Gospel Story Finder

Suppose for a moment a man contemplating an exhilarating free fall makes a rash decision and spontaneously jumps from a small plane. After doing so, he quickly realizes the foolishness of his actions. He wants to land safely, but there is an obstacle—the law of gravity. He moves his arms with astounding speed, hoping to fly, but to no avail. He positions his body to float or glide to slow the descent, but the law of gravity is unrelenting and unmerciful. He tries to reason with this basic law of nature: “It was a mistake. I will never do it again.” But his pleas fall on deaf ears. The law of gravity knows no compassion; it makes no exceptions. Fortuitously, though, the man suddenly feels something on his back. His friend in the plane, sensing the moment of foolishness, had placed a parachute there just before the jump. He finds the rip cord and pulls it. Relieved, he floats safely to the ground. We might ask, “Was the law of gravity violated, or did that parachute work within that law to provide a safe landing?”

“How did family home evening get here so fast?” grumbled Jonathan to himself. He kicked at an imaginary pebble on the front step and sighed in frustration.
Last week Jonathan’s father had announced that for their next home evening they would have a family art exhibit. When he had explained that Jonathan, his brother, Tom, and his sister, Janie, were each to create a picture or some other kind of art to share, everyone had cheered at the idea. Even Mom and Dad would prepare something to be shown. “If you’d like,” Mother had added, “you can display more than one thing.”
Jonathan’s enthusiasm had quickly faded, though. More than one thing! he thought now in exasperation. I’ll be lucky to think of anything. I’ll bet when Dad made his announcement, everyone thought up a good idea right away of what they would make.
Each day Jonathan became more concerned because he hadn’t come up with an idea for his picture.
“Be creative! Use your imagination!” his mother had said. But her encouragement hadn’t helped at all.
“I don’t think I have an imagination,” Jonathan had told her. He’d hoped that his Primary class would give him an idea, but even it hadn’t helped.
Now Monday had arrived, and everyone was ready but him. All last week he’d watched Janie going in and out of her room, her hands full of paper, scissors, glue, lace, and felt-tip markers. Jonathan didn’t doubt that whatever she was making would be close to a masterpiece.
He already knew what Tom would display. For as long as Jonathan could remember, his older brother had been drawing fantastic race cars. Their bedroom walls were loaded with his art specialty. “I wish it were as easy for me to think of something to draw as it is for you,” Jonathan muttered under his breath so that Tom couldn’t hear it.
Jonathan was still thinking about his problem when his friend Marie ran across the yard toward him. “Want to play baseball?” she asked.
“Not today,” Jonathan answered. “I’m kind of busy.”
“You don’t look busy,” Marie said.
“Well, I’m busy thinking,” Jonathan answered her. “I have to come up with an idea for family home evening tonight.”
“What kind of an idea?” questioned Marie.
“An idea for my display in our family art exhibit.”
“I’ll help you think of something,” Marie said as they settled down on the front lawn. “Why don’t you draw a picture of your family?”
“I can’t draw very well,” Jonathan admitted. “Anyway, I’m trying to think of something better.”
“Don’t you have some pictures from school that you could use?”
“Sure, I’ve made lots of things at school, but everyone’s seen all that stuff.”
Suddenly Marie sat up straight and said excitedly, “Why don’t you make a chalk picture? We did those in school last year. They’re really fun, and easy too.”
Jonathan thought about it, then said, “That’s a good idea, but I don’t have any chalk.”
Marie lay back on the grass to think some more. “Maybe if we think about something else, an idea will just pop into our heads,” she said.
Both children were quiet for a moment. Then Marie pointed. “See that cloud? It looks like an elephant’s head.”
Jonathan stared up at the fat clouds dotting the sky. His face brightened as he spotted the one Marie was pointing at. “Hey, you’re right! And that one over there looks like a pony with its tail missing.”
Jonathan and Marie had a lot of fun watching the clouds change from animals to ice cream sundaes to bull-dozers to fancy ball gowns.
Suddenly Jonathan jumped to his feet and raced for his front door, shouting back, “Thanks a lot, Marie. You’ve been a big help.”
That evening when Dad called everyone together for family home evening, Jonathan ran to his room and gently picked up the blue construction paper he’d been working on since he left Marie. On it he had glued puffy cotton balls to form huge elephant ears, a roundish head, and a long trunk. Jonathan smiled as he carefully made his way back downstairs and into the living room to share his cloud picture with his waiting family. Placing his creation beside the others, he grinned and said just loud enough for Mother to hear, “Maybe I do have an imagination after all!”

