Gospel Story Finder

The next morning at breakfast, Uncle Hank wiped his plate clean with a piece of toast and said, “You two boys come down to the barn when you’ve finished eating, and I’ll show you how to saddle old Bill. He’s not much of a looker, but he’ll take you where you want to go. He’s the best horse I’ve ever had.”
Bill was an old, shaggy-looking, blue-gray gelding with black-stocking feet. He looked about as exciting to ride as a rail fence, but when we walked up, he clopped over to us. Kipp held out his hand and stroked Bill’s soft muzzle.
Uncle Hank saddled Bill, carefully explaining what he was doing. Then he stripped off the saddle and blanket and made us do it while he watched. He had us each saddle Bill three times to make sure that we knew what we were doing. Then he pushed his hat back and said, “I’d like you boys to do me a favor. See the fence that runs east toward that far hill and then cuts back toward that clump of trees and brush?”
Kipp and I looked where he was pointing.
“I’d like you to ride along that fence and see if there are any breaks. Sometimes kids bring their four-wheelers and dirt bikes out this way. Occasionally they push through the fence. Sometimes they even cut the wires. If I don’t get the fence mended, I have cows all over the place. Do you two think you can handle that?”
“Sure, we can handle it,” I answered for both of us.
It was strange how Kipp and I forgot about Christmas once we got on old Bill. We felt pleased that Uncle Hank had enough confidence in us to send us out on this kind of assignment.
Most of the fence was in good shape. We made note of a few places where the wires sagged or the fence posts had been pushed over at an angle. Just before noon we were heading back toward the ranch house, having made a complete, eight-mile loop around the ranch.
The house was still more than a half-mile away when Kipp called out, “Look at that!” He pointed to a section of the fence where all five strands of wire had been cut. There were four-wheeler tire marks crisscrossing the ground. We were so intent on the hole in the fence that we didn’t pay attention to where old Bill was stepping until he flinched and started dancing strangely.
“Whoa, Bill,” Kipp called out, tugging on the reins. “What’s the matter?”
Bill whinnied. His head came up and I could feel his body grow tense as he stepped stiffly. Looking down, I discovered the danger. “Kipp,” I called out, panic in my voice, “Bill’s stepped into a bunch of barbed wire.”
Whoever had cut through the fence had tossed the cut strands into the grass. Bill had walked into them, and they tangled around his legs. The more he moved, the more the sharp barbs bit into his flesh; and the more Bill felt the prick of the barbs, the more panicked he became.
“Jacob, I can’t hold him. What if he starts to buck?”
I closed my eyes and prayed with all my might. Even before I opened my eyes, someone spoke in a calm, gentle voice. “Easy, boy. Stop your dancing, old feller.”
I felt Bill relax and saw a short, dark, wrinkled man with white hair streaked with black. He took Bill’s bridle and stroked his neck. He spoke softly in what I guessed was Spanish. While he stroked Bill with one hand, he reached into a leather pouch on his belt, pulled out some wire cutters, and began to snip at the wire tangled about the horse’s legs. Soon the old man led Bill, Kipp, and me from danger.
“Where’d you come from, Mister?” I rasped as Kipp and I slid off our mount.
He didn’t answer my question. “You are riding Hank’s best horse. How come you are riding old Bill?”
“Hank’s our uncle,” Kipp explained.
The old man nodded, gathered up the loose wire, and disappeared into the mesquite.
“Let’s follow him,” Kipp suggested after we’d seen for ourselves that there was no more wire around to cause trouble. Cautiously we led Bill through the mesquite toward a little grove of trees. We found a little board hut hunkered down under two big trees. It wasn’t much bigger than our bedroom back home. There was a small garden to one side. We knocked on the door and heard someone shuffle around inside; then the door squeaked open. There stood the short, wrinkled man, staring at us.
“We just wanted to thank you for helping us with old Bill,” I got out.
“Yeah, thanks,” Kipp joined in.
“Bill’s a good horse,” the man responded. “I saw you riding and knew the wires were down. I was afraid you’d walk into them before I could fix the fence.” He gestured toward the inside of his house. “It is time to eat. You eat too.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order. Kipp and I tied Bill to a post and went inside. The old man had a stack of corn tortillas and a pot of refried beans on a rough wooden table. I’d never eaten tortillas and beans before, but they were good. He also had a special salsa that he’d made from his own garden.
At first we just ate, no one saying much of anything. Then the old man started to talk. He had a crinkly little grin and smiling eyes under his bushy gray brows. His name was Carlos Sanchez, and he’d worked since he was a boy on Uncle Hank’s ranch. Uncle Hank’s dad had owned the place back then.
Carlos didn’t have any family, and Uncle Hank had given him this place. Although he couldn’t work much anymore, occasionally he’d wander over to the ranch and do odd jobs.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Kipp and I returned to the ranch house. Aunt Clara had been worrying about us, but as soon as we told her about finding Carlos, she smiled. “He is a good man.”

