Gospel Story Finder

A true champion, after giving everything he can, calls on God for extra help.
Cathy Ferguson, age 17, was struggling in the backstroke swimming event, 15 centimeters behind the leader. She could hardly feel her arms and legs, but kept battling—8 meters, 7 meters, 6 meters, 5 meters. She kept swimming harder, until she pushed through to win. In that moment of glory, she could hardly control her tears, but she said, “I just kept praying, ‘Please God, help me keep going.’”

Elder Monte J. Brough, formerly of the Seventy, tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.
They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

In 1977, I was serving as a full-time missionary in Cusco, Peru. My companion and I received approval to take all the missionaries in the Cusco zone to the magnificent Machu Picchu ruins.
Towards the end of our visit to the ruins, some of the missionaries wanted to go to the Inca Bridge, part of a mountain trail. Immediately, I felt in my heart the Spirit constraining me not to go there. The trail was on the side of a mountain with a 2,000-foot (610 m) drop-off. In several areas the trail was only wide enough for one person to pass at a time. My companion and I told them that we should not go to the Inca Bridge.
However, the missionaries insisted that we go. The pleadings became more intense, and despite what the Spirit had indicated to me, I gave in to the peer pressure and told them that we would visit the bridge but only if we were very careful.
We entered the trail that leads to the Inca Bridge with me at the end of the group, and at first everyone walked slowly, as agreed. Then the missionaries started to walk very fast and even run. They ignored my petitions to slow down. I felt obligated to catch up to them, to tell them that we had to turn back. I was far behind them, and I had to run fast to catch up with them.
As I came around a turn, in a passage too narrow for two to walk, I found a missionary standing still with his back against the rocks. I asked him why he was standing there. He told me he had received an impression to remain in that spot for a moment and that I should go on.
I felt the urgency to catch up to those ahead of us, so he helped me to pass him, and I was able to get a little farther down the trail. I noticed that the ground was full of greenery. I planted my right foot on the ground, realizing, as I fell, that there was no ground underneath the greenery. I desperately grabbed onto some branches that were underneath the trail. For a moment I could see down, some 2,000 feet below me, the Urubamba River, which crosses the Sacred Valley of the Incas. I felt as if my strength had left me, and it was only a matter of time before I could not hold on anymore. In that moment, I prayed intensely. It was a very brief prayer. I opened my mouth and said, “Father, help me!”
The branches were not strong enough to support the weight of my body. I knew the end was near. In the very moment when I was about to fall, I felt a firm hand take me by the arm and pull me up. With that help I was able to continue fighting and get myself back on the trail. The missionary who had stayed behind was the one who saved me.
But in reality our Father in Heaven saved me. He listened to my voice. I had heard the voice of the Spirit three times before, telling me not to go to the Inca Bridge, but I had not obeyed that voice. I was in shock, I was pale, and I did not know what to say. Then I remembered that the other missionaries were ahead of us, and so we went looking for them until we found them and told them what had happened to me.
We returned to Machu Picchu very carefully and in silence. On the return trip I remained silent, and the idea came to my mind that He had paid attention to my voice but that I had not paid any attention to His. There was a deep pain in my heart for disobeying His voice and at the same time a deep sense of gratitude for His mercy. He did not exercise His justice upon me, but in His great mercy, He had saved my life (see Alma 26:20).
At the end of the day, when it was time for my personal prayer, I prayed from the heart to “the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort” (2 Corinthians 1:3). I prayed “with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ” (Moroni 10:4).
In the early morning of that same day, I had prayed with my lips, and when I was about to perish, I prayed from the heart to Him. I pondered my life to that point. I found that on many occasions, our Father in Heaven had been so merciful to me. He taught me many lessons that day in Machu Picchu and in Cusco, Peru. One of the greatest lessons was that I should always, always pray “with a sincere heart, with real intent, [exercising] faith in Christ.”

