Gospel Story Finder

But the experience I think about most frequently is my adoption.
When I was a baby, I lived in an orphanage in Cambodia. I got very sick with pneumonia, and the orphanage couldn’t afford my medical care.
At the same time, my future mother was visiting Cambodia from Finland for a work trip. She had a spiritual experience that guided her to visit my specific orphanage.
When we met, she felt an instant spiritual connection to me.
She took me to the hospital and paid for my medical expenses. She felt that she had been guided to Cambodia to help me get better—nothing more. But over the phone one night, her dad said to her, “Maybe this little girl is supposed to stay in your life.”
She prayed and felt her own spiritual confirmation that I was meant to be her child. So she started the adoption process. It took a long time, but eventually she returned home to Finland with me.
Whenever I’m feeling unsure if Heavenly Father is aware of me, pondering my unique origin story and the miracles involved always reminds me of this truth: He is intimately aware of and involved in my life.
My experience as a child reassures me that even among His billions of children, Heavenly Father knew me—a tiny child in an orphanage—and provided the inspiration that connected me to the gospel and to my family.

When President Gordon B. Hinckley announced the construction of the Nauvoo Temple, everyone was excited. He said that members could give money to help build the temple, and I wanted to help. I had been saving my money for a long time to buy a new pet that I wanted, but I decided to give that money for the temple, just like the children did when the first temple was built there. When I gave the envelope to the bishop, I felt great, knowing that someday I will visit the Nauvoo Temple with my family.Eric Smith, age 9Provo, Utah

Time spent serving friends doesn’t keep Judy Marie from serving at home. In 1996 her family adopted two disabled women into their home: Gloria, who is 35, and Elba, who is 31. Gloria and Elba are sisters, and they are grateful to live together with a family. They listened to the missionary discussions and were baptized with the other members of the family.
Judy Marie’s mother cares for the two women, and Judy Marie helps teach them to read and write. “Sometimes it’s difficult,” she admits, but she adds that her desire and ability to help and teach them come from the Spirit. This desire to help others has motivated Judy Marie to want to go to college and study nursing.

She was sure it was late fall of 1993. At least that’s what Amy Westerby thought when she left Provo one morning to travel to Antelope Island located in the middle of the Great Salt Lake in Utah. Somewhere along the way, she seemed to go back in time 600 years before Christ.
Amy had been selected to play the character Susan in the new seminary videos where truths from the Book of Mormon are played out in modern scenarios. This day she was there to participate in the opening shots of the video called I Will Prepare the Way, where her character walks along a long, white sand beach. She was also going to get the chance to see Nephi’s boat being built.
According to Amy it was amazing to see a huge wooden boat being constructed before her eyes. And the men playing Nephi and his brothers were so realistically dressed. It felt a little like a time machine. “It was great just to be there,” said Amy, “and watch the whole thing happen.”
The video first follows the story of Nephi being commanded to build a ship. His brothers ridicule him, but Nephi knows that the Lord will not give him a commandment without preparing the way for him to accomplish it. Then the story switches to a modern one where one girl, Susan (played by Amy), feels inspired to help another girl, Linda (played by Coco Warner), become active in the Church again. Like Nephi, she has some people in her life who tell her it can’t be done. But, like Nephi, she has faith that the Lord will help her find a way.
Coco had to try to imagine what it would be like not to understand about faith and how she would react to the persistence of a new friend. Coco said, “I wasn’t the cool cheerleader type in high school like my character is. But I did know people like her that when you first meet them you think they are perfect and that they have everything. When you get to know them, you find out they are really insecure about a lot of things. I just tried to remember people like that who kept everybody at a distance or seemed kind of untouchable, but when you break through and really talk to them, they are down to earth and have their problems just like everybody else.”
The ship was finished at last. The sun was setting, turning the sky all colors of red and gold. It was the perfect concluding shot for the video. The ship became a symbol, a symbol of something the Lord asked to have done and of the help he gave to those who listened to him. Just like Nephi building the ship, we all are asked to build friendships to help each other stay close to the Lord through participation in the Church.
The video shows that sometimes miraculous things are accomplished by people who didn’t start out knowing if they would succeed or not. They had faith, and the Lord helped them find a way.

