Gospel Story Finder

April 14, 1832, was a snowy day in Mendon, Monroe County, New York. In spite of the cold, thirty-year-old Brigham Young went down into the waters of the river near his home and was baptized by Elder Eleazer Miller. Immediately after, at the river’s edge, he was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Brigham Young had given his heart to a great cause, and he never wavered from the promises he made that day.
The story is told that shortly after his baptism, Brigham went to the man for whom he was doing some carpentry work and informed him, “I am not going to work for you any longer, sir; I am going to do something better—preach the everlasting Gospel!”
A few months later Brigham set out on foot with his brother to preach the gospel in Canada. They traveled over 250 miles in snow “a foot and a half deep with a foot of mud under it,” and in two months they converted 45 souls. Whatever the price, Brigham was willing to pay it in order to build up the kingdom of God on the earth. “I was as destitute of language as a man could be … ,” he said, “but I was so gritty that I always tried my best.”
Born in Whittingham, Vermont, on June 1, 1801, Brigham was the ninth child in a family with five sons and six daughters. Although he had only “eleven days schooling,” he was taught to read by his mother. He also learned to “make bread, wash the dishes, milk the cows and make butter.”
When Brigham was fourteen years old, his mother died and he was apprenticed to a neighbor to learn carpentry and painting. At sixteen, he was in business for himself.
Although the Youngs were a Bible-reading family and three of Brigham’s brothers became itinerant preachers for the Methodist Reformed Church, Brigham himself was not really converted to any church until he received a copy of the Book of Mormon from his brother Phinehas and studied it. Even then “I weighed the matter studiously for nearly two years,” he said, “before I made up my mind to receive that Book.”
In the fall of 1831 five elders from an isolated branch of the Church in Pennsylvania came to the neighborhood to preach. Brigham and his friend Heber C. Kimball listened to them and believed what they taught. Within a few months they were both baptized. Father Young, all Brigham’s brothers and sisters, and his ailing wife also became members.
A few days after his wife’s death in September 1832 Brigham left his two little daughters in the care of Vilate Kimball, Heber’s wife, and traveled to Kirtland to meet Joseph Smith. He later wrote, “Here my joy was full at the privilege of shaking the hand of the Prophet of God, and received the sure testimony, by the spirit of prophecy that he was … a true Prophet.”
And Joseph said of Brigham, “The time will come when Brother Brigham Young will preside over this Church.”
That time came all too quickly for Brigham, who developed a deep love for and loyalty to Joseph. Brigham followed the young Prophet unquestioningly through many difficult times, and at the Prophet’s call Brigham left his family again and again to preach the gospel in the eastern United States, in Canada, and in England. He was in Boston on June 27, 1844, the day Joseph and Hyrum were killed in Carthage, Illinois. Though rumors of the brothers’ deaths spread rapidly, it was not until July 16 that Brigham learned for certain of their martyrdom.
As President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Brigham Young gathered the other members of the quorum who were also preaching throughout the eastern states and returned with them to Nauvoo.
A conference was held in Nauvoo on August 7 and 8, and Brigham addressed the grieving Saints. Benjamin F. Johnson reported that “as soon as [Brigham] spoke I jumped upon my feet, for in every possible degree it was Joseph’s voice, and his person, in look, attitude, dress and appearance … ; and I knew in a moment the spirit and mantle of Joseph was upon him.”
As Brigham took over the leadership of the Saints, he knew they would soon have to leave Nauvoo. They had been driven from their homes before. Brigham himself had organized their move from Missouri to Illinois when Joseph was in Liberty Jail and the persecutions in Missouri were great. Because many of the Saints at that time were poor and ill, Brigham had had everyone sign a covenant stating that none would leave unless all could leave. Those with more would share with those who had less. Brigham made the trip several times to help others.
Now as he faced the task of moving the Saints from Illinois to the Rocky Mountains to once again escape their enemies, he showed this same concern for his people. In the spring of 1846 he left Nauvoo with an advance company. They established several settlements where crops were planted to help those who would follow. At Winter Quarters the Saints settled in to prepare for the trek ahead and to wait for spring. Here Brigham established schools, and within two months 538 log homes and 83 sod homes had been built. “Where the Saints do all they can,” he said, “the Lord will do the rest.”
Early the next spring Brigham Young led 143 men, 3 women, and 2 children across the plains, through the mountains, and finally down into the Great Salt Lake Valley. Almost immediately he began the journey back to Winter Quarters to help others prepare for the journey. On the way he passed companies of Saints led by Daniel Spencer, Parley P. Pratt, John Taylor, and Jedediah M. Grant.
The next spring Brigham Young left Winter Quarters once again for the Salt Lake Valley, this time leading a great company of “397 wagons, 1229 souls, 74 horses, 19 mules, 1275 oxen, 699 cows, 184 cattle, 411 sheep, 141 pigs, 605 chickens, 37 cats, 82 dogs, 3 goats, 10 geese, 2 beehives, 8 doves, and 1 crow.”
The remainder of Brigham’s life was to be spent in the West, where he directed the settlement of many towns and cities. He established schools, was governor of the territory, began work on the Salt Lake Temple, and saw the St. George Temple completed. During his presidency, missionaries were sent throughout the United States and Canada and to many other countries.
Brigham Young led the Church for twenty-nine years until his death on August 29, 1877, never forgetting the promise he had made to build the kingdom of God. “This is the business of the Latter-day Saints,” he once said, “and it is all the business that we have on hand.”
The year before the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, he said of Brigham, “I can fervently say, may the Lord bless his way before him, and bless those that obey his teachings wherever they are with ears to hear and hearts to feel. He is worthy to be received and entertained as a man of God.”

