Gospel Story Finder

In our infantry battalion of some 500 men, there were three of us who were Latter-day Saints. Sundays in Vietnam usually found us somewhere in the jungle. But we would find a few moments to get together. We would take some canned bread from our C-rations and a cup of warm water from a canteen, one of us would bless these humble emblems and pass them to the rest of us. We would share our testimonies and have a prayer. Then, we would pick up our rifles and return to our duties. My dear brothers and sisters, I testify to you that never in any of our beautiful chapels have I felt the Spirit of the Lord more profoundly than I did in those simple jungle sacrament services. Those words: “that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” took on a literal meaning that they have never lost.

At our next stake high council meeting, a brother told us he had two sons eligible to serve missions. One had a desire to serve the Lord, the other did not. This son, Sione, had been living in the States, had a girlfriend, and said he had not received an answer to his prayers as to whether he should serve a mission.
In the same spirit as Alma, and with tears in his eyes, this father asked if we would pray for Sione to receive an answer from the Lord.
Like everyone, I continued to pray, and to fast for this young man.
I awoke early one Saturday morning and lay pondering when I had a most amazing and humbling experience. A vision of Sione came to my mind. I was instructed to visit with him the next day, after my daily duties were completed. The vision unfolded and I was given specific questions to ask Sione. And I heard what his answers would be, and how I was to respond to him. The message was clear and specific.
That evening, I opened my fast and prayed everything in the vision would remain clear so I could complete the assignment I had been given.
I attended a ward conference the following day, conducted some interviews then headed to my car. As I drove from the chapel, the Spirit reminded me of my assignment. In a strange but spiritual way, I saw again the vision I had received the day before.
Arriving at the family’s home, I knocked on the door and was told their dad was overseas, but that Mum was home. When Mum came to the door, I asked if I could meet with her and Sione. He was busy cooking dinner. Mum invited me in and the three of us sat in the lounge and talked.
I asked Sione to offer a prayer and immediately the vision unfolded as clearly as it had the previous day.
I asked Sione what he thought about serving a mission? Word for word, he answered as I saw in the vision. He explained he wasn’t sure if he should serve a mission; that he had pondered and prayed but didn’t think he’d received an answer. I enquired if he had a patriarchal blessing. He said, “yes”. I asked, “What does your patriarchal blessing say?” He replied, “I will serve a mission”.
Exactly as I had been instructed, I inquired, “How does the Lord answer prayers?” Sione struggled, but then shared his thoughts. Strengthened by the Spirit and in an emotional and humble attitude, I said, “I have been instructed by the Lord, Jesus Christ, through revelation, to come and visit with you today. I testify to you that prayers are answered by feelings, impressions, reading the scriptures and many other ways. Today I am here on behalf of the Saviour, Jesus Christ, in answer to your prayer and to remove all confusion and doubt. Sione, the Saviour invites you to serve a mission. He has a work for you to do and it is a work that only Elder Hala can do as there is someone special waiting for you to invite into the waters of baptism”. This is where the vision ended.
I asked how he felt. He bowed his head and cried, “My prayer has been answered and I want to serve a mission”.
Brother Hala will soon complete his medical and dental checks then submit his mission application. Modern miracles really do happen when we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.

I remember an incident in my home growing up when my mother’s sensitive spirit was affected by a physical indulgence. She had experimented with a new sweet roll recipe. They were big and rich and yummy—and very filling. Even my teenage brothers couldn’t eat more than one. That night at family prayer my father called upon Mom to pray. She buried her head and didn’t respond. He gently prodded her, “Is something wrong?” Finally she said, “I don’t feel very spiritual tonight. I just ate three of those rich sweet rolls.” I suppose that many of us have similarly offended our spirits at times by physical indulgences. Especially substances forbidden in the Word of Wisdom have a harmful effect on our bodies and a numbing influence on our spiritual sensitivities. None of us can ignore this connection of our spirits and bodies.