It was Easter Sunday here in Southern Australia, and I was staying at a friend’s house while my mum was away for the weekend. As it turned out, the people that usually provided the music at church had gone away too.
I am only a beginner at the piano, but when asked to play, I reluctantly accepted as there was no one else. That Sunday I realized what an important part the sacrament hymns play in our meetings. Even though I only played with my right hand and missed many notes, the congregation sounded like angels.
I am grateful for the Saints that provide the music for us in sacrament meeting, and even though I was terrified, I am truly grateful for that Sunday because it helped me develop my talents.

Ten days ago, I had a beautiful and touching experience in the Salt Lake Temple, the building immediately to the east of this tabernacle. There in that holy sanctuary I had the privilege of sealing in marriage, in two separate but consecutive ceremonies, two beautiful young women who are twins, each to a handsome and able young man of her choice. That evening, a double wedding reception was held where hundreds of friends came to express their love and good wishes.
Mothers often shed tears at a wedding ceremony. Sisters also, and sometimes fathers. Seldom do grandparents show any emotion. But these beautiful girls were my own granddaughters, and I must confess that this old grandfather choked up and had a difficult time. I don’t understand why. Certainly it was a happy occasion, a fulfillment of dreams and prayers. Perhaps my tears were really an expression of joy and of gratitude to God for these lovely brides and their handsome young husbands. In sacred promises, they pledged their love and loyalty one to another for time and all eternity.

Last year in school, there was a new kid named Ricky. He had moved into our neighborhood and was starting school in America for the first time. Our teacher asked me and two other kids if we would help him learn English.
Every day the four of us would sit down and review words on flashcards and talk with him. At recess I invited Ricky to play with me and my friends. He liked playing kickball. After a while I asked Ricky if he wanted to play soccer too, and he said yes. So he started playing soccer with me and all my friends at recess.
We became good friends, and he came to my house after school a few times. Ricky is really good at math. He helped me with my math assignments. I have gotten better at math because of our friendship. Now after a year and a half, he speaks English very well. He’s able to help his mom communicate with others when she does her errands.
This year Ricky isn’t in my class, but we play together at recess every day. I really like being friends with Ricky. I learned that by helping others, I am serving Heavenly Father and am also blessed by serving others. Ricky has helped me in ways I didn’t know he could when I was asked to help him learn English.
I know that we need to be willing to do all we can to help our family members and friends. When we do this, we’re helping Heavenly Father and we will have good experiences. We are Heavenly Father’s hands on earth, and when we’re willing to help, we’ll be able to help those that Heavenly Father needs us to help.

As ward missionaries, my wife and I fellowshipped a young couple. We loved them and their children. Eventually, they accepted our invitation to come to church.
When we arrived to pick them up one Sunday morning, however, they apologized because they weren’t ready. But their six-year-old son, Keaton, pleaded with his parents to go. So, with their permission, he got dressed and came with us to church.
Arriving late, we slipped in the back of the chapel. Suddenly I felt a tug and turned to find Keaton gripping my suit coat. With an anxious expression and his eyes fixed on the front of the chapel, he asked, "Who died?"
"What?" I responded, following his gaze. "No one died."
As I pondered Keaton’s question, I looked at the sacrament table. For a boy with little experience in the Church, it would be easy to see what seemed to be a body lying under the cloth covering the sacramental bread and water. Then it hit me: someone had died. The sacred emblems representing Jesus Christ’s body were right in front of us. With so much experience in the Church, why hadn’t I seen the sweet symbolism?
I thanked Keaton for his question and explained that the sacrament cloth covered bread and water and what they mean to us. His simple question had reminded me that the Savior really did die so we could live.
Since that day, Keaton’s question has continued to resonate in my soul. It has helped me approach the sacrament table more focused on the Savior. The emblems of the sacrament have become more vivid, and their meaning lingers with me longer throughout the week. I’ll be forever grateful for Keaton’s innocent question.

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

5. Publicize and recruit.
It took time for some of the youth in the stake to get used to the idea of a service-oriented conference. The stake youth leadership held a fireside to build up enthusiasm. One boy, Todd, who at first did not want to become involved in the project, later surprised everyone with his enthusiasm. The builders showed him what needed to be done, and he worked like a professional. Todd also developed a good relationship with another, rather lonely boy, by working with him and showing him how to use tools. The two boys not only established a friendship between themselves but with the adults as well.

