Gospel Story Finder

For Bill and Linda Hamm of Anchorage, Alaska, USA, the work presented a personal challenge: they were called to serve as humanitarian service missionaries to oversee tsunami relief efforts in Indonesia. “We were exhilarated by the challenges and overwhelmed by the opportunity,” Brother Hamm said.
The Church focused on helping Indonesia and its people take a simple step forward, a step away from tragedy and pain, a step toward reestablishing life. While these efforts played just a small part among the many individuals and organizations that offered aid to the tsunami victims, the missionaries were able to share their love, the love of the members, and the pure love of Christ.
“We were not permitted to proselyte, but we were representing the Lord and tried to share our testimonies through our work by being kind, polite, or simply by smiling,” Sister Hamm said. “Sometimes we had the opportunity to explain where the funds came from, and we told about our prophet and how he called for a 24-hour fast, with the money that would otherwise be spent on food to be donated to a special fund. I think the Spirit bore witness and they understood that there were individuals around the world who loved them.”

Michael was going to Suzanne’s and Sara’s baptisms with Sister Ferguson. She always invited her Primary class to the baptisms of their classmates. Michael was glad that his family wasn’t going. Suzanne and Sara would be baptized by their fathers, and his family there would remind him that his father would not be baptizing him.
He was going to be eight soon, but he felt more worried than excited about his birthday. Sometimes that made him angry. Wasn’t a birthday supposed to be all fun? The ride to church was nice because Sister Ferguson didn’t mention his birthday. She talked about school and friends, his bike, and his cat.
Lots of people were at the baptism. Some were from the ward; others seemed to be relatives of Suzanne or Sara. Among those he recognized were Primary leaders, home teachers, bishopric members, friends, and even the missionaries with some investigators.
It is nice they are all here, he thought. I wonder if they came just because it is partof their job. It seemed to Michael that the parents cared the most about a kid’s baptism. And if one or both of your parents didn’t care, you were all alone.
Michael listened to a sister talk about baptism. She said that Suzanne and Sara were making promises to Heavenly Father and that Heavenly Father was making promises to them. The sister said that it was comforting to have a Father who always kept His promises. That made Michael feel a little better, but he was still sad and worried.
He got up close to the font to watch the baptisms. Afterward, he watched Sara and then Suzanne receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and wondered if Suzanne and Sara liked having all those hands on their heads. Did they know all those men?
After the service, Sister Ferguson approached him. “Did you like being at the baptism?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you thinking about your own baptism?” she asked him gently.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking so worried?”
Michael stared at the floor. “Because I don’t have anyone to baptize me.”
Sister Ferguson gave Michael a hug and led him away. They walked over to a quiet place away from the others. “Do you remember in the baptism prayer hearing the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ’?” she asked.
Michael thought a moment. “I think so.”
Sister Ferguson explained, “Being commissioned of Jesus Christ means acting for Him, using His power to do His will. Whoever baptizes must have His power, which is the priesthood. It doesn’t matter who actually puts you down into the waters of baptism, because that person is acting for Jesus Christ, not for himself.
“We are all brothers and sisters, children of Heavenly Father. We’re family. All the people at this baptism are here because they are happy to see Suzanne and Sara following the Savior’s commandment to be baptized and making a promise to follow Him. All the men who helped confirm them want to share the love and happiness they feel as members of Christ’s church. Any one of them would be honored to be a representative of Jesus Christ and baptize you. The important thing is for you to obey the commandment to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Michael understood, but tears came to his eyes, anyway. “But I want my dad to baptize me.”
“I know,” Sister Ferguson said. “I wish he could too. All I can do is tell you how much I love you and how much more Heavenly Father loves you. And you won’t be the only one who didn’t get baptized by his father. The Savior Himself was baptized by John the Baptist. New members are often baptized by missionaries. Sometimes older brothers baptize their younger brothers or sisters. You can ask any worthy priesthood holder who has been ordained a priest or received the Melchizedek Priesthood. Why don’t you talk to your mother about it when you get home?”
Michael nodded. Then he went to get a drink and talk to his friends. It felt good to know that so many people really did care.