I too, feel honored and blessed with many opportunities to serve. Among all of my service experiences, my favorites have been missionary visits and home teaching appointments. These visits help me feel of God's love for His children. In one occasion I was at a home teaching appointment with a brother who was preparing for his mission. I will call him Brother A. Brother A has expressed his concern of going on a mission. His family members were against such decision because they are not of our faith and he felt like he had lost the fire within him to do so. I shall never forget the clear message I felt from the Holy Ghost that God loved Brother A and I was there to help him regain determination to submit his mission paper. With God's help, I delivered the message to him. Both of us wept and he had agreed to fulfill his duties as a nineteen year old priesthood holder. Upon that upcoming Sunday, he turned in his paper and went on a mission shortly after. Unfortunately, neither home teaching nor any services we give to our brothers and sisters were designed to be convenient. It requires sacrifice of our time, talent, energy, money, entertainments and sometimes even our comfort to rescue souls.

It was the morning of January 6, 1896. Ten-year-old Emma Jean was awakened from a deep sleep by ringing bells and cries of joy and exultation. She peeped out from under her warm blanket. It was still the winter she had said goodnight to just last evening. But a new deep snow had covered the yard and bent the tree limbs until some of them almost touched the ground.
Emma Jean rubbed her eyes, wondering about the jubilant sounds outside. She finally threw back the covers and moved softly toward the window just to see. As the little girl reached the window, she could hear even more clearly the joyous sounds that had wakened her. What can they mean? she thought.
Emma Jean put on her blue flannel robe, tiptoed to the door of her room, and opened it noiselessly. She did not want to awaken her parents if they were still asleep. But they were not asleep. They were in the hall, laughing and hugging each other.
“So you’re awake, too, darling!” her father greeted her. “I knew you couldn’t sleep through all that cheering.”
“But what is it all for, Papa?” Emma Jean asked.
Papa picked her up and whirled her around. “We’re a state at last!” he announced, beaming. “Just think, Emma Jean! We have always felt that we were part of the country. Now we really are!”
Then Emma Jean’s mother added, “Darling, our home has always been in the United States—but in a territory. Day before yesterday, President Cleveland declared we could be a state—like Idaho and Colorado.”
Emma Jean nodded. When her cousin, Lottie, had visited last fall, she had boasted that she lived in a state and that Idaho had a special flag, not just the Stars and Stripes, but an official Idaho flag. Lottie had also bragged, “Our teacher says we can have a state bird and flower too.”
Emma Jean loved Utah. She could not bear that only her cousin’s state had such special distinctions. She remembered the stories about the pioneers. “We have pioneers!” she defended.
“Oh, so do we!” Lottie had replied haughtily.
“We have a special bird, too, the seagull. It helped save the pioneers their first year in the valley. And we have a special flower—the sego lily. Do you know about them?”
“Of course I do!” Lottie replied. “But still, Utah isn’t a state.”
Emma Jean did not like to argue with her cousin, so she did not pursue the subject. She had meant to ask her parents why Idaho was a state and Utah wasn’t, but somehow she had never gotten around to it.
Her father’s voice brought her back to the present. As if he knew her thoughts, he said, “We have always known that someday we would become a state, Emma Jean, but the requirements for each territory are different. Listen to those bells! After we get dressed, we’ll go to the Tabernacle, where there is to be a special birthday program. I heard that Professor Evan Stephens has composed a song especially for the occasion. Its title is ‘Utah, We Love Thee,’ and a children’s chorus has been trained to sing it today.”
“Oh!” Emma Jean cried, her eyes shining, “I wish I had known about the new song! I don’t think Idaho has a special song like that.”
“Don’t waste time feeling superior to our neighbor state,” Emma Jean’s father admonished. “Just hurry and get dressed. It’s already past eight and a parade begins at nine o’clock.”
“A parade! Oh, I’ll be ready!” Emma Jean cried as she ran to her room and began to scramble into her long black stockings. She decided to wear her new Christmas shoes with the gold stars embroidered on the cloth uppers. And around her long brown braids she fastened red, white, and blue ribbons.