All the young women in my ward were happily splashing in the swimming pool when a man from New York came over to the pool and asked us what we were all doing there.
As soon as he heard the word church, he let us know that he did not believe in any churches. His dad was a preacher and was the “meanest man alive.” That New Yorker was the angriest person I had ever met. I got out of the water and went off to be by myself. I knelt down and said a little prayer that I would be able to say something to Mr. New York that would be meaningful to him and would help him overcome his anger.
When I came back, it was obvious nothing had changed. Mr. New York was still talking in angry tones about how there couldn’t possibly be a God. “If there was, He wouldn’t have let my wife and daughter die,” he said. The words came to me without my even thinking: “You can be sealed to your wife and daughter in the temple,” I said.
Mr. New York stopped and asked me to repeat what I had just said. After I did, there was silence. His countenance softened and his voice became calm. He asked about the temple and how he could be sealed to his family. I was able to tell him everything I had learned about temples. I don’t know what happened to him, but my little prayer was answered in a big way!
Twila H., Arizona, USA

In Mbuji-Mayi, Democratic Republic of the Congo, initially some were critical of the Church, not understanding our beliefs or knowing our members.
Some time ago, Kathy and I attended a very special Church service in Mbuji-Mayi. The children were dressed immaculately, with bright eyes and big smiles. I had hoped to speak to them about their education but learned that many were not attending school. Our leaders, with very nominal humanitarian funds, found a way to help. Now, more than 400 students—girls and boys, members as well as those not of our faith—are welcomed and taught by 16 teachers who are members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
Fourteen-year-old Kalanga Muya said, “[Having little money,] I spent four years without attending school. … I am so grateful for what the Church has done. … I can now read, write, and speak French.” Speaking of this initiative, the mayor of Mbuji-Mayi said, “I am inspired by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because while [other] churches are being divided each one in his corner … [you are working] with [others] to help the community in need.”

Porter is grateful that his parents weren’t easy on him. “They wouldn’t always just help me when I felt like I couldn’t do something,” he says. “I eventually had to do it myself. That’s better than anything.”
His parents didn’t let him off the hook with chores, either. And when your family runs a sheep farm, that means lots of hard work, including moving large sprinkler pipes in the alfalfa fields, feeding the sheep, and helping out during lambing season.
“The first time I moved pipe,” he says, “I got so tired I thought I was going to faint. I got halfway through and just set the pipe down and laid down in the middle of the field. My back was sore for a week, but I was OK from then on.”

Ryan threw open the front door. “Mom,” he shouted, racing down the hall to the study, “I struck out three men at practice today, and one of the guys walked home with me.”
Mother looked up and smiled into the brown eyes glowing with enthusiasm. “I knew it wouldn’t take you long to make a friend,” she said. “And if you keep on pitching like that, you’ll soon be the star of the team.”
Ryan grinned, tugging at a strand of hair that had escaped his cap.
“By the way, I made some friends today, too,” Mother continued. “Go wash up. You can help me put a pizza together for dinner while I tell you about them.”
Ryan joined his mother in the kitchen a few moments later and started rolling out a ball of dough.
“While you were at practice, a neighbor, Sister Krein, and her eleven-year-old son, Joey, came to visit me,” Mother said. “They brought us some honey wheat rolls fresh out of the oven.”
“All right!”
“You see—there are advantages to being the new family in town.” Mother paused to enjoy Ryan’s smile before she went on. “After visiting with them, I agreed to let Joey stay with us during the day this summer when Sister Krein can’t be home with him.”
“But you said that he’s eleven! Can’t he stay by himself?”
“No—you see, he was born with Down’s syndrome.”
“You mean he has a mental handicap?”
“Yes. He does some things quite well, but he has to have help doing other things, and he can’t be left alone for very long. He needs more supervision than other children his age.”
“Well, I guess it will be OK,” agreed Ryan, “as long as I don’t have to miss playing baseball with the guys.”
Mother popped the pizza into the oven and set the timer. “I’m sure Joey won’t keep you from ball practice. He loves sports, too, and plays on one of the city teams himself.”
When Ryan answered the door the next morning, Joey was standing on the porch with a baseball cap on his head, a glove on his hand, and a big smile on his face. “Hi,” he said enthusiastically. “I’m Joey.”
“Hi, I’m Ryan. Come on in.”
“Do you want to play ball?” Joey asked, smacking his fist into his glove.
Ryan laughed. “You love baseball as much as I do, don’t you?” he said, picking up a bat and glove. He and Joey headed for the backyard.
“Can I bat?” asked Joey.
“Sure,” said Ryan, “but I think you’ll do better if you hold it a little higher.” He shifted the bat in Joey’s hands, then positioned himself near the back fence. “Swing straight into it,” he called, and made a gentle pitch.
“I can’t believe how patient Joey is,” Ryan told his mother a few days later. “I’ve never seen anyone who keeps trying the way he does.”
Mother smiled. “Joey never seems to want to quit playing, once you two get started. It’s a good thing you both like baseball.”
The boys played together every minute they could spare from practicing with their own teams. Then one afternoon they both realized that Joey was hitting the ball almost every time. “I hit it again!” he shouted, jumping up and down with glee as Ryan thumped him on the back.
He was even more excited the next day. “My team is going to play your team,” he announced.
Ryan pulled his schedule out of his desk drawer, and both boys bent over it.
“See,” said Joey, pointing. “Thursday. Pitch slow, Ryan. I want to get a hit. Please, Ryan, pitch slow—like when we practice.”
What should I do? Ryan wondered to himself after Joey had gone home. I want Joey to get a hit, but I want to help my team win the game too. What will they think of me if I don’t do my best pitching?
Ryan’s anxiety increased as the day of the game approached, but Joey grew more and more excited. “Pitch slow so I can get a hit,” he told Ryan over and over again.
Thursday arrived. Ryan had already struck out two boys and gotten six others on easy ground balls or pop flies, when Joey picked up the bat and ran over to home plate. Ryan glanced at his teammates. He knew they expected Joey to be an easy out.
Ryan was suddenly very hot, and not just from the blistering sun overhead. Pulling off his cap, he took his time wiping the sweat from his forehead. Then he smiled at Joey, wound up, and pitched a slow ball with great care over the plate. Crack! Joey’s bat connected solidly, but Joey was just standing there, exulting.
“Run, Joey, run!” Ryan looked around in wonder as he heard his own teammates take up the cry.
By the time Joey’s foot landed on first base, the whole ballpark was alive with cheering. Joey’s freckled face beamed as players from both teams pelted his back with pats of approval. Ryan thought he had never seen a bigger smile than Joey’s.
Ryan smiled, too, as he thought, There’s more than one way to win!

