Gospel Story Finder

Wilford Woodruff, too, could see humor winking at him through the hardships of his mission. He writes of his experience in January of 1830 when he was twenty-seven years old. He and his companion walked sixty miles in two days, without food. On the first day they were confronted by a bear, lost their way, were followed by wolves, and finally, late at night, reached a cabin where they were given nothing to eat, though they were allowed to sleep on the floor. That, writes Elder Woodruff, was “the hardest day’s work of my life.” The next morning they walked twelve miles in the rain to the house of a man who, they discovered, had been in the mob that drove the Saints from their homes in Jackson County, Missouri, a year earlier. As they reached the cabin, the man’s family were sitting down to breakfast. To read from Elder Woodruff’s account:
“In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you, so he asked us to take breakfast. … He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”7

After serving for a time in Salzburg, I was transferred to Zürich, Switzerland. While I was there, Brother Julius Billeter, a member of the Church, approached me. He was a professional genealogist, and he told me he had seen quite a few Wirthlin names in his work. He offered to research my family lines. I wrote home, and my father thought it was a wonderful opportunity, so we hired him to begin.
A year later he handed me a book. It was 36 centimeters long, 46 centimeters wide, and weighed 6.2 kilograms. It was filled with nearly 6,000 names of my ancestors. It was a priceless volume that I treasured. Just before my missionary release, I packed the precious book in a steamer trunk along with some of my other possessions and shipped it home. I prayed that it would arrive safely and that the precious family history would not be lost.
I arrived home before the trunk. Weeks passed. Still no trunk. I began to worry that the irreplaceable book had been lost. Six months after I had arrived in Salt Lake City, I received a call from the Union Pacific depot. A trunk had arrived for me. I rushed down to retrieve it, but when I saw it, my heart sank. The lock on the trunk had been broken.
I pried up the lid, and when I looked inside, my heart fell further. Everything had been soaked with seawater. What is more, I could tell someone had rifled through my belongings. Some things were missing.
I gingerly removed the layers of clothing, searching for my precious book. When I reached it, my heart overflowed with joy. Not only was it there, but the papers were completely dry! I know the book was preserved through divine intervention.

Turning 16 brought more decisions. One of my Sunday School teachers warned, “You will marry someone you date. Make sure you date the kind of person you can marry in the temple.” I took his advice seriously and asked myself about each friendship, “Is this the kind of person I could go to the temple with?” Sometimes my judgment was off. Still I kept to my plan until I found the right person to marry in the right place.

When Daeyoon was fourteen, it was announced that the first all-Korea Church conference would be held in Seoul, the nation’s capital. The prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball, was coming from America!
Daeyoon eagerly sought permission from his nonmember parents to attend. Concerned about his making the seven-hour bus ride from Chinhae to Seoul, they were initially reluctant. But Daeyoon would be able to stay with relatives in Seoul, and his parents eventually consented to let him go.
The day of the conference came, and Daeyoon thrilled as he listened to the wonderful words of President Kimball and the other General Authorities. But since his seat was at the back of the auditorium, he could hear the Brethren better than he could see them. It was disappointing to him to be so near and yet so far. With the innocent faith of youth, he bowed his head and prayed that some day he would be able to personally meet President Kimball and other General Authorities.
The next morning he boarded the bus for the seven-hour ride back home. At one point, the bus made a service stop, and Daeyoon got off to buy an ice cream cone in the nearby cafeteria. As he walked from the bus, he noticed an American car with a bumper sticker that read Families Are Forever.
With melting ice cream dripping from the cone, he strolled through the cafeteria, hoping he might meet some American Mormons.
Suddenly, his heart leaped. His prayer of the day before was to be answered not years from now, but today! There, across the room, stood President Kimball. Full of confidence from his positive experiences with many missionaries, Daeyoon quickly strode across the cafeteria, thrust out his hand, and introduced himself in simple English. “Hi! I’m Daeyoon Kim. I’m a Mormon.”
President Kimball, who knew how to make everyone feel important, enthusiastically grasped Daeyoon’s sticky hand and invited him to sit at his table. President Kimball pulled out his handkerchief and smilingly wiped the ice cream off the boy’s face. “Are your parents Mormons?” he asked.
“No,” the boy replied with a downward glance.
“Good!” was the president’s immediate response. “You can help convert them. Where are you from, Brother Kim?”
“Chinhae, seven hours southeast of Seoul. I’ve just been to the conference to hear you speak.”
“I’m surely proud of you for your devotion in traveling such a distance!” said President Kimball. “Meet my wife and the General Authorities traveling with us.” And he formally introduced Daeyoon to the other visitors.
Within moments, the bus was ready to leave, and Daeyoon had to say good-bye. President Kimball took the youth by the hand, looked him in the eye, and said, “The Church needs you to build the kingdom in Korea, Brother Kim. Will you serve a mission? Will you help build the kingdom of God?” With fervor, Daeyoon promised he would.
Then President Kimball put his arms around the young man, hugged him close, and whispered in his ear, “Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!”
As the years passed, Daeyoon became absorbed in his high school and university studies, and he was sometimes tempted to stay home from church. Then “Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful!” would ring in his ears and in his heart. He truly wanted to be worthy of the glorious blessings of that acceptance, that honor from the president of the Church. Faithfully he attended church, even when he was under pressure not to from his parents and peers.