Sister Mayra is a recent convert from Ecuador. Her joy in the gospel skyrocketed immediately following her baptism as she invited friends and loved ones around her through social media accounts. Many family members and friends who saw her posts responded with questions. Mayra connected with them, often inviting them to her home to meet with the missionaries together.

Mayra’s parents, her siblings, her aunt, two cousins, and several of her friends were baptized because she courageously invited them to “come and see,” “come and serve,” and “come and belong.” Through her normal and natural invitations, over 20 people have accepted her invitation to be baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ. This came about because Sister Mayra simply invited others to experience the joy she felt as a member of the Church.

Friends and friendship play a very important role in our lives. It is of the utmost importance that, particularly while one is young, he seek out the right kind of companions and associates. Environment is also of the utmost importance, whether it be in the matter of employment, recreational activities, or whatever it may be. Speaking of employment, I worked for Merchants Bank in Salt Lake City when I was a young man. This was in the days before Prohibition. There was the Heidelberg Saloon (there were saloons in those days) on Third South just east of the bank. And the saloon did its banking with the Merchants Bank. At the end of every month it was the policy that the employees would stay rather late in the evening and mail to the depositors statements of their personal accounts. On these occasions, the Heidelberg Saloon invited the employees of the bank to come to the saloon and have a drink without cost. I went with other employees to the saloon on such occasions, but I never partook of the alcoholic drinks. I usually asked for ginger ale. I recall on one occasion that the head paying-and-receiving teller of the bank, who was a Catholic, said to me, “Why do you come here if you’re going to drink ginger ale? This is a saloon and you should do the same as the rest of us do.” He was rather outspoken and antagonistic in his remarks. I said to him, calling him by name, “I am making no complaint about what you drink, and you have no right to complain about the drink that I take.”

A good friend of mine who was a Church member tried for years to teach me the gospel of eternal families. It wasn’t until I attended the São Paulo Temple open house in October 1978 and entered a sealing room that the doctrine of eternal families came into my heart, and for days I prayed to know if this was the true Church.
I was not religious, but I had been raised by parents who were, and I had seen what was good in other religions. At that point in my life, I thought all religions were acceptable to God.
After my visit to the temple open house, I sought an answer through prayer, having faith and a sure confidence that God would answer me, which was His Church on earth.
After a great spiritual struggle, I finally received a clear answer. I was invited to be baptized. My baptism happened on October 31, 1978, the night before a session of the São Paulo Temple dedication.
I realized that the Lord knew and cared about me as He answered my prayers.
The next morning my wife and I went to São Paulo to attend a dedicatory session of the temple.
We were there, but I did not really know how to appreciate that wonderful opportunity yet. The following day we attended an area conference.
We had begun our journey in the Church, and we found good friends who welcomed us during this life transition.
The new member classes we attended in our Sunday meetings each week were wonderful. They filled us with knowledge and made us wish for the week to pass quickly so on Sunday we could have more of that spiritual nourishment.
My wife and I eagerly looked forward to entering the temple to have our family sealed for eternity. That happened one year and seven days after my baptism, which was a wonderful moment. I felt as if the eternities had been divided at the altar between what came before and what came after the sealing.

