Gospel Story Finder

“One cow in our team was very intelligent. In fact, she was so bright that she used to hide in the willows to keep from being yoked up but when father found her and yoked her she was a good worker and a good milker. She got very lame at one time and could scarcely travel. My parents were very much worried, having already lost one. They were afraid they could not keep up with the company, and so Mother said she would make a poultice and put it on as soon as the cow laid down for the night. She made a very large one that covered all over the lame hip. Well, the next morning, when father went to get the cows up he called out, ‘Why, Mother, you have poulticed the wrong hip.’ Mother said, ‘Never mind. It’s all right. It has gone clear through.’ And sure enough she [the cow] limped very little that day, and was soon as well as ever. I know there was a great deal of faith mixed up with that poultice.”

1 During the winter of 1832–33, in Kirtland, Ohio, Joseph Smith organized the School of the Prophets. Several carefully selected men were invited to attend.
2 The school was held in an upstairs room behind Newel Whitney’s store; Joseph taught the brethren in detail about the priesthood, the scriptures, and how they should live.
3 Several of the brethren smoked or chewed tobacco, and the schoolroom, which was part of Joseph and Emma’s living quarters, would fill with smoke, and the floor would be spattered with tobacco juice spittles.
4 The situation bothered Joseph because meetings there were sacred and because Emma had to clean up the filth afterward. Joseph prayed about the matter, and the revelation known as the Word of Wisdom was the answer that he received.

I am so thankful for “All Is Not Well” in the November 1997 issue. I, too, at one time was the only active member of the Church in my family. I know of the pain and frustration of an upset home. I found the strength to endure when I immersed myself into the gospel. Life was not easy during those years, but it was more than worth it. The struggle is worth it because today I know my Savior is real. There is hope. It took three years for my family to come back, but when we did we brought my sister-in-law as well. I want to thank the New Era for this article. The scriptures were my guide then and today I know how to use them as my guide home.
Name WithheldUtah

Brother Anthian has several goals for the choir. One is to infuse joy, love, and hope into the lives of men who have in the past sought to salve their pain with drugs, alcohol, and other vices. The fulfillment of this goal is clear in the life of Nicolas “Colas” Allaire, who hands out roses during subway concerts. Now 65, Colas was raised in a Montréal orphanage until age 17. With no formal education and no family, friends, or money, he was never able to find work. In winter he made snow caves to keep from freezing to death. Sometimes he committed crimes just to be put in jail so he would have something to eat every day. This is his first regular job. Since joining the choir, he says, “my life has been paradise. I have made friends, and I have started to support myself. I now have a small apartment, and I am happy.”

A few years ago, my family and I were driving home when we decided to stop by a friend’s house to see their new baby goats. My little sisters, in their excitement, managed to lock the keys in the van. We were far from home, and my dad was working, so he couldn’t bring us his set of keys.
My mother started to get frustrated. She enlisted the help of a local fireman who tried for 45 minutes to unlock the door, but to no avail. He threw a hopeless glance at my mother, said he was sorry, and walked back to the fire station across the street.
Once the fireman had retreated, six-year-old Leah plopped herself down on her knees and proceeded to offer a fervent prayer to help us get home. My mother watched in silence and gave Leah a giant hug as soon as she was finished.
About 10 minutes later, my mother’s friend pulled up. Her husband emerged from the car and asked what the problem was. After we explained, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I used to have an old Ford van just like this one. I still have the keys. Shall we give it a try?” We were all for it, and, miracle of miracles, the key fit!
We gave out a whoop and piled into the van. As my mom started the engine, little Leah approached her and said, “See, Mommy? Heavenly Father always helps us when we ask him.”
Once she heard these words, my mother’s eyes filled with tears. She praised Leah for doing the right thing. Leah taught us all a very important lesson that day—to turn to our Father in Heaven. We should all remember to have the faith of a little child.

Imagine a young man who is home alone and is getting hungry (it’s far-fetched, yes, but just try to imagine it). Now imagine that this young man decides to try to make a grilled cheese sandwich on his own for the first time.1 Imagine that this young man’s parents had never taught him how to make grilled cheese and that he had never observed them very closely when they made it.
Let’s say, though, that this young man gets all of the ingredients just right: bread, cheese, a little butter on the outside of the bread (and a little mayonnaise inside because he’s brilliant). Next, he gets out the pan and puts it on the stove. (We’re also imagining he doesn’t have a special griddle or other appliance for making this treat.)
Now imagine that a certain thought takes hold of his mind—a thought that so many people have been ignorant enough (or temporarily insane enough) to think: “If I turn the heat up high, it’ll be done faster.”
Imagine what happens next. (Or perhaps you don’t have to imagine.)
He’s going to get either perfectly crispy, golden-brown bread or perfectly gooey, melted cheese—but not both. Most likely, he’ll have bread that looks and feels (and probably tastes) like lava rock and half-melted cheese, which is about as appealing as half-told tales.
His problem, as you can see, was a combination of ignorance (which is excusable) and impatience (which, though understandable, is less excusable). If he were to repeat this mistake the next time, it would be even less excusable, since it couldn’t be blamed on ignorance but would result almost entirely from impatience.
To get it right, he would have to discover the miracle of medium heat.
The medium setting on a stove is perfect for grilled cheese and many other dishes because it allows food to be cooked through without being overdone on the outside. The only downside is that it requires more time and attention, which require patience.
It’s not just sticking the grilled cheese sandwich on the pan and forgetting it; it’s watching and flipping it at the right time.

