Gospel Story Finder

It was a warm fall day in 1961. Bobby and his friend Jeff were walking home from a Cub Scout den meeting. Bobby was feeling good. It had been a fun meeting. They had talked about the Cub Scout Promise. Their leader let them draw pictures on a chalkboard to show what the Cub Scout Promise meant to them. Bobby had drawn a picture of a smiling Scout taking out the trash. That was how he could “help other people.”

“What did you draw?” Bobby asked Jeff. “I forgot.”

“I drew a Cub Scout going to church,” Jeff said. “He was doing his ‘duty to God.’”

“Oh, yeah.” Bobby looked down and noticed chalk dust on the sleeve of his uniform. He brushed it off. He was proud of his uniform. When he wore it, he felt like someone important. He tried to take good care of it.

Jeff thrust his hand into his pocket. “Hey, what is this?” He pulled out a long stick of chalk. It was the chalk he had used to draw on the blackboard at Scouts. “Oops. Guess I’ll have to return this next week.”

Bobby reached for the chalk. “Give it to me for a second.” He put the chalk between his index and middle fingers and brought it up to his lips. Then he looked away and pretended to blow smoke. “Who do I look like?” he asked, repeating the action.

Jeff laughed. “The cowboy guy on that billboard ad.”

“Yeah, look at me. I’m cool.” Bobby strutted around, puffing on his chalk stick. Just then a car drove by and honked. The car was full of teenagers who waved at him and cheered.

“Who are they?” Jeff asked. “Do you know them?”

“No,” Bobby said. “And I don’t want to. They are the tough kids at the high school.” Bobby handed the chalk back to Jeff. “Here. You keep this.”

They walked home in silence.

When Bobby walked through the front door of his house, his mother was waiting for him, arms folded. “Sit down, Son,” she said. “We need to talk.” They sat on the couch. “I just got a phone call from Sister Jensen. She was on her way home from the store and saw you and Jeff standing on the corner. She said you were smoking cigarettes.”

Bobby moaned. “It was chalk, Mom. We were just pretending. Honest.”

“Where is the chalk now?”

“Jeff has it. We accidentally brought it home from the den meeting. You can ask him.”

“I will. But first I want to know why you would pretend to be smoking.”

Bobby squirmed. “Well I thought it would make me feel cool. Like that guy on TV.”

“Did it?”

“Just for a minute. Then I felt really stupid.”

“I didn’t think you really had been smoking,” Mom said, putting her arm around Bobby. “But can you see how even looking like you’re doing wrong can get you into trouble? The Apostle Paul taught that we should avoid the very appearance of evil.”*

“That’s only half of it, Mom. While I was pretending to smoke, some obnoxious teenagers drove by and cheered. I felt dirty and ashamed. Why did they do that? I’m not like them. I never want to be like them.”

“But they thought you were. Which is another reason to avoid the appearance of evil. Evil attracts evil. If people making bad choices think you are doing bad things, too, they’ll encourage you to keep doing worse things. You want good friends who will encourage you to do your best.”

“D.Y.B.” Bobby smiled. “Do your best.” That was the Cub Scout Motto and something Bobby’s mother said to him every morning when he walked out the door. “But what do I do now, Mom? Do I need to repent? I didn’t really do anything wrong. I just pretended.”

“I think you still need to undo any wrong impressions you gave. Why don’t you call Sister Jensen and apologize for acting the way you did?”

Bobby sighed. “OK.”

“And from now on, try to be so good that there will be no doubt in the minds of those teenagers what you really stand for and whom you follow. And return the chalk, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And tell Jeff what you learned from all this. By the way, what did you learn?”

“Well, my Primary teacher once told us you can’t do bad and feel good.”

“That’s true. In the Book of Mormon, Alma taught, ‘Wickedness never was happiness.’”†

“But I’ve learned that there’s even more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve learned that you can’t even pretend to do bad and still feel good.”

My father isn’t active in the Church, and that is the cause of conflict in my home. I work really hard to set a good example for him, and I know he can see the difference in my life.

But sometimes I have felt like there was someone trying to undo all the good things I did at home. It was really discouraging. One Sunday after church, I talked to my sister about it and we agreed to start doing secret acts of service in our home. Each week we chose someone in our family and tried to spend time with that person. We left notes of encouragement and did little things like making sure a sister’s dress was pressed for church or a brother’s soccer uniform was washed.

It didn’t take long for our family to realize who was providing the service, but now everyone joins in and does something. We can see the love in our home now—it is in everything we do.

Brother Decker kept working with us each troop meeting. He taught us how to plan our own program, built up our enthusiasm with songs and games, and helped us with advancement. In September we had a Court of Honor where nearly everyone advanced a rank and over 50 merit badges were given. A district camporee followed soon afterwards, an overnight event held at Sugar Loaf Mountain on Sycamore Creek. Brother Decker let us set up camp just the way we wanted it. Our patrol leaders assigned boys to dig the latrine, rope off the wood-chopping area, make the grease pit, etc. It was a Boy Scout troop run by the boys!
Saturday was given to merit badge work. Brother Decker had classes on nature and was gone most of the day. At 3:00 P.M. we had our closing ceremony, and awards were given to the outstanding troops, with suitable prizes. There was one for the troop that showed the most improvement from last year, and others for similar things. When they were ready to announce the first-place winner, we glanced over and saw the prize sitting on the table, a dutch oven—just what we needed most in our troop equipment. And the winning troop was–756!