On 25 July 1928, I was tracking on a street in Heilbronn, Germany. In those days, missionaries did not have to work side by side constantly, and often I would tract one side of the street while my companion tracted the other.
As I walked toward the next house, I saw a man sitting on a chair near the sidewalk. He was glaring hostilely in my direction. Many people in Germany at that time distrusted the missionaries, so I didn’t give it much thought.
As I spoke with a woman at the doorway to a nearby apartment, I heard someone coming up behind me. I turned and saw a policeman in uniform. I continued to talk, believing he had business with someone upstairs.
To my astonishment, he dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him.
“You will have to come with me,” he said quietly. “You’re under arrest.”
Astounded, I tried to keep my composure. I apologized to the woman and told her I would return later.
“Why am I being arrested?” I asked the policeman. He told me that I was accused of burglarizing an apartment and carrying off a valuable heirloom watch.
The officer explained that my accuser had found the watch missing the morning before. He contended that I had been the only person other than himself and his family to enter the building.
I remembered entering that building the day before. The first and second floors were occupied by a factory, but on the third floor was an apartment. As I had entered the building, a young man had approached me and asked where I was going and whom I wished to see. I had told him that I wanted to go upstairs and speak with the people who lived there. He had said nothing further, and I had ascended the stairs.
The door to the third-floor apartment had been left slightly open. No one had answered my knocks, so I had left and resumed tracting elsewhere.
I explained this to the officer. He was surprised to learn that he had arrested a missionary.
He then took me across the street to the man who had glared at me earlier. A teenager with the man looked ill at ease, but said “yes” when the officer asked if I was the burglar.
At the police station, I was ushered into the chief’s office. A police court, consisting of several plainclothes and uniformed policemen, was waiting for me. In a corner sat seven people who said they had witnessed my entering the building.
During the hour-long interrogation, I answered every question honestly and directly, with a prayer in my heart that the Lord would help me.
Then the seven witnesses testified against me. All stated that, except for the family, I had been the only person to go to the third-floor apartment the day before. It began to look as though I might spend several years in a German prison.
The police chief asked me if I had anything to say in my defense. I prayed fervently for assistance, then began speaking, hesitantly at first, in my broken German. I told those in the room why I was in Germany, and explained my mission. Suddenly I began to preach the gospel. A strange feeling came over me. I gradually lost control of my tongue, my arms, and my facial muscles.
The Holy Spirit had come to my rescue. I began to speak the language fluently, with confidence and power. When I concluded my testimony forty-five minutes later, I nearly slumped to the floor in exhaustion. There was complete silence in the room for at least a full minute.
Then the police chief said simply, “This man didn’t take the watch.”
He asked me many questions about myself and the Church. The hostility in the room and vanished. Then he turned to a detective and said, “Go with this young man to his room and search his belongings. If you don’t find the watch—and I’m sure you won’t—let him go. End this foolishness.”
As I walked back to my lodgings with the detective, I answered many questions he asked me. By the time we reached my room I had briefly explained the missionary program, the Book of Mormon, and our concept of the Lord.
The detective found two watches in my desk drawer. One was my old, broken watch, and the other was a cheap watch belonging to my companion. As the detective left, he assured me that I should contact him if I ever needed help during my stay in Heilbronn.
I breathed a prayerful sigh of thankfulness. The power of the Holy Ghost had been demonstrated in a miraculous fashion. I would never forget this day.

It all adds up for Elizabeth Thompson, 14, of the Bangor Ward, Bangor Maine Stake. She was the first student ever chosen to represent Orono Junior High in the National Math Counts competition.
The competition involves geometry problem solving. Elizabeth was in high form for the event, held in Washington, D.C. She didn’t win but gained invaluable experience.
Elizabeth would one day like to be more involved in engineering technology and archaeology, but for now she spends time getting good grades, reading, and being involved in sports and theater.