Jared walked home from church in the hot sunshine with Mom and Dad. He thought about his Primary lesson. Since he couldn’t hear very well, Jared had to pay close attention to the pictures his teacher showed and the words she wrote on the board.
That day they had learned that Jesus asked the disciples to be missionaries. Jared wondered what he could do to share the gospel, like Jesus asked. He knew he couldn’t serve a mission yet. Then he had a great idea. Maybe he could start saving money for it!
When he got home, Jared ran right past Umber, his pet goat, and into the house. He got a big plastic jar and carefully cut a hole in the top. He wrote “Mission Fund” on the side. Then he went to his room and got his money from under his bed. One by one he dropped in each coin. But all his coins barely covered the bottom of the jar. How could he earn more money?
Jared thought and thought. He looked out the window at the bright sun. It was so hot in the Philippines. Jared and his friends ate coconut ice candy almost every afternoon after school. That’s it! he thought. Maybe he could make ice candy and sell it to other people who wanted to cool off.
Jared ran to find Mom. “Can you show me how to make ice candy?” Jared signed. They used sign language, a language where you talk with your hands. Mom smiled and nodded.
The next day, Jared and Mom walked to the big outdoor market and bought all the supplies. When they got home, Jared took out a big bowl and mixed coconut milk, condensed milk, vanilla, and shredded coconut. Mom and Jared used a funnel to pour the mix into small bags. They put all the bags in the freezer. “Great job!” Mom signed.
The ice candy took a long time to freeze. But the next day after school, it was finally ready! Jared climbed on a chair and got the white cooler off the top of the fridge. He put some towels in the bottom of the cooler and layered the ice candy on top. He couldn’t wait to sell it.
Jared ran outside into the dusty street. His friends were playing with homemade kites and throwing their flip-flops at a tin can to knock it over.
At the side of the road, he set up a table with a big sign that said, “Ice Candy, 5 pesos.” His friend Angelo ran over and pointed at the cooler. He gave Jared a five-peso coin, and Jared gave him some ice candy. They high-fived.
Soon more of Jared’s friends came to buy ice candy too. A few hours later when Mom called Jared for dinner, there were only a few ice candies left.
Jared picked up the cooler and the coins. In one of his pockets, he put some of the coins for his tithing. He put the rest of the coins into his other pocket. He couldn’t wait to see his mission-fund bank fill up.
At home he dropped his mission-fund coins onto the pile at the bottom of the jar. There was still so much more space! But Jared felt warm inside as he thought about serving a mission someday. He decided that he would keep selling ice candy until his jar was full. And in the meantime, he could find other ways to get ready to be a missionary, like Jesus asked him to do.