The family could still hear the bells ringing all through their hasty breakfast. Afterward they wrapped themselves in warm coats, scarves, and caps. Gaily they started uptown with the neighbors who were hurrying along. As Emma Jean skipped down the snowy sidewalk, she was glad that she had put bright ribbons in her hair. Many of her friends also wore patriotic colored ribbons.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of marching music. The parade had started. Emma Jean and her parents rushed with the other onlookers to the curb. In the distance they could see the procession moving toward them. As the marchers neared, she saw General Robert T. Burton, the parade marshal, in his blue cavalry uniform astride his horse. He was followed by the troops and band from Fort Douglas. The stirring music added to the excitement of the occasion. She was sure the new governor, Heber Wells, waved to her as he passed in his open horse-drawn carriage. Eagerly she watched the passing floats that represented the various trades and industries of the new state.
After the parade the family continued its walk to the Tabernacle. Emma Jean was certain that nothing could surpass the spectacle of marching men and bands that she had just seen. Not even ZCMI with red, white, and blue bunting fanned across the storefront and the large five-pointed star with the number “45” atop the building could erase the image of the parade from her mind. But when they entered the Tabernacle she gasped in wonderment. Stretched across the ceiling was the largest American flag she had ever seen. In the field of forty-four stars a forty-fifth one had been cut out to represent the new state. Through this hole gleamed a bright light from ingeniously arranged electric bulbs.
Her father lifted Emma Jean up so that she could see better. “That’s the largest flag in the United States,” he said. “Each one of the stripes is six feet wide. Workers at the ZCMI overall factory made it and it required eight strong men to carry it over here.”
Emma Jean’s mother said, “Look at all the beautiful red, white, and blue streamers running from the flag to the gallery.”
Emma Jean nodded. Then she saw the huge eagle on the top of the organ pipes and the electrically lit “Utah” sign just below the national emblem.
She listened quietly to the governor and other important speakers, but what she liked best was the children’s chorus.
Later Emma Jean’s father turned to her mother. “Are you worn out, Louise?” he asked. “Or do you want to go to the grand inaugural ball? I think it will be worth seeing.”
“Oh, I would love to go!” Emma Jean’s mother answered with spirit. “How about you, Emma Jean?”
“Oh yes, please, Mama!” Emma Jean cried enthusiastically. Then she added hopefully, “I’m not at all tired.”
Her mother smiled knowingly. “We’ll see …” She turned to her husband. “Why don’t you go down to the City and County Building to hear the legislature while Emma Jean and I go home. She can take a nap. Then when you come home, we can go to the ball.”
That evening, as Emma Jean and her parents walked back uptown, Father told them about the legislature. A proclamation by Governor Wells was read by James T. Hammond, the new secretary of state. Then Governor Wells read his inaugural address, in which he singled out the women of the state for compliments.
At last they reached the Salt Lake Theatre where the grand ball was to be held. Emma Jean grew excited when she heard the strains of music coming from the building. She was happy to see her father purchase three seventy-five-cent tickets for the loges because they would be able to see better than from the gallery.
All the seats on the first floor had been covered over with smooth flooring right up to the stage so there was lots of room for dancing. Emma Jean saw flags draped everywhere and the large electric one over the archway of the stage. She watched Governor Wells escort his mother to the gubernatorial box and then, with his wife on his arm, lead the grand march.
“Oh, Mama, look at all the elegant dresses the beautiful women are wearing. Where did they all come from?”
Her mother smiled, “I suppose most of the ladies had a feeling statehood was not far away. Many of their husbands are politicians, and they knew statehood would soon be granted. I think they were prepared. Just seeing such lovely things is a treat, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Father agreed, “we can enjoy beautiful things without owning them. Isn’t that so, Emma Jean?”
Emma Jean agreed. “And just think what I can tell Lottie.”
“But no state flag,” her father teased.
Emma Jean shook her head, “There will be someday. But today I am seeing our state born!”
As the family made its way home, the moonlight sparkled on the glistening snow. Emma Jean was grateful that she had been old enough to see the flags and lights and beautiful gowns and to hear the bells and cheers and the special music that welcomed the newborn state. This was something she could tell her children and grandchildren!

