Gospel Story Finder

“Let’s all go up. Let’s make the bishop faint. Let’s all go up and bear our testimonies.” This was the challenge young Spencer V. Jones made to his fellow deacons. It was also a turning point in the maturing of his testimony. “As I bore my testimony, at the end—where maybe a month before I was giggling at the people who cried while bearing their testimonies because I didn’t really understand—I found myself in tears,” Elder Jones recalls. “I’ve never forgotten that moment, because when spirit speaks to spirit, something special happens.”

Janie was tired of winter. It was too snowy and icy for her to play outside, so she looked out the window and wished.
She wished the snow would melt away.
She wished the world would be green with springtime again.
Janie told Father about her wish. He just smiled and said, “If you’re anxious for spring, we can make it come early in a corner of your room.”
Father helped Janie find a tall can. Together they found a spot of ground near the house that was covered with only a little snow. Janie cleared away the snow and dug enough soil to fill the can.
Mother found some beans in a bag in the cupboard. Janie planted the beans in the can and watered them. Then she placed the can in a corner of her room near the window.
Every day she watched the can. Finally the soil burst open! Bright green shoots pushed their way up through the soil. Just like magic, Janie had springtime in the corner of her room.
It was so much fun that Janie asked Mother to save another can for her. This time she planted kernels of wheat. In only a few days Janie could see little spiky green hairs sprouting up in the can. Janie laughed at such a funny sight.
Next she put pieces of carrot tops in a shallow bowl and filled it with water. In a few days the carrots had sprouts that looked like dainty feathery ferns.
Now that she had started, Janie couldn’t stop. Mother gave her a sweet potato and showed her how to put a toothpick in each side of it. Then they filled a quart bottle with water and placed the bottom part of the sweet potato down into the water. The toothpicks kept the rest of it outside of the bottle. Before long the sweet potato began to grow. Quickly it became the prettiest plant in all of Janie’s garden.
Janie was so busy tending the garden in the corner of her room that she had no time to worry about winter. In fact, she was so busy that she almost forgot to notice when it left.
Janie was happy when springtime finally arrived. But she was even happier because she had learned that she could have springtime all year round.

The Stratford Branch Primary, Kitchener Ontario Stake, Ontario, Canada, enjoyed making a model of the Toronto Ontario Temple during their branch temple trip. They look forward to seeing this model in the Primary room on Sundays.

I Feel the Spirit
I feel the Spirit when I am dipped into the water,
And I feel warm and happy right away.
I have waited for this since I was a toddler.
My Heavenly Father guides the way.
I felt peace in my heart when I received the Holy Ghost.
I like when I got the Holy Ghost the most.

Willow Run*, by Patricia Reilly Giff. When Meggie’s family moves so her father can work at a factory during World War II, Meggie has to leave behind her grandfather and the beautiful ocean. Meggie wonders if the barren land and cramped apartment are worth helping the war effort she hears so much about. Read about Meggie’s wish to have her brother return safely from the war and have her family together again.

Walter C., age 15, Jaén, Peru
For a long time I was the only member in my school. My closest friends seemed to understand me, but other school friends made fun of me. One day I prayed and felt the need to talk with one of them who encouraged the others to make fun of me. I explained that I didn’t feel angry at him, but I asked him to give me the respect he’d like to have. After hearing our conversation, one of my teachers always defended me when he saw something happen. I know that the Lord will be with you as you talk with these people.