When Matt was in junior high, he was standing at the bus stop absentmindedly kicking rocks. One of them accidentally hit the shoe of a fellow classmate—the wrong classmate. He was smaller than Matt, and younger, but he just happened to be a member of a very wild gang. The boy began pounding Matt in front of all the other kids at the bus stop. Matt didn’t fight back, knowing that if he did he’d have the entire gang to deal with. He went home humiliated.
Matt got over the incident when he left junior high. Everything was much better in high school and got even better in college. What he learned was that, basically, there are very few situations in life that are permanent. Time heals wounds, and embarrassment.

Last July our family had the opportunity of attending Philmont Scout Camp in New Mexico where my dad was receiving training. During that week I celebrated my 10th birthday. Shortly after my family and new friends had sung “Happy Birthday” and I had blown out the candles, Sister Cheryl Lant, the Primary general president, who was also participating in the training, came in with her husband. Sister Lant said, “I heard that someone was having a birthday!” They stayed and enjoyed cake with us and visited. It was fun to have Sister Lant take time from her busy schedule to come and wish one of her Primary children a happy birthday.Katelyn B., age 10, Utah

We all have concerns and needs that we can feel alone in. He cares about our concerns no matter how great or small. I have felt the need for His help when worrying about seemingly small things like the ever-present friend I call “house repairs.” Without a spouse to consult with, I can worry alone about the right contractor, fair costs, taking time away from work to be home, and being a good steward over my finances and home. It was a triumph the other day to get my garage door fixed! The Lord heard my concern. And though small in the grand scheme of things, He answered my prayer. How? Through a kind neighbor, the help of the Spirit, and a video on YouTube, I was blessed to know what to do to fix the door.

Later in the afternoon, after classes, Melanie, Jackie, and Petra go downtown to meet Sister Howells. They wander by the Spinrädl (the Spinning Wheel Inn), a Gasthaus that is one of Kaiserslautern’s oldest buildings. They look at the original city walls, the Stiftskirche (the biggest church downtown), the cars, and the people. Jackie stops at the Bundespost office and mails a letter.
This is another kind of learning—after-school learning, cultural assimilation. “There are so many things to see. I get excited just walking and looking,” Jackie says. “There is history everywhere you turn.” Melanie adds, “I want to remember the people, the way they dress and walk, the way they sell things, the open-air markets, the way they drive their cars and honk their horns, the posters plastered on every wall. When I go away to college in two years, I want to take part of Germany with me, at least in my mind.”
Sister Howells pulls up just as rain is starting to pour. Everyone’s a little bit wet and glad to be warm and drying out together inside the car. At home they change clothes, dry their hair, have dinner and family prayers, and talk over the day’s activities. Grandmother joins the group—in fact, she fixed the meal. Petra is invited to stay. On the front door and one of the walls Brother Howells had taped inspirational thoughts and reminders about home evening assignments. Some of the children read them as they respond to the call to eat. One of them notices a letter from John, 18, a sophomore at BYU, and brings it to the table to read to the family. They listen, even though they’ve already read it themselves. Somehow, they don’t mind the repetition.
This is another kind of learning—learning about family love and closeness, about the importance of building eternal ties.