While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.

For Prince Henry Omondi’s family, learning to keep the Word of Wisdom did not only mean learning to live without tea, coffee, alcohol and tobacco. It also meant an extra monthly expense for the family’s already tight budget.

“We really suffered temporally after my mother’s death,” says Prince. His father had to support nine children, ranging between 16 years and two months of age, on one income. During these tough times, “I had questions in my mind and I sometimes would doubt if God loved me,” he says. But when his family met the missionaries, the teachings they shared went “deep into my heart.

“As the missionaries taught us, I felt God’s love for me and felt God had a purpose for me,” he says.

Many of his family members felt the same. Except for two of Prince’s older brothers, the entire family was baptized.

Prince says that one way to know his purpose was to keep the commandments with exactness.

“One of the commandments which was new to me was the Word of Wisdom,” he said.

“Not taking alcohol, tobacco or any harmful drugs was not an issue, but tea and coffee was a challenge. I remember my father telling the missionaries that drinking chocolate was too expensive, and we could not afford it. But the missionaries encouraged us, and my dad had the faith and courage to squeeze money to be able to buy drinking chocolate instead of tea or coffee.”

I was getting to know my new bishop when he said, “You said everything is fine, but something seems wrong.”
I explained that I was constantly behind in my coursework. I was depressed, lonely, and struggling with social anxiety.
“You are too hard on yourself,” he said. He taught me about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the Savior’s patience and mercy. He also suggested that I talk to my parents and consider the possibility of therapy.
I started seeing a therapist. It didn’t solve everything at once. But because of my loving bishop, I got the help I needed.
Brenna H., Utah, USA

My stake president connected me with a couple who were able to help me get some machines to start my business, Kuatsikor Shoes. I named it after my father, to honor him since he never lived to see my business, having died in July 2019. My motto is “Walk Miles”. In August 2023, I was endowed in the house of the Lord in the Accra Ghana Temple. It was such a great experience. The moment I stepped into the temple, I felt a heavy burden had been lifted, it’s hard to explain. I felt a new peace and joy. The gospel of Jesus Christ has significantly impacted my life because I had the feeling that I was in the right place, my first Sunday at church. I will always be grateful for the self-reliance programs organized at the stake center that gave me insights and knowledge about how to grow my own business and to manage my finances. I believe if I continue to stick to these principles, my vision of becoming the best shoemaker in Africa shall come to pass. I know that God speaks to his servants, the prophets.

On a hot July day when Alma Elizabeth was ten years old, she went to a ward meeting. The people felt very discouraged because their crops needed rain. President Brigham Young came to the meeting, and she listened carefully when he rose to his feet and spoke. He promised the people that if they would listen to his words, the Lord would open the heavens and send the rains.
The words hardly left the prophet’s lips when Alma Elizabeth noticed the gathering clouds. Soon they filled the sky, and rain poured down in torrents. On that day she received a great testimony of the gospel that she remembered all her life.

When Deepak Shrestha’s older brother, who was the first missionary to serve from Nepal, told him the Church was the greatest thing in the world, Deepak was interested. Then his brother challenged him to live the Word of Wisdom. Deepak quickly felt the wisdom of this advice because “it affects the future.” The result of that decision has been the start of Deepak’s strong and continually growing testimony of the gospel.

I think of that great immortal athlete, Babe Ruth, when I talk about the principle of success and particularly failure. Let me just share a little experience from his life.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the summer of 1927, and 35,000 wildly excited baseball fans packed Shibe Park. They were giving Babe Ruth the “razzberry”—and good! Lefty (Bob) Grove, one of the greatest left-handed pitchers of all time, had just struck out Babe Ruth on three consecutive pitched balls for the second successive time. Two runners were stranded on the bases.

As the great slugger returned to the bench, amidst wild and abusive jeering, he looked up into the stands with an unruffled smile, just as he did the first time, gave his cap a polite little tip from his perspiring brow, stepped down into the dugout, and calmly took a drink of water.

