Gospel Story Finder

Another false philosophy that appeals to the Mr. Hyde side of our natures is that peeking into pornography is harmless. This is a terrible deception. Pornography is as addictive as cocaine or any illegal drug. I recently received a heartbreaking letter from an excommunicated man whose soul is filled with sorrow and regret. With his permission, I quote the following from his letter: “I hope that this letter will confirm to any who have doubt that the path of destruction only reaps sorrow and grief and no sin is worth this price.”

He goes on to state: “I have brought grief and sorrow upon myself. Only now do I fully realize the great destruction that I have brought upon myself. No selfish or lustful desire is worth losing your Church membership for. I have brought terrible grief to my wife and two wonderful children. I am grateful for my wife’s great efforts to help me overcome my sins. My wife has been a victim of my sins and had to endure great sorrow and suffering. I long for the day that I can again be a member of the Lord’s Church and for our family to be an eternal family.”

The letter goes on to admit: “My sins are a direct result of my early childhood addiction to pornography. Without a doubt, pornography is addictive and is poison. Had I learned early in my life to apply the power of self-mastery, I would be a member of the Church today.”

Dora Valencia, who had lain four years in the Ajax Ontario Hospital, mustered her courage and fulfilled the desire to attend. From her hospital bed, which was wheeled into the celestial room, she not only basked in the spirit found there, but she also helped to provide that spirit. As I walked past her, upon leaving the room, and gazed at her expression of profound gratitude to the Lord, I bent low and took her hand in mine. Heaven was very near.

Avard Fairbanks was born into a family of artists in Provo, Utah, on 2 March 1897. As a boy of 12, Avard sculpted a model of his pet rabbit for the state fair and won first prize. When the judge discovered it was the work of a child and refused to award the prize, young Avard resolved to become an accomplished sculptor to prove his work. Of his work on the angel Moroni statue, he said: “I wanted the statue to conform to the spirit and architecture of the temple, that of aspiring upward. I wanted the feeling of that upward reach accomplished by the stress of vertical lines.”8

It was New Year’s Day, and a snowstorm had just blanketed the small mountain town of Estes Park, Colorado, where I lived. Filled with the excitement of the holiday season, my older brother, Roger, and I had gone outside to play in a field near our home. A little lake where we had played on the ice many times before now lay underneath a fresh mantle of snow, flat and absolutely flawless.
No one worried about the lake being unsafe at that time of year—we lived at such a high altitude that the cold weather generally insured that small lakes would be frozen. But as we were playing, Roger suddenly fell through a soft spot in the ice. I was only six years old, and I didn’t know what to do. I could see no sticks around to pull him out with; everything was covered by snow. His heavy clothing soon pulled him under the water.
I ran all the way home through the deep snow, over a mile, to get my father. We drove back to the lake, and he dove through the ice and somehow found my brother. He tried to revive him, but by that time Roger had drowned.
That experience left me with several feelings. First, I saw the strength of the gospel in my parents’ lives. We were the only members of the Church in our community. Everyone rallied around my parents to give them support and comfort, but I think that the whole community gained more comfort and understanding by watching how a knowledge of the gospel helped my family handle that very difficult situation.
Second, I learned about the purpose of this mortal experience. We come to earth to gain a body. Some of us are going to live on the earth a shorter time than others. When you’re literally side by side with your brother, and he goes through the ice and drowns and you don’t, it gives you a whole different way of thinking about life. It could have just as easily been me that drowned. But I’ve always felt that my brother’s mission here on earth had been completed and that he was just “called home” at an earlier age than most of us. But being the one who was allowed to remain, it was important to live as well as I could so that not only Heavenly Father but also my brother would be pleased with my actions.
Third, I learned a great deal from the courage exhibited by my father. He risked his life to break through that ice and dive underneath it to try to rescue his ten-year-old son. It was an immediate response; he did what he felt he needed to do. He showed great love, courage, and strength of character.