Let me tell you of a young man I knew some years ago. He began dating long before he was 16. He took young ladies out alone, to places where he and a girlfriend ought not to have gone. He began going steady. Hand-holding led to kissing, kissing to more passionate kissing, then petting, and finally fornication a number of times in his later teen years.

From the earliest parts of that downhill road, his parents and priesthood leaders fervently counseled him to turn away from bad practices. He always dismissed the counsel.

“I never planned on going all the way,” he said once, “I thought a little involvement with the world would give me experience.”

When it was time for his missionary interviews, he made matters worse by lying to his bishop and stake president. I was amazed to learn later that he’d even transgressed morally after he had received his call and been to the temple. How disappointed the Lord must have been to see one of his servants take a call so lightly. How much more disappointed the Lord must have been to see him set aside his temple covenants.

In the Missionary Training Center, this young man felt great agony. He couldn’t sleep most nights. The Spirit of the Lord came strongly upon other missionaries, but he felt miserable. His leaders asked if there were transgressions that had not come to light. He kept on lying.

In the mission field, the intensity of the Spirit increased. The other missionaries began to have spiritual experiences, to teach the missionary discussions with power and authority, to baptize, and to experience solid growth as they served the Lord.

Finally, this young man could go no further in deceiving his companions, his parents, his local leaders, and his mission president. Several weeks into his mission, in total agony for his sins, he confessed them to his mission president.

What a sad experience! He felt greatly relieved that he’d finally confessed, but with all his heart wished he had done so four or five years earlier. With great sadness for all, the young man was sent home. One can only imagine the pain, humiliation, and regret. How his parents and family wept! How the heavens must have wept!

He told me that in the beginning it was hard to lie, but it became easier as he went along. The Lord told us that in the telestial kingdom, the lowest of the three kingdoms of glory, will be found the murderers, the adulterers, and the liars. Lying is that serious! We may temporarily deceive our fellowman, but we will never deceive the Lord. We will suffer agony and misery until the truth is finally known. However smart, educated, or talented you may be, you cannot fool the Lord.

As the years have gone by, this young man has faced serious trials as a result of his sins and lies of his youth. He was finally married and had children, but later separated from his wife. Because of additional transgressions he was excommunicated.

Now this man is at last back in the Church, reunited with his wife, and trying his best to raise up his family to the Lord. But it has been a long, difficult road. As a young man, he never would have believed how serious the consequences would be for having transgressed and then not corrected the situation when he was young. He has learned through bitter experience that those transgressions tend to follow one through the years and affect parents, spouses, and children.

“I was twenty-eight years old when I joined the Church, and I wanted to have my father’s permission. I went to him and asked for his blessing, and he said, ‘Let me think about it.’ The next morning, he said, ‘I have two questions for you. Number one: Have you really investigated this church?’

“‘Yes sir.’ I answered.

“‘Question number two: Are you really convinced that it’s true?’

“I said, ‘Yes.’

“‘Then you have to be baptized,’ he replied. ‘If you are convinced that something is right, you must do it.’

“His integrity was a strong influence in my life. I personally believe that everything has its roots in honesty.

The youth of Calgary Alberta West Stake planned a big day devoted to service. The project included holding car washes in several locations and donating the money collected to the Alberta Children’s Hospital. But the weather had something to say in the matter. Their plans were not only rained out; they were snowed out.
Instead of washing dirty cars, the youth turned their brushes and buckets to the windows and baseboards of two chapels. After a thorough job, they turned the rest of the day into a fun time with food and volleyball.
The Super Saturday activity concluded with a banquet and special speaker. In the testimonies borne by several young people, they mentioned learning a vivid lesson about being flexible and dealing with life’s disappointments.