The Filipino lawyer’s residence at 23–24 Higashicho, 2-Chome, Kichijoji, Musashimoshi, 25-minutes away by commuter train from Shibuya station in Tokyo, could have been merely one of many typical Japanese bungalows in the area were it not for some aspects.
His was the only Filipino family in the area. What made it more interesting was the proximity of his home to an institution for Catholic nuns and its sprawling grounds across the street (where his three daughters and a son played after school), to a Protestant minister’s residence at the rear, and to a Mormon chapel a block away where, two years before, his children were invited to front row seats in the cultural hall of the meetinghouse for a live performance of the Osmond Brothers.
With these religious influences in the immediate vicinity of his home, the Filipino was determined to celebrate Christmas Eve, which then fell on a Sunday, in a Christian manner he had not observed for a long time. He was going to erect a big Christmas tree with multicolored lights inside the living room, which could be seen from the outside through huge picture windows facing the street.
That particular Sunday, the lawyer feverishly worked on his indoor Christmas tree, at intervals playing indoor golf practice, drinking, smoking and listening to stereo music. His wife, Alice, had gone to market for the week-end specials she loved to prepare for the family. By lunchtime the “masterpiece” was completed.
As darkness fell, he switched on the colored lights and went outside to assess his handiwork. It was beautiful! His Christmas tree was a spectacular display all the passersby admired. It was like a huge beacon that brightened the entire neighborhood, and his face beamed with pride over the thought that his masterpiece would be the focal point of his best Christmas ever, over a period of eight years living in different places in a foreign country with a different culture.
Later in the evening, as they were about to partake of the traditional Filipino noche buena, his children (Jacqueline, Janette, Jonathan and Jean-Marie) excitedly announced the presence of persons outside. “They are only admiring my Christmas tree!” their father proudly explained.
Suddenly, a superb blending of voices singing in English a hymn unfamiliar to them filled the air like angelic voices in the night. They all rushed to the door. This was the first time in their lives to hear such a beautiful song—harmonizing from the lips of about 16 people, six of whom were American young men. The group had seen the Christmas tree. They were Mormons from the chapel a block away! It was a heart-warming scene as the Filipino family listened to the group, enraptured by a hymn that expressed words of “love at home”.
Suddenly, in the lawyer’s mind, his masterpiece of a Christmas tree had paled in comparison with the heavenly voices of the Mormon group. Suddenly, Christmas Eve for the family was the best ever, as angelic voices were heard in Kichijoji!—Posidio Ocampo, Jr.
Notes: If they get the chance to read this piece, the Japanese members of the group and the six American missionaries who had long returned to the U.S. will fondly recall that, on December 24, 1972, a Filipino family living near the Mormon chapel in Kichijoji opened their home and their hearts to them, and that through their song they planted the seed of the true Church in their hearts.
The Filipino family returned to the Philippines 4 years later and on September 3, 1977 husband and wife (Bro. Adaucto P. Ocampo and Sis. Alice Reyes Ocampo) were baptized in the Marikina chapel.

We encourage those of you who have a large reservation of names to share them so that members of your extended family or ward and stake can help you in completing that work. You can do this by distributing temple cards to ward and stake members willing to help or by using the FamilySearch computer system to submit the names directly to the temple. This latter option is something Cindy Blevins of Casper, Wyoming, has been doing for years.
Sister Blevins was baptized as a teenager and has been the only member of her family to join the Church. She has completed a vast amount of genealogical work. But there are far too many names for her and her immediate family to complete. Consequently, Sister Blevins has submitted the names to the temple, which, she reports, are often completed in a matter of weeks, usually at one of the two temples closest to her home. She says she likes to think that friends and neighbors in her own ward and stake may be among those helping to complete the work for her ancestors. She appreciates their doing so.

President Cowley had an interesting story to tell about repentance.

There was a man by the name of Syd who lived in a little Maori village on the east coast of New Zealand. At that time there was a large branch of the Church there with about four hundred members. One Saturday afternoon, after a long, eight-hour drive, President Cowley arrived at this village and went directly to see his old friend, Syd.

As a young man, Syd had been an outstanding athlete. He had attended high school and college in the United States. He had become a well-known basketball player, and, as an all-star athlete, he had received a lot of publicity.

Syd had been ordained a seventy while he had lived in the United States, and when he arrived back in New Zealand, he had found that he was the only seventy in the whole area, and he didn’t have a quorum to belong to. He had become somewhat inactive, and he hadn’t been keeping the Word of Wisdom, but deep within his heart he still knew the gospel to be true.

As a mission president and a friend, President Cowley called on Syd, and found him sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, smoking a big cigar. Syd didn’t stop chewing on his cigar as President Cowley sat down beside him to visit.

After they had talked and laughed for a while, President Cowley became serious and said, “Syd, I want you to come to church tomorrow. I’m going to release the branch president and put in a new one.”

Syd said, “I haven’t been there for a long time. Why don’t you just tell me who the new branch president will be, and then I won’t have to get myself cleaned up for church in the morning.”

President Cowley said, “Well, I’ll tell you who it is. It’s going to be you.”

Syd pulled that old cigar out of his mouth, looked at it, and said, “President, you mean me and my cigar?”

President Cowley said, “No, Syd—just you. We don’t need your cigar.”

Then Syd threw the cigar out on the ground in front of the porch. He thought for a minute, turned to President Cowley, and very humbly said, “President, I won’t break the Word of Wisdom any more. I’m a full-tithe payer. I’ll be the branch president, and I’ll be worthy. Tomorrow morning I’ll be there, and I promise you that I’ll be the best branch president in the whole country. You won’t have to worry about me and whether or not I’m living the gospel.”

For the next several years, Syd served as one of the strongest and finest leaders in the mission. His son became the first bishop in the ward when the stake was created. Just recently, his grandson was released from serving as a bishop. Syd’s whole family is strong and active in the Church today and is one of the great families in New Zealand. Why? Because old Syd knew how to repent. He repented on the spot. When he was called to repentance, he quit his worldly ways. He became and remained a faithful Saint until the day he died.

In most cases, that’s all there is to repentance. Do you see how really simple that was? President Cowley never did ask Syd to repent. He gave him an opportunity to be of service to the Church in a priesthood calling. Syd knew that if he accepted that calling, he could no longer sin, so he immediately quit. It was over—just like that! The Lord accepted his repentance, and Syd became a great leader.