Recently my husband, Mel, and I met a volunteer tour guide named Mollie Lenthal as we visited a museum in Australia. We found out that Mollie, a lovely woman in her 70s, has no children and has never married. She is an only child, and her parents have been deceased for many years. Her closest relatives are two cousins who live on another continent. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the Spirit testifying to me, almost as if Heavenly Father were speaking: “Mollie is not alone! Mollie is my daughter! I am her Father! She is a very important daughter in my family, and she is never alone!”
One of my favorite stories from the Savior’s life is the story of Lazarus. The scriptures tell us that “Jesus loved Martha, … her sister [Mary], and [their brother] Lazarus.”1 Word was sent to Jesus that Lazarus was very ill, but Jesus did not come immediately; He stayed away two more days, stating that “this sickness is … for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.”2
Hearing that Jesus was coming, Martha “went and met him,”3 telling Him what had happened. Lazarus had “lain in the grave four days already.”4 Grieving, Martha ran back to her home to tell Mary that the Lord had come.5 Mary, weighed down with sorrow, ran to Jesus, fell down at His feet, and wept.6
We are told that “when Jesus therefore saw [Mary] weeping, … he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled,” and asked where they had laid him.
“They said unto him, Lord, come and see.”7
Then we read some of the most compassionate, loving words in scripture: “Jesus wept.”8
Apostle James E. Talmage wrote, “The sight of the two women so overcome by grief … caused Jesus to sorrow [with them] so that He groaned in spirit and was deeply troubled.”9 This experience testifies of the compassion, empathy, and love that our Savior and our Heavenly Father feel for each of us every time we are weighed down by the anguish, sin, adversity, and pains of life.
Dear sisters, our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, know us and love us. They know when we are in pain or suffering in any way. They do not say, “It’s OK that you’re in pain right now because soon everything is going to be all right. You will be healed, or your husband will find a job, or your wandering child will come back.” They feel the depth of our suffering, and we can feel of Their love and compassion in our suffering.
Alma testified:
“And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
“And he will take upon him … their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, … that he may know … how to succor his people according to their infirmities.”10
When we wonder if we are known by our Savior and our Father in Heaven or how well They know us personally, we might remember the Savior’s words to Oliver Cowdery:
“If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.”11
Earlier the Savior stated to him, “There is none else save God that knowest thy thoughts and the intents of thy heart.”12
The Savior reminded Oliver that He knew every detail of that pleading prayer—and remembered the exact time, the very night.
Many years ago my husband became very ill with a rare disease. As the weeks went by and the sicker he became, the more I became convinced that he was dying. I told no one of my fears. We had a large, young family and a loving, eternal marriage, and the thought of losing my husband and raising my children by myself filled me with loneliness, despair, and even anger. I am ashamed to say that I pulled away from my Heavenly Father. For days I quit praying; I quit planning; I cried. I finally came to the realization that I could not do this alone.
For the first time in many days, I knelt down and poured out my heart to my Father in Heaven, pleading for forgiveness for turning away from Him, telling Him all of my deepest feelings, and finally crying out that if this was what He really wanted me to do, I would do it. I knew He must have a plan for our lives.
As I continued on my knees to pour out my heart, the sweetest, most peaceful, loving feeling came over me. It was as if a blanket of love was flowing over me. It was as if I could feel Heavenly Father saying, “That was all I needed to know.” I determined never to turn away from Him again. Gradually and amazingly, my husband began to get better until he made a full recovery.
Years later my husband and I knelt by the side of our 17-year-old daughter and pleaded for her life. This time the answer was no, but that same feeling of love and peace that our Savior has promised was just as powerful, and we knew that even though Heavenly Father was calling her back home, everything would be all right. We have come to know what it means to cast our burdens upon the Lord, to know that He loves us and feels compassion for us in our sorrows and pain.
One of the sweetest father-to-son moments in the Book of Mormon is Alma the Younger’s testimony to his son Helaman. Alma described the “inexpressible horror” he felt as he imagined coming into the presence of God to be judged of his many transgressions. After feeling the weight of all his sins for three days and nights, he repented and pleaded with the Savior to have mercy on him. He described to Helaman the “exquisite and sweet” joy of remembering his pains “no more.” Instead of feeling “inexpressible horror” at the thought of coming before the throne of God, Alma saw a vision of “God sitting upon his throne” and declared, “My soul did long to be there.”13
Is that not how we feel, my dear sisters, as we repent and contemplate the love, the mercy, and the gratitude we feel for our Heavenly Father and our Savior—that we too “long to be there,” to be embraced by Their loving arms once again?
Just as the Lord has testified to me that He has not forgotten His precious daughter Mollie Lenthal, I testify that He has not forgotten you! Whatever sin or weakness or pain or struggle or trial you are going through, He knows and understands those very moments. He loves you! And He will carry you through those moments, just as He did Mary and Martha. He has paid the price that He might know how to succor you. Cast your burdens upon Him. Tell your Heavenly Father how you feel. Tell Him about your pain and afflictions and then give them to Him. Search the scriptures daily. There you will also find great solace and help.
Our Savior asked:
“For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. …
“… I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.”14
“I have commanded that none of you should go away, but rather have commanded that ye should come unto me, that ye might feel and see; even so shall ye do unto the world.”15
That is our charge. We must feel and see for ourselves and then help all of Heavenly Father’s children to feel and see and know that our Savior has taken upon Himself not only all our sins but also our pains and our suffering and afflictions so that He can know what we feel and how to comfort us. I testify of Him in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I remember visiting South Vietnam some years ago. I talked individually with two or three hundred men—men who had waded through the blood and heat of battle, but men who were virtuous in their lives. I remember one of them, a boy who had just come down from the Rock Pile near the Demilitarized Zone, who said in response to a question on morality: “Not on your life—I couldn’t do that. I want to be worthy of a great girl some day.”