In the eighth inning, when he came up for his third time at bat, the situation was critical. The Athletics were leading the Yankees, 3–1. The bases were full and two were out. As Babe selected his favorite bat and started toward the plate, the crowd rose in a body, as if by signal. The excitement was tremendous!

“Strike ’im out again!” pleaded the fans to Grove. Strutting around the pitcher’s box, it was easy to see that the big southpaw believed he was just going to do that.

As the mighty batter took his position, the crowd became hysterical. There was a pause. Mickey Cochrane, the A’s great catcher, crouched to give the signal. Grove threw one with lightning speed. Ruth swung; it was a foul tip. “Str—ike one!” roared the umpire. Again the signal, and the pitch was too fast to follow. Again, Babe took that magnificent swing—and missed. “Stri—i-i-ke two!” was the call.

Ruth staggered and went down. He had literally swung himself off his feet. There was a cloud of dust as the big fellow sprawled on the ground. The crowd was going mad. Finally, regaining his feet, the “Bambino” brushed the dust off his trousers, dried his hands, and got set for the next pitch. Grove delivered the ball so fast not a single fan could see it. Babe swung—but this time he connected! It was only a split second before everybody seemed to realize what had happened. That ball was never coming back.

It disappeared over the scoreboard and cleared the houses across the street—one of the longest hits ever recorded.

As Babe Ruth trotted around the bases and across the plate behind the other runners—with what proved to be the winning run—he received a wild ovation from the crowd.

Ruth doffed his cap with that little smile, and the expression on his face was exactly like the one he wore on his first two trips, when he had gone down swinging.

Later in the season, after the Yanks clinched the American League pennant, Grantland Rice, interviewing the Babe, asked, “What do you do when you get in a batting slump?”

Babe replied: “I just keep goin’ up there and keep swingin’. I know the old law of averages will hold good for me the same as it does for anybody else, if I keep havin’ my healthy swings. If I strike out two or three times in a game, or fail to get a hit for a week, why should I worry? Let the pitchers worry; they’re the guys who’re gonna have to pay for it later on.”

This unshakable faith in making the law of averages work for him enabled Babe Ruth to accept his bad breaks and failures with a smile. This simple philosophy had much to do with making him baseball’s greatest slugger. His attitude of taking both good and bad in stride made him one of the game’s greatest heroes.

Why is it, when we read about great athletes or men in other professions, we are seldom told about their failures? For example, we now read of the amazing record of the immortal Babe Ruth, with his total of 714 home runs; but another unapproached world’s record of his is carefully buried, and that is that he struck out more times than any other player in history—1,330 times!

One thousand three hundred and thirty times he suffered the humiliation of walking back to the bench amidst jeers and ridicule. But he never allowed fear or discouragement or failure to keep him down.

