Gospel Story Finder

Hey, wanna buy a cool pen? It has four different colors.
Where’d you get it? How much do you want for it?
My dad gave it to me. You can have it for a dollar.
Dad did say I could spend part of my birthday money any way I wanted.
Do you know where he got that pen? He saw some kid drop it and grabbed it before the kid turned around. He bragged about it to me.
Later, at afternoon recess …
I don’t want anything that was stolen. Just give me my money back.
Too bad. I already spent the money on nachos for lunch.
What am I going to do with this?
… and it has four colors, and it was a birthday present …
Are you looking for this?
Maybe I lost a dollar, but I get to keep my self-respect.

The beauty and eloquence of an expression of gratitude is reflected in a newspaper story of some years ago:
The District of Columbia police auctioned off about 100 unclaimed bicycles Friday. “One dollar,” said an 11-year-old boy as the bidding opened on the first bike. The bidding, however, went much higher. “One dollar,” the boy repeated hopefully each time another bike came up.
The auctioneer, who had been auctioning stolen or lost bikes for 43 years, noticed that the boy’s hopes seemed to soar higher whenever a racer-type bicycle was put up.
Then there was just one racer left. The bidding went to eight dollars. “Sold to that boy over there for nine dollars!” said the auctioneer. He took eight dollars from his own pocket and asked the boy for his dollar. The youngster turned it over in pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters—took his bike, and started to leave. But he went only a few feet. Carefully parking his new possession, he went back, gratefully threw his arms around the auctioneer’s neck, and cried.

At times an awareness of the elderly is brought into focus by a reminder from one ever so young. May I share with you a Pakistani folktale which illustrates this truth:
An ancient grandmother lived with her daughter and grandson. As she grew frail and feeble, instead of being a help around the house, she became a constant trial. She broke plates and cups, lost knives, spilled water. One day, exasperated because the old woman had broken another precious plate, the daughter sent the grandson to buy his grandmother a wooden plate. The boy hesitated because he knew a wooden plate would humiliate his grandmother. But his mother insisted, so off he went. He returned bringing not one, but two wooden plates.
“I asked you to buy only one,” his mother said. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Yes,” said the boy. “But I bought the second one so there would be one for you when you get old.”

Another couple recently served in a small village south of Santiago, Chile. They had no Spanish skills and were apprehensive about being in a different country so far from the comforts of home. But they plunged in with total dedication, loving and serving the people. Before long, the small branch grew from 12 to 75 members. When it came time for them to leave, the entire branch rented a bus so they could go to the airport, four hours away, and say good-bye to their special friends.

The Prophet Joseph faithfully kept this first journal every day for nine days, then stopped for almost 10 months. He resumed in October 1833, when he left home on a proselytizing mission to Upper Canada. The entries during this mission are a rich source of insight into his sincerity and the spiritual and emotional dimensions of his personality. For example, Joseph recorded for October 12: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but [I] have much anxiety about my family.” Later that day he received a revelation assuring Sidney Rigdon and him of their families’ well-being (see D&C 100:1). On his return to Kirtland, Ohio, on November 4, 1833, Joseph dictated a journal entry to Oliver Cowdery, the second elder of the Church: “Found my family all well according to the promise of the Lord, for which blessings I feel to thank his holy name.”

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

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

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

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

Our little blue car rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car, which contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town (population 880) for the big city of 26,000, was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.
After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August came to an end, I began to get more excited about attending this big school that had almost as many people as the whole town I left.
With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to my first period class. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.
As the days continued, I found that the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the music I liked and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to my old school for my last year of school. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.
Although I was a member of the Church, I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house where I used to live. There was at that time no branch there and our family seldom traveled the distance to the nearest ward. When we moved, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, even after she explained it to me. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.
Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “there is another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”
Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