Monday at school, I looked at the other kids. They had better clothes and shoes than I did, so I couldn’t offer them mine. Anyway, I didn’t have any extras. Everyone had a lunch, so I couldn’t share my sandwich. I was afraid that the whole week would be like this and that I’d have to tell Sister Brimley that I hadn’t found anyone to help.
At afternoon recess, the spring sun warmed my back. There must have been a hundred birds singing among the tiny yellow-green leaves on the big tree in the playground. I forgot about giving and Mrs. Brimley, took a jump rope, and walked towards Maria. Maria just moved here last week, and she doesn’t speak English very well. She mostly stands by herself on the playground.
“Maria, want to jump? Like this.” I jumped a few times. Maria’s dark eyes sparkled, and the shadow of a smile tickled her bronze face. She nodded. As I swung the rope over my head, she jumped in with me. We were laughing together by the end of recess.
When the bell rang to go home, Mrs. Hansen, our teacher, put her arm around me and whispered, “Sara, thank you for playing with Maria today. That’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh since she came.”
Suddenly I understood that this was what Sister Brimley meant when she said for me to give of myself. I really did have something to give! I determined right then and there to find someone every day to share with.

It all began in April 2023 when a young couple, Pascal and Fanny Adokou, who had just returned from their missions, got married. They then moved to Notsé as part of the young man’s work as a community manager. With the permission of their bishop, Komivi Kotiko of the Be-Kpota 1st Ward, and their stake president, Anani Kouegan of the Lome Togo Be Stake, the young couple were able to organize the sacrament at home, and eventually set up a church group in the Notsé community.
With the assistance of missionaries from the Benin Cotonou Mission, the Adouko family began teaching missionary lessons to members of the community and many were baptized.
On 24 March 2024, the Notse Branch was organized. Presiding at the creation of the branch was President Kelvar J Lundeen of the Benin Cotonou Mission, assisted by his counselor, Comlan Amegandji. Attending the meeting was the king’s special representative, Togbe Afanwubo III, who helped make the branch creation possible.
Following the organization of the branch, brother Kodjo Pascal Adokou was called and set apart by the mission president as president of the Notsé Branch. The saints in Notsé then witnessed the ordination of their very first Melchizedek Priesthood holders. Brother Thimothée Atchavi was first ordained an elder and was followed by brother Fovi Kedagni. These brothers were then called and set apart as the first and second counselors in the branch presidency. “A new page in the history of the Church in Togo is being written with the creation of this Notse Branch,” noted President Amegandji.
“March is a period full of blessings to me. A baby boy was given to me at the beginning of the month, we got a building for our brothers and sisters in Notsé and now we’ve become a branch! God is always on my side!” exclaimed President Adokou.
Isaac Valentin, a friend of the Church attending the meeting said, “It’s a good thing to know that this Church that I have visited as a young boy in Lome is now available in Notsé. We are not going to stop participating after the branch creation ceremony, but we will keep on coming to the church until we become a full-time member.”
Despite the blazing sun and intense 35°C heat of the day, all participants in the ceremony stayed until the group photo. President Lundeen and his counselor spent time teaching the new presidency how to lead in the Lord’s way. With joy and fellowship, the members, friends, and missionaries departed, leaving with eager hearts to meet again on Sunday for a sacrament meeting with the newly called leaders.
Church History specialist in Togo, Gaston K. Tozo noted of the occasion,” The Church has thus started its expansion across the whole country. We can say with faith and certainty that the stone which the prophet Daniel saw loosened without the help of any hand, and which broke on iron and brass before filling the surface of the earth, will also go to all the towns, villages, and hamlets of our dear country Togo.”

Seeing an excellent financial opportunity, Elder Ribeiro and his wife Zélia and their small children, planned to move to the USA. Ready to leave, after prayer, fasting and attending the temple the answer was “no”. Months later, Elder Ribeiro was called as a stake president. His wife comforted the family by saying, “We were born to serve the Lord.”
During the following years, they experienced very significant financial losses. The hardships seemed to have no end. The heavens were silent. Days followed months, and months followed years. Faith was tested to the limits. Elder Ribeiro‘s testimony was forged. He learned to know his Saviour in a deeper way. He said: “The Son of God trusted in His Father, endured all things, and endured well until the end. We‘ll never know when the end will come. We can only bear it and bear it well”.