One Sunday I was substituting in a Primary class of particularly rambunctious five-year-olds. The lesson was about love. We began by singing the song “Jesus Said Love Everyone.”
Afterward I commented, “Jesus loves everyone, and we must do that, too.”
Robbie challenged me. “Oh, no, he doesn’t love everyone—he doesn’t love the bad people!”
“Yes, Robbie, he loves everyone.”
“He doesn’t love the robbers.”
“Even the robbers.”
Robbie thought a minute and said, “I know some people he didn’t love—he didn’t love the men who killed him!”
At that point I told Robbie about the Crucifixion.
“When Jesus hung on the cross,” Robbie interrupted me, “did they really put nails in his hands and feet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that must have hurt.”
“Yes, it did. Even after that happened, as Jesus hung on the cross in great pain, he said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ (Luke 23:34.) Jesus was speaking about the men who had placed him on the cross. He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. Yes, Robbie, Jesus even loved these people, and he forgave them.”
Robbie looked at me, furrowed his brow, and said, “I’m going to ask my dad if Jesus really did say that.”
After class was over, I was walking into sacrament meeting with my family, and I felt a tug on my dress. It was Robbie.
“Sister Wright, my dad says you’re right.”
The tenderness of this experience was that Robbie went from challenging the idea that Jesus could love everyone to a sweet trust of Christ’s unconditional love.

The girls realize that not all of them will go on to become working women. “My ambition is to have ten kids. six cats, and five gerbils,” jokes 16-year-old Tami McCauley of the Rockwall Ward. Just in case her dream comes true, the conference helped her to realize that the experience she’s gaining now by helping her mother take care of her nine brothers and sisters is invaluable.

Our priest quorum meeting had come to an end.
“That’s all the announcements and assignments,” said our quorum adviser, Brother Reed. “Oh, but I would like to see Greg and Tom Glenn after class, if you boys wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, no” I thought to myself. “I guess we’re in some kind of trouble.” I bowed my head, folded my arms, and hoped that the closing prayer would never end.
We both knew why Brother Reed wanted to see us. Tom and I hadn’t been on time to priesthood meeting for weeks. Sometimes we didn’t get there at all, and sometimes we crept silently through the door and slipped into the back row, just in time to get our sacrament meeting assignments and leave.
Now, it wasn’t because we were sleeping late or wasting time at home. On the contrary. We were wide awake every morning at 4:30 to do the chores on the dairy farm where we lived. Dad had recently had a heart attack, so Tom and I had the responsibility to milk the cows and clean the place, and do all the other dairy work. We had the cows on an established schedule which easily got us to school on time during the week; but on Sundays, finishing everything, then showering and dressing for priesthood at 7:30 was difficult. With all the work that needed to be done, we thought we were doing well to get to priesthood meeting at all.
Evidently, though, our priests quorum adviser didn’t think so. After everyone else had left the room, Brother Reed pulled a chair up close to us. “Boys,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “there’s really something missing from the quorum when you’re not here. What am I doing wrong? Are my lessons bad, or is it something I do personally that offends you?”
We thought we were going to be chastised, but here was Brother Reed, thinking he was the reason we were late. We both started explaining that it wasn’t his fault at all, and we told him about the work at the dairy.
“Well, would it do any good if I came over early on Sunday and helped with the work a little? It would be a privilege for me, and might help you get to priesthood meeting on time. What do you say? What time does the work start?” he asked.
Tom and I had the same thought at the same time. We couldn’t let Brother Reed do that. First of all, 4:30 was far too early to get anyone out of bed and away from his family on a Sunday morning. Second, we didn’t want him to have to endure the below freezing winter weather. And third, there wasn’t that much he could do anyway because we wouldn’t give him any of the really dirty work.
So when he asked us when we started, we told him 3:30 A.M., thinking that no sane person would get up that early, no matter how helpful he wanted to be. We thanked Brother Reed for his sincere offer to help, shook his hand, and assured him that we would try to make more of an effort to be at our meetings on time in the future.
We didn’t think about his offer much for the rest of the week, until Sunday when I got out of bed at about 4:15 on a very cold morning. I looked out the window and was shocked to see Brother Reed’s old car parked outside our house. I quickly put my clothes on, ran outside, and tapped on his car window.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully as he opened the car window. His words formed small icy clouds in the air between us. He reached out to shake my hand, and I noticed his grasp was one of the coldest I’d ever felt. It was obvious he’d been waiting for some time—probably since 3:30.
“Come inside while Tom gets dressed,” I said as I led him into the house. Then I ran to make sure Tom was ready for work.
In a few minutes, Brother Reed, Tom, and I were trudging through the snow to the barn. The one thing we hadn’t exaggerated about was the amount of work there was to do, and Brother Reed did the best he could.
As we milked the cows, Brother Reed paused for a second and rather timidly asked, “Do you suppose I could have just a little sip of that milk? I’ve almost forgotten what fresh milk tastes like.”
We felt great concern for our quorum adviser. Not only did we give him a drink, but we packaged several liters of milk for him to take home to his family. It was the least we could do for him.
It was getting closer and closer to the time for priesthood meeting to begin, and the work still wasn’t finished. Finally Brother Reed told us he would have to go home and get ready for church. “Now I understand why it’s so hard for you boys to get to class on time. I’ll try to be a little more considerate in the future,” he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked out of the barn to his car.
You should have seen the look of surprise on his face when he arrived at church to find Tom and me already there. We had decided that if he cared enough to come out on a bitterly cold morning to help us, we could work a little faster and help him. I can’t honestly say that we were both on time for every meeting from then on, but we did always see that at least one of us was there every Sunday.
And we discovered that Brother Reed’s lessons were actually very good. But none of them ever compared to the lesson he taught us about service and love on that cold winter morning.