“Andrew, she’s gone,” Emma said.
“Who’s gone?”
“Brittany.”
“Are you sure?” Andrew asked.
“I looked everywhere in the backyard. She’s gone!”
“We’d better tell Mom,” Andrew said, racing Emma to the kitchen door.
“Mom!” they yelled. “The dog’s gone!”
“Oh, no, not again!” Mom said. “We’d better go find her.”
Walking down their country road, Andrew looked. Emma looked.
“Look, Mom, a kitten found us,” Andrew said. “Can we take it home?”
“No, Andrew, we are looking for a dog, not a kitten.”
Next they walked by the lake. Soon two white ducks waddled up behind them.
“Look, Mom, ducks found us,” Emma said. “Can we take them home?”
“Oh, no, Emma. We are looking for a dog, not ducks.”
When they passed Mrs. Eggett’s yard, Emma waved and Andrew called, “Mrs. Eggett, have you seen our dog?”
“No, Andrew, but if you’ll wait a minute I could find you each a cookie,” she answered.
Andrew, Emma, and Mom said thank you. They munched on cinnamon cookies as they kept walking. They looked high and low, over and under, around and behind, but still no Brittany.
“We’re going home,” Mom finally said. “We’re tired and need to rest.”
Andrew was sad. As they walked home, he said, “We found one black kitten, two white ducks, and three cinnamon cookies, but no spotted dog.”
Walking in their front door, Mom suddenly stopped. “Andrew, do you and Emma know what we forgot to do?”
Andrew thought. Emma thought. Finally Andrew said, “We forgot to pray!”
Folding their arms, they bowed their heads and prayed. They asked Heavenly Father to please help them find their lost dog. Then they rested.
After rest time, Andrew and Emma were ready to search again. Just then Dad walked into the house. Emma told him the whole sad story.
Dad listened carefully. Then he said, “I have an idea. Wait here.” He walked back outside. A few minutes later he returned with Brittany!
“Dad, where did you find her?” Andrew asked excitedly.
“She was sleeping behind the neighbor’s house,” Dad said, smiling.
“Next time we need help we’ll pray first,” Andrew said. “It’s better when Heavenly Father helps, too.”

Heroes and Heroines Earlier I spoke of heroes and heroines. One of my many heroes was my Mission President, O. Layton Alldredge. President Alldredge was a great story teller and he always seemed to have a story to make a point or teach a principle. Following is one of his classic stories that he often told at mission conferences and later at our missionary reunions. I think the story’s application will be obvious as we consider “ Perfecting the Saints and Purifying Our Souls.”

Holding the Fort Going around the South Coast and on around the East Coast of Africa, you eventually come to the beautiful seaport of Mombassa, settled by the Portuguese way back when. It was the Portuguese as you know who first sailed around the Cape of Good Hope. They built a fort there and named it Fort Gessel. They garrisoned it and then the fleet sailed back to Portugal. The Arab tribes held Zanzibar and other ports. The Arabs looked upon the Portuguese as intruders to their part of the world and they began to attack the Fort. A year went by and these defenders held out against their Arab attackers. Months of the second year passed and finally hope ran out and they ran up the white flag. The Arabs swarmed in and massacred every person in the Fort - every man, woman, and child - they killed them all. As fate would have it, the very next day the relief fleet Lisbon sailed into the Port - the very next day. So we learn from the story that many times all that we have to do to change things is to hold on one more day. Hold the Fort and be true to what is right.

I was in Charlotte, North Carolina, attending a zone conference, and Reggie, a young black university student, came to the conference. He had on a new pair of Levi’s that still had the four pieces of thread where the price tag had been. He wasn’t doing very well financially. He had bought them for the zone conference and had on a white shirt and tie that I think the missionaries loaned him. In a discussion he said to me, “I was taught two or three discussions. After the discussions they invited me to church. When I got to church Satan met me outside the door and he said, ‘You can’t go in there. That is a white man’s church.’ Satan tried to play the ‘colors’ game on me.”

That was interesting to me because Reggie said he went inside because he knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that the Book of Mormon was true, and that he had found more love and caring than he had known before. He said he felt like a poor beggar who had stumbled upon a field of diamonds and wanted to share with everyone he met.