Delynn, 24, accepted an internship with the computer division of a major local employer. During her internship she worked on several challenging projects. The established programmers taught her techniques she had not learned through her course work. She worked hard and learned as much as she could. After the internship, she kept in touch. As graduation drew closer, her former supervisor asked if she would be interested in coming back to the firm. She also received several offers from other companies. Delynn chose the company she had interned with, because she knew the environment in which she would be working and enjoyed the challenges she knew she would receive. Since she had already worked for them, the company assigned her to a key project within weeks of starting.

“A very long time ago,” Mom began, “long before even Grandma and Grandpa were born, there was a young family. They lived on a farm. It wasn’t an easy life. They had to work very hard. One year their daddy had to go away and find work so they’d have money to buy food. He left his wife and three daughters all by themselves.”
“My great-grandma was one of the daughters, wasn’t she?” asked Robbin.
Mom nodded. “That’s right.”
Mom went on with the story. “Well, Thanksgiving came and there was hardly anything to eat. Your great-great-grandmother felt sorry for her sweet little girls. But she had an idea. She took—”
“Flour,” said Dad.
“And salt,” said Robbin.
“And shortening,” said Mom with a nod. “She made pie crust. Then she cut it into long strips. And then she took some cream from their cows and whipped it up. On Thanksgiving morning she and the girls used the pie crust and cream to make small log cabins.”
Dad came over and leaned on the counter. “And we make our log cabins every year to remind us of the many blessings Heavenly Father has given us.”
“And because it’s fun!” said Robbin.
Mom and Dad laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Dad checked the pie crust. The white strips he’d put in the oven had turned a beautiful golden color. “Done!” He slid the piecrust “logs” onto a rack to cool.
Robbin sniffed the freshly baked pie-crust logs. They smelled warm and delicious.
Later that day Robbin’s cousins came over. Mom brought out a large plate piled high with logs ready to use. She put the plate next to a bowl of whipped cream. All the children hurried to the table.
Know what’s fun? Starting a new family tradition! Like starting Thanksgiving in October with our friends in Canada!
“Wait!” said Mom. “Before you begin, who can remember the story of the log cabins?”
Robbin felt happy inside as one of her cousins started telling the story. They had a house and plenty of food. She was glad they had a special way to celebrate all the blessings Heavenly Father had given them.

One morning as I watched TV, I came across a show about ghosts. Watching it unsettled me, and I switched off the TV. I’ve always had a hard time separating fact from fiction. I have a vivid imagination, and often I can’t help but conjure up images and situations in my mind that turn my blood cold.
That night, the memory of the ghost stories assaulted me, and I lay in my bed in wide-eyed terror. My imagination wouldn’t stop, and I was literally afraid for my life.
I turned on my lamp and prayed for peace.
Finishing my prayer, I opened my scriptures. As I read, my anxiety slowly faded. I felt the comforting impression that my Heavenly Father was aware of my fears. He would protect me. I read on, clinging to the growing feeling of comfort.
I read Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.”
I wasn’t really alone. I was reassured that Heavenly Father is aware of me and knows my fears. I closed my book and drifted off into peaceful sleep.
I know that Heavenly Father will always be there for me. In a world where apprehension and uncertainty threaten peace of mind, we can take refuge in the Lord.

“Recently I have had a lot of personal accomplishments that have helped me feel good about my abilities,” wrote 18-year-old Brian Whitmer. “One night, though, I was reading Alma 26:12 where Ammon gives God credit for everything, and I realized I hadn’t been doing so. Then President Hinckley’s words reinforced my decision to give God credit—to thank Him for His help and blessings in my personal life. Since then I’ve noticed a change in my life as I’ve become more spiritual and more grateful.”

Five-year-old Jill Lam giggled nervously when her mother asked her to bless the food. She wasn’t used to praying in front of guests. Hesitantly, she stood up to offer a brief blessing.
She stumbled over the first few words, self-consciously aware of the strangers in her home. “We’re thankful for the food,” she mumbled quickly. “Please bless it.”
Then Jill paused. Despite her eagerness to end the prayer, there was another desire even stronger, one her family shared and had uttered in every prayer in their home for the last year. “And Heavenly Father, bless that the temple will be finished quickly and that we can live worthy of going there someday,” Jill concluded breathlessly.
Jill’s poignant prayer was one shared by thousands of Church members in Hong Kong since October 1992 when President Gordon B. Hinckley, then First Counselor in the First Presidency, announced the building of the Hong Kong Temple. Those prayers were abundantly answered when President Hinckley, as President of the Church, dedicated the Hong Kong Temple on 26 and 27 May 1996.