It’s a long drive from Magrath, Alberta, Canada, to Calgary, and the torrents of rain pelting the highway didn’t make the trip seem any shorter. Most of us were tired, so we stretched out on the seats and mattress in the back of the family van while mom and Grandma Briggs sat up front and talked. I remember thinking we were in the middle of a real cloudburst and then drifting off to sleep.
When I regained consciousness, I ached all over. No wonder. The impact of a violent crash had stuffed me into a small space near the side door. My legs were scraped and bleeding; my breath came convulsively. I seemed to be alone except I could see grandma lying in the wreckage, and I heard moans. Soon strangers pulled me from my painful trap, and I approached grandma, who whispered, “Everything is going to be all right.”
Briggs, my 13-year-old brother, had been thrown out the rear door of the van. He said that when he found me I was hysterical. He shook me by the arm to help me get control of myself and told me to quit screaming and pray. I calmed down. And I did pray. He stumbled back to the highway and flagged down a car, even though his arm and collar bone were broken and his head was cut.
Evidently my mother had lost control of the van when it hydroplaned through a large puddle. We had crossed the road, skidded down an embankment, and then continued forward until the wheels hit a culvert and we became airborne. We crashed into the dirt and rolled several times, then came to rest upright near a dirt road that led to a farmhouse. Mother was seriously injured, with a crushed chest and a lacerated forehead; she was trapped in the wreckage and couldn’t be moved without help.
It was hard not to panic. We were far from home on vacation, and though we had been on our our aunt’s new home, we didn’t know anyone in the immediate area. (We were later to find out that we were close to Vulcan, a small town about 35 miles from Calgary.) And we weren’t where we could be easily seen from the road. But my brother’s words stuck in my mind, that I should be quiet and pray. Whenever I did start to get upset and worried, I prayed and felt calm again.
There were two girls in the car Briggs flagged down. They in turn stopped a car with a CB radio, an ambulance was at the scene in two and a half minutes. We were lucky. There was a small emergency hospital in Vulcan, and we received care quickly.
There was only one phone for patients to use. My mother asked to be wheeled to it. She called my father back in Salt Lake City; then she called my uncle in Calgary, and he came immediately. When he arrived, the first thing room asked him was if he could find the elders. Approaching the hospital desk to inquire, he was met by two men in their 50s or 60s.
“Has anyone here been asking for elders from the Mormon church?” they asked. “Yes!” he said, and led them to our rooms. They said they had been driving down the road, had seen the Utah license plates on the smashed van, and felt inspired to check at the hospital. They said they were both high priests. Before leaving, they gave a blessing to my brother, my cousin, my mother, and me. We never did find out their names or where they were from, but later we sent a letter to the editor of the local paper in an effort to thank them.
It was in the hospital that we also learned that Grandma Briggs had died at the scene of the accident. But her words of assurance had helped me to understand that she was ready to rejoin grandpa in the spirit world and that she had felt peace in her heart as she passed to the other side.
I learned another important lesson, too. And that is that the Lord does hear and answer prayers, and that he can direct worthy priesthood holders to be in places where they can help others. Though we all suffered serious injuries, we recovered. And the priesthood blessings at a time of need were a great comfort to us. I will always be grateful to those two men who took time to obey a prompting of the Spirit that led them to the hospital, and thankful for the peace that came to my heart when I prayed, telling me everything would be all right.