Then my husband was called to be a mission president in an unsettled, chaotic country in the developing world. It was 10,000 miles from home and light-years away from the culture and communication I knew. But, in the instant of my call as a full-time missionary, I felt a little like Alma and the sons of Mosiah—that I was called to be an “[instrument] in the hands of God to bring about this great work.” I also felt something I am not sure they did—overwhelming fear!
Over subsequent days I pulled out my patriarchal blessing and read it again and again, searching for deeper understanding. Even knowing I was going to live out a promise I had received from a patriarch decades earlier did not alleviate my concerns. Could I leave my married and unmarried children and my aging father and mother-in-law behind? Would I know the right things to do and say? What would my husband and I eat? Would I be safe in a country that was politically unstable and dangerous? I felt inadequate on every level.
In my quest for peace, I redoubled my efforts to attend the temple. I pondered the meaning of my covenants in a way I had never done before. For me, at this defining crossroads in my life, my temple covenants served as a foundation and catalyst. Yes, I feared, but I realized I had chosen to make personal, binding, sacred commitments I meant to keep. When all was said and done, this wasn’t someone else’s service to perform. This was my mission call, and I determined to serve.
Joseph Smith’s father pronounced this blessing upon his son’s head: “The Lord thy God has called thee by name out of the heavens. Thou hast been called … to the great work of the Lord: to do a work in this generation which no other … would do as thyself, in all things according to the will of the Lord.” The Prophet Joseph was called to his unique part of “the great work of the Lord,” and as overwhelmed and unprepared as I felt, I knew I was called to my portion of the work, too. This insight was helpful and gave me courage.

My wife and I tearfully opened the letter containing our mission call. We had been planning for many years to serve a mission together. Now we were delighted to find we were called to the New Zealand Auckland Mission, where I had served 45 years earlier as a young missionary. Memories of those wonderful years flooded my mind.
One day during my first mission, my companion, Elder Gordon Gallup, and I walked along a rural road late in the day when there was little traffic. It seemed no one wanted to give a ride to two tired elders. We knelt and asked the Lord to help us get a ride.
Almost immediately a pickup truck stopped. The driver, Sam Potaka, lived close to Taihape, our destination. When we reached his village, Utiku, he invited us to stay for dinner at his house. We held a wonderful missionary discussion with his family, and in due time Sam’s wife, mother-in-law, two married daughters, one married son, and their families gained testimonies and joined the Church. Later two other sons were also converted. The conversion of this wonderful family was a highlight of my mission.
Forty-five years later, my wife and I wondered if any of those I had taught would still be alive. Would we be able to find them? Would they be active in the Church?
Soon after we arrived in New Zealand, we found more than 100 descendants of Sam Potaka, including children, grandchildren, and their families. Most had remained active in the Church. Many had become leaders in their stakes and wards and had sent their children and grandchildren on missions.
One of Sam Potaka’s daughters, Una Tsaclis, had become a family history expert. She had researched hundreds of ancestors, including her husband’s Greek progenitors. Because there are few members of the Church in Greece, her family history work was unique.
My wife and I were invited to go to the New Zealand temple with Una and other family members to perform sealings for their ancestors. It was an unforgettable temple experience. We realized that not only had many family members joined the Church because a good man listened to the Spirit and gave a ride to two missionaries, but now those family members and their children were performing temple ordinances for hundreds of Greek and Maori ancestors who had passed away without the opportunity of hearing the gospel. The Lord’s mathematics multiplies the opportunities to share and accept the gospel both in this life and after death.
Never before had Doctrine and Covenants 64:33 meant so much: “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.”

My name is Emily. Do you know what I like best about being me? I like having lots of feelings inside me, and I like showing my feelings in lots of different ways.
Today I gave a talk about Jesus Christ in Primary. I showed I was scared when my voice cracked.
I felt peaceful, though, when I looked up and saw my father and mother smiling at me. I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh out loud when my big brother winked at me.
I felt happy when I told everyone that Jesus is my friend. I said, “Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, and I love them.”
I showed reverence when I walked to my seat with my arms folded. I closed my eyes and bowed my head when the closing prayer was given. I listened to the prayer and said amen at the end so that Father in Heaven knew I was praying too.
During sacrament meeting I sat still in my seat and thought about Jesus while the bread and water were being passed. I felt warm and calm and happy and peaceful. I felt the Holy Spirit inside my heart. I like that feeling best of all.