When Samuel was 21, he went to Harmony, Pennsylvania, where his brother Joseph and Oliver Cowdery were translating the Book of Mormon. On 15 May 1829, just days before Samuel arrived, Joseph and Oliver had received the Aaronic Priesthood from John the Baptist and had baptized each other with that newly conferred authority.

In Harmony, Joseph showed Samuel part of the Book of Mormon that he had translated and “labored to persuade him concerning the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which was now about to be revealed in its fulness.”

Joseph wrote that Samuel wasn’t “very easily persuaded of these things,” so Samuel “retired to the woods, in order that by secret and fervent prayer he might obtain of a merciful God, wisdom to enable him to judge for himself. The result was that he obtained revelation for himself.”2

On 25 May 1829 Samuel was baptized, the third person in this dispensation—following Joseph and Oliver—to receive that ordinance. Later that year Samuel was one of the Eight Witnesses privileged to examine the gold plates. The next spring, on 6 April 1830, he was one of the six original members when the Church was formally organized. Others were also working to share the gospel, but in June 1830, Joseph set Samuel apart to be the Church’s first officially called missionary.

A couple weeks after I started going to seminary, Heather asked me if I was interested in having the missionaries teach me the discussions. What are missionaries, I thought? I imagined two old bald men who carried briefcases everywhere they went and had no personality. But when I met the Elders, I knew I was wrong. They made learning fun. Not only did I grow to love them and the family that invited me into their home every Sunday night, I also grew to love the Lord and his church.

When I was 14, I went camping with some friends. As we sat in a circle talking, one of the guys reached into his pack and pulled out a can of beer. Everyone went silent as he popped the lid and held it high above his head. “If any of you are men,” he bellowed, “you’ll have a drink with me.” Tilting the can to his lips, he took a large swallow.
All the eyes were on the can as the boy next to him received it in his waiting hand. He didn’t hesitate. He took a swig with great bravado in front of us all. The can moved to the next boy in the circle.
As it moved in my direction, my mind searched for a quick solution, a cool response that would rescue me. I knew what was right and wrong. I knew what the Word of Wisdom said. I knew how seven-year-old Joseph Smith refused any liquor to dull the pain of the operation on his leg.
These things raced through my mind as the can found its way to the third boy. He had not come to be tempted. He thought he was just going camping. As he held the can, I could sense the frantic debate going on in his mind. All eyes were upon him, staring, seeming to demand that he drink as the others had. I could almost hear his cries pleading for his mother to come save him, but she was nowhere to be found. Try as he did, he could not handle the pressure. He took a drink and hurriedly passed the can to my friend—my example—Rick.
My heart was pounding as I realized that I was the next one in the circle to receive the can. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this one. I imagined that if I didn’t take a drink, they would bury me up to my neck in the hills somewhere and let the ants crawl through my nose and ears. “Rick,” I thought to myself, “if you take one sip of that, I’m going to slug you.”
Rick held the can. He looked at me, and I looked at him. We then both looked at the can he was holding and up at the dozen other faces waiting anxiously.
For a moment, Rick just stared at the can. Then he casually put it down, reached into his pack, and fished around until he found what he was looking for. He raised a purple can into the air for all to see.
“If any of you are men,” Rick yelled, “you’ll have a drink of grape soda with me!” Rick popped the lid, brought the can to his lips, and tilted his head back dramatically as he drank from it. Then he passed it back in the direction from which the beer had come.
The kid next to Rick found himself holding the soda now. Everyone was staring at him. He gladly drank some and passed it on. As they were enjoying the grape soda, Rick grabbed the beer can and threw it as far as he could. The can, frothing at one end as it twirled in the air, dropped into the gully below.