“When I was younger, I was struggling with letting go of an issue with one of my siblings, which could have ruined our family unity for years, but my dear mother lovingly and swiftly corrected me and asked me to do what the Lord had counselled the Nephites to do when He appeared to them in the Americas.
“In 3rd Nephi it says (and she made me read this even when I was angry):
“But behold I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them who despitefully use you and persecute you (3 Nephi 12:44).
“It was hard for me to do, at first . . . Who knew that kind of grudge can affect you, not just spiritually, but also physically and mentally? Yet, as Mum shared, the other person with whom I held a grudge against, is living their best life, unaware of my personal turmoil because life progresses for those who learn to let it go quickly.
“She said, ‘Don’t you let Satan win!’
“I am grateful for the Atonement of my Saviour Jesus Christ that allows me, an imperfect daughter of God, a striving covenant-keeper and disciple of Christ to repent daily as I practice being meek. The power of His Atonement strengthens me to keep trying and I know He will be there for all of us in our daily efforts to be meek and lowly in heart.”

I love to go sledding, especially on the hill by our house. One day, Mom asked my sisters and me if we would like to go. Of course I said yes. Just as we were leaving, Braiden, one of my best friends, called to see if I could play. I invited him to go sledding with us. He hurried over to my house, and we took off for the hill.
The hill was just as icy and fast as I had hoped it would be. We were having a lot of fun! Then Braiden said his hands were freezing. He had forgotten to bring his gloves. I felt bad that he had such cold hands. I quickly took off my gloves and gave them to him. We kept sledding for another hour or so. My hands were probably freezing, but I didn’t care because I was happy about giving my gloves to a friend. I know Jesus Christ would do the same for His friend. I want to always try to do what He would do. I had the best day ever on the hill because I felt warm inside.

When I turned 12, I was very eager to go to the temple for the first time. My mother and I went onto FamilySearch to find some family names for me to take. When I went to the Cardston Alberta Temple, I was baptized for my great-grandmothers and great-aunts, and I felt so warm inside.
When I was 14, I began to attend the family history classes in my ward, but I had a hard time finding family names. I eventually set a goal to find my great-grandfather’s family, the Thomas family.
I found several records about William Alfred Thomas. It turns out that he was the first person in my family to go to South Africa, my birthplace. I searched for more information about him for a year, but I still couldn’t find much more about him or his family. I just could not shake the feeling that the Thomas family wanted to be found.
One day I received the distinct prompting to look for William’s wife, Francina. A number of records came up—I had finally found them! I ecstatically told my parents, and my grandfather confirmed it to be the correct line.
My brother and I have now been baptized and confirmed for five generations of the Thomas line, all because of perseverance and a special prompting!
Family history does not always come together immediately, but doing it truly does bring a light into your life.
Savannah B., Canada

Youth in Longview, Texas, had a blast last summer painting their community rodeo arena and corral—and each other! More than 250 young people from the Longview Stake and the Gilmer Texas Stake got the job done in just about four hours, to the amazement of city officials.
“When we got there it was really trashed. I couldn’t believe it. We never thought we could get it done, but it only took four hours. The people from the city were amazed,” says Amber Davis, a Laurel from the Longview Second Ward.
The job included painting a Texas flag on the north bleachers and an American flag on the south bleachers.
“The fun part was that there was a lot of team work, so if you weren’t finished with your project, other people came and helped you,” says Amber.
City officials were so pleased with the job the youth did that they mailed each of them a thank-you note with a picture of the newly painted arena.

I know from experience the troubled mind of such a young person. When I was preparing to go on my mission, some surprising forces tried to discourage me. One was my dentist. When he realized my appointment was so I could be a missionary, he tried to dissuade me from serving. I had not had the least notion that my dentist was against the Church.

The interruption of my education was also complicated. When I asked for a two-year leave of absence from my university program, I was informed that it was not possible. I would lose my place at the university if I did not return after one year. In Brazil, this was serious since the only criterion for admittance in a university program was a very difficult and competitive examination.