More than 300 adults from across India gathered in Hyderabad on January 17 to 19 to learn how to become more self-reliant, both temporally and spiritually.
“Our goal with this conference,” said John Gutty, manager of Welfare and Self-Reliance Services, “was to teach young people the principles of self-reliance, to encourage them to take charge of their lives, and to put themselves in a position to provide for themselves and to help others.”
Activities on Thursday and Friday were held at the Marigold Hotel and included personality assessment and development, resume writing, interviewing skills, managing personal finances, and setting and reaching educational goals. Saturday was devoted to workshops on spiritual development.
The group was diverse with as many dreams and challenges as attendees. Nagaraj Govindhraj, Naga Sai Kiran Gubbala, and Madan Govindraj all traveled from Chennai to the conference. Each found something that addressed their particular situation.
Nagaraj, 18, whose parents work as cooks, wants to go to college and plans on serving a mission. “We need to be self-reliant, to support ourselves and our families,” he said, “I earn money for my mission working as a cashier and bell boy in a hotel.”
Nagaraj found the workshop on budgeting especially helpful. “At the conference,” he said, “they taught us how to manage money, to think about what we need and how much we spend, and how to live within our means.” He added, “We also learned about how faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His commandments can create happiness and stability in our lives.”
Gubbala, 27, is a returned missionary and works as a senior process assistant in a call center. He is thinking about looking for a new job. “I realized that I need to update my resume,” he said. “I also learned what to expect in an interview and how to present myself.” Gubbala also liked learning about the spiritual aspects of self-reliance, like finding the right partner to establish a strong and stable marriage.
Madan, aged 24, is working in Bangalore. He has a diploma in computer engineering and has been doing marketing for a nongovernmental organization while studying through BYU-Pathway Worldwide, an online certificate and degree program offered through Brigham Young University-Idaho. He hopes to eventually earn a master’s degree.
“At the conference, I learned how to go for a better job while studying and how to find jobs in sectors related to my field,” he said. “I also learned how to handle the stress of working and going to school at the same time, which was very helpful.”
Saturday’s sessions were held at the Hyderabad stake center and included presentations about missionary work, family history, institute, and choosing an eternal companion. Anjali Barunal from Delhi said, “I felt the Holy Spirit testify to me that I can do my family history and provide temple ordinances for my ancestors.” Her favorite workshop was the one on eternal marriage where she learned how important it is to date and marry a worthy priesthood holder.
Participants also learned that living a self-reliant life includes serving others. The conference ended with a blood donation drive organized in conjunction with the Indian Red Cross Society. Priya, aged 20, felt that this was a perfect way to conclude her experience in Hyderabad. “Donating blood is the best gift one can give,” she said. “I am happy to share the blessing of my good health with those in need.”

When I heard that Mama, Papa, and I were going to California with a whole shipload of Latter-day Saints, I was excited and couldn’t wait for the trip to begin. The minute I saw the Brooklyn anchored in the East River, my heart started banging in my chest. Everything a company could possibly need in a new settlement was lugged on board and stowed in the hold.
On Wednesday, February 4, 1846, after several delays, the ship was finally ready to leave New York. We waved good-bye to the friends and relatives who had gathered on the dock, and were soon on our way on the cold, gray, rough Atlantic Ocean.
No one had warned me that I might be seasick, and I never imagined that someone could die at sea! A raging storm was the farthest thing from my mind—but the terrors of the trip started right away.
One morning, Papa and I watched from the deck as the sky darkened and a strong gust of wind whipped by. Seamen suddenly appeared on the run, shouting instructions to each other. They scrambled up the masts and began taking down the sails. The captain came out of his cabin and told all passengers to go below. “We might be in for a bit of a blow,” he said. “You’ll be safer in your rooms.”
We lurched along, fighting to stay upright. I’d just eaten breakfast, and my stomach felt squeamish.
When we got to the cabin, Mama had already climbed into the bunk and was hanging on so tightly that her knuckles were white. Our belongings had been tossed into a tangled heap on the floor. The furniture slid in one direction, then another, mashing things together as the ship tipped back and forth in the rough water.
Something was banging up on the deck.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“They’re battening down the hatches,” Papa said.
“Battening?”
“Fastening canvas across the stairways by nailing on narrow strips of wood called battens.”
“You mean they’re nailing us in?” I felt all smothery just thinking about it. I never could stand to be in tight places. The thudding of the hammers overhead made me feel as if I were in a coffin with the lid being nailed down. “How can we get out?” I shouted in a panic.
“We can’t,” Papa answered, pushing me into the bottom berth just before a heavy chest skidded into me, “but the water can’t get in, either. That’s the idea.”
“What if I get sick?” I felt more and more like I was going to every minute.
“There’s the chamber pot,” Mama said.
“They’ll probably leave the hatchway to the captain’s cabin open,” Papa said. “He may need to come down for some reason, and it’s not exposed to the storm like the ones on the deck.”
Even though I knew that the captain’s hatchway was not for the use of the passengers, I felt better knowing that there was a possible way to get out.
All the lamps were extinguished except two in the hall. I hated the darkness.
The dim lights flickered as the tempest blustered and roared. I heard thundering thumps as huge waves crashed over the deck. I felt each upward thrust as the Brooklyn was lifted high on the surging crests. My breath was sucked out of me just as if I’d been punched in the stomach when the ship then dropped deep into the following yawning troughs of the wild and angry sea. The tired timbers of the old ship groaned and creaked as if they were splitting apart.
Babies screamed. Children cried out. The sick groaned for help. Mothers soothed and sang or joked or scolded. Men’s voices could be heard above the others, some impatient, some comforting.
“Don’t forget,” one brother said reverently, “that Jesus Christ stilled the storm on the Sea of Galilee.” We prayed and sang hymns—louder and louder as the storm’s fury increased.
The fire in the stove had been doused, so no food could be cooked. It didn’t matter—no one on that rocking, rolling ship wanted to eat, anyway. Almost everyone was seasick.
The storm raged and roared all day. When night came, Papa tied us in our berths so that we wouldn’t be tossed about like beans in a bag. I slept little, hoping and praying for the storm to end. It didn’t. It got worse.
By morning, water was outside our door.
“How’d it get here?” I asked Papa.
“It must have come down the captain’s hatchway. It either washed through his cabin—or his cabin’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“A storm like this could shatter it or sweep it right off the deck.”
“The captain too?”
“It’s possible,” Papa said. “But I doubt it.”
“Neither my cabin nor I have been swept away yet, lad,” Captain Richardson said, appearing behind Papa, “but I’m here to speak seriously to all the passengers.”
The singing stopped immediately.
“My friends,” he began, “there is a time in every man’s life when it is fitting that he should prepare to die. That time has come to us, for unless God interposes, we shall all go to the bottom. I have done all in my power, but this is the worst gale I have ever known since I have been master of a ship.”
One man replied, “Captain Richardson, we were sent to California. We shall get there.”
Another said, “Captain, I have no more fear than though we were on solid land.”
The captain shook his head in disbelief at their calmness. As he left, he muttered, “They are either fools and fear nothing, or they know more than I do.”
The wind-driven sea continued to lash and crash against the ship for four terrifying days. The foul air below was almost unbearable. “I can’t breathe,” I gasped, and Papa braved the dangers to take me up the only open hatchway.
We met the captain on the deck and watched the spars whip dangerously as the ship rolled on the rough sea. Then a Baptist—the captain—and two Mormons—Papa and I—prayed together for the safety of the ship.
The storm ended. The Brooklyn had survived the first terrifying trial of the voyage. But the Atlantic adventures were just beginning!
(To be continued)

