ahead would be a long, tiresome one, he could not sleep. He thought of the river with its splashing, whirling eddies and its swift undercurrents. He remembered how firm father had to be with Bess as he directed her to lead the team to the opposite shore. Jed thought about how cold and icy the water would be as it splashed on his legs.
Then a different thought came into Jed’s mind: Why don’t I ask the Lord to help me? Why don’t I pray and ask for courage so that I won’t be afraid?
Once more Jed slid from the warmth of his bed and knelt on the cold floor to pray. He asked Heavenly Father to bless him that he would not be afraid of the river, that he could manage Bess as father did, that he and mother would have a safe trip to the crossroads and home again, and that father and his little brothers would be taken care of while he and mother were gone. With a feeling of quiet peace, he crawled back into bed and slept.
It was still dark when mother awakened Jed. He dressed quickly in the shivery cold, and he and mother went outside together to hitch the horses. And together, with teeth chattering, they returned to the cabin. Mother kissed father good-bye. Jed gathered up the bearskin robe for their feet, the quilts for their shoulders, and their meager lunch of bread and dried fruit.
It was midmorning when they came to the river crossing. Seeing the river again and listening to its angry rushing and splashing, Jed was afraid all over again.
Mother looked fondly at Jed. She knew the task ahead would be a hard one for him, but she knew of no other way to obtain the supplies. “Think we can get across?” she asked.
“Sure,” replied Jed, jumping from the wagon. “Sure we can.”
But as Jed stood on the sandy riverbank, the river noises suddenly became a mighty roar. His heart began to thud like a pounding hammer, and he had a difficult time climbing onto Bess’s back.
I can’t do it, he thought. I just can’t. But even as his courage seemed to fail, he remembered the sweet, peaceful feeling that had come to him in the night as he had prayed. And so, sitting on Bess at the edge of the river, he prayed again. “Please help me, Heavenly Father, to not be afraid. Please help us to cross the river safely.”
Again the fearful feeling left Jed, and his heart stopped pounding. The river no longer sounded like an angry beast. As the horses stepped into the river, it almost seemed that father was with him—helping him, guiding him, telling him what to say and do. Though at times the water splashed against his feet and legs, Jed did not seem to feel the cold. Sooner than Jed expected, the wagon was being pulled onto the sand of the opposite shore.
“Good boy!” exclaimed mother, as Jed climbed back onto the wagon seat. She tucked the bearskin robe around his feet and wrapped a quilt around him. “You did just as well as father! Just as well!”
In a short time they pulled up in front of the store at the crossroads. Mr. Callihan, the storekeeper, came to the door. “If it isn’t the Sheridans!” he called. “How nice it is to see you. Haven’t seen any of you since last fall. With the river as rough as it is now, I didn’t expect to see any of you until later in the spring. By the way, where is Mr. Sheridan?”
When mother explained, Mr. Callihan promised to let the doctor know about Jed’s father. Then he patted Jed on the back and said, “You’re a fine lad, Jed! I wouldn’t mind having six boys like you.”
“Nor would I,” replied mother with shining eyes. “I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“Come in now,” continued the friendly Mr. Callihan. “Let’s get your supplies. You’ll be wanting to hurry back to that sick husband of yours and the little children.”
When at last the wagon was loaded with flour, sugar, beans, bacon, dried prunes, cornmeal, potatoes, carrots, apples, kerosene, medicine for father, and a sackful of candy, the Sheridans headed for home. As they rode along, they talked about how good it was to have the wagon filled with good food and other necessities. How happy father would be!
Soon mother again stopped the wagon at the river crossing. For a moment she and Jed sat looking across the river, which seemed to be rushing along as though it were a racehorse urged on by an anxious rider.
Before mother could say a word, Jed jumped from the wagon. As he climbed onto Bess, his body trembled and cold chills raced up and down his spine. But his fear lasted only a moment. With the help of Heavenly Father, he and his mother had crossed the river once, and they would do it again. Turning his head, he smiled at his mother. Then shouting “Giddap!” and giving Bess a smart slap, Jed guided the wagon toward the opposite shore.

Marni Adams has friends all over the United States. Every month, they get together and talk about gospel subjects, ideas for Mutual activities, and what they’ve read in the latest issue of the New Era. No, Marni doesn’t travel a lot, and she doesn’t have a huge phone bill. Every month, Marni and her friends “chat” on their computers.
“Our group includes people from all over the country,” says Marni, a student at Ricks College. “Only a few have actually met in person, but even those who haven’t are still great friends with each other.”
Known as “Smilin’ Sue” on the computer, Marni says that through advanced technology, people who would have never become friends otherwise now really love each other.
“Probably the best thing about making friends on the computer is that appearances and age don’t matter. It’s a lot easier to really get to know people,” says Marni.