When I was a boy, I loved to walk in the fields and in the meadows, to swim in the creeks and in the ponds. My father taught me to hunt and to fish.
I enjoyed the great outdoors because it gave me a chance to be with loved ones and to admire the creations of God.
One summer our family with several other families went on an outing near Wanship, Utah. We camped in tents along the wooded banks of a beautiful river that flowed through Kamas Valley.
My friends and I spent many happy, carefree hours walking through the meadows or hunting varmints. These animals were considered pests because they ate the tender shoots the livestockmen needed for their sheep to graze on.
One afternoon while we were out hunting, I was accidentally shot at close range just above my knee. When the .22 caliber slug passed through my leg, it felt like a hot poker was going into my flesh. As the blood ran down my leg, it became numb. My hunting companions helped me to our tent a short distance away, and I called to my father to show him what had happened. He and the other men bandaged my leg to control the bleeding. They helped me into our family car and Father drove me to Coalville, Utah, where the nearest doctor lived.
When we reached the doctor’s office he laid me on an examining table. He looked at my bullet wound carefully, and then explained that it must be sterilized.
When I understood how the wound was to be sterilized, I was afraid of the pain I might have and also that I would cry. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to show my father how brave I could be. In my heart, I said a silent prayer that Heavenly Father would help me so that no matter how bad it hurt I wouldn’t cry.
The doctor took a rod, about the size used to clean a gun barrel, and threaded a piece of sterilized gauze through a hole in one end like a giant needle. As my father held my hand, I gritted my teeth, shut my eyes, and tried to hold still while the doctor took the rod and pushed it through the hole in my leg. When it came out on the other side, he changed the gauze, put fresh antiseptic on it, and pulled it back through the hole. He pushed it back and forth three times.
Heavenly Father heard my silent prayer, for the operation did not seem to hurt as much as I thought it would. I didn’t cry!
The wound healed quickly and completely. In three weeks I was back riding my horse again. Although I was active in sports in high school and college, I have never been bothered by that leg since the accident.
As problems and difficulties have come into my life since, I have tried to face them by relying more on the help of our Heavenly Father than on the comfort that comes from tears. I learned the valuable lesson that the pain of life’s problems doesn’t seem to be so great if I don’t cry about them.

Roger met Janey at Welfare Square. Let me tell you about Janey.
She had been born with cerebral palsy. She was badly crippled, but she had been able to attend school and had recently graduated from high school. This was a tremendous accomplishment; but now, after several months of searching, her family had found it impossible to obtain employment for her. Her bishop asked if there was something Janey could do. She needed to keep busy. In answer to this challenge, the storehousekeeper suggested that Janey be brought to the storehouse the next morning.
After Janey had been at work seven hours, her mother came to take her home. Janey was smiling with pride. She had labeled a dozen cans. There was a pile of spoiled labels on the floor, but they weren’t important. The important thing was her smile. It was there because she felt useful and had pride in her accomplishment. She was willing and anxious to return the next day and continue trying.
Within a month’s time, Janey was doing a good job of labeling cans. She hardly wasted any labels. As her skill in using her hands increased, she was given greater challenges. At the end of three years she was assigned the delicate job of packing eggs after they had been candled.
Janey and her family are truly happy because she has learned through the welfare program to be a contributing member of society.
Roger and Janey fell in love with each other and were married in the Salt Lake Temple for time and all eternity.

I don’t know how much you would place on the worth of a soul, but I witnessed an interesting experience in Boston. Last winter it got pretty cold. As February drew to a close, the ice in some of the rivers and lakes began to thaw. Unnoticed, and certainly not newsworthy, a little mongrel dog walked out into the Boston Harbor, doing, I guess, what dogs like to do. And while the dog was about a quarter of a mile from the shore, the ice commenced to break, and it trapped the little fellow. Before he realized it, he was stranded and the ice flow was moving. An interested passenger on Old Mystic Bridge, seeing the plight of the dog, summoned the fire department. The fire department rushed out with a number of ladder trucks and other equipment; and before the story ended, the police department, the mayor’s office, and several selectmen had gathered, and the whole city of Boston came to rescue one little dog. One newsman totaled the tab at the end of the day and found it had cost the city of Boston $18,000 to rescue the little dog!
I’ve thought about that in relationship to people. What price do you place on a spirit child of God? Of course there is none.
President Paul H. Dunnof the First Council of the Seventy