President David O. McKay loved horses. One of his favorite horses was named Sonny Boy. Even when he was President of the Church, he kept horses on his farm in Huntsville, Utah, so he could ride them whenever he visited.
Once, someone stole a hand-carved saddle from President McKay’s saddle house on the farm. President McKay valued the saddle greatly and felt very sad when it was stolen. After that, he was very careful to keep his saddle house locked.
One hot summer day, several members of President McKay’s family were visiting the farm. Two of his sisters were driving past the saddle house when they saw that a window had been left open. Fearing that another theft would happen, they stopped and closed the window.
Later that day, they told President McKay what they had done, hoping he would be as relieved as they were. But the prophet’s forehead creased with worry as they explained what they had done.
“I left that window open on purpose,” President McKay told his sisters. “There is a birds’ nest inside, and that is the only entrance the parent birds have to carry food to their babies. I think I shall just have time to run over.”
“We can easily run over and open the window again. It’s no trouble,” one of his sisters offered. She knew that President McKay needed to leave soon to get back to Salt Lake City.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I must pick up a rope that needs repairing anyway.”
President McKay reached for his sister’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and left to rescue the bird family. Before long he had gone there and come back home again.
“Was everything all right?” his sister asked when he returned.
“It was just as I expected,” President McKay said. “One bird was outside trying to get in, and another was inside attempting to get out.” He patted her arm gently. “But, all’s well now.”
President McKay was a very kind person. He knew that Heavenly Father was mindful of all of His creations, and he had a special love for Heavenly Father’s creations too.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Jared muttered to himself as he nibbled on the end of his pencil eraser. He unconsciously ran a weary hand through his black hair and sighed. Straightening the glasses that were perched crookedly on the end of his long nose, he cocked his head to one side in deep thought.
“If the molecular formula of triphosphorous pentanitride has a net electrical charge of …”
“Ring! Ring!” The reverberating sound of the telephone penetrated his thoughts and broke his concentration. Letting the pencil fall from his hand, Jared sighed again, pushed his books aside, and stood up. Maneuvering around the masses of cluttered junk on his floor, he stumbled to the hallway.
“Ring! Rinnnngggg!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled. “I’m almost th—” He hit the carpet with a thud as his German shepherd pounced on his chest and knocked him to the floor, greeting him with an enormous wet tongue.
“Oh, Wolf! I can’t play with you now!” He pushed the dog off him and rushed to the phone. Waving a scolding finger at Wolf, who still tugged playfully on his shirt tail, Jared reached for the receiver and breathed out a tired “Hello?”
The voice on the other line laughed. “Little out of breath, Jared? What have you been doing? Running a marathon?”
“Not like the one you just ran,” Jared replied as he struggled to keep the cord slobber-free. “Congratulations! It’s just that I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”
“Oh,” Ryan said in mock disappointment. “Well, if you’re too busy—”
Jared’s laughter interrupted him. “Don’t be crazy! It’s just Wolf.”
“Good,” Ryan said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I thought you were actually doing something important, like polishing your trombone or something.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
“I try.”
“Hey, that was a great game last night. What did you have? Five, ten points?”
Ryan coughed uncomfortably. “Well, um. Actually it was 35.”
“What?” Jared teased. “Only 35? Do you think you could put a little effort into it next time?”
Ryan was speechless until Jared burst into laughter. “I’m just kidding! Congratulations. That’s a career high, isn’t it?”
“Thanks. Yeah, it is.”
“And state champs for the fourth time! That’s amazing! Have you had any more offers?”
“Yeah, I have,” Ryan said softly.
Jared recognized the solemn edge in his voice. “Ryan,” he asked, “what’s wrong?”
Ryan was quiet. “Could I come over or something? I need to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Jared was puzzled. “I’ll be here.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be over in 10 minutes.”
As Jared hung up the phone he was worried. It wasn’t like Ryan to sound so discouraged, and especially after winning the state championship. Basketball was Ryan’s life.
Jared wondered what could possibly be bothering Ryan. Whatever it was, Jared was determined to help him work it out.
Ryan cleared an empty spot before plopping down on Jared’s bed.
Jared looked sheepish. “Sorry my room’s such a mess,” he apologized as he gathered dirty clothes to toss in the hamper. “I was going to clean it, but …” He stopped when Ryan raised a questioning eyebrow.
“But what?”
Jared laughed. “Okay, so I wasn’t planning on it.” He wadded up a towel and threw it at Ryan. “You know me too well.”
Ryan rolled the towel into a ball, took aim, and shot it into the open hamper.
“Nice shot.” Jared cleared the books off his desk chair and moved it over by the bed. “Now. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Ryan was quiet for a minute. “It’s the offer I’ve received.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Ryan placed his hands behind his head and fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing. That’s the problem. It’s perfect.”
Jared was clearly puzzled. “I don’t understand. Who’s it from?”
“Oh … just the team ranked number one in the nation.”
“North Carolina?” Jared jumped out of his seat and danced around the room. “North Carolina! Ryan, that’s terrific!”
“Yeah, I know. They’re offering me a full-ride scholarship. If I accept, I’ll probably start next season.”
Jared sat back down and whistled. “Wow!”
Ryan sat up excitedly. “That’s exactly what I thought! Man, to think of me playing for a team like North Carolina. It’s just unreal! But …”
“But what?” Jared asked, thinking he already knew the answer.
Ryan was hesitant. He leaned forward and looked at his friend. “This is something I’ve wanted to do my whole life. And I’d do it, in a second, if it weren’t …”
“It’s your mission, isn’t it?” Jared said knowingly.
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted. “I always said that I’d serve a mission. But it seems like everything’s changing now.”
“I see.”
Ryan continued. “Before, playing basketball beyond high school was, I don’t know, a dream that I never thought would happen. But you’ve seen me, Jared! I’m playing better than ever before. I’m at the top of my game, and now I have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I can’t pass it all up, can I?” He paused and looked away.
Jared asked softly, “Are you willing to sacrifice your mission for a dream?” He sat quietly for a long time before asking, “Why do you play basketball, Ryan?”
Ryan shrugged. “Because I like to, I guess.”
“And because you’re good at it?”
“It makes it more fun, I suppose.”
Jared seemed dissatisfied. “Is that all?”
“I like the way it makes me feel.”
“And how’s that?” Jared gently prodded.
Again Ryan leaned back and studied the ceiling. “It’s hard to describe. It makes me feel good to know that I’ve achieved something, and that I was able to do it because I’ve worked hard.”
Jared nodded in approval. “Well, then you’re playing for the right reason.”
Ryan sat up and rolled his eyes. “You’re not helping me any, Jared!”
Jared laughed. “I’ve known you for a long time, Ryan. Unfortunately,” he added teasingly. “I know that you’ll make the right decision.”
“You’re right,” Ryan sighed as he stood up. “Thanks for talking to me, Jared. I’m going to go shoot a few hoops and think.”
“Hey, Ryan,” Jared called as he leaned out his door to find his friend battling with Wolf in the hallway. “Just one more thing. You can do the right things, but you need to do them for the right reasons.” Ryan looked up from scratching Wolf’s head.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said.
“Hello?”
“I’m going,” Ryan announced.
“Going where?” Jared asked as he pulled the shoe from Wolf’s mouth.
Ryan was impatient. “To the moon and back.”
“Right,” Jared said sarcastically.
“No, Jared, be serious. I’ve made my decision.”
“And …”
“And, I’d really rather tell you in person. Can I come over?”
“If you think you can get past the slobbering bodyguard in the hallway, go right ahead.”
Ryan laughed. “I think I can manage.”
Jared shook his head. “I can’t believe it! Well, yeah I guess I can. But what made you decide to give up North Carolina’s offer? I thought it was everything you ever wanted?”
“I thought so too. At first. But then I changed my mind. It wasn’t that hard of a choice I guess,” Ryan admitted.
“Well, what took you so long then? It’s been a whole week since I’ve seen you. I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth or something.”
Ryan smiled. “Deep down I knew that serving a mission was the right thing to do,” he looked up at Jared. “But I just had to be sure I was doing it for the right reason.”
“And are you?”
“Absolutely.” When Ryan saw Jared’s puzzled expression he laughed and explained further. “I guess I have you to thank for it. It had something to do with what you said about sacrificing my mission for basketball. I like the way basketball makes me feel, but I love the way the gospel makes me feel even more. Making a basket is a great feeling, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling I get when I read my scriptures, or go to church, or help someone. I mean, like last summer, when I baptized my little sister—that was the greatest feeling in the world.” He smiled at the memory.
“The prophet said all worthy young men should serve a mission. I’ve thought about that all my life. It isn’t up to me to decide whether I should serve a mission. It’s just up to me whether I’ll answer the call.” He paused for a moment, then continued.
“I’ve been so blessed to have the gospel in my life, and I want to share it with everyone I can.” He shook his head. “I almost passed up the opportunity to serve the Lord, and then I realized that I’d be passing up way more than that. All the experiences I’d have, all the people I’d meet, and all the wonderful feelings I’d get knowing that I was doing the Lord’s work. Basketball’s just not worth all that. Besides,” he added with a grin, “there’s always P-days.”
He looked up to see Jared studying his face intensely. “Do you mean to tell me that you, Ryan Wilson, Basketball Star, will be satisfied playing basketball only on P-days?” Jared looked suspicious. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”
Ryan laughed. “I’m going on a mission, Jared. I’ve got an appointment to see the bishop for a mission interview. He has a better offer.” He punched Jared’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go polish your trombone.”