This story took place in Zimbabwe.
Tashi took a deep breath as his teacher gave the students their tests back. Even though it was only a practice exam, he was nervous about seeing his scores.
It was Tashi’s last year of primary school, and he had lots of exams. Besides tests in maths and science, he also had to take language tests. In Zimbabwe, they learned to write and speak in English and Shona. Shona was the hardest for Tashi.
“Here you go, Tashi.” Tashi’s teacher handed him his scores. He scored well on maths! And pretty well in English. But then Tashi saw his score for Shona, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t do well at all!
Tashi looked at the ground the whole walk home from school.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I got a bad grade on my practice exam for Shona,” Tashi said. “I’ve always been bad at Shona. What if I fail the real exam?”
Mom sat down with Tashi. She looked at his scores. “It looks like you need more practice.”
Tashi groaned.
“What if you set a goal to work on writing in Shona?” Mom pulled out Tashi’s Children’s Guidebook. Then she read the scripture on the first page. “And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”* She smiled at Tashi. “Jesus grew a little at a time, and so can you.”
“OK,” Tashi said. “Do you think Heavenly Father will help me?”
“I know He will.”
That night, Tashi said a prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father, please help me to pass my Shona exam. Please help me to learn and get better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Tashi was grateful that he could pray for help. But he knew he needed to work hard too. Every day, Tashi practiced writing in Shona. He got extra help from his teachers. Sometimes he wished he could play with his friends or do something else. But he kept practicing.
“You are improving so much,” Tashi’s teacher said.
Tashi felt proud of himself for working hard.
Soon the day of the exam came. He said one more prayer and asked for Heavenly Father’s help.
The teacher gave the exams to the students, and Tashi picked up his pencil. As he began to write, he felt a warm, peaceful feeling. He knew it was the Holy Ghost. Heavenly Father was comforting him and helping him.
When the test was over, Tashi was excited to tell his parents about it. He didn’t know what his score was yet, but he felt good about it. He had done his very best.
“I’m proud of you,” Mom said.
“Thanks!” Tashi smiled and pulled out his Children’s Guidebook to read the scripture again. But he changed one tiny part. “And Tashi increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.”
Illustrations by Pauline Gregory

It was the first day at my new school. My mother and I were in the office filling out papers when we heard an announcement over the speakers that basketball tryouts would be held that day after school. Since I had played on the team at my old school, I thought I’d go to the tryouts and see what happened. I knew things would be a little different moving from a school where almost everyone was a member of the Church to a school where I might be the only one. But that day I learned things would be really different.
Before school my father had given me a priesthood blessing, which helped me feel a little less worried. Then when we had family prayer, my four-year-old brother prayed that I wouldn’t be scared and that I would be happy at my new school. His prayer really had an effect on me, especially because I’m more of a quiet personality and don’t like drawing attention to myself. At this new school, where my religious beliefs were so unique, I knew I would get a lot of unwanted attention. I was scared and worried, and I already felt like I didn’t fit in.
Basketball tryouts started with drills and shooting baskets and ended with a lot of running. I had tried my best and felt that I had a pretty good chance of making the team. Then it happened.
The coach called everyone over to give some final instructions. As we stood there tired and breathing heavily, the coach asked a question in a loud voice. “Are there any Mormon boys here who can’t practice on Sundays?”
Time seemed to freeze. Did I hear him right? Instantly my mind flashed back to the recent night when I was struggling with living in this new place. I had decided to read For the Strength of Youth and underline what I thought was important in each section. I knew this would help me keep the Lord’s standards and help me feel closer to God. I knew the Lord would be there to help me in my time of need. I could see in my mind the section under “Sabbath Day Observance” where it says, “The Lord has given the Sabbath day for your benefit and has commanded you to keep it holy. … Sunday is not a holiday or a day for recreation or athletic events” (32–33).
Without hesitation I raised my hand. The coach looked at me. All the other boys looked at me. When I looked around I saw that I was the only “Mormon boy” there. What I’d been afraid of was happening. But I didn’t feel embarrassed or scared. I actually felt happy inside.
Talking to my dad on the way home, I remembered my little brother’s prayer; it had been answered. I was happy here. I was happy that I had passed the test and that I’d had the courage to stand up for the truth.
That day had been a tryout. I thought it was only for the basketball team, but it was also a tryout to see if I would stand on the Lord’s side. I was so glad that I had raised my hand to show I wanted to be on His side. When the basketball roster was posted, I was surprised to see my name on it. I made the basketball team and got some good playing time during the season—even though I didn’t go to the practices on Sunday. The coach and the other boys were friendly to me, and the student body would cheer my name when I was on the court. After the season ended, I found out from the missionaries that my coach was taking the missionary lessons. I am grateful for the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. It really did give me strength that day when I had to stand for the truth alone.