It was a hot day in July. I remember it well. After working hard in our yard all morning, Dad wiped the sweat from his face and neck with his handkerchief and looked up toward the east mountains.
“It would be nice and cool at Fish Lake. It’s going to be a scorcher here all day, that’s for sure.” Dad looked tired. He’d been up since dawn.
“What if I packed a lunch and we went to Fish Lake for the rest of the day?” Mama suggested.
Lorraine, the oldest of the children, was sent to Berthelson’s store for a can of deviled ham and some cheese to make sandwiches. The rest of us scurried to get ready to go. We put the camp quilt Grandma made for us in the trunk of our new 1952 Chevrolet. Now we would have something to spread out under the trees. We could put our tablecloth on it for our picnic, and Dad would have a soft place to lie and rest during the afternoon.
“If only I had time to stir up a cake,” Mama wailed. “We don’t have a thing for dessert.”
“Take some bottled fruit,” Dad advised. “It’s too hot to heat up the oven.” He was always in a hurry it seemed. Maybe he was anxious to get started so he could see how well our new car, that we had saved so long to buy, would climb steep Oak Springs Hollow Road.
Lorraine was back with the deviled ham and cheese. “They had watermelons at the store, but they cost a whole dollar.”
“Oh, let’s stop and buy one for dessert,” the rest of us chanted. We hadn’t tasted watermelon yet that year.
We counted out our money. “If we buy the watermelon, there won’t be enough left to buy gasoline,” Mama reasoned.
“Maybe we could charge it until our milk check comes?” Lorraine offered. “Mrs. Berthelson let Sue Ellen’s mama get one and pay for it later.”
“Now you know how your dad feels about buying and paying later.” Mama packed a bottle of peaches and a jar of apricot marmalade from the cellar into our lunch basket.
Daddy knew the exact spot to eat our lunch over on old Sawtooth Mountain. He’d been there when he was a Boy Scout and had never forgotten the fun he had. We couldn’t drive all the way up, so we parked at the foot of the steep trail and carried our things up the mountainside. We found a place where tall trees grew, and shade was as dense as green velvet. There on a little plateau, by a trickling stream fed by snowbanks, near the top of the mountain, we spread out the quilt.
Mama sent us upstream to fill the water jug. Lo and behold, what did we spy but a plump watermelon nestled among wet gray rocks in the water!
“Come and see,” we shouted. “Come see what we found.”
The whole family came immediately to the spot. Everyone stared in amazement, taking turns touching the melon. It was icy cold.
“Heavenly Father must have known just how much we wanted a watermelon for our lunch,” little Geraldine laughed, clapping her hands for joy.
That melon was as crisp as a September morn. It would crack when we opened it. We could just see its ripe perfection, taste its juicy sweetness.
“Heavenly Father knew how much we like watermelon,” Lorraine added.
“Heavenly Father doesn’t have melons grow in water,” Dad remarked. “He makes them grow on vines. No, somebody put that melon in this creek to cool, and somebody will be coming back to get it.”
We looked all around. We couldn’t see anyone, not even footprints. We listened. We couldn’t hear a thing except the gurgling of water tumbling over rocks. Yet in our hearts we knew it would be wrong to take something that did not belong to us.”
“Oh, Dad, you’re such a killjoy. Maybe whoever put it there forgot where it is, and if we don’t eat it, it might just lie there and spoil.”
Disappointment showed in our faces.
“What is the matter with bottled peaches?” Dad coaxed back our smiles.
Bottled peaches would be just fine.
We left the cold melon where it was. We ate our lunch, including peaches for dessert, and while we were eating no one mentioned watermelon. As we walked down the trail back to the car and all the way home, we wondered if anyone would come for it.
Sometimes I think about that watermelon. Whenever I cut into a crisp melon that cracks open to reveal a deep red heart, or I eat a bite of the sweet, juicy fruit, I remember that day in the mountains when Dad taught us simply by his example a lesson in a long line of lessons that have shaped our lives.

Clarence stared out the car window as the harbor came into view. Boats floated in the water in front of colorful houses and shops. Copenhagen, Denmark, was a beautiful city filled with palaces, mansions, and parks. It was not at all like Clarence’s hometown in Utah, USA. Clarence could picture the dusty streets where he ran races as a boy. Now he was a member of the United States track team, and tomorrow he would be facing a famous Danish runner in an important race.
The car stopped at a small chapel where a Church meeting had already started.
As Clarence slipped into the back of the meeting, one of the missionaries sitting on the stand recognized him from a news article about tomorrow’s race. The branch president asked Clarence to come up and speak.
After Clarence told why he was visiting, a boy stood up and raised his hand. “Do you think you can beat the Danish champion?” he asked.
Clarence wasn’t sure what to say. The Danish runner did have a better time in the mile that season.
“Of course he can,” said one of the missionaries before Clarence could answer. “Because he lives the Word of Wisdom.” He opened his scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 89. He read the promise that those who keep the Word of Wisdom “shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint” (verse 20).
Clarence saw a long row of boys looking up at him. What could he say? As a child he had promised to always keep the Word of Wisdom. But that alone didn’t mean he could win this race. Winning also required practice and skill. As Clarence left the meeting, he thought, Well, no one from church will be at the race tomorrow anyway.
The next evening as Clarence was warming up for his race, he looked up and saw the two missionaries with a group of about 17 boys. They had come!
As they got closer, one of the missionaries whispered to Clarence, “If you’ve ever run fast in your life, you’d better run fast tonight.” Many of the boys weren’t members of the Church but had come with their friends to see if the Word of Wisdom was really true.
Clarence was worried. In this race, his best might not be good enough. But he was running for a principle of the gospel of Jesus Christ. He had to win. He had never prayed to win before, but he found an empty room to kneel and pray.
He prayed, “Father in Heaven, I know the Word of Wisdom is true, and I have never broken it. Please bless me with victory in this race.” As he walked out to the starting line, he knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer. He trusted Heavenly Father’s will.
The evening was rainy and muddy. As Clarence began the race, it seemed just like many other mile races he had run. The pace was fast, and the Danish champion was ahead. But as Clarence finished the third lap, suddenly he was not tired anymore. He started running faster, and it didn’t hurt. Going even a little faster still didn’t hurt. He passed the Danish champion and still went faster.
As Clarence came around the turn, his coach yelled, “Slow down! You’ll never make the finish line!” But Clarence knew he could keep running. And when he finished the race, he was more than 50 yards (46 m) ahead of the Danish runner! He knew he had won because Heavenly Father had answered his prayer and because the Word of Wisdom is true.
Clarence F. Robison raced in the 1948 Summer Olympics and became a great college track coach. When he was young, he promised his mother he would always keep the Word of Wisdom. He knew this wouldn’t make him win all his races. But he knew that Heavenly Father could help him do his best when he was clean and worthy and faithful.