As bishop of our ward, I encouraged parents to give their children opportunities to teach in family home evening. My wife and I decided to do as I had said.
Our son taught first, and we enjoyed his lesson on prayer. The next Monday was our daughter’s turn. She had been baptized only a few months before. Her topic was God’s creation. She asked a series of questions, which we answered in turn. She then bore her testimony and concluded.
My son exclaimed, “You’ve not taught us yet; you were only asking questions.” But I told my family that I had been moved when my wife, answering one of the questions, said that she is grateful to God for creating family units and giving her a wonderful family with a loving husband. I told them that my heart was full of gratitude when my youngest daughter answered the question “Who created the world?” by exclaiming, “Jesus.” I found many other answers overwhelming in their insightfulness.
So even though my daughter did not “teach” as my son expected, her lesson—and others my children have taught—are my favorite family home evenings.
Richard Ikpegbu, Nigeria

There’s one in every school. You know the type. The girl who seems to live a charmed life. Everything she touches—schoolwork, friendships, extracurricular activities—turns to gold. You wonder what her secret is and hope that maybe a little of whatever it is will rub off on you. But deep down inside you wonder if you can ever really be like her, because people like that seem to only come one at a time.
The Laurels in St. John, New Brunswick, Canada, however, seem to have misunderstood that “rule.” Instead of only one shining star in their school, all the Latter-day Saint girls are recognized on campus.
Take Sacha Koumbias, for example. She is student council president and works on a committee to build school spirit. Melissa Spragg loves to be in school musicals and plays. Virginia Clark—Ginnie to her friends—stands alongside Melissa in two of the school’s choirs and is a great dancer. Finally, Erin Robichaud was recently selected as the high school’s student of the year.
You might expect that in a group like this, there would be fierce competition, maybe even a little jealousy. But instead of jealousy there is support; instead of competition, encouragement. The girls say that when there are only four of you in a school of 1,000 students, there’s just no room for anything but good feelings and a lot of help from each other.
Being a member of the Church is what life is all about for these girls. When they talk about what excites them the most, it’s not an upcoming school dance or game; it’s the dedication of the Halifax Nova Scotia Temple. So, if it’s not what defines them, why spend time on all that extracurricular stuff?
“People at school know who we are,” says Melissa. “I think all of us feel a little bit responsible to stand out so that people will know Church members are good people.”
The high-profile activities these girls are involved in also afford them many opportunities to share the gospel.
“My friends always want to know why I don’t drink,” says Sacha. “I think that sometimes they think it’s a little weird, but they seem to respect us.”
That respect comes in handy when the girls are defending what they believe in at school. Like the time Sacha and Erin talked in one of their classes about how important marriage is, despite the fact that the rest of the class seemed to think that “a piece of paper” wasn’t necessary for people in love. Or the countless times Ginnie has told classmates that she does not now, nor will she ever, smoke cigarettes.
“When you face a bunch of people telling you that what you believe is silly or strange,” says Erin, “it’s nice to know that you’re not the only one who thinks a certain way. It helps you stay strong.”
Life isn’t always smooth sailing, even for these girls. Of all the problems this group has faced, they agree that Erin’s was the most dramatic. During a youth conference trip to the Toronto Ontario Temple a few years ago, Erin noticed that she was suddenly covered with what looked like huge bruises from head to toe. But she hadn’t been injured, or even jostled, in any way. It was only a matter of hours after she discovered these bruises that Erin was in a hospital in Ottawa—a day-long drive from St. John. She had acute lymphoblastic leukemia.
“Since I was so far away, I lost touch with friends from school, but Melissa and Sacha both came to see me,” she says. The years following weren’t always easy. Erin’s treatment was aggressive and tiring.
“Your perspective really changes after something like this,” she says. “Having good friends, good family, and the gospel is really what’s important.”
That support group comes through for less dramatic problems, too. Melissa dated a nonmember for a while. Melissa says they were too serious, and she felt that it wasn’t leading her toward the temple marriage she has as a goal.
“I knew I needed to end it,” says Melissa. “It was really tough, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew it was the right decision, though, and the girls really helped me through it.”
Ginnie and Sacha have struggled with the stress that comes with the busy lives they lead. When things get too stressful, they know they can turn to their friends for understanding.
“It helps me to know that my friends are worried about the same things I am, especially getting good marks in school,” says Ginnie. “It doesn’t seem so bad when I know that they worry too.”
Soon the girls will be graduating from high school and receiving all the honors and accolades that girls like them typically get when they graduate. But that’s not what these girls will remember most about their years together. They’ll remember fun and good times, things like slumber parties, youth conferences, and stake dances. They’ll remember girls’ camp and testimony meetings. They’ll remember that they are daughters of Heavenly Father and that they had sisters in the gospel to help them stay strong.
No one ever told these girls that in order to win, everyone else would have to lose. Instead, they help each other, pushing and pulling until everybody reaches the top. And, not surprisingly, they not only make room for the four of them, but they always leave a little extra space, just in case someone else would like to join them.
Not long ago, there was a new addition to the Laurel class in St. John. Nathanielle Pître, who speaks French as her first language, doesn’t attend the same school as the rest of the Laurels. Instead, she attends a French-immersion school (her family is from French-speaking Quebec). Nathanielle, the only member of the Church in her school class, says she relies on the strength she draws each day at seminary.
“Sometimes it’s hard to be the only member at school,” she says. “But going to seminary, being with the other kids my age, really helps me feel good all day.”