And love endures through the hardships of life. The Apostle Paul taught: “Charity suffereth long. … [It] beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth” (1 Corinthians 13:4, 7, 8). I watched a mother’s enduring love for her alcoholic son. She never gave up praying for him and being available for him. In his later years, he finally “came to himself” (Luke 15:17), kept a respectable job, and used his mechanical skills to fix up his mother’s house.

George Staples (pictured as an adult)

George Staples left his home and family in England to travel to Utah. When he was 16, he joined a company of Saints in the United States, but as they crossed the plains, George was separated from the group. The company had to keep moving or risk running into warring Sioux Indians. As the story goes, he stayed behind.

George later joined a Sioux tribe and lived as an honorary Sioux for years.

People in the Salt Lake Valley heard about a white boy living as a Sioux. Eventually, a group came looking for him. As the group neared the tribe, George recognized someone. With a wild whoop, he ran to his father. They were thrilled to see each other, but George’s Sioux mother was devastated to lose her adopted son. So, before leaving with his father, George promised to return and visit his Sioux family. He kept his promise.2

On this faithful day, Saturday 14 November, 2015 while serving at Lugbe as a full-­time missionary, my first interview as a zone leader was with a baptismal candidate named Brother Amada, when I interviewed this young gentle man, I felt the spirit of the Lord and was really touched with the testimony of this young man about the message of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, in his own words he said, “Among all the missionary lesson pamphlets that has been taught and given to me, the one I so much love and cherish is the message of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and each time I read it, I get to learn new things about God and I read it frequently” he then turned to me and asked an inspired question; Do you know what makes The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints different from every other churches? I replied the “priesthood authority with its keys.” this young man from this moment made me to know the importance of the message of the Restoration and because of the Restoration cometh the priesthood authority.
He further said what he felt was missing in other denominations was the priesthood and the message of the Restoration. He testified that the prophets in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints are the Lord’s chosen servants in this dispensation and that the living prophet of the church is indeed the chosen prophet in our day.

When it was announced on Sunday that the young men in my ward were going to do baptisms for the dead, I thought to myself, Too bad I can’t go. I never gave it another thought because I knew it would be too difficult for me to go. I have cerebral palsy.
After my mom picked me and my brother, Beau, up from school on the day the young men were going to the temple, she said we needed to hurry. The bishop would be picking us up at 5:30 P.M. I didn’t pay attention because I thought she was talking only to my brother.
Then she said, “Bart, you need to hurry and eat and get showered and into your Sunday clothes.”
I said, “What? I’m going?”
She told me the bishop didn’t want me to be left out. He thought it would be nice if I went and watched the other boys do baptisms for the dead. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to the temple!
As we hurried to get ready, I couldn’t quit smiling; just the thought of going to the temple made me happy. Rick Hansen, my teachers quorum adviser, drove me to the temple in his van. My wheelchair fit inside just fine.
The temple was beautiful. I had heard people say how strong the Spirit is in the temple, and they were right. As I watched the other boys being baptized, I wished I could be baptized, too.
Just then Bishop Homer came over to me. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you dressed.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant or where we were going. He took me back to a special dressing room for temple workers, and he and Rick tried to figure out how to get the baptismal clothes on me. They did a pretty good job. I looked down at myself and thought how wonderful it was to be dressed in white.
Then a temple worker gave me a card with my name on it. The bishop took me into the baptismal font area, where I waited for my turn. As I sat and waited, a special feeling came over me, I kept looking up at the ceiling and thanking my Heavenly Father for this chance he had given me. I also thought about the people I would be doing the baptisms for. I wondered what they would think about me being baptized for them.
Then my turn came. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I felt as if all eyes were on me. The bishop scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the baptismal font. It took both the bishop and Rick to baptize me because of my floppy trunk and stiff limbs. After the ordinance for each name was completed, the bishop made sure I was still breathing all right. I did a total of five baptisms. The bishop and Rick then dressed me and placed me back in my wheelchair, and the bishop even combed my hair with his comb. Beau told me that when the bishop pushed me out of the dressing room he had sweat coming down his face. I’m not sure the bishop realized how much work it was going to be to dress me.
As we went over to do the confirmations, I felt warm all over. I thought to myself, How could people not know that the Church is true? I am grateful my bishop cared enough to give me the chance to be baptized in the temple. It’s so beautiful inside the temple. The powerful feeling inside helped me know the Church is true.