Ouch!” Caroline cried when she pricked her finger with a needle for the third time. Holding the quilt block to the light, she examined her progress. The rose she had been sewing with such tiny stitches bloomed bravely. She had one more block to sew, then she could begin sewing the quilt blocks together.
“Carrie,” her brother called excitedly from outside. The fresh salt breeze stirred her curls as she leaned out the window. The gray blue of Barnegat Bay was a beautiful sight with the wind ruffling the water and swishing the grass.
“Carrie,” Tom shouted again. “Father needs a message about supplies sent to Trenton.”
For three months Tom and Father had been passing information about King George’s soldiers up the coast to the patriots in Trenton, and she thought that Tom was sometimes carried away with the Revolution and their part in it.
Carrie and her family lived some distance from the center of their town with its white clapboard houses and tree-lined streets. As he mended nets or worked on his fishing boat her father was able to see things that others might miss. After he gathered information about ships or troops or supplies, he drove to Trenton in the wagon or sent Tom with a message. Tom thought it was a great adventure to saddle his horse Powder and deliver the latest installment of information.
Carrie worried that someone might discover the real reason for Tom and Father’s frequent trips, even though their messages were always hidden in barrels of salted fish, rolls of netting, or under Powder’s saddle blanket. Turning from the window, she crossed the room and picked up her sewing. She was busily unpicking a row of crooked stitches when Tom and her father came into the room.
“Carrie,” her father spoke quietly and quickly. “I’m afraid that the enemy suspects that Tom and I have been acting as couriers, so I’m asking you to take the message this time. We have a message that must be delivered. It’s a good thing that your mother is visiting Aunt Liza in Trenton so you’ll have a reason for going there.”
Carrie nodded her head in agreement while she repinned the applique pattern onto her sewing.
“Tom, hurry and saddle Powder while Carrie and I think of a place to hide the message,” Father urged.
Carrie listened eagerly as Father continued, “We can’t hide it on the horse or saddle. We’ve done that too many times before. Nor can we hide it in your boots or in the food or—”
Carrie, who was still working with the pattern for the quilt block, interrupted him as an idea came to her. “Father, I’ll finish unpicking the stitches around this rose, then we can slip the message between the rose and the quilt block. I’ll sew it up, pin the applique pattern on the top so the block will have a feel of paper, and it will be as safe as can be.”
Carrie showed her father where there could be a secret pocket between the rose and the quilt block. He took a folded paper from his pocket and slipped it into the hiding place she had made. Then Carrie quickly stitched the rose into place. Smoothing it, she put the block into her sewing basket and fastened the clasp.
“Quick, Carrie, there’s little time,” Father said as he took her dark blue cloak from the hook by the door and settled it on her shoulders.
“You are to ride straight to the Delaware Printing Shop on Front Street. John Grant will be watching for Powder. Give him the message and then ride to Aunt Eliza’s.” He looked into his young daughter’s eyes. “Tom and I will pray for your safe trip, my dear,” he said and gave her a quick hug.
Carrie picked up her sewing basket, gathered the cloak around her, and ran outside where Tom helped her onto the sturdy little horse that would carry her to Trenton. Tom squeezed her hand as he handed her the reins and then safely tucked the sewing basket and a packet of bread and cheese into the saddlebags.
Carrie pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and waved good-bye as Powder settled into a steady gait. Most of the journey would be along the lonely coast road. Powder knew this road so well that Carrie let him find his way while gulls wheeled above the boggy track. Just before Powder took the turn where the sandy path merged into the well-traveled main road, Carrie reined the horse in and offered a silent prayer for the success of the ride.
Powder’s hooves made an even beat on the hard surface of the road as they picked up speed and raced toward Trenton. Carrie was so concerned about her errand that she barely heard the shout of a soldier from somewhere in the gloom.
“Halt, young lady,” he repeated. The soldier was an older man who had a pleasant smile on his face as he stepped out of the shadows and greeted, “Hello, miss. What are you doing alone on this road so late?”
“I’m on my way to my Aunt Eliza’s in Trenton. My mother’s there and I’m to join her,” Carrie explained, shivering with cold and fear.
The soldier’s lantern made curious shadows when he held it up to look into Carrie’s face, then he said, “Well, miss, I’m sorry but I must search your saddlebags. Would you please dismount?”
The frightened girl scrambled down off the horse and stood beside Powder as his saddle was removed and his saddle blanket shaken. Then the soldier took the saddlebags and carefully unpacked them. He grinned when he found the bread and cheese, and handed them to Carrie whose mouth was so dry she knew she could never choke down the food Tom had packed for her. When the man lifted out the sewing basket, his eyes were eager. But his face fell when he opened it and saw only thread, needles, scissors, linen, and the quilt block. “What do you call that,” he asked, “knitting?”
Carrie held her voice steady as she shook her head and answered, “That’s a quilt block, and after I get the pattern right, I’ll sew some other blocks to it and then quilt them.”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “Back home we have a bush with roses as red as this one. I’m sorry that I had to stop you,” he added, putting the handwork back into the basket and repacking her saddlebags. Then he saddled Powder and helped Carrie onto her horse again.
Carrie breathed a prayer of thanks as Powder seemed almost to fly toward Trenton, carrying her and her father’s message safely inside the red rose of the Revolution.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese on December 7, 1941, the United States entered World War II. Shortly thereafter, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the removal of anyone of Japanese ancestry from regions on the United States West Coast to internment camps located farther inland. Both of my parents’ families were relocated because of this order; all but two of them were U.S.-born citizens.
My mother, June Kazuko Takiuchi, was nine years old at the time she and her parents were ordered to gather their belongings (only what they could carry) and report to an assembly center in San Jose, California. They and other Japanese families were then transported to Tanforan racetrack, where they lived in horse stalls for several weeks until the construction of the relocation camps was completed.
Their final destination was a camp called the Topaz War Relocation Center, located in a desolate region of west-central Utah, just north of the town of Delta.
June, at age 10, with her father, Tadao Ernie Takiuchi, and mother, Tsugiyo Bessie Takiuchi
Surprisingly, my mother had some fond memories of being “in camp.” My mom shared how she learned to ice-skate “in camp.” I found it weird for someone to learn ice-skating “in camp,” thinking she was referring to just your average yearly summer camp. It wasn’t until I learned about WWII and the internment camps that I understood what she meant by “in camp.”
As I was growing up, she openly shared what she remembered from her camp years, and several times she mentioned the love and kindness of her “Mormon schoolteacher,” Mrs. Westover. I later learned that Mrs. Maurine Westover went above and beyond to love and serve her students. She gave them gifts during the holidays and planned parties with the understanding that all her students were of different faiths, including Buddhism.
June Takiuchi’s fourth-grade class at the Topaz internment camp. June’s teacher, Maurine Westover (far right), was a member of the Church. (You can watch a video in which Sister Westover shares her memories of the camp at westoverfamilyhistory.org/the-spirit-of-receiving.)
My mom and her parents endured a difficult three years, but whenever they spoke of camp, they always spoke with praise and gratitude for the members of the Church who worked in the camp, and of the compassion and empathy that they had for the Japanese people.
I believe it was the seeds of charity, service, and empathy that fostered such great feelings of appreciation and respect for the Church in my family. I know that their praise led to my desire to learn more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; about our Savior, Jesus Christ; and about His wonderful plan for families. It may have taken over 40 years for the seeds that were sown in desolate Topaz to take root, but I’m grateful for the opportunity that I will have to someday reap eternal rewards with my family.