While serving in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission, my companion and I were assigned to labor in Villamontes (now part of the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission). This remote village lies in the southeastern corner of Bolivia. The closest town is 90 kilometers away. Because Villamontes did not have a baptismal font, we performed baptisms in the nearby Pilcomayo River.
Our labors were meeting with some success, and we were having quite a few baptisms in the river. It seemed a good location until we began to hear rumors about piranhas. Standing waist-deep in water infested with carnivorous fish did not sound like something we wanted to do, but we didn’t have another place to perform these important ordinances. We ignored the rumors until a Church member actually caught one of the fish and showed it to us. The piranha’s sharp teeth alarmed us. Still, the Lord’s work must go forward, and we trusted in Him to protect us.
We needed His protection at our next baptism because seasonal rains had caused the river to rise to treacherous levels, clogging it with logs, sticks, and other debris. We were convinced we had to find another place to baptize.
After days of looking, we finally decided to perform a baptism in a member’s cistern—a small water tank. The cistern was so small we wondered if two people would fit into it. But both the convert and the priesthood holder climbed in, and the convert was baptized by immersion.
We had another baptism the following week, and the cistern was no longer available. So we performed the baptism in a small cement tub. Again both the convert and the priesthood holder stepped into the tiny makeshift font. The boy being baptized had to kneel down to be immersed.
After that baptism, we started thinking about where we could have future baptisms. The problem was urgent because three more people were scheduled for baptism the following Sunday. Fortunately, a district conference was going to be held in Yacuiba, and the meetinghouse there had a baptismal font. We traveled there for the baptismal service.
At the service, our mission president told us that because of the growth of the Church in Villamontes, that small village would receive a baptismal font. We were overjoyed.
Our experiences in Villamontes taught us that when we work hard, the Lord always provides a way for us to accomplish what He has asked. The Lord’s work will always move forward, with or without piranhas.

My great-great-grandmother Eliza Cusworth was born in England in 1824 and married Joseph Burton in 1846. They lived happily for a few years and had two children, Joseph and Martha. In 1849 two LDS missionaries came to the area, and both Eliza and Joseph listened to them, gained testimonies of the gospel, and were baptized. The counsel of the prophet at that time was for the Saints to migrate to Utah. Joseph and Eliza started saving so that they could make the journey.

Joseph was employed as a carrier delivering goods from the depot to various stores. While lifting at work he broke a blood vessel, which resulted in his death a short time later. His dying request to Eliza was for her to migrate to Utah so she could do their temple work and raise their children among the Saints in Zion. Eliza promised him she would do this.

Understandably, both Eliza’s and Joseph’s families discouraged her from making what they said was “a foolish journey.” Eliza’s mother said that if Eliza would stay with them, they would take care of her and her children, and she would want for nothing. Joseph’s family offered to give her any amount of money if she would stay in England. It was a difficult decision for Eliza. However, she had made a promise to her dying husband, and she knew the gospel was true, so she chose to go.