In 1971, I was assigned to stake conferences in Western Samoa, including the organization of a new stake on Upolu island. After interviews we chartered a small plane to Savai‘i island to hold a stake conference there. The plane landed on a grassy field at Faala and was to return the next afternoon to take us back to Upolu island.
The day we were to return from Savai‘i, it was raining. Knowing the plane could not land on the wet field, we drove to the west end of the island, where there was a runway of sorts atop a coral break. We waited until dark, but no plane arrived. Finally, we learned by radio that there was a storm, and the plane could not take off. We radioed back that we would come by boat. Someone was to meet us at Mulifanua.
As we pulled out of port on Savai‘i, the captain of the 40-foot (12 m) boat asked the mission president if he had a flashlight. Fortunately, he did and made a present of it to the captain. We made the 13-mile (21 km) crossing to Upolu island on very rough seas. None of us realized that a ferocious tropical storm had hit the island, and we were heading straight into it.
We arrived in the harbor at Mulifanua. There was one narrow passage we were to go through along the reef. A light on the hill above the beach and a second lower light marked the narrow passage. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, the boat would be lined up properly to pass through the dangerous rocks that lined the passage.
But that night there was only one light. Two elders were waiting on the landing to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After watching for hours for signs of our boat, the elders tired and fell asleep, neglecting to turn on the second light, the lower light. As a result, the passage through the reef was not clear.
The captain maneuvered the boat as best he could toward the one upper light on shore while a crewman held the borrowed flashlight over the bow, searching for rocks ahead. We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage.
After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the passage. All we could do was try to reach the harbor at Apia 40 miles (64 km) away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements. I do not remember ever being where it was so dark.
We made no progress for the first hour, even though the engine was at full throttle. The boat would struggle up a mountainous wave and then pause in exhaustion at the top of the crest with the propellers out of the water. The vibration of the propellers would shake the boat almost to pieces before it slid down the other side.
We were lying spread-eagled on the cover of the cargo hold, holding on with our hands on one side and with our toes locked on the other to keep from being washed overboard. Brother Mark Littleford lost hold and was thrown against the low iron rail. His head was cut, but the rail kept him from being washed away.
Eventually, we moved ahead and near daylight finally pulled into the harbor at Apia. Boats were lashed to one another for safety. They were several deep at the pier. We crawled across them, trying not to disturb those sleeping on deck. We made our way to Pesega, dried our clothing, and headed for Vailuutai to organize the new stake.
I do not know who had been waiting for us at the beach at Mulifanua. I refused to let them tell me. But it is true that without that lower light, we all might have been lost.