After repeatedly insisting, I was reluctantly informed that after being absent for one year, I could apply for an exception on extraordinary grounds. It might be approved or not. I was terrified at the idea of retaking that difficult admissions test after two years away from my studies.

I also was especially interested in a young woman. Several of my friends shared that same interest. I thought to myself, “If I go on a mission, I’m running a risk.”

But the Lord Jesus Christ was my great inspiration not to be afraid of the future as I strove to serve Him with all my heart.

Remember the challenges that I thought I faced prior to my mission? My dentist? I found another. My university? They made an exception for me. Remember that young woman? She married one of my good friends.

But God truly blessed me richly. And I learned that the blessings of the Lord can come in ways different from how we expect. After all, His thoughts are not our thoughts (see Isaiah 55:8–9).

Among the many rich blessings He has given me for serving Him as a full-time missionary are a greater faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement and a stronger knowledge and testimony of His teachings, so that I am not easily swayed by “every wind of doctrine” (Ephesians 4:14). I lost my fear of teaching. My capacity to face challenges with optimism increased. By observing individuals and families I met or taught as a missionary, I learned that the teachings of God are true when He says that sin does not bring true happiness and that obedience to the commandments of God helps us prosper both temporally and spiritually (see Mosiah 2:41; Alma 41:10). And I learned for myself that God is a God of miracles (see Mormon 9).

All of these things were instrumental in my preparation for adult life, including possible marriage and parenthood, Church service, and professional and community life.

I grew up in the same town with a boy who had no father and precious few of the other blessings of life. The young men in our community found it easy to tease and taunt and bully him. And in the process of it all he made some mistakes, though I cannot believe his mistakes were more serious than those of his Latter-day Saint friends who made life so miserable for him. He began to drink and smoke, and the gospel principles which had never meant much to him now meant even less. He had been cast in a role by LDS friends who should have known better and he began to play the part perfectly. Soon he drank even more, went to school even less, and went to Church not at all. Then one day he was gone. Some said that they thought he had joined the army.

That was about 1959 or so. Fifteen or sixteen years later he came home. At least he tried to come home. He had found the significance of the gospel in his life. He had married a wonderful girl, and they had a beautiful family. But he discovered something upon his return. He had changed, but some of his old friends hadn’t—and they were unwilling to let him escape his past.

This was hard for him and hard for his family. They bought a little home and started a small business, but they struggled both personally and professionally and finally moved away. For reasons that don’t need to be detailed here, the story goes on to a very unhappy ending. He died a year ago at age 44. That’s too young to die these days, and it’s certainly too young to die away from home.

When a battered, weary swimmer tries valiantly to get back to shore, after having fought strong winds and rough waves which he should never have challenged in the first place, those of us who might have had better judgment, or perhaps just better luck, ought not to row out to his side, beat him with our oars, and shove his head back underwater. That’s not what boats were made for. But some of us do that to each other.

One recent convert is Johan Bonno, who was born in the Marquesas Islands, the northernmost part of French Polynesia. Although he had led a rough life, he became interested in the restored gospel because of a schoolteacher who had moved to the Marquesas from Tubuai. “Maimiti spoke to me of the true Church,” he explains. “She taught me about the Book of Mormon. Little by little, I let go of the bad things in my life. She invited me to church, and little by little good things entered in.”
They married and moved to Tubuai. “My father-in-law invited me to a missionary open house, and there I felt a powerful, comforting feeling,” Johan explains. “It filled me with a desire to know the truth. I prayed in earnest about Joseph Smith. I came to understand that the Lord had restored the Church through him.” Johan was soon baptized and confirmed.
Today Johan and Maimiti are preparing to be sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. “Having the light of the temple in our life will be like trading a 15-watt bulb for the brightest sunshine,” he says. For Johan, learning of the restored gospel required building a layer of faith. So did getting married, moving to Tubuai, and joining the Church. Now going to the temple will add yet another layer to a pearl that keeps on growing.