In the spring of 1856, at age 32, Eliza packed her trunks and embarked on the 6,000-mile journey with Joseph and Martha, her two children. They went by train to Liverpool, England, and boarded the shipHorizon on May 25, 1856. During the voyage Eliza suffered from severe seasickness. It got so bad that for about 10 days she was unable even to care for her children. The Horizon landed in Boston on June 30, 1856, and then Eliza and her children traveled by boat and train to Iowa City, Iowa, where the railway ended. She had planned to join a wagon train at Iowa City; however, upon arrival she discovered that they were too late—the last of the wagon trains had already gone. She had no choice but to wait for handcarts to be made. When the handcarts were ready, the travelers were told they would have to leave most of their belongings behind, as they could bring only necessities on the handcarts. Eliza’s trunks contained many of her valuable possessions—silverware, linen, bedsheets, and clothing. Most of it had to be left behind.

Eliza joined the Martin Handcart Company, which left Iowa City on July 30, 1856, for the 1,300-mile trek to Salt Lake City. She pulled the handcart, little seven-year-old Joseph walked and helped her pull the cart part of the time, and four-year-old Martha rode in the handcart. During the first part of the journey everyone got along quite well. At night many would gather around the campfires after supper and sing songs such as “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” However, travel was slower than expected because they had to stop frequently to repair the hurriedly made handcarts.

The days wore on, and the members of the company tried to encourage one another. Often the only fuel available was buffalo chips with which they made fires to do their cooking and dry their clothing. After a while their food began to run low. Sometimes the men were able to kill buffalo, but after the company’s store of salt gave out, the meat often made them sick. Toward the latter part of their journey, the food was almost gone, and rations were reduced to one-fourth pound of flour per person per day. The season was getting late and the nights were cold—their clothing was thin, and they had little bedding. In their weakened condition, many became discouraged and wondered if they would ever reach the Salt Lake Valley.

When the company reached Devil’s Gate, they ran out of food entirely. At some ranchers’ cabins they tried to buy food, but the ranchers could sell them only some pelts of deer and mountain sheep that were dry and old. After soaking them and scraping off the hair, they cooked them into a soup that was thickened with their last remaining flour. Eating this helped relieve their hunger for a time.

Eliza waded across the Sweetwater River three times in one evening. First, she took little Joseph across on her back. When she reached the other side, Joseph was so frightened that he wouldn’t stay by himself and tried to follow her back. Eliza had to tie him to a nearby tree while she went back to get Martha. Then she had to go back a third time to get her handcart. She spent part of the night in freezing weather drying her clothes over the fire.

An early winter storm struck as the group was plodding its way along the Sweetwater River about 50 miles north of what is now Rawlins, Wyoming. The company waded through an icy stream and sought shelter in a nearby cove. Using frying pans and tin plates, they cleared the snow away as best they could and pitched their tents beside a tiny spring. As the desperate Saints huddled together in the cove, everyone hoped and prayed that they could survive until help arrived.

Brigham Young heard that the handcart company was marooned in the snow and sent rescuers with teams and food to assist them. More than one-fourth of the 500 members of the Martin Handcart Company perished, and many more would have died had Brigham Young not sent the rescuers. Eliza and her two children suffered greatly, but somehow they made it, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on November 30, 1856.

When Eliza reached the Salt Lake Valley, she inquired about William Cusworth, a cousin who had gone to Utah earlier in the season in a wagon train and with whom she intended to make her home for a while. She learned that he had become discouraged and had taken his family back to Iowa. She and her children were taken to the home of Isaac Leney, where they received care for a few weeks. Little Joseph lost two of his toes because his feet had been frozen.

They eventually settled in Pleasant Grove, where Eliza met and married Nathan Staker, a widower with several children. Eliza and Nathan moved to Mount Pleasant, where they helped pioneer Sanpete County. In addition to Joseph and Martha, Eliza had four children with Nathan Staker: three daughters and one son. Eliza raised her children and was a faithful Latter-day Saint all of her life, dying at age 90.