Starting high school was scary. I felt lost in a massive student body, the big campus, and new classes. I tried to keep somewhat invisible so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself.
Slowly I adjusted to my new situation. I got involved in the theater department and made some great friends. By October, I was invited to a birthday party for one of the older, popular boys in our theater group.
I was ecstatic! It was a costume party, and I spent hours putting together an Egyptian dress. The night of the party, my heart was pounding as I walked into the house and saw all my new theater friends in fantastic costumes. Many of them were juniors and seniors, and I still couldn’t believe that they had invited me.
About an hour into the party, our host pulled out a movie and excitedly called all of us to go into the other room to watch it. My stomach clenched when I saw the movie’s case. It was not a movie I wanted to see. Ever!
We all herded into the next room. I tucked myself into a corner of a couch and felt sick. My mind raced over what I should do. Everyone in the room seemed so excited to watch the film. They were my theater group. They were my new friends. I didn’t want to ostracize myself so soon after finally feeling included.
As the title of the movie flickered onto the screen, I knew what I had to do. Without saying a word, I stood up from the couch and walked quietly to the kitchen and stood there in the dark for a minute. Then I turned on the light and considered my options.
I knew the movie would go on for about two hours. Should I call my mom to come get me? Should I wait around in the kitchen for two hours? I had no idea, but the sick feeling in my stomach had lessened, and I was surprised that I no longer felt afraid.
As I stood there in the kitchen trying to figure out what to do, the door from the other room opened and a pretty, popular junior girl walked through. She smiled sheepishly at me and then confessed, “I really didn’t want to see that movie, but I didn’t want to be the only one who left. When I saw you leave and you didn’t come back, I wondered if you felt the same way.”
I nodded, and we both laughed. We hadn’t said more than two sentences before the door opened and another girl came through.
“Did you want to see that movie?” she whispered timidly.
“No,” we both admitted to her.
Over the course of the next five minutes, people kept walking through the door, confessing that they didn’t actually want to see that movie. When at last our host came through the door, he announced, “I’ve turned off the movie. Does anyone want to play a game?”
Later that night, I thought about what had happened. Would we all have sat there watching that awful movie if no one had moved? How would I have felt now if I had stayed? I was struck by the thought that no one had really wanted to see the movie, but everyone had been too afraid to leave. I was surprised that I wasn’t alone in wanting to do the right thing.
That thought gave me a new courage that later helped me make many other decisions before high school was over. Sometimes my decisions left me standing alone. But far more often, my decisions created a chain reaction of good choices by people around me, just like it did at that birthday party.

A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

When Henry arrived in Utah, he couldn’t read or write, but he learned very quickly. Brigham, as Henry was now called, helped to support his family by farming, herding cattle, training horses, prospecting, mining, and blacksmithing. One night he and a friend shot a 550-pound (250-kg) grizzly bear. They sold the hide, and Brigham used his share of the money to help pay for his education at the University of Deseret (now the University of Utah). He finished his two-year course of study in one year, graduating in 1878 at the head of his class.