In 2005, I gave birth to premature triplets: Milena, Mateo, and Nelson. Milena was born healthy, but my two little boys suffered complications. Mateo died of those complications three months after he was born.
A month after we lost Mateo, Nelson was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and deafness. We were devastated. Doctors told us he would never walk. At that moment, we were grateful for our knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It helped us understand why we experience adversity in this life.
Through faith and hard work, Nelson learned to walk and to communicate through sign language. He has done much better than his doctors ever predicted. He has grown up happy in our family and in the gospel.

There are great blessings in having modern-day prophets. President Hugh B. Brown (1883–1975), a former counselor in the First Presidency, told of a discussion he had with a member of the British House of Commons who had previously been a judge. This man said he thought God had not spoken to people on earth since the first century, and President Brown responded by explaining to him about Joseph Smith and the Restoration.
“The judge sat and listened intently,” President Brown recalled. “He asked some very pointed and searching questions, and at the end of the interview he said, ‘Mr. Brown, I wonder if your people appreciate the import of your message. Do you? … If what you have told me is true, it is the greatest message that has come to earth since the angels announced the birth of Christ.’”

Bit by bit, and blissfully unaware, I was poisoning myself. OK, I use the term “poisoning” a bit loosely here, but to a teenage guy in high school, the word seemed appropriate. I had turned my skin orange.
Without realizing it.
You see, I was trying to kick a soda habit and did so by rather unconventional means. I started drinking freshly-made carrot juice. My dad had bought a juicer that extracted nothing but juice—which means you cruise through plenty more carrots that way (and consume a lot of beta-carotene).
Fun fact: beta-carotene, at those levels, enters the bloodstream and starts painting you from the inside out. It’s harmless to your overall health but becomes oh-so-visible over time. Somehow, though, I still hadn’t noticed the effects unfolding until a friend squinted at me in the sunlight one afternoon.
“Um, Dave, is your skin … orange?” she asked.
“No!” I laughed. What an absurd question.
Then she held her forearm next to mine for comparison. I glanced down in shock. My skin looked like it was slathered in pumpkin puree compared to hers. From that moment on, I cut way back on the carrot juice.
Back to my beta-carotene fiasco for a moment. In the end, I swapped in some celery sticks and apple slices to replace most of the carrots in my not-quite-as-good-as-soda beverage. And, in time, my skin returned to its normal hue. Whew! Though it was a huge relief at the time, that particular snag was a small one in the grand scheme of eternal matters.