On July 26, 1847, their third day in the valley (the second having been the Sabbath), Brigham Young, with members of the Twelve and some others, climbed a peak about one and a half miles from where I now stand. They thought it a good place to raise an ensign to the nations. Heber C. Kimball wore a yellow bandana. They tied it to Willard Richards’s walking stick and waved it aloft, an ensign to the nations. Brigham Young named it Ensign Peak.
Then they descended to their worn-out wagons, to the few things they had carried 2,000 miles, and to their travel-weary followers. It was not what they possessed that gave them strength but what they knew.
They knew they were Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ. They knew that the priesthood had been delivered to them by angelic messengers. They knew they had the commandments and the covenants to offer opportunity for the eternal salvation and exaltation for all mankind. They were sure that the inspiration of the Holy Ghost attended them.
They busied themselves plowing up gardens, putting up shelters against the winter soon to come. They prepared for others already on the prairie following them to this new gathering place.
A revelation, written nine years earlier, directed them to “arise and shine forth, that thy light may be a standard for the nations;
“And that the gathering together upon the land of Zion, and upon her stakes, may be for a defense, and for a refuge from the storm, and from wrath when it shall be poured out without mixture upon the whole earth” (D&C 115:5–6).
They were to be the “light,” the “standard.”
The standard, established by revelation, is contained in the scriptures through the doctrines of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The principles of the gospel life we follow are based on doctrine, and the standards accord with the principles. We are bound to the standards by covenant, as administered through the ordinances of the gospel by those who have received priesthood and the keys of authority.
Those faithful Brethren were not free, and we are not free, to alter the standards or to ignore them. We must live by them.
It is not a cure or a comfort to simply say they do not matter. We all know they do matter, for all mankind is “instructed sufficiently that they know good from evil” (2 Nephi 2:5).
If we are doing the best we can, we should not become discouraged. When we fall short, as we do, or stumble, which we might, there is always the remedy of repentance and forgiveness.
We are to teach our children the moral standard to avoid every kind of immorality. The precious powers within their mortal bodies “are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.” We must be completely faithful in marriage.
We are to keep the law of tithing. We attend to our responsibilities in the Church. We gather each week for sacrament meeting to renew the covenants and earn the promises in those simple and sacred prayers over the bread and water. We are to honor the priesthood and be obedient to the covenants and ordinances.
Those Brethren on Ensign Peak knew that they were to live ordinary lives and keep the image of Christ engraven in their countenances (see Alma 5:14).
They understood that the stakes were to be a defense and a refuge, but at that time there was not one stake on the earth. They knew their mission was to establish stakes of Zion in every nation of the earth.
Perhaps they wondered what kind of wrath or storm could be poured out that they had not already experienced. They had endured savage opposition, violence, terrorism. Their homes had been burned, their property taken. They were driven from their homes time after time after time. They knew then, as we know now, that there would be no end to opposition. The nature of it changes, but it never ends. There would be no end to the kinds of challenges that the early Saints would face. New challenges would be different than, but certainly not less than, that through which they had made their way.
Now the stakes of Zion number in the thousands and are all over the world. The members number in the millions and growing. Neither of these can be held back, for this is the work of the Lord. Now members live in 160 nations and speak over 200 languages.
Some live with an unspoken fear of what awaits us and the Church in the world. It grows ever darker in morality and spirituality. If we will gather into the Church, live the simple principles of the gospel, live moral lives, keep the Word of Wisdom, tend to our priesthood and other duties, then we need not live in fear. The Word of Wisdom is a key to both physical health and revelation. Avoid tea, coffee, liquor, tobacco, and narcotics.
We can live where we wish, doing the best we can to make a living, whether modest or generous. We are free to do as we wish with our lives, assured of the approval and even the intervention of the Almighty, confident of constant spiritual guidance.
Each stake is a defense and a refuge and a standard. A stake is self-contained with all that is needed for the salvation and exaltation of those who would come within its influence, and temples are ever closer.
There has been no end to opposition. There are misinterpretations and misrepresentations of us and of our history, some of it mean-spirited and certainly contrary to the teachings of Jesus Christ and His gospel. Sometimes clergy, even ministerial organizations, oppose us. They do what we would never do. We do not attack or criticize or oppose others as they do us.
Even today there are those preposterous stories handed down and repeated so many times they are believed. One of the silliest of them is that Mormons have horns.
Years ago, I was at a symposium at a college in Oregon. Present were a Catholic bishop, a rabbi, an Episcopalian minister, an Evangelical minister, a Unitarian clergyman, and myself.
The president of the school, Dr. Bennett, hosted a breakfast. One of them asked which wife I had brought. I told them I had a choice of one. For a second, I thought that I was being singled out for embarrassment. Then someone asked the Catholic bishop if he had brought his wife.
The next question came from Dr. Bennett to me: “Is it true that Mormons have horns?”
I smiled and said, “I comb my hair so that they can’t be seen.”
Dr. Bennett, who was completely bald, put both hands on the top of his head and said, “Oh! You can never make a Mormon out of me!”
Strangest of all, otherwise intelligent people claim we are not Christian. This shows that they know little or nothing about us. It is a true principle that you cannot lift yourself by putting others down.
Some suppose that our high standards will repel growth. It is just the opposite. High standards are a magnet. We are all children of God, drawn to the truth and to good.
We face the challenge of raising families in the world in darkening clouds of wickedness. Some of our members are unsettled, and sometimes they wonder: Is there any place one can go to escape from it all? Is there another town or a state or a country where it is safe, where one can find refuge? The answer generally is no. The defense and the refuge is where our members now live.