By any objective standard it was foolish for her, a single mother with two young children, to attempt the 6,000-mile journey by boat, train, and handcart. Why did she do it? Because she wanted to keep a promise she had made to her husband. As I look back on her decision 153 years later, I believe she did the right thing. She was able to make it safely, have her and Joseph’s temple work done, and raise their children in Zion. Because she was true to the promises she made to her husband and to God, I and her other descendants have been blessed beyond measure. I am confident that she and her husband Joseph are now together. I bless her name and am proud to call her my great-great-grandmother. One day when I meet her, I will embrace her and thank her for having the courage and humility to keep a promise to her husband and to follow the counsel of a prophet.

A modern example of this is taken from the life of Elder John B. Dickson of the Seventy. He recalls:
“When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn’t very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if He wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico, serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.
“Some would think that losing an arm would be a terrible burden, but it has been one of the greatest blessings in my life. I learned that it is very important to have challenges and to face up to them.”
Elder Dickson had always been right-handed, and now he had to learn to do everything left-handed. One struggle was learning how to tie his ties. He said: “One Sunday morning when I was in my bedroom with my tie in my hand, I thought, How am I going to tie this? I thought about getting a clip-on tie. I thought about asking Mom to help me. But I couldn’t take her with me on my mission just to tie my ties. So I decided I had to learn how to do it myself. I finally figured it out by using my teeth. I still do it that way, even after having tied it thousands of times.”

My son Justin grew up with a difficult disease. Sometimes he was very weak. He couldn’t always do things like everyone else, even though he tried. He knew what it felt like to be different.
One day Justin and his friends got together to play a game. They had to hit a ball with their arms to keep it in the air. One of the girls who came to play had a broken arm.
It would have been easy to say, “OK, we’re all playing, and she’s just going to watch.”
But instead, Justin said, “I have a great idea. We’re all going to play with one arm.” Everybody played the game using just one arm, including the girl who was wearing a cast. No one was left out.
Justin is my hero. He always looked at other people and thought, How do they feel? Justin was sick for most of his life, but he was happy because he helped other people and followed Jesus Christ.

Our little granddaughter (I’ll call her Heather) grew up a happy, bubbly child. She always had a smile on her face. But when she turned 12, all that changed. She experienced anxiety, sometimes felt panic, and began to harm herself. She stayed home from school and hid in her room.
Her parents called me, feeling very concerned. I listened and empathized. But it was not my place to tell them what to do. This was under their role as parents. My job as a grandparent was to listen and offer ideas as they figured out what to do.
They found medical help and therapy for Heather. Over the following months, her progress seemed slow. Her mother arranged for online learning because Heather missed so much school. Heather continued to confine herself to her room and her art.
What could I do?
I knelt daily in prayer for Heather. We prayed as an extended family, but Heather still isolated herself. I wanted God to fix her back to the happy little girl she was.
As I continued to pray, the Spirit reminded me of a teaching by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “Never forget that these little ones are the sons and daughters of God and that yours is a custodial relationship to them, that He was a parent before you were parents and that He has not relinquished His parental rights or interest in these His little ones.”1
I began to pray for God’s will, His timing, and His direction, not mine. I needed to respect that He was Heather’s Father in Heaven. I sought to listen to the Spirit, not just pray in panic for my will to be done. I knew He would take care of Heather. I read and reread 3 Nephi 18:20: “Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.” Heavenly Father promised, so I decided I would trust Him.
The Spirit reminded me that I was the grandparent and could love Heather in a different way than her parents. I just needed to show I enjoyed her company. We texted back and forth. We talked about both of us being daughters of God, and we had gospel conversations. She made several pieces of art just for me. I hugged her every chance I got. We cooked together, shopped together, and watched her favorite movies together.
As the months went by, she improved a little. With the help of her mom, she taught a Come, Follow Me lesson in our family videoconference. Other times she shared a scripture. She made cookies with her aunt and played games with her cousins.
Slowly, Heather’s life began to change. She made friends with a girl in the neighborhood while walking her dog. Her parents encouraged her to stay for Young Women class on Sunday, not just attend sacrament meeting. She met a new friend at a youth activity. As Heather felt stronger, she decided she would try to go back to in-person school. She is now doing well at school and enjoys seminary.
With each step Heather took, I felt immense gratitude. I am thankful for her parents, her extended family, the young women and their leaders, and a devoted seminary teacher. I express my gratitude for these angels on earth in my daily prayers.
Heather’s life isn’t perfect, but she has gained wisdom, strength, and courage through this trial. She can again share her happy, bubbly smile with those around her. She is growing into a productive, solution-focused teen. God is Heather’s Heavenly Father and will help her become her best self. Her earthly parents are receptive to the Spirit and seek to guide her life with His help. I still listen when they need to talk, and I always show love.