When I was fifteen years old, I had a talk with my older brother, Joe, who was trying to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Joe was an incredibly good example to me. He had planned on going to medical school, but when the opportunity came to serve a mission, he took the decision very seriously. We talked long into the night one evening about the gospel and testimonies and missions.
We reasoned that if the Church was just a good institution, he could help more people by attending medical school and becoming a doctor. On the other hand, if Joseph Smith was actually a prophet and the Book of Mormon was really true, going on a mission would be much more important.
That evening was one of the most important times in my life. After Joe and I finished talking, I went into another room and prayed about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I got a very strong feeling that the things Joe and I had been talking about were true.
Joe chose to serve a mission, and a few years later, I followed in his footsteps, serving in the British Mission. My mission experiences greatly strengthened the testimony that had begun in Primary.

This year I had to make a hard choice between watching general conference on Saturday morning or playing in my last soccer game. My mom told me that I could decide for myself. I chose to stay home and watch general conference and listen to the prophet because it is what Heavenly Father wants me to do. Even though I really wanted to play soccer, Heavenly Father helped me feel happy inside about my choosing the right.

When I arrived in Natchez to accept a job with the U.S. National Park Service, I entertained doubts and fears. I had left all that was comfortable and familiar to me in Utah, and as I took up residence in this new and seemingly foreign city, I felt lost and alone.
On my first day of training, the supervising ranger began by taking me through the park’s Civil War-era mansion and demonstrating the type of guided tour I would soon be expected to conduct. By the time we had finished exploring the first floor, I was already having a hard time remembering all of the details. From the French rococo revival furniture to the English porcelain china, the ornate home embodied Southern prosperity—and thoroughly overwhelmed me. Realizing that we had yet to see the second level of the home, I was overcome with a feeling of frustration and a longing for home.
As we climbed the grand staircase, an oil painting of a townscape caught my attention. I had never seen it before, yet there was something familiar about it. My eyes were drawn to the depiction of a large building atop the town’s bluff, and I recognized the sweeping curve that the river made around the city. Could it really be what I thought it was?
I asked if the painting was a depiction of Nauvoo. My supervisor, startled by my question, replied that indeed it was. I soon learned that the painting had been purchased by one of the home’s later owners because presumably it had been painted during the mid-19th century and the river scene coincided nicely with the Natchez landscape.
The Saints who passed through Natchez amid persecution must have felt a great sense of relief and gratitude when they finally arrived at Nauvoo. Similarly, I felt comforted when I saw the painting of Nauvoo in the mansion in Natchez. Seeing the painting helped me know that Heavenly Father was aware of my situation and would bless me with the strength to overcome my homesickness, fear, and doubts. I knew that the painting of Nauvoo was a tender mercy of the Lord.