My grandfather, Fritz Hjalmar Lundgren, emigrated from Sweden when he was 19 years old. He arrived in America alone, with a suitcase and six years of formal schooling. Unable to speak any English, he made his way to Oregon and worked there as a lumberjack and then later, with my grandmother and my mother, joined the Church. He never presided over a ward, but as a faithful home teacher, he brought more than 50 different families into Church activity. How did he do that?

After Grandpa’s death, I was going through a box of his papers and came across a letter written by a man who had come back to church because of Grandpa’s love. The letter read, “Brother Fritz’s secret, I believe, is that he is always on an errand for Heavenly Father.”

That letter was from Brother Wayne Simonis. Grandpa visited him and got to know each member of the family. In time, Grandpa told them that they were needed and invited them to attend church. But that Sunday, Brother Simonis awoke with a dilemma—he had not finished reroofing his house, and rain was expected that week. He decided that he’d go to church, shake hands with Grandpa, and then leave and go home to finish the roof. His family could attend sacrament meeting without him.

His plan was working just fine until, on the roof, he heard someone climbing the ladder. In his words: “When I looked up, … standing at the top of the ladder was Brother Fritz. He just gave me that big smile. At first, I was embarrassed and felt like a little kid getting caught for skipping school. Then … I felt anger. [But Brother Fritz just] took off his suit coat and hung it on the ladder. As he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, he turned to me and said, ‘Brother Simonis, do you have another hammer? This work must be very important or you wouldn’t have left your family, and if it’s that important, I want to help you.’ As I looked into his eyes, I saw only kindness and Christlike love. My anger left. … I laid my tools down that Sunday and followed my good friend down the ladder and back to the chapel.”

Grandpa had obtained his errand from the Lord, and he knew he was to seek out lost sheep. Just as when the four men who carried their friend with palsy onto a roof and then let him down to be healed by Jesus Christ,6 so too did Grandpa’s errand take him to a rooftop. The Lord sends revelation to those seeking to help others.

“I always loved playing baseball. I’m grateful to my parents who let me turn the backyard into a practice baseball diamond every summer. I would line it off, make base pads, and really work hard at bettering my skills. In those days there were no organized Little League ball teams. One neighborhood played another neighborhood. The competition was keen. A dirt lot was cleared, and excitement ran high.
“I recall an experience involving a baseball mitt when I was about nine or ten years old. I was playing baseball with great diligence, and I had an old mitt that was coming apart and just wouldn’t do anymore. The kind of mitt I wanted cost $4.50—a lot of money then. I kept wondering how I could get my father to buy it for me.
“Every day when Dad came home from work, he would sit in a rocking chair or swing on the porch while he waited for dinner. He worked long, hard days, and it was during the depression when times were difficult. I knew that my approach and my timing were vital. One night after Mother had fixed Dad’s favorite dinner, I decided it was the right time. ‘Dad,’ I said, ‘you always taught us that when we do something, we should do it right. Is that correct?’
“‘Yes, that’s right,’ he agreed.
“‘You taught us that if we’re going to do something, it ought to be done with quality. Is that right?’
“‘That’s right,’ he agreed again.
“I said, ‘I’m assigned to pitch a critical game this weekend, and my baseball glove is worn-out. You’d want me to go out there with a high-quality, first-class mitt, wouldn’t you?’
“I brought the old glove out from behind my back, and Dad said, ‘That’s a terrible-looking glove!’
“I said, ‘I need $4.50 to get a new one, and I’ve already picked it out.’
“Dad stopped the porch swing, took out his little note pad and pencil, and started writing.
“I knew I’d lost with my sales pitch.
“‘Well,’ Dad said, ‘let’s see how long it would take you to earn it. At ten cents an hour, that would be forty-five hours of work.’ He then mapped out jobs for me that would require forty-five hours of work.
“Of course you know the end of the story. I didn’t get the mitt that week—but I did a couple of weeks later. I still have that glove. It is priceless to me. It taught me the value of work.”

Let me share a personal story.
My wife and I learned to work better at being equal partners after one day when I decided to make an important decision without consulting her. My action surprised her, took her off guard, and put her in a very difficult situation. Afterward, she put her hands on my shoulders and firmly said, “Ron, please, never do that to me again.” We have pretty much been on the same page ever since.