Brother Dalebe Martin Goury of Nigeria shares the following personal experience:
“In April 1993, I was a new convert to the Church, living in a foreign country, working every hour possible while attending university. I was studying mechanical engineering. Having been taught the law of tithing, I started paying a full and honest tithe from the day I received the lesson. I had been a member of the Church for three weeks when we were asked to come to our courses with a programmable engineering calculator. With my little resources, I realized that I needed to save a certain amount each week for 12 weeks without paying my tithing to be able to afford the materials required. If I did not purchase them, I would struggle to be on the same level as other student.
“Usually, I would give my tithing envelope to the bishop or to any of his counsellors as soon as I arrived at the chapel, but that Sunday I kept the envelope till the end—as I was debating what to do. I was so tempted to return home with the tithing money and start saving. As my mind was racing with what to do at the end of the third hours, I receive this strong feeling that I had made a covenant. I felt overwhelmed by the feeling and went to the bishop’s office and handed in my tithing envelope. I never explained why I was late handing in my tithing this time. Then I went home.
“The following week, my resolve was strong this time and I handed in my tithing as soon as I arrived at the chapel. The following Sunday, I did the same thing. Even though things were a bit difficult at the university, I was happy and peaceful because I had paid a full and honest tithe every week.
“At the end of the second week, the first counsellor of the bishopric, who studied engineering, requested to see me. I do not know how he knew that I was in a desperate need of a programmable calculator. However, these were his words: ‘I heard you are doing a degree in mechanical engineering. I completed an engineering degree a few years ago and still have the calculator I had to purchase. I no longer have need of it. Would you like it?’
“When he brought the calculator out, I noticed that it was 10 times better than the one I would have purchased after 12 weeks of saving money. How did he know my needs? Only my Father in Heaven knew. This confirmed for me the promises of the Lord in Malachi 3:10.”
Brother Goury passed the test of whether he loved and trusted our Father in Heaven over all other things. He did this by living the law of the tithe when it seemed that doing so would frustrate his goals. After some patience and persistence in obeying the commandment, he received help sent by our loving Heavenly Father. Those who follow Brother Goury’s example will learn by their own experience that “if it so be that the children of men keep the commandments of God he doth nourish them, and strengthen them, and provide means whereby they can accomplish the thing which he has commanded them” (1 Nephi 17:3).

To you—Maria, Anne, Alofa, Kristen, Michelle, every one of you in every corner of the earth, in every family, every classroom, wherever you are—who are striving for righteousness, join with a quarter of a million other young women in becoming a mighty force for good. You can bring light where there is darkness, hope where there is despair, and faith where there is doubt. But it won’t be easy. I know that. You know it too. I believe it may be as hard, maybe even harder, than the struggles of our young pioneer sisters who pushed handcarts, suffered extreme fatigue, or were deserted by family or loved ones when they joined the Church. An account from my great-grandmother’s journal gives this example:
“Almost a century and a half ago, the Book of Mormon was brought into the home of Susan Kent when she was sixteen years of age. After studying the Book of Mormon, Susan gained a testimony of the truth of the book that was so strong she could not reject it, although to accept it meant a great sacrifice for her. She was at the time engaged to a young man and felt she could not endure being separated from him, but he would have nothing to do with anyone who would join the Mormons. She did not count the cost; she chose the path of peace for her conscience, but her heart was so grieved that she could partake of no nourishment for several days. Then she lapsed into a coma so profound it had the appearance of actual death. Preparations were being made for her funeral until she awoke one day asking, ‘How long have I slept?’ With tender care, she slowly regained her health and with her sister Abigail, and their parents, joined the Church.” (Louisa Lula Greene Diary, Historical Department, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City.)
I’ll be eternally thankful to my great-grandmother Susan Kent for her testimony of the Book of Mormon and what it meant in her life and now what it means in mine.