Several hours later however, our sincere prayers were answered in a very different manner. After getting everyone down off the rappel, it started to rain. The rain made the rocks very slick which made the descent event more difficult, but the greater challenge was that the steep descent had taken its toll on my brother-in-law's knees and he was struggling with every step. He was a real trooper and never complained, but he was in a lot of pain and it really slowed our progress as we descended down off the mountain. The rain finally stopped, but the sun quickly set and we once again found ourselves hiking in the dark. We had made it through the technical parts of the mountain, but we still had several miles to hike and by this time we had been awake for over 40 hours straight. As we continued down, we came to a meadow and then a large boulder field and once in the boulder field, we lost the trail. We searched and searched, but could not find the trail to take us out of the boulder field. We worked our way back to the meadow because we knew there was a sign there that would indicate we were in the right spot but we could not find the sign. We all prayed that we would find our way out and we had great faith that we would be guided to know what to do, but as hard as we tried, we could not find the trail or the sign indicating where we were.

We began to think that we had possibly missed a turn so while the others rested, my other brother-in-law and I hiked back up the mountain to try to find a fork in the trail and to also see if we could get cell phone reception to let our families know that we were o.k. We were not successful in either endeavor. We were finally so exhausted that we turned around and went back down to the meadow where our brothers were sleeping. When we reached them, we happened to look across the creek and in the faint light of our headlamps we saw something. We walked over to it and there, not 50 ft. from where our brothers were resting, was the metal sign indicating the trail and verifying that we were going the right way. We had walked past that spot at least a dozen times and had not seen the sign. We were elated to know that we were in the right spot, but we made the conscious decision to rest for a bit to clear the fog from our sleep deprived minds. We slept for a couple of hours on the side of the trail and when we awoke, our minds were clear. We re-entered the boulder field, found the trail through it and were able to safely hike out the rest of the way. Our prayers were answered, but in a different way than we had anticipated.

Diego’s two-year marriage to an abusive woman left him shattered and semi-suicidal. In retrospect, he wishes he had paid attention to the warning signs. His wife had been in several failed marriages and relationships. However, their six-month courtship had gone smoothly, and he fell in love.

After they married, her behavior surprised and confused him. She would make critical comments about his appearance, and when he asked why she said those things, she would tell him she was joking and that he didn’t have a sense of humor. “There was a lot of verbal abuse and gaslighting,” he says.

There were also episodes of physical abuse when she spit in his face and kicked and scratched him. As with many victims, Diego tried to excuse his wife’s behavior. He told himself she was just having a bad day. He tried desperately to do things he hoped would make her happy.

“I would clean the bathrooms and cook dinner,” he remembers, “but I could never please her. The physical abuse was probably the worst thing for me as a man. I felt weak and powerless. Sometimes I would find a place to hide at work and break down and cry. I was the victim, but she made me feel like everything bad that happened was my fault. I felt guilty. Was she right? The sadness was incredible.”

He recalls: “I wanted our marriage to work. I prayed so hard, went to the temple, fasted, read the scriptures, and tried to grow closer to Heavenly Father in every way. Hope kept me afloat. I kept believing that if I was obedient, things would work out.”