As a young missionary serving in the Central States Mission, Elder Kimball was traveling on a train to Chicago, Illinois, when a man approached him.
Man: Hey there, young fellow. I have a book that I think you’ll like.
It was a vulgar book filled with obscene pictures. Spencer wouldn’t touch it.
Elder Kimball: You are wrong, sir. That book does not appeal to me.
The man tried a different approach.
Man: Come into the city with me. I’ll show you where you can have a good time.
Elder Kimball: Absolutely not. I am a representative of Jesus Christ, and I will not follow where you go.
The man realized that the young missionary was in earnest and finally left him alone. Spencer recorded in his journal that he could feel himself blush for an hour.
Elder Kimball: Oh, how hard Satan, through his imps, tries to lead young people astray.I thank the Lord that I had the power to resist.
Later, as the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball spoke about resisting evil.
President Kimball: The fight against Satan and his forces is not a little skirmish with a half-willed antagonist, but a battle royal with an enemy so powerful, entrenched, and organized that we are likely to be vanquished if we are not strong, well trained, and watchful.

The day just didn’t start out right. The weather was supposed to be warm and sunny, but this particular Saturday morning in Mexico was cold, windy, and overcast. The dust was everywhere in Tijuana and our car, chameleon-like, had changed color to match the weather and the city.
Trying to find the LDS chapel was no easy feat. Everyone in the car had his own opinion of where it was, as had every Mexican we asked. As we tried to decipher the street signs, we read one that said, “Un Sentido.” By the time we found out what it meant, it was too late. Our whole caravan was on a one-way street—going the wrong way.
We had made the trip from Los Angeles that morning in a couple of station wagons, two huge vacation trailers, and a two-ton truck crammed with over 100 used suits, 150 dresses, 600 shirts, blouses, trousers, and sweaters in all different sizes and shapes. We had nearly 100 pairs of shoes and loads of underwear, ties, and odd pieces of clothing. Add to that over 300 gift-wrapped toys and gifts, several bicycles, a rocking horse, 10 pairs of roller skates, and 30 to 40 boxes of canned goods and food. All of it had been collected in Los Angeles for the benefit of an orphanage and some of the needy Saints in Mexico.
In less than a month an idea for a Chatsworth Second Ward (Los Angeles California Chatsworth Stake) Aaronic Priesthood MIA service project had grown into a major undertaking.
After a few “No comprende” answers to the grinning Mexicans, we found the attractive little Mormon chapel on a hilltop overlooking the city.
There to meet us were all the children just coming out from Saturday morning Primary. But before long children from neighboring streets were on hand, too, to help carry half of the clothing and supplies into one of the classrooms for later distribution to the needy. After handing out some of the gifts for the children, we were off again, this time in a downpour, to an orphanage across the city.
It was quite an experience.
It didn’t matter that it rained miserably on the way home. Our hearts were full of sunshine.

I once investigated an airplane accident where a young lieutenant was trying to practice the basic fighter maneuver called a pop-up attack. The plan called for him to approach the target at low level and high speed, acquire the target, then pull up abruptly, and, at the appropriate altitude, roll over and attack the target at a 20-degree dive angle—for more effective weapons effects. This particular lieutenant tunneled his vision solely on the target, not paying attention to anything else, and suddenly he found himself in the clouds. But if you’re in the clouds and your only reference is the ground, then you’ve lost the ability to effectively continue the attack.