My parents have always taught me how truly important paying tithing is and the blessings that come from doing so. I knew it was what I should do, but every time I got money, it seemed so much easier to just keep it all, spend it all, and not pay my tithing. As I got older, I became better at paying tithing but would occasionally forget to pay it here and there. I honestly couldn’t see how it could be such a blessing!
This last year, I was earning money just about every week doing odd jobs, and since I didn’t have a full-time job, it really was a blessing to have money when I needed things. When I was paid, though, it was always in checks or larger bills. I’d say to myself, “Oh, I’ll pay my tithing later when I get some smaller bills.” But as time kept ticking away, I fell into a bad routine. Once I got smaller bills, I’d decide that I needed a drink or something out of a vending machine at school, and I’d spend the smaller bills. Every time I’d get paid, the same thing happened, and I wouldn’t pay my tithing. I would just spend it.
Then my best friend left on his mission, and I started sending him different things. But for a month, I didn’t have any babysitting jobs, cleaning jobs, or anything. One day I went to go get money to send a package to him, but there was no money to be found in my wallet. I was so confused! Where had all my money gone? I thought about all those times I bought drinks, treats, even clothes, and all those things started to add up in my head. I put sending the package on hold.
The next day, I did end up babysitting for one of my neighbors and decided that I would pay my tithing right then and there because I knew I was very behind. I paid it all, the full amount. The next day I went to church, gave that little envelope with my tithing in it to a member of the bishopric, and had this really warm feeling inside. I wasn’t sure why; I had even less money than I had before.
That night I had three people call me to help them that week, whether it was cleaning, babysitting, or little jobs like that. I agreed to them all, and by the end of the week, I had more money than I’d hoped for. I sent the package and still had money to spare.
I realized something that week. Just paying the 10 percent that our Father in Heaven has asked for opened up a door for me to receive blessings. Since then, I’m in the habit of paying my tithing as soon as I get home and putting it in an envelope. As the week goes by, I add to it so that by the time Sunday comes, I count it, pay my tithing, and it’s no longer in my hands.
I can’t even begin to explain the wonderful feeling of knowing you’ve paid a full tithe. I will never go without paying my tithing again now that I know and have gained a true testimony of how important it is to pay not just part of it, but all of it.

Recently I have had several conversations with students and staff on campus that have helped me better understand the need to eliminate one of the most divisive and pernicious ite-like distinctions that divides most universities—the difference between faculty and staff. Are you aware that nearly a third of our students work part-time on campus and that the majority of them work under the supervision of one full-time staff member for 10 to 20 hours a week? I sought out this information regarding the scope of student employment on campus after learning about a number of life-changing experiences centered around a student employment relationship.

The story of Joe, a freshman from a broken home and impoverished circumstances, is illustrative. After weeks of struggling with classes that assumed a level of understanding far surpassing his academic preparation, on top of working 20 hours a week and worrying about how to promote reconciliation among his disaffected and dispersed family members, his stressful circumstances finally overpowered his will to succeed. Late one night this frightened and distraught member of our community made a desperate call for help to the one person he felt would be willing to listen and to care—his custodial supervisor. Fortunately he received the reassurance and counsel he needed and expected and was able to complete the semester.

There was once a man named John who, although still relatively young, had experienced much suffering and sorrow. Homeless and addicted to alcohol and other drugs, John was terribly sick and weary of life. The more he descended into illness and despair, the more he knew that if he didn’t make changes—and quickly—there was a very real possibility he would die miserable, useless, and alone.

Perhaps because he had attended Primary a few times when he was a boy, John ended up in a nearby meetinghouse where he asked to see the bishop.

“I have ruined my life,” John said between tortured sobs that emerged from the depths of his harrowed soul. He spoke of the mistakes he had made and the path of self-destruction and misery he had trod.

As the bishop listened to John’s sad story, he could tell that the man truly wanted to repent and change his life. But he could also sense that John had little confidence that he could change.

The bishop thought for a moment about what he could say. Finally, he looked up and said, “John, I have made three choices in my life that have been of value to me. They may be of assistance to you as well.”

“Please, tell me,” John pleaded. “I’ll do anything. I just want to start over. I want to go back.”

The bishop smiled and told him, “The first thing you should understand is that you can’t go back and begin where you once were. But all is not lost. You can begin where you are. Choose to begin your repentance now.”

When John heard the bishop’s words, he promised he would do what the bishop had said. Because of his addictions, John knew he needed to repent and improve his health. So he checked himself into a facility where he underwent the prolonged process of recovery. He began eating nutritious food. He began to walk and do other exercises.

Weeks passed. John was able to free himself from his addictions. He could see that his health was improving and he was getting stronger. But still he was not satisfied. There were so many things about his life that needed improvement that he felt overwhelmed and discouraged.

So, once again, he scheduled a meeting with his bishop.

That is when he learned the second choice: “John,” the bishop said to him, “you’ll most likely have a rough time if you think you can make yourself perfect all at once. What you must learn is to choose your priorities. You have to put first things first.”

John began to understand that he couldn’t change everything that was wrong with his life in an instant, but he could choose his priorities. He could focus on the things that mattered most, and with time his life would begin to improve.