Loading up the bus to take a group of Latter-day Saint youth on a tour of Church history sites seems like it could only happen in the United States. But on one bright Saturday in May, youth from the Cardiff Wales Stake, with lunches stuffed in their backpacks and plenty of enthusiasm for the outing, set off for a special activity to commemorate the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood and to uncover the roots of the gospel in the British Isles.
And the roots run deep, back 160 years, to the time when Wilford Woodruff and Brigham Young walked along the roads in the villages that the bus was now driving through.
With many teenagers in one vehicle, the noise level in the bus is high as they cross the border from Wales into England. Everyone is talking and having a great time. The Welsh youth just love being together any chance they get. They love being around friends who believe the same way they do. Charlotte Forward, 15, of the Cwmbran Ward enjoys being with her friends Kathryn Elliott of the Blackwood Ward and Rachel Griffiths of the Newport-Gwent Ward. They really only get to see each other at stake activities, and spending all day together is a huge treat. Charlotte says, “Wales is a beautiful place to live. Everyone is so great to be with. We all get along in the stake. Everyone seems to be related in some way, especially our family. I’m something like the seventh generation in the Church. Some of my ancestors emigrated to Utah, but some stayed. Now there seem to be Forwards everywhere.”
The bus pulls into the village of Ledbury. It’s a fairly ordinary country town these days except for the charming old covered outdoor market on the main street. Andrew Dearden, the stake Young Men president, tells the youth that the first missionaries in this area were asked to preach in the market square. A few of the young men, who will be serving missions themselves in a few years, get out of the bus and walk under the old roof of the market. Would they have the nerve to stand in that spot and start talking about the gospel to the local townspeople? How would they react if the crowd did not want to listen?
Some of them are astounded that the missionaries 160 years ago had such success spreading the gospel. Clive Wilkinson, 18, is looking forward to his mission. But he is in awe to think that back then, hundreds of people in this area listened to the missionaries and believed. Some of those early converts heard Wilford Woodruff give a single sermon and asked to be baptized.
“It’s amazing that people would be converted listening to just one talk,” says Clive. “I’m a stake missionary, and when we go out with the missionaries now, it’s nothing like that. We’re lucky to get in the door. It’s amazing that the missionaries back then could come over here with this new religion which no one had heard about, and people would have so much faith to just believe them and be converted straightaway like that.”
The next two stops are very different from each other, but both are mentioned often in Church history. The first stop is for lunch at the Malvern Hills. This is the spot where Wilford Woodruff dedicated the area to the teaching of the gospel. After finishing off their sandwiches and crisps (potato chips), the group hikes up a trail, leaving the roads and houses behind, to the grassy slopes at the summit. From there they look one direction and can see Herefordshire spread out at their feet. Then they turn and can see into Wales toward their homes.
The second stop is even more significant. It’s the John Benbow farm. Although the farm itself is privately owned now, the small pond where hundreds of converts were baptized has been purchased and is maintained by the Church. The group relaxes on the freshly cut grass and tries to imagine the impressive scene when Wilford Woodruff was a missionary here.
Although there wasn’t a lot to see except the pond at the Benbow farm, the youth were quiet. The peaceful spirit of the place seemed to penetrate every heart. “It felt really special,” said Suzy Taylor, Blackwood Ward, “to think those people had actually been here. It was nice to see where our leaders were talking about.”
The final stop was at the remains of the Gadfield Elm chapel. Just the rock walls stand. The roof is gone, and the nettles have grown up inside. But the chapel was the first building owned by the Church outside of the United States. It is easy to imagine what it must have been like 160 years ago, as people walked down the winding country road to the chapel. What is hard to imagine is the power and spirit that must have been there when Wilford Woodruff preached. In one evening, they learned the truth, and it changed the course of their lives.
The seeds that were planted then still bloom in the youth that come back to visit the places where such miracles took place. “It’s quite amazing, really,” said Joseph Parry of the Caerphilly Branch. “These places are around us. I’ve always thought of Church history as being in America. It was actually in Britain, too.”

Todd had a hard time sitting still during sacrament meeting. He swung his feet. He wiggled in his seat.
Todd liked to sit on Daddy’s lap at church. But Daddy was out of town today. “Todd,” Mommy whispered. “It’s time to be reverent during the sacrament.” She gave him a copy of the Friend.
Todd looked at the pictures. But soon he got tired of being still. He held his baby sister, Sarah’s, hand. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his. Todd smiled.
Soon the bread tray was passed to him. Todd was hungry. He used both hands to grab lots of bread. Mommy frowned. She said, “Next time, just take one.”
After the meeting, Mommy smiled at Todd. “Thank you for helping Sarah while Daddy is away.”
Todd liked helping Mommy at church. He thought about all the bread he took.
“I’m sorry I took a lot of bread. Why do we only get one piece?” he asked.
Mommy hugged Todd. “We don’t take the bread because we are hungry. We take the bread to remember Jesus. And we take just one piece so that everyone can have a piece to remember Jesus.”
Todd tried extra hard to be reverent during church the next week. He took just one piece of bread. He was happy he could remember Jesus. He wanted to help others remember Jesus too.