While pneumonia often came as a complication of influenza, it wasn’t always the case. Herman Kerr Danielsen had just been honourably released from his missionary service in Belfast, and then passed away on 8 March 1919. He was preparing to return home when he contracted pneumonia. The physician noted that influenza did not precede the death, “as so often is the case at the present time.” It was a tragedy; the energetic missionary was known for being fearless and was “always ready to bear his testimony to the truth, and he made sincere friends wherever he went.”16 For his loved ones it was noted that:
“It should be consoling to those who are called upon to mourn his death in a foreign land, so far away from home and friends, to know that he performed a good mission; that his labours were acceptable to the servants of the Lord; that he was loved by the saints who knew him. and that, undoubtedly, he was called home for a wise purpose, which will be made plain in the due time of the Lord.”
The Saints in the Liverpool, Newcastle, and Irish conferences held him dear in their memories and treasured their associations with him.

No one knows when emergencies will strike. I am somewhat familiar with the case of a man who was highly successful in his profession. He lived in comfort. He built a large home. Then one day he was suddenly involved in a serious accident. Instantly, without warning, he almost lost his life. He was left a cripple. Destroyed was his earning power. He faced huge medical bills. He had other payments to make. He was helpless before his creditors. One moment he was rich, the next he was broke.

Since the beginnings of the Church, the Lord has spoken on this matter of debt. To Martin Harris through revelation He said: “Pay the debt thou hast contracted with the printer. Release thyself from bondage” (D&C 19:35).
President Heber J. Grant spoke repeatedly on this matter from this pulpit. He said: “If there is any one thing that will bring peace and contentment into the human heart, and into the family, it is to live within our means. And if there is any one thing that is grinding and discouraging and disheartening, it is to have debts and obligations that one cannot meet” (Gospel Standards, comp. G. Homer Durham [1941], 111).
We are carrying a message of self-reliance throughout the Church. Self-reliance cannot obtain when there is serious debt hanging over a household. One has neither independence nor freedom from bondage when he is obligated to others.
In managing the affairs of the Church, we have tried to set an example. We have, as a matter of policy, stringently followed the practice of setting aside each year a percentage of the income of the Church against a possible day of need.
I am grateful to be able to say that the Church in all its operations, in all its undertakings, in all of its departments, is able to function without borrowed money. If we cannot get along, we will curtail our programs. We will shrink expenditures to fit the income. We will not borrow.
One of the happiest days in the life of President Joseph F. Smith was the day the Church paid off its long-standing indebtedness.
What a wonderful feeling it is to be free of debt, to have a little money against a day of emergency put away where it can be retrieved when necessary.
President Faust would not tell you this himself. Perhaps I can tell it, and he can take it out on me afterward. He had a mortgage on his home drawing 4 percent interest. Many people would have told him he was foolish to pay off that mortgage when it carried so low a rate of interest. But the first opportunity he had to acquire some means, he and his wife determined they would pay off their mortgage. He has been free of debt since that day. That’s why he wears a smile on his face, and that’s why he whistles while he works.
I urge you, brethren, to look to the condition of your finances. I urge you to be modest in your expenditures; discipline yourselves in your purchases to avoid debt to the extent possible. Pay off debt as quickly as you can, and free yourselves from bondage.