—Ted Parsons has been named as a new cadet squadron commander, leader of 105 men and women. Normally that’s quite an honor for any cadet, but for Ted it’s especially noteworthy. Ted is the first Latter-day Saint to successfully re-enter the academy after having resigned to serve as a full-time missionary. (Others have resigned from the academy to serve missions, but Ted was the first to be readmitted.)
“There was never any doubt for me that I would go on a mission,” Ted said. “When I got back, I called the admissions officer and told him I would like to return. Maybe it was because I was on the varsity basketball team when I left or because I was number ten overall in my class when I left, but after he checked my file, he got excited. The registrar sent me a packet of material, which I completed and returned. My congressman agreed to renominate me (all cadets must be nominated by a member of Congress, who is allowed to have only 10 nominees at the academy at any given time). I came back and they welcomed me.”
Captain Ray Longi, Ted’s A.O.C. (air officer commanding, a career officer in charge of a squadron of cadets), met Ted on his first day back at the academy and was so impressed with him that he assigned him to the top leadership position for a junior in his squadron.
“That caused some hard feelings at first,” Ted said. “Camaraderie and unity in each class are intense, and none of the other cadets even knew who I was. But I’ve tried to overcome it by working with people.” Ted, who is a pre-med student and hopes to become a doctor, is now one of the most popular cadets in Colorado Springs. “I’d rank Ted, and I mean this in all sincerity, as one of the top ten in his class of 1,000,” Captain Longi said.
Ted wears the superintendent’s pin, which means he has maintained a 3.0 or better average in both scholastic and military training (Ted’s grade point average is actually about 3.8—not bad at an institution where the mean I.Q. is 130—and his military performance average, comprised of evaluations by his A.O.C., his classmates, and his instructors, is usually about 3.6).
It used to be just about impossible for someone who resigned to return to the academy, but Ted’s example set a precedent. Officials began to realize that LDS cadets who resigned to go on missions did so out of conviction, not because they were no longer interested in the academy. While Ted was on his mission in the Arequipa Peru Mission, another cadet, Cody Carr, left the academy for the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He came back this year and is also excelling in his studies and training. Mike McDonald, another LDS cadet, is currently an elder in the New York City New York Spanish Speaking Mission and hopes to return to the academy. Todd and Jay Esplin plan to leave at the end of the summer on missions to Osorno, Chile, and Lima, Peru, then return to the academy. Guy Neddo will soon leave for the Hong Kong Mission but hopes to return to the academy after two years.
Chris Henderson took a different approach. For him, attending the academy had been a lifelong dream, but he decided to go on a mission first (see “A Question of Service,” New Era, April 1979). Barely meeting a deadline that requires cadets to be able to graduate before they turn 26, Chris was able to gain a renomination after his mission and is now completing his first year at the academy.
“The overall dream I have,” Ted said, “is that within a few years it will be the accepted norm for cadets to come here, be actively involved, go on a mission for two years, come back, and get right back into it again. My mission was an icebreaker that way.”

The story does not end there and in fact is still ongoing.
Most of those who lost their fruit crop had some land available on which to plant alternative crops for the season, such as chili peppers or beans. These crops could provide at least some cash flow sufficient to survive on until next year’s fruit crop. However, there was one good brother with a young family who did not have additional land and was facing a year with no revenue at all. Others in the community, seeing the dire situation of this brother and acting on their own initiative and expense, arranged for a piece of property, used their own equipment to prepare the land, and provided the chili plants for him to plant.
I know the men about whom I have just spoken. Knowing them, I was not surprised at what they did. But those who do not know them will probably be asking two questions, both beginning with the word why. Why would they come to the temple to perform their duties and to serve after having been up all night long, only to realize that they had lost the greater part of their revenue for the whole year? Why would they use what were now scarce and very precious resources to help another in desperate need when they themselves were now in such dire financial straits?
If you understand what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, then you will know the answer to these two questions.
Making the covenant to be a disciple of Christ is the beginning of a lifelong process, and the path is not always easy. As we repent of our sins and strive to do what He would have us do and serve our fellowmen as He would serve them, we will inevitably become more like Him. Becoming like Him and being one with Him is the ultimate goal and objective—and essentially the very definition of true discipleship.