The years passed. As I was becoming a teenager, I had many dreams for my future, but somehow DeNeece was becoming what I considered to be an ideal person.
I remember the long hours the whole family spent helping her with the election for student council president. We cut out hundreds of blue vinyl “D’s” to put on her posters. During all those nights of drawing, cutting, and gluing, I was certain that she would win the election, and of course, she did. With jealous frustration, I watched her throughout that year. She never lost anything she set out to win, even the high office of governor of Girls’ State.
The inauguration was a memorable event. Our family sat on the stage in the background. I watched her smile of accomplishment as she was escorted down the long aisle lined with 409 other outstanding girls. After she took the oath of office, she was given flowers and other gifts. Cameras seemed to flash endlessly when the trophy was handed to her. During the ceremony, conflicting thoughts kept racing through my mind. DeNeece looked so beautiful as she gave her talk. But why were there tears in people’s eyes, and why did they all stand up when she finished? Why did she always win? I felt proud of her, so why was I angry with her? I was confused and could not understand myself.
The trophy for Most Outstanding Teenager of New Jersey was among her numerous awards I often admired. It took seven columns in the New York Times to summarize DeNeece’s accomplishments. The article entitled “A Jersey Teenager Is a Super Achiever” was placed on a leading page. A cold chill ran through my body as I read and reread the article. My heart and mind were torn as I struggled with my feelings. Why could she do everything so well? Why did she draw everyone to her like a magnet? I knew how much I loved her, yet I was tired of being “DeNeece’s little sister.”
That winter I decided I had to become like her. I tried ballet. I tried drama. I started doing many of the things in which she was interested. Nothing seemed right for me, and I became more frustrated. Although I had regularly prayed, I now developed an even greater need to communicate my thoughts with God. I spent many hours on my knees asking that I might gain peace of mind and understanding of DeNeece and my feelings toward her. It seemed my prayers were finally answered through DeNeece herself. Because of her deep concern for others, she sensed my growing struggle. She knew she needed to help me, so we walked and talked again in the snow.
“Michelle, I am glad you’re you. I’m grateful that you have shared your special talents with me. Help me to become more patient and understanding like you. Help me learn to be close to people on a one-to-one basis. You have so many of the refined qualities that I desire to have someday. Discover how special you really are; then be the best of what you can be. Don’t try to be another DeNeece; be a Michelle. Your gifts and talents will flourish, and we can grow together.”
I was very surprised to find that she desired some of the traits I had. She helped me see that I was trying to mold my ball exactly like hers, yet after many months of uncertain effort, my snowball was still quite small.
After our walk together, I decided to discover and develop my own strengths and talents. I tried playing the clarinet, guitar, and piano, singing, writing poetry, teaching children, and being artistic.
I recognized the beauty of music and the total satisfaction that comes from sharing it with others. When I played in church, I felt an inner fulfillment come to me as a performer and to my friends as an audience. I experienced satisfaction each time people would thank me for touching their hearts with my music.
Just as I was realizing my musical potential, I was asked to teach the three-year-olds in church. I discovered how much happiness comes when a small hand takes mine and two big blue eyes look up to me and say, “Thanks, Michelle, for being my special friend.” Serving the Lord through working with his little children helped me understand the real meaning of the scripture, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:16).
Through accepting other leadership responsibilities, I have had opportunities to help my friends. I have learned that many of their problems originate from their individual families or their lack of purpose in life. Through those hours of talking with them, I have grown to love and appreciate my family even more.
By trying these different experiences I have started to roll my snowball in my own unique path, using my talents as the basis. I get excited when I see the snow accumulate and grow with each new day of development.
When DeNeece came home from college this summer, we shared a free, unpressured week, our strengths and talents working together. I played the piano while we sang duets, we created unusual gifts for our family, and we walked and talked again. We spent many nights until dawn sitting on her thick shag rug sharing memorable experiences of the past years. We also talked about qualities such as being thoughtful, fellowshipping, and understanding others. Then we prayed together that our love for each other might grow continually. We talked about serving the Lord, but each in her own individual way. Finally, we were able to begin unifying our growing snowballs to create one strong snowman.
So in my thoughtful hour, watching the snow glide to the earth, I find that my talents flow gently to me as I am willing to discover my gifts and myself.