This is a part of the temporal gospel in which we believe. May the Lord bless you, my beloved brethren, to set your houses in order. If you have paid your debts, if you have a reserve, even though it be small, then should storms howl about your head, you will have shelter for your wives and children and peace in your hearts. That’s all I have to say about it, but I wish to say it with all the emphasis of which I am capable.

“Years ago, while a … schoolboy in far-off England, I … [made] acquaintance with an aged sage who placed implicit trust in the … stars. … He devoted himself with great energy to instruct me in the mysteries of [astrology]. I drank at this fountain of error with increasing thirst, and trusted his words with all the power of a child’s simple faith. … Before I was ten years old, I had learned to cast the horoscope. …
“Among my schoolmates was a big blustering fellow, who ruled … the playground … by force of animal might. We all acknowledged his supremacy, and paid him tribute of our property. … Further, he compelled us to work his sums for him, to draw his maps, and write his essays. … If any boy appeared to doubt his authority, … a severe drubbing was applied to bring the rebel to a sense of his duty.
“Worse than this, our oppressor … was the [son] of a [wealthy] family, and the subject of the teacher’s favor. …
I consulted the stars, and determined to break the [chains] that bound us and to set myself and my school-fellows free. … I managed to find from [the bully’s sister] the date and exact hour of Ben’s birth. With this information I hurried home, and at once proceded to compute his [horoscope]. Ah! I might have known it: … He was a son of Saturn, born when the planet was in ill conjunction: what wonder then that he was untrustworthy, mean, and cruel? Then I cast the horoscope of the future, and found that at a convenient hour, five o’clock in the afternoon [a week from] Wednesday, his star would be declining, and mine would be in the ascendency. … Surely the day of our deliverance was near at hand: the stars had promised to help me in my dangerous enterprise, and victory was assured. … Force should be subdued by the power of superior knowledge.
“So on the morning of the appointed day I confronted his saturnine majesty on the playground, and challenged him to meet me that evening at five o’clock, boldly expressing my determination to show him who would be master from that time forth. … He indulged in a loud laugh and cuffed my ears; but this I bore, … for the time of revenge had not yet come. … During the day I received many a hearty wish for success. …
“At five o’clock we were at the appointed place; a score of boys were there to see fair play done. My antagonist was nearly a foot taller, and fully a stone [14 pounds] heavier than I, but these were trifles below notice; had I not the happy assurance of the stars that I should win? I made a speech to the burly fellow, setting forth a few of his many acts of oppression and cruelty, and closed with a … flourish, declaring that henceforth we would be free. This was received with a laugh of derision by my opponent, and the hostilities began.
“The conflict, though fierce, was … brief. I [gradually recovered consciousness, and found myself] lying on the ground, cheek cut, eyes bruised, nose smashed, a couple of teeth loosened, and a quantity of hair gone. The bully retired without a scratch.
“As I slowly made my way homeward, I was in an unusually thoughtful state. I began for the first time in my life to have serious doubts [about astrology]. Amongst my family my appearance created considerable consternation; then my [father] reminded me of his oft repeated injunctions against fighting; and to impress the lesson firmly upon my mind, he proceded to illustrate his lecture by sundry strokes with the buckle end of a stout strap.
“This was convincing. My doubts vanished, and with them all my confidence in the horoscope. I knew that astrology was a fraud.”