Several years ago I interviewed a young woman for a temple recommend to receive her own endowment and to be married and sealed for time and all eternity. As I completed the interview and signed the recommend, tears were streaming down her cheeks. I said, “Please share with me your feelings.” Then she told me the following story.
Since her youth she had sought to find truth and direction in her life. She had yearned to find peace and happiness, but no matter where she looked, she could not find it. It had come to a point where she was very distraught, assuming there was really nothing in life that had true meaning or was fulfilling. In this frame of mind, one evening while visiting a dear friend and recounting her concerns and despair she said: “I looked behind the sofa where I was sitting to the bookshelf. My eyes fell upon a particular volume, and a compelling feeling came over me. I knew I needed to find out what was written on its pages.”
She took the book from the shelf and read the title, the Book of Mormon. She asked her friend where she had received it. Her friend indicated that two young missionaries stopped her on the street and gave her the book but only after a commitment to read it. Due to a lack of time, she had just put it on the shelf.
“I started to read,” she said. “I could not put it down.” A feeling came over her that she had never felt before. Her friend told her that she could take the book with her. She went home and continued to read through the night. The next morning she went into the streets looking for the two young missionaries. It didn’t take long to find them. They agreed to teach her the gospel, and in a few weeks she was baptized a member of the Church.
Through her tears, she explained that since that day she had found a joy and inner peace that she never dreamed possible.
Living in a small town with few members and even fewer opportunities to marry in the Church, she didn’t dare hope that she might one day marry in the temple. But she felt it was through the guidance of the Holy Spirit that she met a young man while vacationing in another country. He was a member of the Church and honored his priesthood. They had fallen in love, and he had asked her to marry him in the temple. The realization that she could now go to the house of the Lord and be sealed for time and all eternity brought joy to her soul and feelings of thankfulness and gratitude that were overwhelming and impossible to describe.
“I continue to ask myself,” she said, “why me? Why me? I am so blessed.”
Her humble, sweet spirit and testimony touched me deeply. As she left, we both shed tears of joy and appreciation.

May I share a letter from a grateful recipient of their loving service. He writes:
“The young women [of my ward] very literally saved my life. I was a young bishop, just 29, the father of four beautiful little girls, including a small baby, when Heavenly Father called my wife home to Him. As I met with each of our little girls and asked them what impact this change would mean to them, the concerns of six-year-old Emily, the oldest of the four, were many, including, ‘Who is going to comb and curl my hair for church and put ribbons and clips in it?’ That was a good question to me as well. Who? I was consumed with the idea that life would be as ‘normal’ as possible for all of us—which meant that I would have to learn a whole new way of life. I was their father, and I was going to be the only parent. I realized that I was not equipped with the motherly skills that I needed. I called upon the young women of the ward to train me to be able to satisfy at least the needs of hair care. They came to my home, numerous times, to begin my training. They even showed me how to care for my six-month-old Natalie as far as washing her hair without so much trauma. By the time I ‘graduated,’ I could whip up a mean (but simple) hairdo. Much more than the skill, those young women gave me confidence as a father of daughters—that I could love them, care for them, be there for them, no matter how the rest of my life continued.” Thank you, Brother Michael Marston, for your tender letter.

Before I left on my mission to Pennsylvania, USA, I started experiencing anxiety. My mission plans were put on hold as I worked to address what I was feeling. My mission president wanted me to be in a good place mentally because missions can trigger a lot of stress and anxiety.

I worked to address my mental health and then left on my mission after I was given clearance from a counselor.

Everything was fine until I arrived in my third area. From not getting along with my companion to struggling to find people to teach, my anxiety spiked to the point where I could hardly get out of bed in the morning. I had moments where I felt so anxious that I could barely breathe, and I was experiencing situational depression. I eventually reached out to my mission president, who lovingly suggested I speak to my mission’s mental health counselors. Talking to them helped, but it didn’t take care of the problem entirely.

What did help me get back on track were the tools and the practices I had learned from counseling. I used them to maintain my mental health. They didn’t take away my anxiety entirely, but they made it manageable enough to be able to continue my missionary service.

These small and simple practices had a huge impact on my ability to serve the Lord with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. Struggling with your mental health is nothing to be ashamed of, and there is always hope through Jesus Christ to find strength, hope, and healing. Heavenly Father has given us many tools to keep our minds, bodies, and spirits healthy. We just have to be willing to use them.