May I share with you an example of Brother Clayton M. Christensen, a member of the Church who is a professor at Harvard University.
When he was 16 years old, Brother Christensen decided that he would not play sports on Sunday. Years later, when he attended Oxford University in England, he played center on the basketball team. That year they had an undefeated season and went to the championship tournament.
They won their games fairly easily in the tournament, making it to the finals. Then Brother Christensen looked at the schedule and saw that the final game was on a Sunday. He went to his coach with his dilemma. His coach told Brother Christensen he expected him to play in the game.
Brother Christensen went to his hotel room. He knelt down. He asked his Heavenly Father if it would be all right, just this once, if he played that game on Sunday. He said that before he had finished praying, he received the answer: “Clayton, what are you even asking me for? You know the answer.”
He went to his coach, telling him how sorry he was that he wouldn’t be playing in the final game. Then he went to his Sunday meetings.
Brother Christensen learned that it is easier to keep the commandments 100 percent of the time than it is 98 percent of the time.

There were two outs, and I was up at bat. It was late in the game, and the score was close. We needed a run, but I was a very average second baseman. Trying to fake confidence, I nervously stepped to the plate.
“Strike one!” “Strike two!” The next pitch was fast and outside, but I wanted to hit it so badly I swung anyway. I heard a “crack” and watched my line drive sail over the third baseman’s head. I dropped my bat and ran, the first base coach waving me on to second. Adrenaline pumping, I rounded the base and saw the third base coach signal me to hold up. I had a stand-up double.
I was excited, but believe it or not, the hit wasn’t the most memorable part of the game. What I remember most is that my head coach called time out, left the dugout, and ran across the field. He hurried to second base with a huge smile on his face. “Good job! That’s how to hit!” He gave me a high five, then ran back to the dugout. The ump yelled “batter up,” and the game went on.
I think we won, but to be truthful, I don’t remember for sure. What I do remember is the coach’s compliment. It made me want to do better. I’ve noticed such moments don’t usually take much effort and don’t require a lot of time, but their effects last and last.

I have seen this firsthand. Several years ago, my dear wife Wendy determined to learn how to do family history research. Her progress at first was slow, but little by little she learned how easy it is to do this sacred work. And I have never seen her happier. You too need not travel to other countries or even to a family history center. At home, with the aid of a computer or mobile device, you can identify souls who are yearning for their ordinances. Make the Sabbath a delight by finding your ancestors and liberating them from spirit prison!19

When I was a teenager, our Young Women president gave each young woman a gift: a picture of the temple. She talked to us about covenants and living clean lives. Then she encouraged us to set a goal to go to the temple one day.
I took this sister’s counsel to heart and decided to make preparation a priority. There was no temple in Costa Rica at that time, but I did know from my recent baptism what a covenant was, and I looked forward to the opportunity to make additional covenants with the Lord.
No one else in my family was a member of the Church then, so the gospel was not taught in our home. Still, I decided that I could learn about gospel standards on my own and follow them. My preparation included attending seminary, even though it was held very early in the morning. It included not dating until I reached age 16. And it meant living the law of chastity—certainly not something popular or even common among most of my peers, but something I knew I could do because I had covenanted with the Lord that I would.
Studying the scriptures, both in seminary and on my own, strengthened my resolve to live a chaste, clean life. I remember being particularly inspired by the 2,000 stripling warriors. As it says in Alma 53:20–21, these young men “were exceedingly valiant for courage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted. … They were men of truth and soberness, for they had been taught to keep the commandments of God and to walk uprightly before him.” I too wanted to be faithful in the things I’d been entrusted with, including my baptismal covenants.
Additional understanding of covenants came when I was called to serve in the El Salvador San Salvador East Mission. When I received my endowment in the temple, Doctrine and Covenants 82:10 came to my mind: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” Throughout my mission, that idea of covenants—of us doing our part and the Lord doing His—motivated me to do my best. As I did so, my companions and I were blessed in our work.
My mission was many years ago, but I continue to find strength from keeping my covenants. I have since been blessed to serve for seven years in the San José Costa Rica Temple. Serving as a temple worker gave me regular opportunities to remember the covenants I had made. I have found similar reminders in serving in the Young Women organization, where I have tried to teach the importance of covenants just as my leaders taught me.
Keeping our covenants is not always easy. For instance, many people see the law of chastity (or, in some cases, religious behavior in general) as outdated. Fortunately, I don’t feel added pressure from those who don’t share my beliefs or from the passage of time. I look back on what I felt as a young woman when our leader encouraged us to prepare and live for temple covenants. The decision I made then is one I’ve followed to this day.
I can stand firm in my decisions because they weren’t decisions I made just by myself, for myself. Rather, they are decisions I have made as part of a covenant with a loving Heavenly Father. It doesn’t matter what the world says. I promised the Lord that I would obey His commandments. It is a matter of honor. The covenants I made at baptism and the covenants I made in the temple are as valid today as the day I made them. A covenant with God is forever.
Living the way God has asked us to live isn’t always easy, but I testify that it is possible. We can gain confidence and power from living our covenants, and we can be sure that Heavenly Father will never leave us alone. With Him on our side, we can do all things (see Moroni 7:33).