The Book of Mormon prophesies, “Yea, and then shall the work commence, with the Father among all nations in preparing the way whereby his people may be gathered home to the land of their inheritance” (3 Nephi 21:28).
Those who come out of the world into the Church, keep the commandments, honor the priesthood, and enter into activity have found the refuge.
A few weeks ago in one of our meetings, Elder Robert C. Oaks, one of the seven Presidents of the Seventy (a retired four-star general and commander of NATO air forces in Central Europe), reminded us of an accord signed by 10 nations on board the battleship Missouri in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945, which ended World War II. Some of us were in Asia at the time. Said Elder (General) Oaks: “I can’t even imagine a circumstance today in which such a meeting could be held or such an accord could be signed to end the war against terrorism and wickedness in which we are engaged. It is not that kind of war.”
We are not to be afraid, even in a world where the hostilities will never end. The war of opposition that was prophesied in the revelations continues today. We are to be happy and positive. We are not to be afraid. Fear is the opposite of faith.
We know that activity in the Church centers in the family. Wherever members are in the world, they should establish a family where children are welcome and treasured as “an heritage of the Lord” (Psalm 127:3). A worthy Latter-day Saint family is a standard to the world.
Not only are we to maintain the highest of standards, but each of us is to be a standard, a defense, a refuge. We are to “let [our] light so shine before men, that they may see [our] good works, and glorify [our] Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16; see also 3 Nephi 12:16).
All the struggles and exertions of past generations have brought to us in our day the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the authority to administer, and the wherewithal to accomplish the ministry. It all comes together in this dispensation of the fulness of times, in the which the consummation of all things will be completed and the earth prepared for the coming of the Lord.
We are as much a part of this work as were those men who untied that yellow bandana from Willard Richards’s walking stick and descended from Ensign Peak. That bandana, waved aloft, signaled the great gathering which had been prophesied in ancient and modern scriptures.
We speak of the Church as our refuge, our defense. There is safety and protection in the Church. It centers in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Latter-day Saints learn to look within themselves to see the redeeming power of the Savior of all mankind. The principles of the gospel taught in the Church and learned from the scriptures become a guide for each of us individually and for our families.
We know that the homes we establish, and those of our descendants, will be the refuge spoken of in the revelations—the “light,” the “standard,” the “ensign” for all nations, and the “refuge” against the gathering storms (see D&C 115:5–6; Isaiah 11:12; 2 Nephi 21:12).
The ensign to which all of us are to rally is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father, whose Church this is and whose name we bear and whose authority we carry.
We look forward with faith. We have seen many events in our lifetime, and many will yet occur that will tax our courage and extend our faith. We are to “rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great [will be our] reward in heaven” (Matthew 5:12).
Willingly defend the history of the Church, and do “not [be] ashamed of the gospel of [Jesus] Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Romans 1:16).
We will face the challenges, for we cannot avoid them, and teach the gospel of Jesus Christ and teach of Him as our Savior and our Refuge, our Redeemer.
If a well-worn yellow bandana was good enough to be an ensign to the world, then ordinary men who hold the priesthood and ordinary women and ordinary children in ordinary families, living the gospel as best they can all over the world, can shine forth as a standard, a defense, a refuge against whatever is to be poured out upon the earth.
“We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Nephi 25:26).
This Church will prosper. It will prevail. Of this I am absolutely certain. I bear this testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It was a muggy summer morning. Josh and his friend Calvin stood on the tennis court, waiting for their neighbor to come outside and give them their weekly tennis lesson. Five, then ten minutes went by. “Maybe our lesson is canceled,” Josh finally said.
The sun went behind a cloud. The air grew chilly.
“Yeah,” Calvin said. “Let’s go home. It looks like it’s going to rain.” He looked up at the billowing black cloud gathering above them. Suddenly a fierce wind kicked up. Without warning, hail and rain started pelting down.
“Quick!” Josh called above the shrieking wind. He pointed to a large pine tree. The boys ran across the lawn, the wind pulling so hard that Josh feared he’d be carried away. He and Calvin scrambled under the tree branches, listening to the storm roar around them. Josh knew that Brother and Sister Snow’s house was nearby, but he couldn’t see it through the heavy downpour.
“Let’s pray,” Calvin said. The boys knelt in the dirt and prayed that the rain would let up long enough for them to see the Snows’ house and run there for safety. As soon as they said “amen,” the rain slowed. “I see the house!” Josh cried.
Calvin dashed across the slippery, hail-covered grass to the Snows’ porch as the rain picked up again. Josh followed, but stopped next to the detached garage because it was closer than the house. He stood beside it for a moment, wondering what to do. Follow Calvin, a voice spoke to his mind. He ran toward the porch, where Calvin stood waiting. As he ran, he felt a rumble and heard a terrible CRASH!
Josh turned around and froze. Two huge pine trees had blown over onto the garage, demolishing it. Wooden beams, broken glass, and twisted metal littered the ground. A tree trunk lay where Josh had been standing.
“Come on,” Calvin called. Josh ran to the porch as Calvin rang the doorbell. No one answered. Calvin turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Phew,” Josh said. “Now we can call our parents to come get us.” As he waited inside the Snows’ house and watched the rain pour down outside, he silently thanked Heavenly Father for protecting him from the storm.
Later that night, Josh’s mom asked, “Did you and Calvin lock the Snows’ door behind you when you left?”
Josh shook his head.
Mom’s eyes twinkled. “I just spoke with the Snows. When you and Calvin went into their house, you set off the security alarm. The house was locked.”
Josh’s mouth dropped open. “But we just opened the door and walked in!”
“When the security agent arrived, the front door was still locked. He has no idea how you boys got into the house.”
Josh thought quietly for a moment. “I know how we got in. Heavenly Father helped us.”
Josh was grateful to know that the Lord would open doors for him and help keep him safe.