Allow me to share this afternoon with you one of the most precious things to me—the story of how I myself was found.
Just before I turned 15, I was invited by my uncle Manuel Bustos to spend some time with him and his family here in the United States. This would be a great opportunity for me to learn some English. My uncle had converted to the Church many years before, and he had a great missionary spirit. That is probably why my mother, without my knowing, spoke with him and said she would agree to the invitation on one condition: that he did not try to convince me to become a member of his Church. We were Catholics, and we had been for generations, and there was no reason to change. My uncle was in complete agreement and kept his word to the point that he didn’t want to answer even simple questions about the Church.
Of course, what my uncle and his sweet wife, Marjorie, could not avoid was being who they were.
I was assigned a room that contained a large library of books. I could see that in this library there were roughly 200 copies of the Book of Mormon in different languages, 20 of them in Spanish.
One day, out of curiosity, I took down a copy of the Book of Mormon in Spanish.
It was one of those copies with a sky-blue soft cover, with the figure of the angel Moroni on the front. When I opened it, on the first page there was written the following promise: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
And then it added: “And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
It is difficult to explain the impact that these scriptures had on my mind and heart. To be honest, I was not looking for “the truth.” I was just a teenager, happy with his life, enjoying this new culture.
Nevertheless, with that promise in mind, I secretly began reading the book. As I read more, I understood that if I really wanted to get anything from this, I had better start to pray. And we all know what happens when you decide not only to read but also to pray about the Book of Mormon. Well, that is just what happened to me. It was something so special and so unique—yes, just the same as what has happened to millions of others around the world. I came to know by the power of the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true.
I then went to my uncle to explain to him what had happened and that I was ready to be baptized. My uncle could not contain his astonishment. He got into his car, drove to the airport, and returned back with my plane ticket to fly back home, with a note addressed to my mother that simply stated, “I had nothing to do with this!”
In a way he was right. I had been found directly by the power of the Book of Mormon.

I live in Perm, Russia, in the Ural Mountains. In March 1996 I met the missionaries. At that time I was all alone; during the previous four months, I had lost my husband and both parents and had gone through two operations. The missionaries told me about the Book of Mormon, about the life of Jesus Christ, and about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They invited me to their meetings. I became friends with the members of the Church and was baptized. We are now like a family; we support each other through difficult times.
I was given a copy of the Liahona (Russian). I have found in it much to help me in my life and in teaching others. The support and testimonies we receive from members throughout the world have helped me the most. I testify that the Church is true and that the Liahona helps bring people together.
Margarita Andreyevna Rusanova,Penn Central Branch, Russia Yekaterinburg Mission

Seventeen-year-old Brandon Frampton shared an experience about simply saying thank you.
“At my high school, I usually eat in the cafeteria. Every day I get in line, buy my lunch, eat, and leave. One day I felt impressed to say thank you to the lady who was serving me my lunch. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but later I learned that because of my remark she had a much better day. I still always say thank you, and I have noticed others doing the same now. Everyone can make a difference.”

In 1922, a 17-year-old young lady enrolled at LDS Business College, then known as LDS High School. She was a farm girl from a small town in southwestern Utah, the eldest of seven children. Her mother suffered from ill health, and the family’s resources were meager. She boarded with her aunt that school year and successfully completed the 12th grade. Her classes included English, algebra, history, theology, physical training, and oral expression. Her grades were respectable. She was always quick to point out the campus of this institution and say, “That is where I went to school.”
The record shows she left LDS High School bound for the Dixie Normal School in St. George, Utah. Three years later she married and, in time, gave birth to and reared three children. She never became a school teacher, was never in the public eye, did not graduate from a great university. But her family adored her, and countless people acknowledge the profound influence for good she was in their lives. For Margaret Mary Savage, LDS High School became a launching pad for the betterment of others. My mother’s legacy became my blessing.