Instead of discontinuing the attack and executing the appropriate escape maneuver as he’d been trained, the young pilot thought, “Well, I remember where the target is, so I’m going to keep going.” Because he’d had no real reference, he’d flown too high. So when he rolled over, he exited the clouds at a steep 45-degree angle and was flying much too fast to avoid hitting the ground. Realizing his mistake, he immediately pulled the ejection handle, just prior to the airplane impacting the ground. Because he failed to perform a single basic maneuver, he lost a valuable combat aircraft and came within about a half second of losing his life.

In a 1929 American football game held in Pasadena, California, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

Kate walked into the kitchen and saw Mom rolling out dough.
“I’m making Easter rolls,” Mom said. “Want to help?”
“Yes!” said Kate. She wondered what Easter rolls would look like. Would they be shaped like bunnies? Or colored eggs? Kate ran to the counter and looked at the bowl of marshmallows Mom had set by the dough. Were they going to decorate the rolls with marshmallows?
Mom showed Kate how to wrap a square of dough around a marshmallow and dip the roll in butter and cinnamon sugar.
Kate picked up her own piece of dough and a marshmallow. It would probably taste delicious, but what did it have to do with Easter?
“Today is the Friday before Easter,” Mom said as she dipped a wrapped-up marshmallow in the melted butter. “Many people call it Good Friday.”
“Why?” Kate asked.
“Because it’s the day Jesus Christ showed how much He loves us. He suffered and died for our sins. Because of what He did, we can repent and be forgiven.”
Mom handed Kate a marshmallow to eat. “That’s why we can live with Heavenly Father again someday. So today really is a ‘good Friday,’ don’t you think?”
Kate nodded as she dipped her last roll in cinnamon sugar. “Done!”
“Now we have to let these rise,” Mom said. She put plastic wrap over the stuffed rolls and slid them into the fridge. “After Jesus died, His body was put in the tomb, and His spirit went to heaven. Do you know what happened then?”
“He visited people in the spirit world?” Kate asked.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Then, on Sunday morning after He died …”
“He came alive again!” said Kate.
“Yes!” said Mom. “It’s called the Resurrection. Women visited Jesus’s tomb and found it empty. Angels told them, ‘He is not here: for He is risen.’ Because of that, all of us will live again after we die.”
Kate helped Mom wipe sugar and flour from the counter. “Each of the rolls we made is like a little tomb,” Mom said. “And on Easter Sunday, we’ll bake them.”
Kate wondered how they would turn out. She could hardly wait to eat one!
On Sunday morning Kate woke up to the smell of cinnamon baking. She hurried to the kitchen just in time to see Mom pull a tray of rolls out of the oven.
“Remember how we filled these?” Mom asked as she handed Kate a warm roll. “Break it open and take a look!”
Kate broke open her roll and looked inside. “It’s empty!”
“Just like the tomb on Easter morning,” Mom said. “Always remember that Jesus lives. And He loves you.”
Kate took a big bite out of her roll. She was grateful for Mom and this tasty treat, grateful for Jesus, and grateful for Easter morning!