Elder Francisco J. Viñas (Spain): I want to share with you an experience we had during my service as mission president in 1989. While we served in the Argentina Salta Mission, a few days before Christmas, we received instruction from the Missionary Department that the missionaries had to stay in their apartments until further notice because of the invasion of Panama by the United States.

On the morning of December 24th, we loaded the mission cars and divided the mission into two parts: the assistants went to the north part of the mission, and my eight-year-old son and I went to the south of the mission. The purpose was to visit each companionship in their apartment, deliver food, and share a Christmas message with them. This was a great experience for my son and me. Being in each apartment and sharing with the missionaries was a wonderful experience for both of us—one we always cherish as a great Christmas memory.

My wife and two daughters stayed in the mission home, and my son and I returned in the early morning of December 25th. That was the first time that we were not together as a family for Christmas Eve, but it was for us the most memorable of Christmases.

It was still dark when Gray Cougar awoke. The Indian boy faced the red fingers of light in the eastern sky and prayed as he did each morning. Last night he had not expected to see another dawn! Despite the pain in his right shoulder and ribs, he was filled with gratitude.
Now if I can only find the strength to get back to my village and the medicine man, he thought. Or would it be better, perhaps, if I didn’t go back? he began to wonder.
He had failed his mission. How his older brothers would laugh! They had said he was too young to scale the buttes and bring back an eagle feather. Not that he had intended to pluck one from a living eagle, however. Just the thought of their strong talons made him shiver with dread, to say nothing of the powerful wings and formidable beak!
Gray Cougar had hoped to be lucky enough to find a shed tail feather among the rocks. He was weary of the good-natured gibes of Red Fox and Standing Bear, his brothers, who were almost braves. Eagle feathers were highly prized among his people, and owning such a trophy would bring respect.
The Indian boy clenched his jaw to keep from groaning aloud as he moved down the steep boulder-strewn slope. He crept like an old man and held his injured arm tightly against his chest to ease the pain. Last night he hadn’t expected the fierce wind on the high irregular hilltops, but he had fought it and almost reached a huge nest of sticks when his moccasin slipped. Gray Cougar had dangled helplessly by his hands for what seemed like hours, feeling for a foothold. Then a mighty gust blasted him loose and he had fallen onto the slope below, where he rolled down against a large rock. He had slept a deathlike sleep for a long time, and the sun was setting when he opened his eyes. And with darkness upon him, he had not yet reached the canyon floor. Gray Cougar slumped down between boulders as drowsiness overcame him.
A white youth would have died of thirst in the blistering desert heat as the sun rose higher, but even in his delirium Gray Cougar knew where to dig holes in the sand and how to be patient as the water seeped in. It was bitter, but safe to drink. There were cool springs and threads of waterfalls among the buttes, but he had no strength to climb them.
Because he was dazed and sick, Gray Cougar was not as cautious as he would normally have been. At a turn in the canyon, his eyes widened with fear when he saw oxen and a covered wagon! He could not run. The bronzed youth sagged against a boulder and stoically watched a white man snatch up a long gun and turn. Gray Cougar closed his eyes. Will I hear the lightning crack of the shot—or will the pain come first? he wondered matter-of-factly. He was too feverish and sick to worry about it. But it seemed ironic that he had struggled so hard to reach his death place!
The man could easily have slain him from beside the wagon. Consequently, Gray Cougar felt hope as he heard him approach. The boy opened his eyes and tried to understand the strange-sounding words, but all he could make out was a series of croaks. Then he noticed the man’s swollen tongue and cracked lips and the lowered heads and glazed eyes of the team of oxen. The stranger, who wore fancy clothing from the east, must be asking for water!
Gray Cougar looked around, trying to concentrate on where he was. His face lit up when he saw the towering needle rock far above them. There, he knew, was a cool spring with lush green grass growing all around it just south of the stone needle. But I cannot help him, he worried. I cannot climb to show the way, and we cannot speak to each other. Then Gray Cougar had an idea. I can draw a map in the sand!
The sick youth pointed to the high rock then moved his finger south. He pretended to scoop up water and drink. Then he knelt and made marks in the hot sand. “How far? How far?” the white man cried. But Gray Cougar only stared in puzzlement and pointed to his injured shoulder and side.
“I’m sorry. I am hurt. I cannot lead you there,” he said, thinking that was what the man asked.
The man took two canteens and a wooden bucket from the wagon. He copied the crude map on a paper then disappeared among the rocks. Gray Cougar crawled beneath the heavy wagon and dozed off in the shade.
Splashes of cold water from an overflowing barrel lashed to the back of the wagon shocked the boy awake. The man must have made many trips to fill it, Gray Cougar thought. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out when he tried to squirm from under the covered wagon. With every heartbeat the pain throbbed agonizingly.
The white man stooped to help prop the young Indian against one of the wagon wheels. He probed gently, watching the boy’s face. Then tearing a blanket into long pieces, he wrapped some strips tightly around the bruised ribs. Gray Cougar took a deep breath and smiled. There was no more knife-like pain. Next the man folded a square cloth into a triangle and made a sling that he knotted and slipped around Gray Cougar’s neck. The throbbing shoulder eased when his arm was supported. They smiled at each other. Each had helped the other. Words were not needed.
After they had eaten, they sat by the fire. The desert chilled quickly once the sun was gone. Gray Cougar wished he could talk to the man. Why is he here alone? Where is he going? What do the large black markings painted on the canvas mean? He stood and traced the letters with his finger then looked wonderingly at his companion, unaware that the letters spelled TAXIDERMIST.
The man chuckled, then began to pull boxes from the wagon. Gray Cougar stared in amazement when the man lifted out a stuffed red squirrel that was standing upright with a nut in its paws. It looked so alive he expected it to scurry away! There were birds, other small mammals, and even a coiled and deadly looking rattlesnake.
“They are for a new museum in San Francisco,” the man said proudly, as though Gray Cougar could understand. “I’m going to settle there and open a shop. Here, take a look at this one. A man found it dead beside the river and gave it to me.”
“Aiii!” Gray Cougar gasped, as a very large box yielded up an adult golden eagle, frozen in timeless splendor.
Eyes glowing with excitement, the youth pointed to the tail feathers, the bluffs, and then to his injured side. The man’s face cleared, and he made a motion as though sticking a feather in his long black hair. He knew eagle feathers were prized by the Indians. The boy was probably injured while searching for one, he decided. The taxidermist had collected many extra feathers to fill out the plumage of his specimens. Now he began to sort through a long, flat box. There were many bright feathers, but there were none from an eagle. He was sorry he could not give one to Gray Cougar.
The Indian youth examined the feathers, ignoring familiar ones. He gasped again as he lifted out an iridescent peacock feather. The end of it seemed to have an eye surrounded by rainbow colors! What manner of bird can be so richly dressed! he wondered. Gray Cougar could not even imagine what such a bird would look like. He was awed and delighted when the white man put the jewel-like plume in the boy’s hair and closed the box. His brothers and the other villagers would be astounded and impressed when the boy returned home wearing the exotic feather.
The man tried to describe a peacock. He strutted back and forth and swept his hands in a huge circle. Then he measured where the bird’s head would reach.
It was difficult to believe the man, yet he had no reason to lie. His feather came from a great bird that walked proudly but could not fly! And its tail feathers formed a huge warbonnet like a chief’s!
Gray Cougar grinned mischievously as he considered the flood of questions Red Fox and Standing Bear would ask. They would never believe such a bird existed. He decided he would just smile mysteriously and not answer. They would probably not tease him again. Instead, they and the other envious youths would rush off to the buttes to try to find feathers like his.
As though he could read Gray Cougar’s thoughts, the white man’s laughter boomed out at the thought of such scrambling.