In my last conference message, I related my devastating experience many years ago when, as a heart surgeon, I was not able to save the lives of two little sisters. With permission of their father, I would like to say more about that family.
Congenital heart disease afflicted three children born to Ruth and Jimmy Hatfield. Their first son, Jimmy Jr., died without a definitive diagnosis. I entered the picture when the parents sought help for their two daughters, Laural Ann and her younger sister, Gay Lynn. I was heartbroken when both girls died following their operations. Understandably, Ruth and Jimmy were spiritually shattered.
Over time, I learned that they harbored lingering resentment toward me and the Church. For almost six decades, I have been haunted by this situation and have grieved for the Hatfields. I tried several times to establish contact with them, without success.
Then one night last May, I was awakened by those two little girls from the other side of the veil. Though I did not see or hear them with my physical senses, I felt their presence. Spiritually, I heard their pleadings. Their message was brief and clear: “Brother Nelson, we are not sealed to anyone! Can you help us?” Soon thereafter, I learned that their mother had passed away, but their father and younger brother were still alive.
Emboldened by the pleadings of Laural Ann and Gay Lynn, I tried again to contact their father, who I learned was living with his son Shawn. This time they were willing to meet with me.
In June, I literally knelt in front of Jimmy, now 88 years old, and had a heart-to-heart talk with him. I spoke of his daughters’ pleadings and told him I would be honored to perform sealing ordinances for his family. I also explained that it would take time and much effort on his and Shawn’s part to be ready and worthy to enter the temple, as neither of them had ever been endowed.
The Spirit of the Lord was palpable throughout that meeting. And when Jimmy and Shawn each accepted my offer, I was overjoyed! They worked diligently with their stake president, bishop, home teachers, and ward mission leader, as well as with young missionaries and a senior missionary couple. And then, not long ago, in the Payson Utah Temple, I had the profound privilege of sealing Ruth to Jimmy and their four children to them. Wendy and I wept as we participated in that sublime experience. Many hearts were healed that day!
On reflection, I have marveled at Jimmy and Shawn and what they were willing to do. They have become heroes to me. If I could have the wish of my heart, it would be that each man and young man in this Church would demonstrate the courage, strength, and humility of this father and son. They were willing to forgive and let go of old hurts and habits. They were willing to submit to guidance from their priesthood leaders so that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could purify and magnify them. Each was willing to become a man who worthily bears the priesthood “after the holiest order of God.”
Are we willing to pray, fast, study, seek, worship, and serve as men of God so we can have that kind of priesthood power? Because two little girls were so eager to be sealed to their family, their father and brother were willing to pay the price to bear the holy Melchizedek Priesthood.

Almost anyone has a hard time pinning Kenneth Marsh down.

Ken represented Colorado and Nebraska in international wrestling meets held in Turkey. He grappled in the 143-pound class with a 3–2–0 record. Two of his wins were over Turkish national champions.

En route home Ken participated in the U.S. AAU Junior Nationals in Chicago. He competed there in both free-style and Greco-Roman wrestling, placing fourth in Greco-Roman.

The Littleton, Colorado, priest also compiled an impressive record in school athletics. He was chosen team captain and placed first in a 10-district meet.

Ken’s school wrestling career started in the seventh grade when he was the only member of his class to make the varsity team, competing in the 68-pound division.

Six years and some 75 pounds later, Ken was seeded first in the 10-district championship that he won.

Ken is a member of the Littleton Colorado Second Ward.

When I was 17, my friend July invited me to go to seminary in her ward in Lima, Peru. I had a passing interest in the Old Testament, so I agreed to go.
My friend’s aunt, Sister Rosa de Arriaga, was the seminary teacher, and each day she started class by asking someone to pray. As I kept attending I not only gained a greater love for the scriptures, but I also learned to pray. Then one day Sister Rosa asked me to lead the class in prayer. The experience was unbelievable. My bosom began to burn, and a feeling of warmth radiated throughout my whole body. I felt like crying.
One Saturday I decided to attend a youth conference. I met a lot of young people and had a great time at the activity. When I showed up for a meeting later that afternoon in jeans and sneakers, I was surprised to see others wearing suits and ties. I felt uncomfortable, but one of the men smiled and signaled for me to come in. As I listened during the meeting, everything seemed very familiar to me.
Afterward, I went to Sister Rosa’s house to tell her what had happened. Sister Rosa’s son told me with a smile, “You won’t be able to dress like that tomorrow at the Sunday session.”
The next day, I walked into the meeting wearing a tie for the first time in my life. I was impressed by the orderliness of the meeting and the friendliness others showed me. Once again I felt that warm feeling in my chest, and the feeling continued throughout the entire meeting. When the choir sang I felt like crying. It was such a wonderful feeling that I wanted to have it all the time.
One month after my first seminary class, the missionaries began teaching me the discussions, and on 28 April 1996 I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My mom and sisters were baptized six months later and my dad one month after that. On 31 January 1998 my whole family was sealed in the Lima Peru Temple.
Later I served full time in the Perú Lima North Mission. After my mission I taught in the Perú Missionary Training Center for three years. Wearing a tie—which had once seemed so unusual—became an everyday occurrence.
I will always be grateful to my friend July and to my seminary teacher, Sister Rosa, for their role in helping this chain of blessings come to me and my family.