From a young age Elder Otto Vincent Haleck paid tithing, fasted, and studied scriptures—and then he met the missionaries and was baptized.
Elder Haleck was born in January 1949 in American Samoa. His parents, Otto and Dorothy Haleck, sent him to school in California, USA. At the age of 17, he noticed that some friends in student government were different from other students. “They invited me to Mutual, and the rest is history,” Elder Haleck says.

The Warwoods always planned to go on a senior mission, and Sister Warwood was certain she knew where the Lord needed her to serve. As a neonatal nurse practitioner, she felt drawn to humanitarian work in developing countries.
“I always thought I would serve a humanitarian mission in a third-world country, something with mothers and babies,” she explains. But when they visited Africa a year before their mission call, something unexpected happened. “When I thought to myself, ‘We’ll be here in a year,’ I just had this dreaded feeling,” Sister Warwood recalls.
Back home, during a senior mission meeting, coordinators asked about their preferences. She answered, “Third world, something medical, saving lives.” The dread returned. “I thought, ‘I guess I don’t really want to serve a mission. This is a horrible feeling.’”
Everything shifted when coordinators learnt the couple’s backgrounds—he an accountant, she in healthcare. They explained that “the Mission Health Adviser (MHA) is the most coveted job in the mission because you get to know, love, and serve all of the missionaries.” Sister Warwood realised the MHA “did many of the things I did in the NICU—just with much bigger babies!”
“By the time we left the meeting, instead of feeling dread, I was very excited.” She realised: “The Lord’s been trying to tell you third-world humanitarian is not where you’re supposed to be. He couldn’t have made it more obvious.”

“Sometimes we feel like we don’t have a purpose. Keep believing in the gospel. Even when we feel like we can’t pray, we can kneel for a few minutes anyway. We can listen to the scriptures or a message from the Church. We can remember the words of a hymn or memorize a phrase that reminds us of the courage we have. I memorized a phrase by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that gives me hope: ‘The great thing about the gospel is we get credit for trying, even if we don’t always succeed’ (Apr. 2016 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, May 2016, 125–26).”
Giani V., 22, Córdoba, Argentina