With help from the elders quorum president, John found a modest place to live. He knew that he needed to find a way to support himself, and as his health and attitude improved, he found part-time work.

Each night before John went to bed, he made a list of the most important things he needed to accomplish the next day.

Eventually, John was earning a steady income. He moved into a more comfortable place and bought a car. Yet, although he was feeling much better about his life, he still felt that something was missing.

Consequently, John returned a third time to meet with his bishop.

“The reason you still feel empty,” the bishop said, “is because you have not made the third choice.”

John asked what it was.

“It’s not enough to make choices and decisions and to work on them each day,” the bishop said. “Many have spent their lives in productive labor and have accomplished much. But they still feel empty. At the end of their days they lament that their lives had little meaning.”

That was exactly what John had been feeling.

The bishop continued, “It is not enough to do things. We must do the right things—the things our Heavenly Father would want us to do.”

“How do I know what the right things are?” John asked.

The bishop smiled and pulled from his desk a set of scriptures. The leather cover was scuffed and wrinkled. The gilded edges on the paper were nearly worn away. “Through the scriptures and the words of latter-day prophets,” the bishop replied. “These are the ‘right things.’ Some believe that the commandments of our Heavenly Father are restrictive and hard. To the contrary, they’re a handbook to happiness. Every aspect of the gospel of Jesus Christ—the principles, the doctrines, and the commandments—is a part of our Heavenly Father’s plan to help us obtain peace and happiness.”

The bishop turned to the Book of Mormon and read the words of King Benjamin: “Consider … the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness.”

As the bishop spoke, John thought about his own life. The things he had acquired hadn’t brought him happiness. Perhaps what the bishop was saying was true. Maybe happiness did come from living in harmony with the commandments of our Heavenly Father.

“Remember the words of the Savior,” the bishop said, as though he knew what John was thinking. “‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’”

That very night, John made a commitment to open the word of God and to learn for himself the commandments and doctrines of his Heavenly Father. No longer did he resist the words of the Lord, but rather he embraced and cherished them. As he did, the emptiness in his soul began to shrink, and in its place he gradually discovered joy and peace that surpassed his understanding.

The things the bishop had told John had indeed transformed his life. Where once he was broken, sorrowful, and close to death, now he felt alive, vibrant, and filled with joy.