“While we were in the mission field, Dad asked all of us to invite our nonmember friends to a fireside. About thirty young people attended, and for 2 1/2 hours Dad told them all about our church and about the gospel. Then he bore his testimony to them. Many of them hadn’t lived lives to be proud of but they all listened. The impact was something! Some of our friends commented that it was certainly a different way to spend a Friday night. I’m sure many who attended will never forget that evening. Seeds were planted that may bear fruit in years to come.”

I had an interesting experience many years ago as my family and I returned from our mission in Brazil. We had nine children, and the ship we traveled on carried about forty passengers, so we were very conspicuous. It turned out that there were three other ministers on board, and within a few days each of the three approached me and inquired if we could talk about what the Mormons believe. They didn’t seem to be much interested in what each other believed, but they all wanted to know what we believed.
With some hesitation, because I had little experience with ministers of other faiths, I arranged an interview when all four of us could sit down together. It turned out to be very congenial and consisted primarily of them asking questions and me giving the answers. I had supposed that they would come out with strong arguments supported by scriptures that would make it difficult for me to maintain my position. But in their friendly, congenial way they just asked questions, and it turned out that I knew the answer to each question. I hadn’t realized that I was that well informed.
Within a few minutes, as we talked, they began to turn to each other and make comments like, “Isn’t it interesting? He has an answer for any question you can ask.” They repeated that comment over and over again, and we ended our discussion on a very friendly basis.
Two or three days later, however, one of these men engaged me in conversation and said, “I have been thinking of what you told us the other day and I wonder if it is right to know everything. I think maybe you know too much. I don’t believe the Lord wants us to know it all.” I could tell that he was offended. A day or two later he spoke to me again. He said, “I’ve been considering what you told me, and I have come to the conclusion that what you teach is a very dangerous heresy.”
I wasn’t prepared, as I ought to have been, for that kind of comment, and with hurt feelings I asked him why it was that other religions didn’t seem willing to place the Latter-day Saints in the same fellowship with themselves. He turned on me almost in anger and said, “Because I want you to know it is a two-way street.” Then I understood. We do not fellowship them. We do not recognize them as the true church of Jesus Christ, and therefore we offend them in some things we teach. I don’t think it should be otherwise, but he had reason for the feelings that he had. I wasn’t in a position, being unprepared, to smooth his feelings.

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.” And this young woman was teachable.
After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.
With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.
During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.
She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.
Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.
“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”
In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”
About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”
Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”
My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

It seems like all my life I’d been worrying about Danny, trying to keep him straight. Sometimes he just doesn’t understand things too well.

Once when we were shopping, Dan picked up a record that was left lying in the road outside the store. He started toward the car.

“Danny,” I said, “you take that record back inside the store.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not ours.”

“So what? It’s nobody’s when it’s out in the middle of the road.”

“Dan, somebody might have dropped it. Maybe they’ll come back for it.”

“Fat chance. If somebody just bought it, it would have been in a sack. Some car has probably run over it anyway.”

“Daniel O’Brien Hertz, you either take that record into the store, or give it to me and I will. It’s not ours.”

Finally, Dan let me take the record back in the store.

When I came out, he said, “Sometimes, Mauri, you don’t have the sense of a flea.”

The John Johnson farm was the location of one of the more dramatic stories in Church history. It was here that a mob dragged the Prophet from his room, tarred and feathered him, and returned him to his terrified wife, Emma, who mistakenly thought he was covered in blood. They both spent the rest of the night trying to remove the tar. The next morning, sore and in pain, he stood on the front porch and preached to a crowd.

Standing on the front steps of the Johnson home, in the very spot where the Prophet Joseph stood before the gathered crowd the morning after the mob attack, Paul says, “After all he went through, the Prophet Joseph was provided the strength from the Lord to get up and preach.”