Some people won’t respect those boundaries, however. Diego tried to set boundaries, but his wife continued to argue. “You can’t always reason with an abuser,” he explains. “And it’s very hard to stay calm when someone is verbally attacking you. Christ would have walked away or been soft spoken. I wasn’t perfect that way. I could have done better. I think you need a mediator—a Church leader or a therapist—to have a rational discussion.”

Diego talked to a marriage counselor and met with his bishop regularly. “I’m not sure I would have gotten through this experience without the help of my bishop, the most loving man ever. And the temple was my solace.”

Diego struggled to heal after his divorce but says, “I learned so much from the relationship and have grown in all aspects, which has made me a better man, father, person, priesthood holder, son, friend, and partner. I did everything in my power to make the marriage work, but it wasn’t to be. She had her agency and made her choice.”

Two of my closest friends hated each other, and they would put the other one down. One day I finally told each of them, “Well, she’s my friend, and I’d really feel a lot better if you’d just keep your comments to yourself because if you are going to make me choose between you, then you aren’t really my friends.” Now they are talking to each other and are friends.
Heather Sorensen, 17Roosevelt, Minnesota

There are some family crises that can become laughable lessons. My aunt and uncle, both fond of practical jokes played on themselves and others, lived on a ranch without running water. One cold, rainy evening, my uncle came in drenched to see his wife sitting comfortably by the fireplace. She said, “Dear, since you’re already wet and cold, will you bring in a bucket of water?” He went out and returned with the water, dumped it on her, and said “Now you’re wet and cold. Could you go get the water?” They laughed as they retold the story, and the incident became a family joke. So now when we really shouldn’t ask a favor, or when we realize we are imposing, we start the request with, “Since you’re already wet and cold … ,” and the job usually gets done with a smile.