“Class, please pass your papers to the front.” Heidi reached behind her to pick up Molly’s paper. She loved to look at Molly’s beautiful writing before she passed it forward. Her letters seemed to flow together perfectly. Heidi looked at her own paper and was embarrassed for anyone to see the poor handwriting. She slid her paper under Molly’s and passed it forward.
“Mom, will you write my homework for me?” Heidi asked as she walked in the door. Her mother had beautiful handwriting too. Maybe if her mother wrote her homework, she wouldn’t feel so embarrassed.
“Why do you want me to write your homework? Are your arms broken?” her mom teased.
Heidi told her mother about Molly’s beautiful writing. “I wish I had practiced my handwriting more last year.” Heidi sat down at the table and plopped her face in her hands.
“You know, Heidi,” her mom said, “if you work hard enough at it, your handwriting can be as good as anyone’s. You just have to put your mind to it.”
Heidi wasn’t so sure. She pictured Molly’s writing and thought there was no way hers would ever look like Molly’s.
“Do you remember the prophet Heber J. Grant?” Mom asked.
Heidi looked up. “Yes. We learned about him in Primary.”
“He had bad handwriting when he was young. He really wanted to improve, so he practiced and practiced until his handwriting was so good that he received an award for his penmanship.”
Heidi was amazed! She looked up to the prophets, but she had never realized they had problems just like hers when they were young. She decided that if Heber J. Grant could work to improve his handwriting, so could she.
The next day at school Heidi worked hard on her handwriting. It was difficult at first. She had to stay late to finish writing her assignments, but the story of President Heber J. Grant motivated her to continue.
It was weeks before Heidi began to notice any improvement. It still took her a long time to do her assignments, but her writing was getting better.
One day Molly noticed. “Heidi, you have really nice handwriting,” she said.
“Thanks.” Heidi blushed. She couldn’t help but let a smile creep across her face.
That night Heidi left a note on the refrigerator for her mother. It was in beautiful handwriting.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for telling me the story of Heber J. Grant. I probably won’t win any awards, but I finally feel like I have nice handwriting. Following the prophet wasn’t as hard as I thought!
Love,
Heidi

Merrell: Well, I gained a feeling of self-worth and determination to do my best. For example, while still in elementary school, I worked long hours in the hayfields, cutting and raking, and sometimes I would run into difficulties that would cut into my productivity. But no matter how many or how few rows I had cut, when my father came out to see my work in the evening, he would say, “Boy, Merrell, you got a lot accomplished! Did you get all that done while I was gone?” I was convinced I was the fastest cutter in the valley! I don’t know if I really was or not, but my father always made me feel that way.

A true story from the USA.
“Let’s go!” shouted Lauren as she passed the driveway.
Marcie put on her helmet. “I’m coming!”
Marcie pedaled her bike down the sidewalk toward her friends. She loved to play all kinds of games with Lauren and Cassidy. But most of all, she loved riding her bike with them.
As the girls biked down the sidewalk, the neighbor’s dog, Rocket, started following them.
“Oh no,” Cassidy said. “We need to take him back home!”
But the dog didn’t want to go home. They called for him to stop, but Rocket just kept going. No matter what they did, he ran around and wagged his tail. He was having fun!
As the girls followed Rocket, Marcie realized that the houses looked less and less familiar. She was getting farther and farther from her street. Marcie didn’t know anyone who lived in these houses!
Where are we going? Marcie thought. Will I be able to find my way back?
Marcie tried not to worry and kept biking. But the feeling came back. Something was telling her that she should go home.
Marcie stopped her bike on the sidewalk. She said in a loud voice, “Maybe we should go back now!”
“We need to get Rocket home!” said Cassidy. She and Lauren kept biking after the dog.
Marcie still felt strange. Why was she feeling so worried? Did her friends feel it too?
Maybe this feeling is just for me, Marcie thought. Was it from the Holy Ghost? She had been baptized and confirmed a few months ago, and Mom and Dad had taught her about listening to the Holy Ghost. They said He would speak to her with feelings in her heart or thoughts in her mind. She knew He would guide her if she listened.
She felt the feeling again. This time it was stronger. Don’t follow that dog.s
“I’m going back,” Marcie called to her friends.
“OK!” Lauren said.
Marcie turned around and rode back the way she came. When she got home, she left her bike on the lawn and went inside. Mom was busy in the kitchen.
“Hi, Mom,” Marcie said. “I came home. I felt worried inside.”
Mom stopped. “What happened?”
“I felt a warning feeling while I was riding my bike with my friends. So I came home,” Marcie said. “I think it was the Holy Ghost.”
Mom gave her a hug. “I’m glad you listened to that feeling.”
Marcie felt good inside. “Me too.”