No eight-year-old hated wearing a coat more than I did. Sure, a coat might come in handy on an Arctic expedition. But most of the time, I thought going coatless made a lot of sense. Who wanted to worry about finding a place to hang a coat and then get in trouble for leaving it behind?
I definitely didn’t expect to need my coat that New Year’s Eve. My family would be driving to my grandparents’ house and spending the night. I’d suffocate if I had to wear my big itchy coat for two hours, wedged in the backseat of the station wagon between my two brothers. Once we got to Grandma’s, we would play board games until midnight and watch the parade on TV the next day. Then we’d sit down to eat Grandma’s pork roast, homemade applesauce, and butter cookies. I would be indoors the whole time—no need for a coat.
As we piled into the station wagon, Mom went down her checklist. Maybe she wouldn’t notice that I didn’t have my coat. Yes, we remembered our toothbrushes. Yes, we packed our pajamas.
“Where’s your coat, Lana?” She noticed!
“I won’t need it. I won’t be outside at all.”
“Go get your coat. And hurry, please. It’s already getting dark.”
I dashed inside and yanked open the closet door. My warm winter coat and my jacket hung side by side. The jacket! Light, silky, and comfortable, it was the perfect solution. As I reached for the jacket, I had a feeling that I should wear the big coat instead.
I ignored the feeling. Surely I wouldn’t need that stuffy old thing. The jacket would do just fine.
Again something nudged me toward the heavy coat. Shrugging it off again, I snatched the thin jacket and ran to the car.
They were waiting for me with the engine running. Mom frowned when she glanced at my jacket, but Dad put the car in reverse and backed out of the garage.
Halfway into the trip, a thick layer of fog rolled in. The headlights turned the fog a milky white that was difficult to see through. My parents were tense and quiet. The mood spread to the backseat, keeping my brothers and me quiet, too.
Without warning, a pair of headlights appeared suddenly in front of us. In a shattering explosion of glass and metal, we crashed head-on into a pickup truck that had strayed into our lane. The noise was deafening, and the silence immediately afterward was just as loud.
“Is everybody OK?” My father’s strained voice was the first to break the stillness.
A shaky response came from my older brother. “I think so.”
“All of you need to get out and stand in that field. I’ll help Mom.”
My brothers and I scrambled out of the backseat and stood on frozen mud next to the road. With Dad’s arm around her, Mom limped over to us. A painful bump on the head had shaken her, but she seemed OK.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dad asked us.
With wide eyes, we each nodded.
Dad looked each of us over before hurrying back to check on the man in the pickup truck.
My thin jacket was no match for the icy December air. Even huddled up against Mom, my shivers wouldn’t stop. I thought of my warm winter coat hanging in the closet back home.
An ambulance came, then a police car. Voices squawked from the radio as the rotating lights dyed the fog red, then blue, red, blue. Dad came back and led us to the police car. We had shivered for over an hour in the bitter cold.
A police officer drove us to the hospital. The ambulance had already taken the other man. Dad got stitches in his hand, and the doctors examined Mom’s head injury. She was OK. My brothers and I had a few bruises, but we knew it could have been much worse.
My grandparents picked us up at the hospital and took us to their house. When Grandma tucked me into bed and kissed me good-night, my body seemed to melt into the softness of the sheets. For the first time that night, I felt warm and safe.
I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts drifted back to the moment when I had decided to bring my jacket. It dawned on me that the Holy Ghost had been telling me to wear my warm coat.
A few months earlier my grandpa had confirmed me a member of the Church, and I had received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I remembered the power in his hands when he placed them on my head. I had been so excited, so eager to hear what the Holy Ghost would say to me. Now I had ignored Him. My throat tightened as I fought back tears.
A new feeling came and took the tears away. I felt the love of my Heavenly Father. I knew He would help me through the difficult times in my life. He couldn’t take away every bad thing, but He would help me if I let Him.
I moved the curtains above the bed aside just enough to see outside. The fog was as thick as ever. No stars tonight. I imagined the stars, the moon, the planets, the entire universe. The God of all creation had wanted to give me a warm coat tonight.
A tear slipped down my cheek. This time it was a tear of gratitude. I rolled out of bed and onto my knees. I needed to tell Heavenly Father that I was ready to listen and obey the still, small voice.

Kelley could not find Samuel’s wife. Kelley knew her name, but Samuel’s wife just wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It was like unraveling a mystery, and it was frustrating. “His wife had a nickname, and we had to get a special form for the census to get her record. Then we had to put their names in code before we asked for it. We would do these names in code, and then we were wrong, wrong, wrong.”
For a little while one Saturday afternoon in Anchorage, Alaska, Kelley Staats, a Beehive in the Anchorage Sixth Ward, got a taste of what doing family history was really like. Even though Kelley was having a hard time for a few minutes, she was actually having a great time figuring out how to find information from census, cemetery, immigration, and church records.

When Jeremy is not doing schoolwork, church work, or socializing with his friends, you might catch him involved in another rather surprising activity. Jeremy is a painter. His mother, an accomplished artist herself, has been a tremendous help and inspiration to him in this area and many others. With his canvas propped up in front of him, he holds the brush with his teeth and produces some impressive artwork. His favorite subjects are birds, but he created a Christmas scene that the Make-A-Wish Foundation used on their annual Christmas card. Make-A-Wish had previously helped Jeremy by making his lifelong dream of visiting Hawaii come true. By letting them use his painting, he was able to help them in return.

When I was a young man I wondered why the Lord needed to have the Prophet Joseph Smith translate the Book of Mormon to begin the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I knew that God the Father and Jesus Christ had spoken with him. I knew that Peter, James, and John had restored the Melchizedek Priesthood, that prophets had brought the keys, and that Joseph had been taught by apostles and prophets from earlier dispensations. With all of that, I wondered what the place of the coming forth of the Book of Mormon in all of that was.
Then I began missionary work. One of my early companions told me the story of his conversion. I remember his words, which were something like this: “The missionaries had taught me. I had read the Book of Mormon. The missionaries challenged me to set a date for baptism, but I could not decide. Finally, I knew I had to make a choice. So, I knelt down and prayed to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I told God that I was desperate, that I knew this was the most important decision I had ever made, and that I needed His help. The Spirit testified to me that the Book of Mormon was true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that the Church was true, and so I was baptized.”