The first missionary to be called bearing a passport from the U.S.S.R. is Elder Jaanus Silla, from Tallinn, Estonia. Soon after his baptism, he yearned for an opportunity to serve a mission. Yet practical obstacles loomed like impossibilities. He needed an exit visa, funds for a mission, and support for his mother. His mission president, Steven R. Mecham, counseled him to keep the commandments and to have faith that his righteous desires would be granted. In a marvelous manner, this occurred. Those obstacles were overcome. Elder Silla now serves in the Utah Salt Lake City Mission!

Julie Elsmore wanted to do something special for her brother and several friends while they were serving their missions. She started writing letters and sending small packages. Soon her list of missionary correspondents expanded to several dozen including missionary couples and sister missionaries. She now has organized a newsletter that highlights one missionary a month and includes encouraging advice and experiences of other missionaries. She remembers birthdays and sends surprise packages when they are needed to raise spirits.
Julie’s efforts keep her busy, and she has a part-time job to help pay the postage for letters to her “adopted” missionaries. Julie is a member of the Northridge Second Ward, Chatsworth California Stake.

First settling in Perth, a major city on the Indian Ocean shoreline of western Australia, Sister Lawson encountered Latter-day Saints in a local theater group. When she took on the job of stage manager, both the manager of the group and the leading male actor were Latter-day Saints.
Every time the group started or finished rehearsals, the manager called them together for prayer, Sister Lawson recalls. “Even though the rest of us were not members, it gave me a very warm feeling—I always used to quietly pray before I went on stage, and this seemed right, somehow.”
An invitation to attend Church meetings followed, and Sister Lawson was soon baptized. Naturally cheerful and enthusiastic, she served as ward and stake drama director in Perth and became thoroughly involved in the Church.

In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination, to cast off the old person and to measure up to the stature of true potential. But the way is rugged and the course is strenuous. So discovered John Helander from Göteborg, Sweden. John is 26 years of age and is handicapped, in that it is difficult for him to coordinate his motions.

At a youth conference in Kungsbacka, Sweden, John took part in an 800-meter running race. He had no chance to win. Rather, his was the opportunity to be humiliated, mocked, derided, scorned. Perhaps John remembered another who lived long ago and far away. Wasn’t He mocked? Wasn’t He derided? Wasn’t He scorned? But He prevailed. He won His race. Maybe John could win his.

What a race it was! Struggling, surging, pressing, the runners bolted far beyond John. There was wonderment among the spectators. Who is this runner who lags so far behind? The participants on their second lap of this two-lap race passed John while he was but halfway through the first lap. Tension mounted as the runners pressed toward the tape. Who would win? Who would place second? Then came the final burst of speed; the tape was broken. The crowd cheered; the winner was proclaimed.

The race was over—or was it? Who is this contestant who continues to run when the race is ended? He crosses the finish line on but his first lap. Doesn’t the foolish lad know he has lost? Ever onward he struggles, the only participant now on the track. This is his race. This must be his victory. No one among the vast throng of spectators leaves. Every eye is on this valiant runner. He makes the final turn and moves toward the finish line. There is awe; there is admiration. Every spectator sees himself running his own race of life.

As John approaches the finish line, the audience, as one, rises to its feet. There is a loud applause of acclaim. Stumbling, falling, exhausted but victorious, John Helander breaks the newly tightened tape. Officials are human beings, too. The cheering echoes for miles. And just maybe, if the ear is carefully attuned, that Great Scorekeeper—even the Lord—can be heard to say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

I remember one of the last sacrament meetings my father ever attended. After fighting cancer for a year, my dad was reaching the end of his life. The opening hymn that day at church was “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30).
I peered down the row to look at my dad. He was crying. I moved down the bench to sit next to him and asked him if he was crying because of the pain or the song. As we sang, “And should we die before our journey’s through,” he looked straight into my eyes, and I knew that he was leaving us.
Now it brings me peace when I finish the rest of the song: “Happy day! All is well! We then are free from toil and sorrow, too; With the just we shall dwell!” This song of comfort is part of my father’s legacy to me.