I relearned something else. Once before I had painted a picture inspired by comments that I heard when I was a boy. It depicted the Willard Peaks. I had heard the older folks refer to them as The Presidency. These three gigantic, solid peaks standing against the sky typified the leaders of the Church.
That was nine years ago. My son had taken me to Willard and photographed the peaks. We went back a second time when there would be more shadow and contrast.
After those years I had to awaken that which I had let go dormant. At first it was a terrible struggle. I threatened to quit several times. One of my friends urged me on by saying, “Go ahead! There’s always plenty of room at the bottom.”
I did not quit, simply because my wife would not give me permission to do so. I am glad I didn’t now. Perhaps, now that I am into it again, I’ll do another painting sometime—who knows.
I suppose trying to get back into painting is not unlike someone who has been inactive in the Church for many years and decides to return to the fold. There is that period of struggle in getting the feel for what has lain dormant but is not really lost. And it helps to have a friend or two.
That is another principle of learning—drawing lessons from ordinary experience in life.

I love the temple. When I was a child, my Primary teacher took my class to the Salt Lake Temple grounds. It was wonderful to walk through the grounds, admire the beautiful flowers, and feel Heavenly Father’s Spirit near the house of the Lord.
My teacher pointed out that the temple is made from granite stones. She talked about the sacrifice the pioneers made for those precious stones—how it took five days for them to bring one stone to the temple site. “Can you see all these stones?” she asked. “Think of how many days it would have taken the pioneers to bring them to build this beautiful temple.” I remember realizing the sacrifice that was made by our ancestors.
It was a memorable experience. It’s also an example of how you children can enjoy the blessings of the temple now. If you live near a temple, you can partake of the spiritual atmosphere at the temple grounds. After you are baptized and confirmed, you can participate in temple dedications. And there will be many more dedications; 11 are being planned right now! When you turn 12, you can perform baptisms for the dead. No matter how far you live from a temple, it is important for you to prepare now for that sacred opportunity.

A second incident happened when I was twenty-nine. My companions and I had climbed Longs Peak in Colorado on a bright September day. Longs Peak is 14,256 feet high. At that altitude one can climb three or four steps before his legs go numb and he has to wait three or four minutes to get his strength back to take three or four more steps.
It was late afternoon when we reached the top. From there I saw a ridge that seemed to begin a thousand feet below and would cut my descent time in half. Unheeding of the warnings of my companions, I started down the north side of the mountain. I had gone down about 500 feet when I suddenly found myself on a field of clear ice that had resulted from a storm the previous night.
I skirted to the left and came to a cliff with a sheer drop of several thousand feet. My only way out of the predicament was back to the top. I shall not tell the dangers of that climb back, but what had taken me two hours on a fairly easy trail earlier in the day I then did in thirty minutes without stopping for breath and without having my legs go numb. Where did the strength come from? Adrenalin? Some may think so, but this was an entirely different strength, one that did not come from me.
That afternoon I learned another lesson. As I climbed, I could hear the whistle of one of my fellows. As I reached the top, there stood Golden Kilburn. The other climbers had gone down the trail, but he had—at some risk to himself—waited for me, feeling that he could not leave until I was accounted for.
Together we descended, reaching the safe portions of the trail at dusk. Had we been delayed much longer, we both would have been caught at night at the 13,500–14,000-feet level without coats. I have wondered many times which would have been the least pleasant, freezing or falling 3,000 feet down over the cliff. I have also wondered about the force that reached out, unknown to me, and made me equal to the altitude for thirty brief minutes.

Where there were branches, we met in lodge halls, and it was the duty of the elders to go early on Sunday morning to clean up the cigar and cigarette butts and other leftovers from the regular Saturday night parties. Oh yes, part of that cleaning up was emptying the spitoons. By opening all the windows we were able to clear out some of the stench and make the place more fitting as a place for the Saints to meet.