I remember a faithful and devoted member of the Church who was always in a good mood and always smiling. But one day I saw him crying. He told me the reason he was sad was because, at the age of seventy, he saw himself as a failure for having never been able to give his family the material comforts he felt they deserved.

I asked him, “How many children do you have?” He answered, “Four.” I continued, “How many are members of the Church?” He said, “Four.” I asked further, “How many are faithful members of the Church?” His answer: “Four.” “How many are sealed to you?” “Four.” “How many have married in the temple?” Again his answer was “Four.” Then, moved by the Spirit, I told him that the success he had achieved in his life was one of the greatest success stories I had ever heard.

Jeff and his wife, Melissa, were attending general conference for his first time. Jeff played professional baseball (he was a catcher) and is now a physician anesthesiologist. He told me, “Much to my surprise, I am moving toward baptism because it feels like the most authentic and honest way to live.”

Earlier, Melissa had apologized to Jeff’s assigned ministering brother, “Jeff does not want ‘white shirts’ in our house.” The ministering brother said, “I’ll find a way.” Now he and Jeff are good friends. At Jeff’s baptism, I met a congregation of Latter-day Saints whom Jeff, Melissa, and their daughter, Charlotte, love.

Joel was worried. He was almost sure he had started down the right canyon, but he should have been able to see smoke from their cabin long before now.
Mother was probably worrying because he was so late. She had reminded him when he left home that morning everything would look different if it should start to snow.
“I know you have to check the sheep today, Joel,” she said, “even if it is Thanksgiving. But with those black clouds building up behind Gap Mountain, there will be snow before noon.”
Joel tied a scarf around his neck and pulled on his gloves. “I’ll be careful,” he said, wishing his mother would remember he was eleven now and could take care of himself. “Besides, I’ve been up to the sheep range nearly every day this month. I won’t get lost.”
Mother still looked worried, though, when Joel opened the cabin door to leave. He turned to look back. The big room was bright and warm and already smelled good from the pies that were baking in the oven. On the sideboard three chickens were ready to be stuffed. Joel hoped Father would make it home from the settlement in time for the special dinner.
It was a long walk up winding Lost Canyon and across Nameless Ridge to the flat meadow where the sheep were kept. But Joel finally checked the sheep and then started home.
While he was walking home, he remembered how he and his father and mother had come to this valley three years before. Then they had only two horses, a few sheep, and no home. He had helped his father build the cabin. Now they had more than fifty sheep and four cows. Their garden grew well too.
Even the Ute Indians who lived in the valley on the other side of Nameless Ridge were friendly now. Joel remembered how Chief Kanosh had threatened them when they first moved to the valley. But that seemed a long time ago. Joel’s father and mother had done many things to help the Indians, and in return the Indians had helped them a great deal. Kanosh’s wife visited with Joel’s mother often, and Joel enjoyed watching them talk in sign language.
Joel stopped walking and bent his head back. If he only knew where the sun was, he would be able to tell whether he was going the right way, but dark weighted clouds filled the whole sky.
Which way was home? Joel looked in every direction. He knew he was going down a canyon, but how could he tell if it were the right one!
Before long big snowflakes began to strike his cheeks. Joel could scarcely see the nearby trees.
He remembered how his father always said, “Now don’t be nervous.” It helped Joel to remember Father’s calm voice.
Joel wiped snowflakes off his nose and began to walk very fast, looking to his left to be sure the slope of the hill was still there. If so, he was near Nameless Ridge and couldn’t be lost. Home was only half a mile east of where the ridge ended.
Joel began to wonder if he were really following Nameless Ridge. The pine-covered slopes looked alike through the thickly falling snow.
Joel walked steadily on. The swirling white snow that lit on the ground was beginning to pile up. Walking seemed to be harder with each step.
After what seemed a long time, Joel felt the ground under his feet begin to rise steeply. Although he couldn’t see ahead, he knew he should not be climbing. If anything, he should be going downhill to reach the clearing where the cabin stood.
Joel took a shaky breath. He stood still. Then he slowly turned around and around. The whole world was white. Everywhere he went looked exactly the same.
“I’m lost,” Joel said aloud. “I’m really lost.”
Blinking hard, Joel looked around once more, but it was no use. He didn’t know which way to go. But he couldn’t stop moving or he might freeze. The world was cold and silent. All he could hear was the crunch of wet snow beneath his boots.
Then Joel stopped as he heard another sound. Was something coming behind him? Or did something move to his left? He held his breath to listen, but the snow muffled sound and changed it.
Coming from the trees behind him, Joel caught sight of a dark moving figure and two others following behind. The frightened boy watched the figures plod steadily closer.
As they came closer, Joel saw it was Chief Kanosh and his wife and their little boy! Joel was so happy to see the big Ute chief and his family that he grinned from ear to ear.
“You go wrong way,” said Chief Kanosh when he reached Joel. He pointed to the right. “Cabin is over there. We go together.”
Joel didn’t say a word as he fell into step behind Chief Kanosh. The four people pushed through the snow. In a short time Joel saw a break in the trees. Dark smoke rose from the chimney of their cabin.
A wagon was behind the barn. Father was home too!
Later that night after everyone had eaten all the roast chicken and stuffing, creamed corn, and squash pie they could hold, Chief Kanosh and his wife pulled their chairs in front of the fireplace beside Joel’s mother and father. Joel sat on the floor by the Indian boy.
“Well, Joel,” said his father, smiling. “We certainly have lots to be thankful for today.”
“We surely do, Father,” Joel agreed. “And one of the things I’m most thankful for tonight is that Mother invited Chief Kanosh and his family here for Thanksgiving dinner.”