The admonition in James 1:5 that if we lack wisdom we should ask of God applies to each of us. Let me illustrate with a personal example. As you are aware, vitamins can be a huge blessing for health, and prenatal vitamins are very important. But I had an experience that taught me that for me and my body, a particular brand of vitamins was causing me problems.

When I was pregnant with my sixth child I experienced severe depression. I felt like my entire world was sinking into darkness. One Sunday I had reached what felt like the bottom of a pit. I went to sacrament meeting with my family, but then fled home to cry on my bed. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father. I wailed, sobbed, and pleaded. “Please tell me what to do. I can’t go on like this.” Shortly before my family was to arrive home I had a distinct impression from the Holy Ghost to stop taking my prenatal vitamins. Certainly an answer I wasn’t expecting, because I had successfully taken prenatal vitamins for five pregnancies, but I obeyed and the darkness began to lift. When I put my trust in God and followed the personal revelation He gave me I was healed. I know that He will do the same for you—in His own time and in His own way. He will tell us exactly what we need to know exactly when we need to know it and in a way that we will understand.

I’ll never forget the day I met Diego. I was serving my mission in Chile when he approached my companion and me. He was so excited to see us because he wanted to learn about the gospel and knew he needed to be baptized. Diego amazed me because he was so pure—he didn’t want to do one worldly thing. He introduced us to his mother, and we set up an appointment to teach them at his grandmother’s house.
No sooner had we arrived to teach them than Diego’s grandmother came into the room in a panic. “The goats are missing!” she cried.
“Can you help me search for them?” Diego asked my companion and me, so we did.
The area was covered in rolling hills, which were rockier than I had thought. Diego explained that he was worried because the goats could hurt themselves on the treacherous terrain or be stolen by thieves. We had searched for a while when Diego finally yelled, “I see them!”
I turned my head and could not see anything. I asked, “Diego, where are they?”
He replied, “They are on top of that hill.”
As I tried to focus my eyes, I could see dots moving around on the hilltop. I couldn’t believe Diego had spotted the flock of goats from that far away. He told us to wait at the bottom while he went up to get them.
I then witnessed something I had never seen before. As Diego climbed the steep hill, he began a distinct combination of clapping and yelling. The goats, recognizing the signal, perked up. Within five minutes, they grouped together and came galloping down the hill.
“This is too easy!” I thought.
I was right. As we turned to herd the flock back home, I heard the distant cry of another goat. We looked back and saw one little goat bleating on top of the hill. Realizing it was alone, it started trotting toward us. I was feeling relieved to see that this goat was coming toward us when Diego began to race up the hill.
“What are you doing?” I called.
“It’s a baby goat,” he replied. “It could easily fall and get injured.”
My companion and I quickly followed him.
As Diego bent to pick up the baby goat, it dodged and ran away. For a long time the three of us tried to catch the goat, but it refused to come. I was getting frustrated. Couldn’t the goat see that we were trying to help?
At last Diego’s herding dog, Bo Bo, came out of nowhere and pinned the goat to the ground. Diego picked up the goat, unharmed, and handed it to me. He asked me to carry it home while he attended to the rest of the flock.
As I lifted the little goat onto my shoulders, I felt its heart racing. I realized how frightened it must have been. Exhausted, the goat now laid limp, its head dangling over my shoulder and resting on my arm. It was as if the goat knew we were taking it home, because it did not fight anymore.
When I placed the baby goat back in the pen, safe with its family, it seemed happy and relieved. My heart filled with gladness. I was so grateful I’d played a part in rescuing it.
In that moment, a scripture came to life in my mind: “What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it?
“And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. …
“… Likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth” (Luke 15:4–5, 7).
Diego taught me something about the Savior that day. Diego loved each member of his flock individually. He could see the dangers they faced and wanted to save each one. How much more the Savior loves each of us.
The little goat taught me a lot too. How often had I run away from the Savior’s help? How many lost souls were shutting Him out of their lives because they were afraid?
As a missionary, I was privileged to serve others the way the Savior would if He were here. At first I had agreed to help Diego because I cared about him, but as I carried that goat, I came to feel I cared for it too. How much more I loved the Savior and wanted to seek for His children. As I did, love grew in my heart for the Chilean people. I could not always carry them safely on my shoulders, but I could teach them and the Holy Ghost could guide them to the One who can. I know I’ll feel joy seeing them safely at home with their eternal families someday.