“And,” adds Jessica Seipert, also from the Hiram Ward, “Joseph and Emma also had to deal with one of their twins dying after being exposed to the cold that night.” Joseph, an adopted son of Joseph and Emma, died from exposure in March 1832.

Jessica walks inside the home to stand in the room that Joseph and Emma used as their bedroom. The furniture is arranged as it might have been that night. She tries to imagine the chaos and fear that would have been in that room that night.

When Darren climbed onto the top bunk, he found a note on his pillow: “CK 24/7.” He slid down and showed it to his older brother, Byron.
“I got the same thing!” Byron said. “What does it mean?” They asked Mom if she knew anything about it.
“Hmm … ,” she said. Then she smiled. Darren knew she was up to something! “I bet you’ll get some answers during family home evening tomorrow.”
On the way home from school the next day, Darren and Byron tried to guess what CK stood for.
Candy Kangaroos? Curious Koalas? Crafty Kings?
Mom just smiled when they asked at dinner. When it was finally time for family night, Darren was ready for some answers.
But first Mom read a story from the Friend about a boy who helped take care of his grandma. The boy didn’t realize it, but by showing Christlike love he was keeping his baptismal covenants.
“We keep our covenants every day when we show love and take care of each other the way Jesus would,” Mom said.
“Hey! Covenants starts with C!” said Darren.
“And keep starts with K. So maybe CK is … Covenant Keepers?” said Byron.
“Yeah, and the 24/7 could mean all day, every day!” Darren shouted. “We cracked the code!”
Mom high-fived Darren and Byron. “Good job, guys! But the lesson’s not over yet. I need to tell you boys that I’ve been spying on you.”
“What do you mean?” Darren asked as he watched Mom pull out a piece of paper. He could see different notes for each day of the week.
“Well, I decided to write down the times I spied you keeping your covenants this week,” Mom said. “And here’s what I saw.”
Monday: Your friend asked if you wanted to watch a violent movie, but you suggested a better movie instead. You were obedient.
Tuesday: Darren’s teacher was grouchy, but you were still kind to her. She was so impressed she called and told me about it. You were forgiving.
Wednesday: Heidi came home from college for a few days. She was sad because one of her classmates died. You two brought her tissues and kept her company. You showed compassion.
Thursday: Byron used a bad word and wished he hadn’t. But you apologized and said you would do better. You repented.
Friday: When your older brothers came to visit and teased you, I saw you guys start to get angry. But then instead of fighting with them, you laughed it off. You showed self-control.
Saturday: When Mr. Gomez offered to pay you for playing with his grandkids, you two said you were happy to help for free. You served.
Sunday: You both sat quietly as you took the sacrament to renew your baptismal covenants. You were reverent, and you remembered how important the sacrament is.
As Mom read the list, Darren felt happy and warm inside. He knew it was the Holy Ghost telling him that those were good choices to make. He wanted to be a covenant keeper by following Jesus 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!

Members from the Brandon Florida Stake, an area near Tampa, were on the phone with members in the Port Charlotte Ward as soon as they heard Port Charlotte was receiving the brunt of the storm. They arrived before relief workers had time to set up camp, so they began clearing the grounds around the meetinghouse using tools and machinery from the local Church farm. They then went to members’ homes to assess their needs.

All members in all areas of Florida were accounted for with no reports of injury, though some lost their homes. All missionaries were evacuated before the storm hit, but they later returned to help in the relief efforts. At least seven meetinghouses were damaged, but repairs are underway or already completed.

While the member volunteers helped clear people’s property, counselors from LDS Family Services in Salt Lake City were helping clear people’s minds. “In these abnormal situations a lot of what we do is reestablish family patterns and instill hope in the community,” Doug LeCheminant, program specialist for LDS Family Services, said. They have also helped in such situations as the September 11 tragedy and the Kosovo refugee crisis.