The morning had started out with a beautiful sunrise as 17-year-old James Little and his father went about their morning chores. In 1869 there was always plenty of work to do on the farm. Horses, cows, and other animals needed to be fed, stalls cleaned, and the cows needed to be milked. But today, instead of going through the same old routine, James’s father had asked James to go out on the desert where their cattle grazed and round up an old steer that was ready to butcher. James eagerly packed a coat, a canteen of water, and a light lunch his mother had prepared for him.
A newly broken young horse paced in the corral. After several attempts at trying to catch him, James was finally able to slip a bridle around his head and saddle him. He wrapped his lasso around the saddle horn and set off to find the steer.
James traveled until mid-afternoon without stopping. He gazed across the barren, dusty landscape of southern Utah. Dry desert grasses and scrub-brush dotted the ground. James could see no sign of the old steer.
The horse was restless and tired, and James knew they both needed a rest and some food. About a mile away he could see a small grove of trees and decided that it would be a good place to stop.
The young horse loped over to the grove of trees, eager to be relieved of his burden. He pranced and shied as they neared a large tree. Suddenly a rabbit dashed out from behind the tree, spooking the horse. The frightened animal jerked to the right, smashing James’s knee against the trunk of the tree. He fought to control the horse as it reared and jumped, again battering James’s leg against the tree. James yelped in pain and surprise as the reins slipped from his grasp, and he fell to the hard ground. Freed of its rider, the horse took off at a dead run across the desert.
James lay in a daze. Then his leg started throbbing, bringing him back to consciousness. He realized his horse was long gone and with it the food in his saddlebag, the canteen of water, and his coat. Darkness was falling, bringing a chill that comes with desert nights.
James looked around him, trying to decide what to do. To his left, he saw a limb of a tree hanging within his reach. Carefully he grasped the branch and then slowly put some weight on his damaged leg and tried to stand. But the pain was instantly agonizing, and he collapsed on the ground. James looked at his injured foot, and realized that it was swelling rapidly. Taking his knife out of its scabbard, he carefully cut the boot off his swollen foot. His leg was bruised and misshapen, and with gentle probing, he knew that it was also badly injured.
James then did the only thing he knew he could do. He took his hat off, closed his eyes, and offered up a heartfelt prayer to his Heavenly Father for help.
No sooner had he finished his prayer and opened his eyes when he heard a horse approaching. A minute later, his horse was standing next to him. James stared in astonishment at the lasso that had somehow become unwrapped from the saddle-horn and was dangling within his reach.
Slowly and painfully, James grasped the lasso and began pulling himself up into the saddle. The newly broken young horse stood patiently until its rider was seated in the saddle and then set off for home.
Throughout his life, James never doubted that his Heavenly Father knew him and had heard his pleas for help one day in the desert. His story has touched me and strengthened my testimony. As I have gained experiences of my own during my teenage years and beyond, I have learned that my Heavenly Father is near and listens to me when I pray.

A few years ago I was in a Salt Lake hospital emergency room with my sons and a neighbor boy—the result of a backyard touch football game.
While we waited in the emergency room for the doctor to put one of the participants back together, we saw a young lady brought into the hospital. She may have been seventeen—tall, willowy, well dressed, and having a wild reaction to an overdose of drugs. As we watched, she collapsed, and I thought, There is no way this child can survive this experience. I wondered how she had come to this sad situation in her life. Had she not heard the words of the prophets? Had she heard them and laughed as if they were the warnings of men out of touch with the realities of a modern world? Had one of us been negligent in our opportunities to teach her? Had her parents known the truth but not been willing or able to help her understand?
While waiting in that hospital thinking, pondering, and praying for her, I recalled a principle the Lord teaches us in the 89th section of the Doctrine and Covenants. It is found in the fourth verse:
“Behold, verily, thus saith the Lord unto you: In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days, I have warned you, and forewarn you, by giving unto you this word of wisdom by revelation.”