Kenny leaned against Sly’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the animal in the cold winter air. “You’re a regular stove, Sly,” he said. The black horse flicked his ears and kept eating. Kenny threaded his fingers through the horse’s silky black mane and looked across the corral at the huge mounds of snow heaped along the fences. His father said it was the most snow they’d had in 14 years.
Picking up the pitchfork, Kenny went to feed the rest of the animals. For the past three days, he’d had to do all the chores by himself. His dad was sick with a high fever, and it was hard for him to breathe.
“Hey, Kenny.”
He looked up to see his neighbor standing at the gate, bundled up so just his eyes showed. He’d been sick too.
“When’s your father going into Ely next? My wife is real sick and we could use some medicine.”
Kenny’s father was a teamster as well as a farmer. Every few days he drove his wagon and team of horses from Lund, Nevada, to Ely, taking milk, grain, and other produce raised by the farmers in Lund. He brought back the mail, medicine, and other needed items.
“I’ll tell him you were asking,” Kenny said. Then he trudged back to the house through the snow.
His mother stood at the stove, fixing breakfast. “Your father wants to talk to you,” she said.
Kenny took off his hat and gloves and walked into the other room. In the dim light he could see his father’s face against the pillow.
“Did it snow again last night?” Father asked.
“Some. But the sky’s clear this morning.” Kenny hesitated, not wanting to tell him that the neighbor was asking about medicine from Ely. Father was too sick to go anywhere, and it would just worry him.
But he seemed to already know. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked at Kenny. “What do you think about riding Sly into Ely? People need medicine, and the mail needs to go through.”
Excitement stirred in Kenny’s stomach. Ride to Ely? By himself?
“Sly is our best horse,” Father said. “He hasn’t been to Ely much, but you know the way.”
Kenny nodded. He had ridden to Ely in the wagon with his father lots of times. “I’ll do it,” he said. Fear was only a tiny fist curled deep in his heart. He hardly paid attention to it.
When Kenny awoke the next morning, it was still dark outside. His mother had hot mush, eggs, venison, and thick slices of buttered bread ready for him. In a cloth bag was more food for him to eat on the way.
“You spend the night in Ely with Aunt Sarah and Uncle Rod.” She laid a small stack of papers tied with string on the table. “Here are the names of medicines that you will need to pick up.”
Kenny tucked the papers in the saddlebag along with the mail. His little sisters watched with solemn eyes.
“When will you be back?” Thelma asked.
“Tomorrow night,” Kenny replied.
“Stay on the road,” his father warned. “Don’t take any shortcuts. The snow will be drifted bad in places.” Then his family knelt for morning prayer, and his father asked for a special blessing on Kenny and Sly.
The air was icy when they set out. It was still dark, but a rim of light showed along the eastern horizon.
Someone had already broken a trail through the flats, so the first part went smoothly. But when they reached the hills, the trail ended. Kenny looked at the untracked snow that lay glittering before them. If he squinted, he could see a slight indention where the road wound through the hills.
“Here we go,” Kenny said and nudged Sly in the ribs. The horse stepped forward, the soft snow giving way under his hooves. In some places, it was so deep it came up to the horse’s belly. Sly would paw at it, breaking a trail and moving forward.
When the sun was somewhere near the top of the sky, Kenny pulled Sly to a stop to eat lunch. His mother had packed sandwiches and apples. Kenny gave the apples to Sly, who munched them happily, the juice dribbling off his floppy lips. Then they set out again.
As they climbed higher in the hills, the indention in the snow that showed the road grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared. Snow was drifted in huge mounds, creating hills where there had been no hills and smooth places where there had been ravines. Kenny reined Sly to a halt and looked around. It was as if he had turned a corner and found himself lost in a completely foreign world. The tiny fist of fear in his heart suddenly grew large.
“Heavenly Father,” he whispered, “I don’t know which way to go. Please help me.” He took a deep breath and urged the horse on.
Suddenly Sly sank up to his neck in snow. Kenny panicked, his head pounding. “Please, Heavenly Father, please help us.” Desperate, he looked around at the flat whiteness imprisoning them. He gripped the reins, fighting an impulse to jump off the horse and run. Common sense told him he wouldn’t be able to run. He’d be completely buried.
Then suddenly he could feel Sly’s muscles moving underneath him. Sly was slowly, patiently pawing at the snow, digging his way out. Kenny reached down and began moving the snow burying his own legs.
It seemed like hours before he and his horse had cleared a space around them. Sly stood for a moment, panting, then lunged heavily to the right, stumbled, and caught himself. Finally they were standing on the road.
Kenny looked around him. They could turn around and go back home. He could tell his father he couldn’t go any farther. He’d understand. But Sly started walking again, carefully placing each hoof. Again Kenny prayed. “What shall I do? Shall I keep going or turn around? I think I’m lost.”
A quiet voice said, “Look up at the mountains.”
Kenny looked up past the hills to the mountains that surrounded their valley. The mountains hadn’t changed. They were right where they’d always been—familiar, sturdy. Suddenly Kenny knew where he was. It was as if he could see the road the way it looked in summer. There were the mountains, there were the hills, and there was the road. He could imagine how it wound up the hill.
“I think we’re supposed to keep going,” he said to his horse, but Sly was already going.
The sun was beginning to set when, at last, Kenny saw what he’d been looking for—a clear indention in the snow that was the road. And farther on, he saw something even better. Someone with a sled had driven down the road, packing the snow and making a clear trail all the way to Ely.
It was well past dark when Kenny knocked on Aunt Sarah’s door.
“Kenny! What are you doing here? You look frozen solid.”
“I’m OK,” Kenny said, his knees trembling. “But I need to take care of my horse.”
Later, over a bowl of warm stew, he told his aunt and uncle about his ride to Ely, and how his father and others were sick and needed medicine.
“You get some rest tonight,” his uncle said. “We’ll get the medicine first thing in the morning. Going back will be easier because you’ve already broken a trail.” He looked at Kenny hard. “Grown men have gotten lost or stranded in that deep snow.”
Kenny laid his spoon beside his bowl and looked at his uncle. “I had help,” he said. He thought about the quiet voice and the mountains and how Sly seemed to know just what to do. Heavenly Father was watching out for them.