The line of 31 horsemen snaked along the steep, rocky ridge that cupped a narrow beach on the northern shore of the Great Salt Lake in Utah. Below them, on the margin of sand, a sheepherder and his dogs moved their sheep from Squaw Springs.

The horsemen dismounted, and slipping and sliding down the hillside, led their horses to a large cave overlooking the water. After a 10-mile ride across the Promontory Mountains to the east, they’d arrived at their destination, a former Indian wintering ground.

The Explorers and Venturers of the Corinne Second Ward tethered their horses and prepared to eat lunch. With them were their advisers, Bill and Bob Smoot; several fathers and young brothers; Bishop Royal Norman and a counselor; the service and activities committee chairman; and their guide, veteran horseman Jesse Nicholas.

Because Corinne is a close-knit, rural ward, the young men sometimes enjoy sharing a variety of super activities with others in the ward. “We invite the young brothers along so they can get a taste of Exploring and look forward to it,” adviser Bill Smoot said.

This particular trek to the pair of caves formerly used by the Shoshone Indians took place during the Christmas holidays. A mild winter had left the area bare of snow, and the unseasonably high temperatures, ranging in the 40s, made horseback riding a pleasure.

This journey began one Wednesday morning when the youth met at the Smoot dairy farm to help load the stock into trucks and horse trailers. Bishop Norman, driving another truck filled with 10 horses, met them at the farm. They assembled for prayer and advice from the bishop. “Please no bullets in your pistols or rifles. We don’t want any shooting accidents, and you can load your guns when we get to a suitable place. Let’s remember to treat the property with respect so we’ll be welcomed back.”

After prayer they went by caravan the 50 miles to the Nick Chournos sheep corrals in Booze Valley near Promontory. The horses were unloaded, saddled and bridled, and everyone rode up Whittaker Pass, led by Brother Nicholas. Three of the horses carried double, including the bishop’s. The bishop explained that super activities such as this one have kept the Explorer program going well in the ward for the past 19 years, the length of service of the adviser. He noted that about 85 percent of the young men eventually go on missions. “During one five-year period, every one of them went on missions. I feel activities such as this help keep them interested in the Church.”

The Venturer adviser observed that the activities of the two groups have helped to cement father-and-son relationships. He said several dads have been encouraged into activity as a result.

Six mule deer sprang from under the cedars halfway up Whittaker Pass and bounded up the slope opposite the gully. The riders paused to watch. Some of the less conditioned—riders and horses—rested before moving on.

Bill Smoot, Explorer adviser, said that every other year they spend a week on a pack trip in the Uinta Mountains east of Corinne. “That way every Explorer gets at least one pack trip,” he said.

Super activities are not only events for the Explorers and Venturers, the adviser emphasized. During the spring the young men painted three houses belonging to widows in the ward and participated in other projects.

During the descent through South Canyon on the other side of Whittaker Pass, the horsemen broke into groups, with the slower horses bringing up the rear. Occasionally they stopped to admire the rugged winter beauty of the mountains.