When I was twelve years old, my family moved to American Fork, Utah. Danny and Kelly Brewer and their widowed mother, who had remarried, lived across the street from us. I have never known such wholesome boys. They never swore and they always went to church because they wanted to.
They played tennis, so I learned to play tennis, too. Kelly became my tennis partner and best friend. It’s one thing to be a good person on your own, but it’s much easier when you have a friend who also wants to be good. I’m very thankful for the good influence of those boys.

But there were also times when I felt overcome by grief and worry. How could I manage without my husband’s companionship? How could I fulfill the responsibility of raising my children with their own strong testimonies? How would I manage financially?
On one occasion when these worries were depressing me, my husband asked, “Anna-Greta, would you like me to give you a blessing?” He sat up in bed, put his frail hands on my head, and in the power of the priesthood blessed me with the ability to handle all of my responsibilities capably. This blessing has been with me in a very real way during all the years since his death. Sometimes, facing a difficult problem, I have thought to myself: “You have received a blessing from your husband that you will be able to take care of these problems,” and I have again felt those frail but powerful hands upon my head. I have always been able to overcome the difficulties.
My children are now responsible fathers and mothers of a new generation of Latter-day Saints, serving their Heavenly Father with profound joy. And I share that joy. How grateful I am that the Lord did not tire of me because I failed to listen to him! How grateful I am for the link of the priesthood that will reunite me with my beloved husband, and that has kept us close throughout the years of separation.

One such couple was called to serve in Canada. During their meetings on their first Sunday, they introduced themselves. While doing so, the elder referred to his wife as his “sweetheart of forty-one years.”

In that congregation were some couples who were having marital difficulties. Because they had the chance to see in the ensuing months what a happy marriage could really be like, they were influenced to change their lives. One of them later said to this missionary couple, “Do you know why you were sent to this mission? It was to save our marriage.”

Just by being there and showing love for each other, they were able to exert a wonderful influence.

One evening I was working late in the Church Office Building. When I called for an elevator to go home, my mind was preoccupied. In my absentmindedness, I began to enter the elevator when a hand shot out to shake my hand and a voice firmly said, “I’m Spencer Kimball. Who might you be?” In my surprise, I could not remember who I was. There stood one of my heroes; I finally mumbled something vaguely resembling my name. When I think of President Kimball, I think of The Miracle of Forgiveness, I think of lengthening our stride, “do it now,” the priesthood for all worthy males, and, most of all, conquering adversity. He will always be one of my heroes.

At one time, our ward needed a Gospel Doctrine teacher in Sunday School. As a bishopric we prayed and reviewed several names with the Sunday School president. But we didn’t feel a confirmation about what to do. Once again, Larry had an idea. “What about Ila Gibb?” Ila was in her 70s, but we all felt impressed that she would be a good teacher. The Sunday School president agreed.
Sister Gibb laughed when Larry and I extended the calling. “I’m old,” she said. “Just leave me on the shelf.”
When Larry replied, “Sister Gibb, how old … ,” I thought he was going to hold himself up as an example. But he didn’t. He said with kindness, “How old is the prophet?” At this time, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) had just become the President of the Church at age 84.
“I see where you’re headed,” Ila replied. “I guess we’re never too old to serve.” And for the next three years, she served as a marvelous Gospel Doctrine teacher.