In 1881 Elder John Ferris wrote that Maoris had told him that “more than a year ago the king [Tawhiao] said a white man would come across the sea and preach to them the true gospel, and they affirm that they believe he [Ferris] is the man.”6 Elder Ferris wrote to the Deseret News in Salt Lake City that three Maori chiefs considered him to be the man spoken of by the king two years before. He had come from “a far country and would give them the good church.”7 The complete text of King Tawhiao’s prophecy was later quoted in the Improvement Era in 1932:
“Our church is coming from the east—not a church paid with money. Its ministers go two by two; when they pray they raise their hands. They will not come to go among the Pakeha (Europeans) but will dine, live, talk, and sleep with you. The sign will be the writing of the names of males, females and children. … Those churches that have already come are nothing, but when these come that I speak about, do not disturb them—that will be your church!”8
The Latter-day Saints interpreted the “sign of writing names” to be a reference to genealogical work and work for the dead. During 1885–86, 7 branches, having 537 souls, were raised up in the Waikato.

Screams of terrified Laurels echoed through the Santa Cruz Mountains. A big, black, hairy “gorilla” had just come charging out of the darkness! The surprise appearance of this unusual creature was just part of the excitement at the San Jose 14th Ward’s first annual Laurel and priest high school graduation party.
The party was planned by the first-year Laurels and priests, and the only information they gave to the “guests of honor” was that they should be at their homes in their Sunday best at 5:30 P.M. on Friday, June 16.
Chauffeurs picked up the graduates and escorted them to a mountain retreat in the heavily forested Santa Cruz Mountains. As they arrived, many wondered what they were doing at a Boy Scout camp in suits and long dresses! Their curiosity was soon satisfied, however, when they were escorted into the beautifully decorated A-frame building. Pictures of the graduates at various ages had been hung on the walls, and classical music created a pleasant atmosphere for the delicious lasagne dinner that was served.
Then came more surprises. The parents of each of the graduates had furnished stories, home movies, and slides of their children, and this provided the first portion of the evening’s entertainment. Afterwards, funny awards were presented to each of the graduates by the above-mentioned “gorilla,” Mr. Chimpchump. (Mr. Chimpchump was a great scientist, explained the emcee, but had somehow been turned into an ape.) Following this, the final event of the evening was an elegant dance.
Everyone seemed to have a great time and to feel the joy that comes from participating in good, wholesome activities. Without a question, a tradition had been starred in San Jose!