One of the riders said another super event planned for the year will be a Tin Lizzie Derby involving all the posts in the stake. Each post will buy a car, an old clunker, for a nominal sum, get it into running condition if necessary, and compete in various skill tests.

“After that,” the Venturer adviser said, “they will sell the car and return the money to the respective posts. The goal is to see which unit can get the most money. They may advertise the car in the paper, sell it to a dealer, or break it down for parts,” he said.

Past activities have included visits to the Utah State Prison near Salt Lake City, to nearby military installations, and to the air traffic control facility at Salt Lake International Airport. They have boated on lakes, visited caverns, and attended rodeos.

These activities have served as confidence builders for some and have helped others better understand one another. This has resulted in a closer unity among the post members. In addition to opportunities for spiritual growth, the activities have kept them physically fit. Some of this unity and activity is demonstrated in the wrestling prowess of a half-dozen young men in the ward. Corinne Second Ward’s Aaronic Priesthood holders represent 50 percent of the local high school wrestling team. Some have won recognition in AAU-sanctioned wrestling events.

Because they come from a rural ward, they plan well in advance so their farm and stock work is taken care of in their absence. During the summer they have to plan around irrigation turns. Fortunately, there are often enough family members to take up the slack while they’re gone.

They rode several miles down the canyon through pasture country, then over the ridge surrounding Squaw Springs where the two caves were located. Brother Nicholas said artifacts found in the Indian caves have been removed for further study by a university. Thus visits to the caves don’t damage archaeological investigations. Brother Nicholas noted the caves were used during the winters by Shoshone Indians.

“One of them told my grandfather about the caves, but he never could find them. Tom Whittaker did, though, and that’s how I know of them.” He continued, “That Indian said that when he was a youngster, the entire band was trapped inside the upper cave by an enemy tribe. They got mighty dry before they were able to get out.”

The riders dismounted at the upper cave, and the lunches were unpacked from the saddlebags. There were several smashed sandwiches and flattened dessert packages, but all was eaten with good humor. A number of items were shared with others, and there was food left over.

After exploring the cave they carefully packed any litter into their saddlebags. The young men mounted again and rode down the hill where they investigated the lower cave before turning home.

Halfway back up South Canyon they met the property owner who was conferring with one of his herders. They exchanged greetings and rode around the grazing sheep. Because sheep scatter easily, owners don’t like visitors in the area. The Explorers had asked permission to travel through, so there was no problem.

Back at the sheep corrals the young men engaged in an impromptu target match, utilizing the soft drink cans retrieved from the cave. As they practiced with .22 caliber pistols and rifles, Bishop Norman said, “Had there not been sheep around we could have stopped along the way and practiced.”

After the horses were led into the trucks and the last round was fired, the Explorers and their guests loaded up for the return trip home.

Bill Smoot summed up the value of this trip and other super activities. “They help us grow closer together, boys and leaders. Every young man in our ward is active in the Church, and every leader knows each of the boys well. Part of the reason for that is because we plan regular super activities.”

By the time he was 14 years old, an acquaintance of mine was more than six feet tall and very uncoordinated. He said, “One afternoon when I was in a 10th-grade seminary class, the Spirit really touched me. I came to know that the gospel literally was true. I made up my mind that day that I wanted to serve the Lord in any way I could.”
By his senior year, he was taller and much more coordinated. Many universities offered him scholarships to play basketball. After his first year playing at a university, he told his coach that he would like to be excused for two years to go on a mission. The coach said, “If you leave, you can be sure of one thing: you will never again wear one of our basketball uniforms!” Many thought that his “mission” ought to be playing basketball. Even some family members, including his parents, tried to convince him not to serve a mission. But he was totally committed. He was willing to give everything to the Lord—the scholarship, the applause of the fans, and the excitement of playing. He knew what the Lord was counting on him to do. He was called, and he served an honorable mission.
When he returned two years later, he was even taller and about 35 pounds heavier. His coach decided to repent. He was permitted to wear one of those basketball uniforms again, and in his senior year, his team not only won the conference championship but went on to the finals in national competition.