As I have thought of this October general conference and of the inspired talks we have heard and will hear, my mind has gone back to the events of this same first Sunday of October 135 years ago when a similar meeting was convened here on Temple Square.
We did not have this great Tabernacle at that time. Our people then met in the Old Tabernacle, which stood just to the south of us. It was Sunday, October 5, 1856. On Saturday, the day before, a small group of missionaries returning from England arrived in the valley. They had been able to make relatively good time because their teams were strong and their wagons light. Franklin D. Richards was their leader. They immediately sought out President Brigham Young. They told him that hundreds of men, women, and children were scattered along the trail that led from the Missouri River to the Salt Lake Valley. Most of them were pulling handcarts, two companies of these, with two smaller companies following behind with ox teams and wagons. The first group was probably at this time in the area of Scotts Bluff, more than four hundred miles from their destination, with the others behind them. It was October, and they would be trapped in the snows of winter and perish unless help was sent.
Brigham Young had known nothing of this. There was, of course, at that time no rapid means of communication—no radio, no telegraph, no fast mail. He was then fifty-five years of age. The next morning, the Sabbath, he stood before the people in the Tabernacle and said:
“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak. … It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people. …
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains” (quoted in LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion [Glendale, Calif.: Arthur H. Clark Co., 1960], pp. 120–21).
The next morning anvils were ringing in the blacksmith shops as horses were shod and wagons were repaired and loaded.
The following morning, Tuesday, October 7th, “sixteen good four-mule teams and twenty-seven hardy young men headed eastward with the first installment of provisions. The gathering of more to follow, was pushed vigorously” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 124).
“By the end of October, two hundred and fifty teams were on the road to give relief” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 125).
There have been many eloquent sermons preached from the pulpits on Temple Square, but none more eloquent than those spoken in that October conference of 135 years ago.

Mom wasn’t surprised at all, and she told me a story: “When you were a tiny baby and round all over, your daddy brought you this blanket. He held you and the blanket in one arm and said, ‘Blanket, blanket,’ lots of times. You said, ‘Ginky.’ Dad smiled and said, ‘Blanket.’ Both of you were talking about the same thing.”
I had to laugh at that.
“Pretty soon,” Mom went on, “we all got used to calling your blanket Ginky, the way you did. ‘Here’s Ginky,’ your daddy or I would say, or ‘Won’t you let us wash Ginky just once, real quick?’ But you never wanted Ginky to be washed.”
“I didn’t want Ginky swooshing around in all that soap,” I told her.
Now Ginky smells kind of stuffy and dusty from being in the drawer so long. Ginky used to be soft. I remember stroking my cheek with Ginky and wrapping it around my arm (the one with the good-tasting thumb) before I went to sleep.
At first Ginky had a satin edging that I could curl around my fingers. I could make a scratchy noise on it, too, with my fingernail. But the satin is almost all worn off now.
Lots of babies have blankets. But there isn’t another Ginky.
You know, I took Ginky to bed with me last night—just for remembering. I didn’t really need to. I tried wrapping Ginky around my arm. I tried scratching the worn-out satin. I even tried sucking my thumb.
But my thumb just doesn’t taste good anymore. After a while, I got all tangled up in Ginky. I wanted to go to sleep, so I folded Ginky carefully beside me. “Good night,” I said.
This morning Ginky was still there, looking kind of raggedy on my pillow. I packed Ginky away in my special box. Mom says that when I’m a big person, we’ll open my box and look at all the things I saved as I was growing up.
My picture album and my doll without any hair and a drawing I made of a fire engine were in my box already. I think Ginky belongs there with those other things.

When I was young, my brothers and I liked to sleep outside during the summer. We would spread our sleeping bags on the porch, then find constellations in the stars and listen to crickets as we fell asleep.
One night my older brother Larry and I were out on the porch. We stretched out and looked up at the stars. Larry wasn’t usually very talkative, but that night he said he wanted to tell me some stories. He told me stories from the Book of Mormon, starting with Lehi and his family leaving Jerusalem.
I had heard stories from the Book of Mormon in Primary before, but when Larry told them, it was different. It felt more real. As I looked up at the stars and listened to my brother, I felt very warm and happy inside. Though I didn’t know it then, I was feeling the Holy Ghost telling me the Book of Mormon was true.
A few months later, I found a book of illustrated stories from the Book of Mormon at our house. When I started reading, I got the same warm, comforting feeling that I’d had when Larry told me the same stories.
Years later, when I was trying to decide if I had a testimony, I was a little disappointed that I had never had a big or strong answer. Did this mean I didn’t have a testimony? Then I remembered how I felt when my brother told me stories from the Book of Mormon, and I knew that I did know the Church was true.