When the Hayman forest fire raged through the mountains near our home, our ward became very active in trying to help the firefighters. Our son David, who is known for his baking skills, was asked to make some cookies for the firefighters that evening. He was told how the firefighters work hard all day long in the heat and smoke, and that many of them were far away from home and didn’t have a nice meal waiting for them when they got off duty. Some homemade cookies would certainly cheer them up. David made over 200 cookies that day, and for several days afterward he arranged with other ward members to bring cookies for the firefighters each day. Although the fire canceled his summer camping plans, David felt great satisfaction in serving others.

They didn’t forget about it in a week. They didn’t forget about it in a month.
“Mom, can I take the car tonight?” Anne asked. “Debbie and I want to see Superman.”
“Again?” Mother asked. “How many times have you seen it?”
“Only three,” Anne said. “Star Wars still holds the record.”
“I hardly dare ask how often.”
“Six times.”
“You may take the car,” said Mother.
“Thanks!” Anne said.
“As soon,” Mother added, “as you settle up your car leasing bill.”
Anne looked horrified. “You didn’t say anything about it.”
“Why should I have? It’s your bill, not mine.”
“But I’ve spent almost all my money.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe Debbie can drive.”
They went over the accounts. “Your total bill is now $38.56,” Mother said.
Anne gulped. “But, Mom, that’s more than a new top.”
“And just think,” Mother said with a smile, “we’re only charging you half what it costs us!”
Anne went to her bedroom and got the money and paid Mother. “Take it,” Anne said. “Take it all. I don’t like money anyway. I hate money. I never want to see money again. Money is filthy and disgusting. Take all of it.”
“Aren’t you going to the movie?” Mother asked.
“I have 42¢ left. That wouldn’t pay for the gas to get the car out of the driveway. Let alone the movie.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Mother. “Perhaps if you walked to Debbie’s house more often—it isn’t even a mile.”
“What am I supposed to be, a pioneer?”
“But haven’t you heard, dear?” asked Mother. “The sidewalks are paved all the way there.”
“Would you really thrust your own youngest daughter out in the snow and the sleet—”
“This is California, dear. If it starts snowing, I’ll let you take the car for half price.”

One of the longest-running musicals in history is Les Misérables. The story is set in the period of the French Revolution. The principal character in the musical is Jean Valjean. In his heartfelt concern for the young man Marius, who is going off to battle, he expresses in song a sincere prayer:
God on high,
Hear my prayer;
In my need
You have always been there.
He is young,
He’s afraid;
Let him rest,
Heaven blessed.
Bring him home. …
Bring him peace,
Bring him joy.
He is young;
He is only a boy.
You can take,
You can give;
Let him be,
Let him live.
If I die, let me die,
Let him live.
Bring him home.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered, and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me through the village and directly against the face of a perpendicular solid-rock cliff. That’s strange, thought I. I’ve never seen that here before, and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid-rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toehold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“Why has this experience come to me? I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

In 1864, Joseph A. Young was called on a special mission to transact Church business in the East. His father, President Brigham Young, blessed him to go and return in safety. As he was returning, he was involved in a severe train wreck. “The whole train was smashed,” he reported, “including the car I was in to within one seat of where I sat, [but] I escaped without a scratch” (Letters of Brigham Young to His Sons, ed. Dean C. Jessee, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1974, p. 4).