“Come on, Aaron,” Corey* said. “Just be cool and help me out.” Corey leaned over in a confidential way. “Just call the night manager to take the garbage out to the dock.”
Corey was my friend. He was a couple of years older than me and played on the football team, and I was kind of proud to hang around with a popular guy like him. My mind was racing as I tried to decide what to do. After all, I wasn’t really doing anything wrong. I was just doing my work, and the garbage did need to go out.
Before this, I had been having a good night. I had taken some cardboard back to the baler, and I was surprised to find Corey, who was sticking some plastic in a garbage can. He jumped back, fear in his eyes, and then relaxed.
“Oh, it’s just you,” he had said, laughing.
“Why are you here on your night off?” I asked.
“Hey, just helping a friend with his work,” he joked. But I had already seen the case of beer stashed in the garbage.
He knew that I knew he was stealing from the store.
“See, Aaron,” he said, “these kids pay me 25 bucks for a 12-pack. I’ll give you part of the money for helping me,” he had said. Finally, though, I decided that I couldn’t go along with this. It wasn’t worth the friendship.
“No,” I finally said, “you’re on your own. I don’t want to be involved. Call the night manager yourself.”
As I collected the carts from the front, I started feeling guilty, but I kept on telling myself it was no big deal, that it wasn’t really my problem. I went home that night, not feeling very peaceful or good about myself. I just tried to forget the whole thing.
I was still trying to bury my guilt in school, when a girl I barely knew came up to me.
“Hey, you and Corey have quite a system out there at the store,” she said. “Thanks for helping us party.”
“What?” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded.
“Sure,” she said, walking away smiling. At first I was angry that there were obviously people who thought I was stealing beer. I started thinking about it, though, and realized she was right. I was helping Corey steal because I knew about it and wasn’t doing anything to stop it.
As scared as I felt, I decided I would tell my manager what had been going on. The next day I found out that Corey had been fired after finally admitting to stealing. I also found out that he knew I had told on him. I thought for a while he would beat me up, but since we went to different high schools, I never saw him—until a few years later.
I was sitting in an ice cream store with some friends. A guy came through the door, and it was unmistakably Corey. I tried to sink in my chair, but he was looking right at me. He walked over with his friends.
“Hey, guys, this is Aaron,” he said, introducing me.
“Hi, what’s up?” I said.
“You notice anything different?” he asked. “I went through the temple today,” he said. “I’m going on a mission to England. Give me your address.”
I about fell off my chair. I never thought he would want to go on a mission. He got my address, shook my hand, and walked off. I went to his farewell. Later, he wrote me a letter, telling me how mad he had been at first about getting fired, but how it helped him see where he was headed, and that he was glad he repented.
As it turned out “telling” was the best thing I ever did for Corey. It was something a true friend would do.

One day, I was really excited about being with my friends at kindergarten. I wore my CTR ring and necklace to school.
A new girl in my class is really mean. At recess that day, all my friends were around her, so I went over to see what was going on. The new girl had made up a new club, and all of my friends had joined it. She asked if I wanted to join. I asked her what kind of a club it was and what I had to do to be a member.
She said, “In order to be in my club, first you have to raise your right hand and say, ‘There is no God’ and ‘Jesus does not live and has never lived.’”
It made my heart hurt! I looked down at the CTR ring on my finger. Then I looked at the mean girl and said, “You are very, very wrong. There is a God, and Jesus does live. If this is what I have to say, then I don’t want to be in your club.”
After I said that, she pushed me really hard, and all my friends laughed and made fun of me.
I told my mom about it that night and cried and cried. She told me she was proud of me and cried with me. She said, “Taylor, you know that you belong to something better than the best club in the whole wide world. You belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and it doesn’t have ten or twelve members. It has millions of members. And it is true. The gospel is true.” She told me that I had a lot of courage to stand up for God, Jesus Christ, and the gospel.
When I prayed that night, I asked Heavenly Father to help the mean girl know that He and Jesus live.
The next day at school, the girl went up to our teacher and asked her, “Do you believe there is a God? And do you believe that Jesus really lived?”
The teacher said, “Yes, I do believe in God. And yes, I do believe that Jesus lived.”
My friends came up to me later and said that they were sorry and that they didn’t want to be in that club anymore.
And the next day after that, the girl came to me at recess and asked, “Can you tell me a little bit about your church?”
I am really glad that I know that there is a God and that Jesus Christ lives and that I stood up for what I believe.