Long years ago a severe drought struck the Salt Lake Valley. The commodities at the storehouse on Welfare Square had not been their usual quality, nor were they found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. As a young bishop, worrying about the needs of the many widows in my ward, I said a prayer one evening that is especially sacred to me. I pleaded that these widows, who were among the finest women I knew in mortality and whose needs were simple and conservative, had no resources on which they might rely.
The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business situated in our ward. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted, and then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed.
The wife of that generous businessman became a widow herself. I know the decision her husband and she made brought her sweet memories and comforting peace to her soul.

Another student had been serving on an internship only a few weeks when his boss called me one evening and reported that the young man’s technical skills were poor. I explained that he was a sophomore and had only been in our program a short time and had little experience. He told me that he had sent this young man out to assist a crew of carpenters building homes and that the first day he had cut the saw horses in half and flubbed up most of what he worked on. He said when they send him for tools or lumber, he typically brought back the wrong things. I then apologized and asked him if he planned to fire him. He said, “Not on your life. If the kid does nothing but just show up on the job, his positive influence on my crews is worth keeping him around. The foul language has nearly stopped on every job site he is on. I just called to thank you.”

Instinctively Danny fled to his favorite fishing spot to hide. How strange it looked, all icy and frozen over. The forest and winding creek were beautiful in spring and summer when trees were leafed out and wild flowers bloomed along the steep clay banks.
He swept snow off a log and sat down, remembering happier days. I’ll bet Gramps and I have taken over a hundred pounds of big catfish and perch from this spot over the last four years, Danny reminisced. He threw a pebble and watched it skid across the ice and splash into open water where a swift current had kept ice from forming.
When fish weren’t biting, he and his grandfather often selected flat stones and skillfully skipped them across the surface of the water. Danny’s never skipped as many times as Gramps’ before sinking. His grandfather always said it was because he didn’t bend down low enough before throwing. “I don’t do lots of other things right, either,” Danny muttered unhappily.
He clasped his knees for added warmth and rested his chin on them. How desolate everything looked, even with a sparkling mantle of snow. The scene matched his mood. I’m letting everyone down by hiding here, he admitted. There was a lump in his throat as he wondered if he could ever be happy again.
He wasn’t sorry that he had rescued the Clark children when the family’s trailer burned, of course, but being a hero was about the worst thing that had ever happened to him or so he felt now. He had enjoyed all the fuss at first—too much—he remembered, flushing. He hadn’t been modest enough for the honor, so his unhappiness was mostly his own fault. He had boasted and made such a fool of himself that his friends started avoiding him. Even worse, now that the nightmares and guilt had struck, he knew he wasn’t a real hero at all!
Feeling as he did, there was no way he could attend the dinner being given in his honor or accept the medal his boss Mr. Edmonds was supposed to present to him. And the reward money! He felt that accepting it would be just like stealing.
Danny started at the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow, and looked up to see his grandfather walking toward him, gasping from exertion in the frigid air.
“Thought I’d find you here,” the gray-haired man drawled as he sat down beside his grandson. “We’ve looked everywhere else, and your parents are worried and churned up about you taking off like this. What’s ailing you, boy? This should be one of the happiest days of your life. Those folks at the trailer court have worked hard preparing a big dinner for you. They’ve invited lots of people, even the mayor and city council members will be there, to see you get that medal and the $1,000 check they’ve collected for you. Surely you aren’t planning on letting them down, are you?”
“I’m sorry about letting them down, but I’m not going, Gramps,” Danny whispered, looking out across the creek. “I don’t deserve the medal or the money. I’m not a hero. I just happened to be delivering a newspaper to the Clarks when I noticed a trailer on fire. Mrs. Clark came out of the trailer next door with some sugar she’d borrowed and started screaming that her babies were inside their burning trailer. I didn’t even think about what I was doing. I just ran in through the smoke and felt around in the cribs until I found the baby and little girl and crawled outside with them. If I hadn’t done it, someone else probably would have. I—I’m really ashamed of strutting around like some big war hero or movie star,” he added miserably.