You know what makes me smile most? When Mama says she called me her little china doll—I was a baby then. I don’t remember much about that but I remember some kids saying, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah,” and making funny faces, and Mama shooing them away and then holding me against her and crying. I don’t understand it yet.
I remember when a strange man came to our house when the chapel was finished. He was from Salt Lake.
“He’s an apostle of God,” Daddy told me. I stood and stared at him and pinched his arm until Mama pulled me away.
“Don’t bother Brother Kirkham, Cindy,” she said.
“It’s all right, Sister Abbott,” he said. His eyes twinkled and he lifted me onto his lap. He put one hand on my hand.
“Cindy’s no bother.” He smiled, and I felt something warm inside of me. “Brother and Sister Abbott, this spirit is so special in God’s eyes,” he went on, “that she was sent to earth for her mortal body in such a way that she cannot be tempted by this world. She will return to God as pure as she came. You have been chosen to take care of this special spirit. Try to understand her for she certainly holds hands with God.”
Mama didn’t cry as much after the apostle went away, and Daddy began to whistle. The children didn’t say, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah” anymore. They took my hand and said, “Come and play with us, Cindy.”

Second, the quorum as a fraternity. Many years ago I was called to be the adviser to a priests quorum. It was during a time when the Church had instituted a standard quorum award program. The program was designed to encourage the full quorum to have an interest in each member. An award was given for the achievement of the total quorum, not for individual accomplishment.

This was a quorum of high-spirited, devoted young men. They fulfilled their quorum responsibilities almost 100 percent, with the exception of one member. Bill had lost his father the previous year, and he was having a hard time adjusting to this great loss in his life. His mother was doing all she could to help Bill find himself again, but he started missing his meetings and developing some other bad habits.

After Bill had missed one meeting, a quorum member was assigned to contact him and encourage him to attend his quorum meeting. The quorum member was only able to reach his mother, who explained that Bill stayed out so late on Saturday night she could not get him up on Sunday morning. The second week came and still no Bill in quorum meeting. Again a contact was tried, with the same result.

As we assembled for quorum meeting the third week without Bill, I could see there was great concern on the part of the quorum for their absent member. They expressed the fact they were not a whole quorum without him, and they could not hold another meeting without Bill. I asked for suggestions. Quick was the response that we go over to his home and hold the meeting.

We drove to Bill’s house. His mother was most cooperative and invited us to go back into Bill’s bedroom. There was Bill, comfortably sleeping in his bed. We started the meeting with a spirited opening hymn. On the first note Bill came up out of those sheets like he had been shot out of a gun. He wondered what was happening to him.

What followed was one of the sweet experiences of my life. Each quorum member expressed his love for Bill. This was followed by a kneeling prayer around Bill’s bed. Bill got to his feet after the prayer with tears rolling down his face. We shook hands and left, a whole quorum once again. Bill knew of the love his quorum members had for him, and he wanted to be a part of it.

This call from one generation to another is one of the reasons we hold priesthood meetings with dads seated next to sons, and priesthood leaders at the side of those whose fathers may be absent. It was in a stake priesthood meeting with a format very much like this one that the then twelve-year-old Gordon B. Hinckley stood in the back of the old Salt Lake Tenth Ward building—his first such stake priesthood meeting as a newly ordained deacon—feeling just a bit lonely and a little out of place.

But upon hearing the men of that stake sing W. W. Phelps’s stirring memorial tribute “Praise to the Man,” this young boy, who would one day be a prophet himself, had it borne upon his soul that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God, that he had in truth “communed with Jehovah,” that “millions shall know ‘Brother Joseph’ again” (Hymns, 1985, no. 27). Yes, some part of the preparation for this morning’s solemn assembly began when a twelve-year-old deacon heard faithful, experienced, older men sing the hymns of Zion in a priesthood meeting.

President Russell M. Nelson is a wonderful example of spiritual poise. One time, while then-Dr. Nelson was performing a quadruple coronary artery bypass, the patient’s blood pressure dropped suddenly. Dr. Nelson calmly assessed the situation and identified that a clamp was accidentally removed by one of the team members. It was replaced immediately, and Dr. Nelson comforted the team member, saying, "I still love you," and then added jokingly, "Sometimes I love you more than other times!" He showed how an emergency should be handled—with poise, focused only on what matters most—addressing the emergency. President Nelson said: "It’s a matter of extreme self-discipline. Your natural reaction is, ‘Take me out, coach! I want to go home.’ But of course you can’t. A life is totally dependent on the whole surgical team. So you’ve got to stay just as calm and relaxed and sharp as you ever were."