I grew up on a farm in Colonia Dublán, México, and I learned early how to do farm chores. My father had a large family, and we all had certain assignments. One day after I had finished my chores, I went inside. I had little leaves and pieces of straw and hay in the cuffs of my pants, so I decided to clean them out.
I lifted the lid off our wood-burning stove and dumped the hay and straw into the fire. I stirred the coals and watched the straw and hay sparkle and burn on them in the stove. When I put the lid back on the stove, somehow a hot metal poker slipped and hit me in the center of my eye.
To this day, I remember the incredible pain and agony I felt. My mother heard my screams and came running to my aid. She picked me up in her arms and carried me to her bedroom, where she held me most of the night.
I was only about six years old, and I don’t remember a lot of details about that evening. But I do remember her holding me and cuddling me, trying to comfort me in the midst of such terrible pain. My father was out of town, so my mother spent the night with me alone, praying fervently to Heavenly Father for help and healing.
I spent much of the night crying, but at some point I fell asleep. The next morning I awoke. There was no sign of any burns, no mark, no loss of vision. The faith of my mother had healed me.

But Elder Jesus Ramon, from Elche, Spain, the only member of the Church in his family, says, “I cried when I got my mission call to Utah. I wanted to serve my people in Spain; share the gospel message with them. I also wanted to be closer to my family and help bring them into the Church. But I prayed and knew that the call was from the Lord through President Spencer W. Kimball, and that Utah was where I should be.”

Now he is glad that he was obedient to the call. “I have seen a great deal of progress in the attitude of my family toward the Church. They are now attending church because of the change for the good they have seen in my life, and because they like the members. I feel that one of the blessings of serving a mission will be to see my family come into the Church.”

Although Elder Ramon is serving an English-speaking mission, he often is the first contact with Mexicans or South Americans living in his area of Zone Eight.

“When I was eleven, the Fourth of July was a real big event in Spanish Fork. World War II had begun, and the whole town was having a parade to send off the men who were leaving to serve in the war. The night before the Fourth I went outside to play. I sat on the porch, and my mother said, ‘You’re not going to go anywhere, are you?’ I said, ‘No, I’ll stay here.’
“Then my friend Mark came across the street and said, ‘I have a big box of firecrackers. Let’s go up to Janet’s and show the girls how to light them!’ I forgot that my mother had asked me to stay home. The only thought in my mind was to go up to Janet’s and light some firecrackers.
“We lighted all the firecrackers that would light, and the remainder we put in a cardboard box and set on fire. Mark and I were both burned in the resulting explosion. In fact, our faces, chests, hands, and arms were burned so severely that it didn’t look like we were going to make it.
“Sister Hill, Janet’s mother, came out when she heard the explosion, and she saw five kids on fire. Somehow the fires were put out, and she calmly took us into the house, knelt us down in the living room, and offered a prayer. Then she called the doctor, and we went down to Dr. Moody’s office.
“He operated on my face to put it back together. Before he started, I asked my father to give me a blessing. Dr. Moody was also an elder, so the two of them administered to me. My father said in the blessing that if I would have faith, the Lord would make me well. You have to remember that at that time my father was an alcoholic. But when he said that the Lord would make me well, I knew it was true.
“Then Dr. Moody began to work on me. I didn’t have any anesthetic because they were afraid of shock. into my mind came the words of one of my mother’s favorite hymns:
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)
“I couldn’t speak, but I could hum. For the whole two and a half to three hours while the doctor was trying to fix my face, I hummed that hymn. When he was finished with me, I looked just like a mummy. My face and arms were all wrapped up with bandages. It appeared that I had lost the sight of one eye and severely damaged the other. My hands were as black as shoe leather, and they were hard and crinkled.
“All five of us were healed and back in school in the fall. Janet had a severely damaged finger, Mark had burns on his face, as I did, and on his arms, but we were all back in school. Someone in the ward had placed our names on the prayer roll in the temple. To Mother that was tantamount to saying, ‘Don’t worry, if your names are on the prayer roll in the temple, you can just count on being healed.’ And we were.”