“I’m glad you admitted that last part, Danny,” his grandfather said quietly. “You did have a swelled head for awhile, after the newspaper stories and after being on the evening news, but I knew you’d get over it. I guess it’s only natural when you’re suddenly plunged into the limelight to enjoy getting attention, but now you’re going too far the other way. Suppose someone else hadn’t done what you did in those few critical seconds—”
“You don’t understand what I mean, Gramps. Nobody does,” Danny interrupted. “That’s not all that’s bothering me. The treatments for smoke inhalation, being in the hospital with my eyes bandaged, and my burned arms and hands really scared me but I didn’t realize then that smoke is so deadly even without flames. But it isn’t that or the pain I had that’s bothering me. Now I keep having nightmares about being trapped and burning to death! Gramps,” Danny whispered desperately, “if I had it to do over, I’m not sure I’d go in after those little kids! I’m not a hero … I’m just the biggest coward in the world!” He buried his face in his arms, not wanting to see shame and disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes.
The elderly man put his hand on the boy’s arm. “I doubt that there’s ever been a hero who wasn’t scared witless later when he realized the full danger of his act. And there probably wouldn’t be any heroes at all if they stopped to think about the risks.”
Gramps was silent for a few moments, thinking back on his own life. Then he went on. “You’ve seen the medal I received for grabbing up a live hand grenade tossed by an arsonist when I was a city fireman. I threw it just before it exploded and was the only one injured. What I never did tell you is that once it was over, I shook and trembled so bad that I fainted. I’ve had my nightmares, too, son, and feelings of guilt. Did I do it to save myself or the seven other firemen who stood staring at it for those few deadly seconds? Well, I still don’t know the answer. Don’t reckon I ever will. But, regardless, eight of us lived, and I got a medal for heroic action. I’m mighty proud of it, and I hope you will be, too, when you show it to your grandchildren someday. But I hope you’ll leave out the part about me being so scared and fainting.” Gramps grinned and reached over and tousled Danny’s hair.
Danny felt the heavy load lift from his shoulders. Gramps did understand his mixed emotions. He had been through it too. Danny arose and smiled as he helped his grandfather to his feet. “I guess we’d better hurry so we don’t disappoint all those people who are waiting. I’ll accept the medal, but I’m going to give the money to Mrs. Clark and her children. They really need it to get settled in another home. And right now I’m promising that my friends will never again have to listen to my big hero story!”
Gramps chuckled and laid his arm across Danny’s shoulders as they walked back to his car. “As one reluctant hero to another, son, I’m proud of you!”

On May 18, 1843, the Prophet dined with Judge Stephen A. Douglas who was presiding at the court in Carthage, Hancock County. The Prophet's scribe on this occasion recorded that "After dinner Judge Douglas requested President Joseph to give him a history of the Missouri persecution, which he did in a very minute manner, for about three hours. . ."
Joseph Smith then pronounced the following prophecy upon Stephen A. Douglas:
"Judge, you will aspire to the presidency of the United States; and if ever you turn your hand against me or the Latter-day Saints, you will feel the weight of the hand of the Almighty upon you; and you will live to see and know that I have testified the truth to you; for the conversation of this day will stick to you through life.
He [Judge Douglas] appeared very friendly, and acknowledged the truth and propriety of President Smith's remarks."[10]
In 1843 Stephen A. Douglas was a young man thirty years of age and was not nationally well known. However, in 1857 he delivered a speech in Springfield, Illinois regarding the rumors, which had been circulated throughout the United States concerning crimes, treason, and rebellion among the Mormons in the Utah territory. The crux of his message was:
"Should such a state of things actually exist as we are led to infer from the reports . . . the knife must be applied to this pestiferous, disgusting cancer which is gnawing into the very vitals of the body politic."[11]
Three years later in June of 1860 at the National Democratic Convention held in Charleston, South Carolina Stephen A. Douglas was nominated for the presidency of the United States, just as Joseph Smith had prophesied seventeen years previously. In the general election later that year Abraham Lincoln carried 18 states; Mr. Breckinridge 11; Mr. Bell 3; and Stephen A. Douglas one. Within a year, with his political aspirations dashed and unfulfilled, Stephen A. Douglas died at his home in Chicago "a disappointed, not to say heart-broken man."[12]