Faith Ferguson, Idaho, USA

Illustrations by Scott Greer
Dani looked up but still couldn’t see the top of the beautiful cathedral. People who belonged to a different church came here. Dani didn’t understand why her family was visiting this church on a Friday, but Dad said they were going to something called Evensong.
“What’s that?” Dani asked.
“It’s a meeting where people sing, read scriptures, and pray together,” Dad said. “Like a big family at the end of the day.”
Dani liked how that sounded. She and her family were visiting England. Last Sunday they went to a ward in a city called York. In Primary all the kids knew the same scriptures and songs Dani did. She knew the ward she visited was part of Jesus’s true Church, just like her ward at home.
But this cathedral was very different from what she was used to. She noticed a small table filled with candles. Dani watched a boy light a candle.
“Why are you lighting candles?” Dani asked him.
The boy smiled. “I light a candle when I pray for special things. As long as the flame burns, I hope the prayer will continue to be heard by God.”
They looked like regular candles to Dani. She was a little confused, but she wanted to be polite. She smiled at the boy.
Dani and her family sat down, and soon Evensong started. She saw the same boy a few rows away. Then she realized she didn’t know any of the songs everyone was singing. When they prayed, they read out of a little book. Everything seemed different than what she was used to.
But the music was beautiful, even if it wasn’t familiar. Then a man got up to read the scriptures. He was wearing robes, instead of a suit and tie like Dani’s bishop. But as he started reading, Dani realized she knew this story! He was reading about Jesus healing the 10 lepers.
“Dad,” Dani whispered, “I love this story.”
Dad smiled. “Me too.”
Then the man in robes said a prayer. He asked God to bless those who were sick and in need. Just like Dani did! He also asked a special blessing on leaders of his church. Dani remembered how her family always asked Heavenly Father to bless President Thomas S. Monson and his counselors.
A warm feeling came into Dani’s heart. She knew Heavenly Father was telling her He loved all His children and heard all their prayers, even if they went to a different church and didn’t have the fulness of the gospel.
As they got up to leave, Dad checked his phone. He looked sad as he read his messages. “Sister Monson passed away,” he said.
“Oh no!” Dani said a quick prayer in her heart that President Monson would be OK.
“Are you all right?” someone asked. It was the boy from before. He had heard Dani, and he seemed worried.
“Sister Monson passed away,” Dani said. “She was the wife of our prophet, President Monson.”
“I’m sorry,” he said kindly. “I’ll light a candle for him.”
Dani smiled and thanked him. She thought it was nice of the boy to say a special prayer for President Monson. She knew Heavenly Father would hear the prayer she said in her heart and the prayer the boy said too.