“Can’t we go any faster?” I asked anxiously as we rode along the graveled highway in our newly purchased secondhand pickup.
Mama smiled. “Why the big hurry?” she teased as if she didn’t know.
“I can hardly wait to buy the shoes,” I answered. I was so excited, for it had been nearly a year since I was 11 1/4 and had been taken to the store to buy new shoes. I had thought lately that they would never wear out, and I knew they wouldn’t be replaced until they did. But at last Mama had spoken the long-awaited words.
“I think it’s time to buy you another pair of shoes,” she said. “There is certainly no more wear in those.”
The town with the big country store was four long miles away, and it seemed like forever before we finally arrived.
As soon as we were parked, I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the building. I hurried past the canned goods, down through the hardwares, and wasn’t quite to the shoe department when suddenly I saw them. There on a middle shelf that was tilted up a little was a pair of bright red shoes sitting on a silver stand. I stopped short and caught my breath in awe at the beauty of their color and the daintiness of their sandal-type straps. Printed on a cardboard in the background were the words, “Newest 1940 Fashion in Footwear.” For a long time I stood and looked.
Mama came up behind me, and I led her directly to the shelf.
“May I have these?” I asked hopefully. Mama studied the shoes for a long moment.
“They aren’t very practical,” she said finally, “and you know they will have to last a long time. I think we should buy something more sturdy.”
“I’ll be ever so careful with them,” I coaxed. “Please.”
The clerk came up and measured my foot.
“The red shoes are a half size too small,” she said, “and it is the only pair we have left. However,” she added when she saw the disappointed look on my face, “sometimes sandal-type slippers run a little larger than the average shoe. Would you like to try them on and see?”
Mama reasoned with me, telling me my feet needed room to grow even if the shoes did fit now.
“But maybe there is a little extra room,” I said. “May I at least try them on and see?” I put my whole being into the pleading expression of my eyes.
“Well,” Mama puckered her forehead into a sort of deep-thought furrow for a moment before she answered, “all right.” I had the feeling that she sensed how important this was to me.
The shoes, with a built-in toe and heel, felt tight, but nevertheless I succeeded without too much effort in getting them both on, and I stood and looked down in admiration.
“May I have them?” I asked, feeling, without doubt, that I could stretch the tiny straps in a short period of time to fit comfortably.
The shoes didn’t look too small, but Mama seemed certain that there wasn’t enough room for my feet to grow.
“They will be getting more of this style in next summer,” she said. “Perhaps it would be better to wait and buy a pair then.”
My hopes declined. I was sure there would never be another pair of shoes as beautiful as these, but I said nothing. Mama focused her forehead into another deep-thought wrinkle as she walked over and picked up a pair of brown oxfords in the size I needed.
“Why don’t you try these on,” she said, “then you can make the decision yourself.”
I was elated. Even though I had made decisions before, I had never made one as important as this. I felt that Mama considered me sort of an adult, and I knew that she understood about 12-year-olds and growing up.
As I slipped one of the brown shoes on and tied the lace, it felt good in comparison to the red one on my other foot. I pondered silently as I tried to decide fairly, considering the good and bad points of each pair of shoes. The oxfords would last longer, and they were more comfortable, but they were so brown and plain, sort of ordinary looking really, and besides, they were the kind I had always worn. The red shoes were beautiful, and I wanted something different. If I was careful, they could last a long time. Admittedly, they did squeeze, but I could suffer for a day or two if need be, for I was very sure that I could stretch them in that length of time. Yes, I would take the red ones.
Mama didn’t say anything as she paid the clerk. After all, she had told me the decision was mine.
I strutted toward the door and was so preoccupied with how much older the shoes made me look that I knocked over a small display of cooking utensils and bumped into the candy counter on my way out. I was so happy over my purchase that I didn’t ask Mama what she had in the other package she was carrying when she got in the pickup.
The next two days I wore the pretty shoes in misery. Then a blister appeared on each of my big toes, and the misery turned to agony. Furthermore, I was becoming discouraged, for the tiny straps weren’t stretching at all as I had felt so sure they would.
If Mama saw me wrap small white strips of cloth around my toes to protect the blisters, she made no mention of it. I went outdoors as often as I could and slipped the shoes off. The cool air felt good on my hot feet, and each time I stayed out as long as I dared.
Slowly, out of desperation and pain, I became more brave, and the shoes lay forgotten on the floor of my closet as I went barefoot both inside the house and out. Mama, I am very sure, was aware of my bare feet, but as she didn’t question me, I hoped she supposed that I was trying to be careful of the shoes and make them last as long as the brown ones would have.
With Sunday came the sudden realization that I couldn’t possibly go barefoot to church. I put off the dreaded task of wearing the shoes until the last minute, and it wasn’t until everyone was ready to go that I carefully started the insertion of my foot into one of the slippers. As it entered the enclosure at the end of the shoe, my big toe rebelled hotly, and I pulled it quickly out. Several times I tried to put on the shoe, but each time my foot resented the tight squeeze and throbbed the resentment painfully.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. With tears close to my eyes and the red shoes held firmly in my hands, I went to Mama. My lip quivered, but I was determined not to cry. After all, I was 13 years old, in ten months, that is. I stood for a minute trying to gain my composure and to think of something sort of, well, mature to say.
“They pinch and they hurt,” I blurted out honestly.
Her answer came as such a surprise that all I could do was stand with my mouth open saying nothing.
“We do not always make the right decisions,” Mama said as she went to a drawer and took out a package containing the brown shoes. As she handed them to me she added softly, “And sometimes it takes a pinch of hurt to help us be more wise the next time we have something important to decide.”