After World War I ended, Amelia began taking premed courses at Columbia University and at Barnard College. But studying medicine lacked the pleasure she found in nursing and Amelia soon grew restless. When a letter arrived from her family in California urging her to come west, Amelia packed her bags and bought a train ticket home.
Amelia could hardly wait for the long ride to end. Soon she was hugging her family and talking excitedly about what she had been doing. “Oh, I missed you so much!” she cried.
There was little time for Amelia to rest. The Earharts wanted their daughter to meet new people. She was invited to a number of delightful parties and picnics. Then one afternoon Amelia and her father went to see an air show in Long Beach, California.
“Well, are you having a good time?” her father asked.
“A wonderful time, Father! Wouldn’t it be glorious to fly like that!” Amelia exclaimed.
“Would you like to go up for a spin?” he questioned, catching his daughter’s enthusiasm.
“Do you think I could?” asked Amelia, hardly believing that it would be possible.
“I believe Mr. Hawks, one of the pilots, sometimes takes people up for short rides,” Mr. Earhart told his excited daughter.
“Let’s find him, Father! I just have to go up!” Amelia exclaimed.
They found Mr. Hawks and a few moments later Amelia and the pilot were taking off in a plane from a strip of graveled ground nearby. They just barely cleared the derricks of some oil wells near the end of the runway, but Amelia was too thrilled to be frightened or to notice how old and rickety the plane was.
“As soon as we left the ground,” Amelia recalled, “I knew I had to fly by myself! Miles away I saw the ocean [and] the Hollywood hills smiled at me over the edge of the cockpit. … We were friends, the ocean, the hills, and I.”
As soon as Amelia was out of the plane, she began coaxing her father to let her learn to fly. But he was hesitant and Mrs. Earhart was even more reluctant to agree to Amelia’s plan.
“Flying is not a suitable pastime or occupation for a young lady,” said Mrs. Earhart. “Flying is for men.”
“But why is it only for men, Mother?” Amelia persisted. “Why can’t a woman control an airplane as well as a man?”
“Amelia, there are some things a young lady doesn’t do. Flying is one of them,” her mother insisted.
“Voting used to be something women didn’t do,” said Amelia, not wanting to drop the subject.
“My dear,” her mother added, “there’s a big difference between marking a piece of paper and handling a flying machine.”
Though this may have ended the discussion at the moment, her parents both knew that when Amelia wanted to do something, she would find a way to do it. Before long she had a job where she could work during the week and take flying lessons on weekends. Within a year, she had made her first solo flight. In 1920, she set the women’s altitude record of 14,000 feet.