It was the summer of my sixth year. I loved to sleep in but was awakened early that Saturday morning by my mother. She reminded my sisters, brother, and me that we were going to drive out to the Barkley Ranch so that my older sister could play with her friend.
We quickly dressed while Mother filled a gallon jug with water to take with us on the trip. Mother and we four children climbed into our little gold car.
I can remember the excitement as we headed out toward the desert. None of us had ever been to the Barkley Ranch. Although I wasn’t the lucky one who would get to stay and play, at least I got to go for a ride.
Mother drove while trying to follow a few directions she had been given. It seemed forever before she finally turned off the main highway. I was sure we were almost there. We had traveled down a dirt road for several miles, when we came to and crossed a wash (the dry bed of a stream). As we continued on, the road became more treacherous. Finally, Mother decided that she had taken the wrong road. She turned the car around, and we headed back to the highway.
We soon came to the wash again and attempted to cross it. This time, the wheels of our little gold car sank deep into the sand. When the wheels just spun and spun in the sand, Mother told us that our car was stuck. I thought she was teasing us. We couldn’t get stuck out in the middle of the desert—it just wasn’t possible!
She tried again and again, but the tires just made bigger ruts in the sand. Finally she told my eight-year-old brother to steer while she got out of the car, walked around to the rear, and tried with all her might to push the car out. The car did not move.
The smell of the burning rubber made my empty stomach ache as I came to the sickening reality that we truly were stuck in the middle of the desert.
We all got out of the car and took refuge under the scanty shade of a paloverde tree. Mother took the little collapsible shovel out of the trunk and tried to dig the mounds of sand out of the way so that the wheel could roll forward.
I felt bad for her as we sat in the shade, watching her work in the heat of the morning sun. Her face was bright red, and the sweat poured off her brow as she dug and dug and dug.
We were all hopeful as she started the car, but instead of moving forward, the car’s wheels dug deeper into the sand.
Mother came over to us and told us that we needed to pray for help. We all knelt while she asked Heavenly Father to help us get our car out of the wash.
Then she sat down, and we each took a swallow of water from the gallon jug. My two-year-old sister spilled some water on her clothes. She was so thirsty, that she chewed a hole in them, trying to suck all the water out.
The sun’s scorching rays came relentlessly down on us. There was no breeze to bring relief to our sweaty faces.
Mother did not give up. She took a quilt out of the back of the car and laid it in front of the rear tires, trying to tuck the edge of it under the wheels as best she could. She was hoping the quilt would provide enough traction for the wheels to drive out of the ruts.
She again turned on the engine and pressed the gas pedal. The quilt was ripped to shreds by the spinning of the tires. It would take something much more substantial than a quilt to unwedge the wheels.
I was scared. No one knew where we were, not even our father. He had gone to the university for the summer to work on his master’s degree. I was sure that we were going to die.
Mother took the hatchet out of the car and began to chop a huge limb off a nearby mesquite tree. It was her intention to use the limb as a wedge to free the wheels. For hours, she and my big brother took turns chopping at that tree. It was hard work, and their progress was slow.
With one final chop of the hatchet, the limb fell to the ground. The limb was so big and so heavy, that they couldn’t move it. All their hard work had been in vain.
My brother was angry. He said, “Heavenly Father can’t hear us! He’s not going to answer our prayer.”
But Mother kept her faith. Again we knelt in prayer, this time much more humbly than before. Mother was exhausted and couldn’t think of any other way to get our car out. She said we had to leave it up to Heavenly Father to save us.
I watched as a centipede crawled down the bank of the wash, leaving lines in the sand behind him. I wondered why anyone or anything would choose to live in the desert with the cactus and lizards. I knew that I did not want to stay here forever. This was not a good place to die.
Our ration of water was getting low. We always had only clear water in the container for windshield wiper fluid—instead of the bought stuff, which is poisonous—so Mother poured it out of the container and into our water jug.
We were all very hungry as well as thirsty, for by then it was late afternoon. My little sister kept begging, “Baby cereal. Baby cereal.”
Suddenly Mother stood up and announced that we were going to start walking. She lifted the baby up onto her shoulders and, with our precious water in hand, headed out. The road seemed to be endless, and my legs soon felt wobbly. We took a rest alongside the road. We each drank a swallow, then got up and continued on our way.
I wondered how many miles it was to the main highway. Was it five? Was it ten? I didn’t know if I could walk that far—I didn’t know if I would make it. I tried to think of happy thoughts to take my mind off my misery, but they just wouldn’t come.
Then, far in the distance, we saw something: a truck coming down the road! I felt my heart pounding as we waved our arms in the air trying to attract the driver’s attention.
It seemed to take a lifetime for the truck to finally reach us. It belonged to a cattle rancher and was filled with his ranch hands. The rancher told us he thought at first we were cattle. Since he knew there should not be cattle where we were, he had driven down the road to investigate.
We all climbed into his truck, and they gave us cold water from their water cooler. I can still remember how good it tasted! Then he drove us back to the wash, a place where I was hoping to never go again. He had his men hook a tow chain to the front of our car and then push from the back. As the rancher drove his truck forward, our car, almost effortlessly, followed behind.
With smiles of relief, we thanked the men and headed for home. We had spent ten long hours out in the desert sun. We were weak from exhaustion.
When home at last, I guzzled glass after glass of delicious, wonderful water. I drank until I felt I was going to float away on a sea of happiness.
After we had rested and regained our strength, my mother asked us if we thought Heavenly Father had answered our prayers. Yes, I knew He had. I would never doubt Him again.