One Sunday I learned about fasting and prayer in my Primary class. That night we found out that my little brother, Adam, had the chicken pox. He was only five months old, and we were worried that he would get very sick. I asked my mom if I could fast and pray for him. Mom and I decided to fast and pray together. Even though Adam was sick all week and got covered with chicken pox, he always acted happy.
I’m glad that I learned about fasting and prayer so that we could ask Heavenly Father for extra help. I know that Heavenly Father heard our prayers.Katie P., age 8, California

When I was called as president of my Beehive class, the responsibility of representing my class at the monthly Bishop’s Youth Committee meeting really scared me. I was worried about speaking in front of the whole group. I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to do or what to say, and I was afraid of being the youngest one there, but there was no way out.
The night before the meeting I sat in my room worrying, until I remembered my teachers saying that the answer to any problem could be found in the scriptures. I grabbed my scriptures, but I had no idea where to look, so I checked the index under “fear.” There I found a verse that seemed to save my life. It was the last part of Doctrine and Covenants 38:30 [D&C 38:30]: “… if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.”
No scripture has ever had such a powerful impact on me as that one did. I thought to myself, “Am I prepared?” Yes, I was. I knew what we would talk about, and I knew my adviser would be there to help me. I knew the Lord would be with me, and I didn’t need to fear, because I was prepared.

The following Wednesday, I turned down an invitation to a Young Women activity so I could go to the movies with Amy and a few other friends before the summer ended. When I pulled up I saw Amy and Beth standing along the brick wall outside the theater. As I began walking toward them, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Amy and Beth were smoking!
After a few moments of trying to hide my discomfort, Amy leaned toward me and whispered, “Just do what I do, and Beth won’t know you’ve never smoked before.” She handed me a cigarette. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped the lighter as she handed it to me. Reaching down to pick it up, I caught a glimpse of my pink neon shoelaces. I remembered the Pink Penguins. I remembered seeing those laces help carry me to share my testimony. This time was different. Those laces carried me across the parking lot to my car and straight to the Young Women activity.
That evening as I crawled into bed, I couldn’t help but notice the peace and happiness I felt. I reflected on how the evening might have turned out if I had accepted the cigarette. I knew the Spirit would have left me. My pink laces were nothing more than a symbol—a symbol that someday would grow old and wear out. I knew the joy I found would not wear out as long as I continued to keep my actions consistent with my beliefs.

Genuine gratitude was expressed by the writer of a letter received some time ago at Church headquarters. No return address was shown, no name, but the postmark was from Portland, Oregon:
“To the Office of the First Presidency:
“Salt Lake City showed me Christian hospitality once during my wandering years.
“On a cross-country journey by bus to California, I stepped down in the terminal in Salt Lake City, sick and trembling from aggravated loss of sleep caused by a lack of necessary medication. In my headlong flight from a bad situation in Boston, I had completely forgotten my supply.
“In the Temple Square Hotel restaurant, I sat dejectedly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple approach my table. ‘Are you all right, young man?’ the woman asked. I raised up, crying and a bit shaken, related my story and the predicament I was in then. They listened carefully and patiently to my nearly incoherent ramblings, and then they took charge. They spoke with the restaurant manager, then told me I could have all I wanted to eat there for five days. They took me next door to the hotel desk and got me a room for five days. Then they drove me to a clinic and saw that I was provided with the medications I needed—truly my basic lifeline to sanity and comfort.
“While I was recuperating and building my strength, I made it a point to attend the daily Tabernacle organ recitals. The celestial voicing of that instrument from the faintest intonation to the mighty full organ is the most sublime sonority of my acquaintance. I have acquired albums and tapes of the Tabernacle organ and the choir which I can rely upon anytime to soothe and buttress a sagging spirit.
“On my last day at the hotel, before I resumed my journey, I turned in my key; and there was a message for me from that couple: ‘Repay us by showing gentle kindness to some other troubled soul along your road.’ That was my habit, but I determined to be more keenly on the lookout for someone who needed a lift in life.
“I wish you well. I don’t know if these are indeed the ‘latter days’ spoken of in the scriptures, but I do know that two members of your church were saints to me in my desperate hours of need. I just thought you might like to know.”
What an example of caring compassion.

Among those who were in dire circumstances on the plains was my wife’s great-grandmother. She was part of the Hunt wagon company.
Today, my wife’s gravesite in the Salt Lake City Cemetery looks down at the gravesite of her great-grandmother, Mary Penfold Goble, who died in the arms of her daughter as she was entering this valley on December 11, 1856. She was buried the next day. She had lost three of her children on that long journey. The feet of a surviving daughter were terribly frozen.