All his life Matthew had known that his family expected him to go on a mission for the Church. He looked forward to being nineteen when he would be old enough for a mission call—which he felt sure would be to Hawaii. Yet when he was only seventeen, a call came for him to serve as a missionary in New Zealand.
It was a long way from home for such a young missionary. Matthew didn’t understand the language of the Maori people. He didn’t even know exactly how to teach the gospel.
Matthew had been in New Zealand only a short time when a native woman came to him and asked him to go home with her. “Come, please,” she begged. “My boy is hurt. You fix him up.”
One look at the boy lying on the floor told Matthew the boy was badly hurt. “You must get a doctor,” he told the mother.
“The doctor isn’t home. He’s not even in town. Anyhow we don’t need him. You pray and fix up my boy,” the woman insisted.
Her complete confidence amazed Matthew. He had never administered to anyone before, but he could not refuse.
The young missionary got down on his knees. Before offering a prayer for the injured boy, Matthew gave a silent but fervent prayer for himself, that he might be able to do and say whatever was expected of him. Then he administered to the woman’s son.
The boy recovered quickly. This almost miraculous healing through the power of faith and prayer was only the first of many experiences that Matthew Cowley had in the islands of the Pacific.

The Young Women of the Presto Ward, Firth Idaho Stake, found a great way to spend their free time. They organized a special project to get to know the older members of their ward.
The girls were paired up and assigned to visit two homes where older members reside, and to help the people prepare their oral histories. Appointments were made, special treats baked, and tape recorders warmed up. After the visits were made, the tapes containing the oral histories were presented to the persons interviewed. The information from the tapes was summarized for compiling into one general history.
In searching for an inventive way to present this fund of information to other members of the ward, the girls decided to write a newspaper. The paper was prepared with articles on sports, weather, schools, and entertainment from the lives of those they had interviewed. Bits and pieces of all the elderly ward members’ histories were included. As a climax to the project, the girls hosted their new friends at a special dinner.

Inspired by this, I asked my grandchild Raquel, who had recently learned how to read, “What would you say about setting a goal to read the Book of Mormon?”
Her answer was “But, Grandpa, it’s so hard. It’s a big book.”
Then I asked her to read me a page. I took out a stopwatch and timed her. I said, “You took only three minutes, and the Spanish version of the Book of Mormon has 642 pages, so you need 1,926 minutes.”
This could have scared her even more, so I divided that number by 60 minutes and told her she would need only 32 hours to read it—less than a day and a half!
Then she said to me, “That’s so easy, Grandpa.”
In the end, Raquel, her brother, Esteban, and our other grandchildren took more time than this because this is a book which needs to be read with a spirit of prayer and meditation.

“What happened to you today,” his father began, “reminds me of something that happened on my mission. Our mission home was in New York City, across from Central Park in a very exclusive neighborhood. My companion and I were working in Long Island. On one rainy day, we had to go to the mission office for supplies. Somewhere between leaving the car and walking into the mission home, I must have stepped in some mud.

“When we got inside, nobody else was in the office. I saw the material we needed and walked over to get it. On my way back, my companion pointed out the mess I’d made with my muddy feet. I remember thinking they should have a throw rug at the entrance so that wouldn’t happen.

“We were in a hurry to get back for a meeting, so we left. That night after our meeting we got a call from one of the office elders. He told us that President West, our mission president, had seen the mess and told the housekeeper to leave it. He wanted us to go back the next morning and clean up our muddy footprints.

“I tried to explain we’d been in a hurry, that it wasn’t really our fault, that they should have had a throw rug, but it didn’t matter. They wanted us to drive all the way into the city through all the traffic and clean up our mess.”

Just then the waitress brought the pizza.

A couple of slices later, Randy asked, “What happened?”

“The next morning we drove into the city again, got a pail of water, cleaned up the mud, and went home.

“The next time we had zone conference, President West talked about what had happened without mentioning our names. He told us that in life, try as we may, we all leave muddy footprints. We don’t mean to, but it happens. He said there are three kinds of people in the world—those who absolutely refuse to do anything to clean them up, those who will only clean up when they are required to, and those who see the mud and voluntarily go about cleaning up. I always remembered that. He called it the Parable of the Muddy Footprints.”