I’m serving as a missionary, and I love teaching people about Jesus Christ and helping them learn how to follow Him more closely. But sometimes it’s the teacher who learns the most.
One evening, while at a member’s home for dinner, I was asked to pray. As I was doing so, I realized it was starting to sound a lot like the last prayer I’d said at a member’s home. A thought came into my mind, “Whom are you praying to? Them or God?” It shocked me enough that I paused for a moment. I realized that I was praying “to be heard of men” (Alma 38:13) and not out of a sincere desire to communicate with my Father in Heaven. I was doing it out of duty instead of out of love for God.
As I finished my prayer, I silently thanked God for revealing my faults to me. I promised Him that I would pray to be heard of Him and not just to say nice words. As I’ve since kept that promise, I’ve drawn so much closer to Him and have been better able to recognize His loving hand in my life.

They have this mountain in Norway, right by the town of Drammen, called the Spiralen. From the outside it looks like a normal mountain, nothing special, but inside it is hollow. The mountain hides an old quarry where rock was dug from the mountain forming a spiral tunnel. Now the tunnel has been converted to a roadway which takes cars to the top for a panoramic view of the town and the ocean.
On this day, 43 priests and Laurels from the Norway Oslo Stake were climbing the Spiralen as part of their annual priests and Laurel conference. This is not a normal youth conference. The stake also sponsors one of those each year. But the stake has a long tradition of holding a special conference where they gather all the priests and Laurels in the stake together for two days of fun and serious discussions.
At this conference they’ve had panel discussions where their Church leaders agreed to answer gospel questions. They gathered together for dinner and a dance. And then they were climbing the Spiralen. But soon it was clear that this hike was something more than just a fun activity. They should have known. The hike was going to be symbolic.
First they divided into family groups using last names from Church history. The family groups were sent on their way in intervals following the path. The first rest stop was for water. Everything seemed normal. Then the second stop was for juice. What the hike meant was starting to become clear—traveling in family groups, the rewards becoming better and better.
John Gundersen of the Fredrickstad Branch said he caught on to the symbolism of the hike at the first stop. “I started to understand when they told us to hold to the iron rod.” The first stop could be telestial glory. The second stop could be the terrestrial. So when the families emerged from the woods at the parking lot near the top, they were expecting the end of the journey and their celestial reward. But it was not over yet.
Each family was given a wheelbarrow loaded with five large stones. They were told to continue up the path. Everyone was laughing and joking, and no one thought this last stretch was hard at all. One strong boy could easily handle the loaded wheelbarrow—that is until they saw the last pull to the summit. It was so steep and slick that they would have a hard time just getting themselves up the hill. But their wheelbarrows and those loads of rocks would make it really hard work.
Each family figured out their own method for getting up the hill. ElRay Gene Hendricksen from the Hokksund Branch said, “We decided to share the burdens. Everyone took a stone out of the wheelbarrow. Two other guys took the empty wheelbarrow. We made it. We were the only family group who did it that way.”
No one complained. They all just pitched in and figured out how to get their rocks to the top. Then came their reward. Hot and tired, they could rest and look out at the beautiful country below them. They were pleased that everyone made it to the top, where they were able to drop their burdens, represented by the stones. They piled the rocks together into an impromptu memorial. Then they were served lunch, food to feed the body, and listened to a speaker who talked of heavenly things, to feed the soul.
Bishop Aabo of the Drammen Ward explained that at times the climb was more challenging for some than for others. For a while a few carried the burdens while the others just walked along and didn’t need to help. But even though the challenges were uneven, at times they all had to work together to make sure everyone made it to the top. Bishop Aabo pointed out that Christ promised he would help make our burdens light. Gaining their own testimony would give them strength to reach the pinnacle.
The hike was the perfect conclusion to the conference. On a social level, it was great fun. Cathrine Opdahl of the Oslo Second Ward said, “The most fun is meeting people of your same age from different parts of Norway, getting to know them in a new way.”
“Yes,” said Kathinka Svendsen, also of the Oslo Second Ward. “We have problems in common, especially at school where people are not accepting that you’re a Latter-day Saint with high morals.”
“Here,” said Kjetil Pedersen, Drammen Ward, “it’s people with your same attitude and outlook about religion. It’s good to do something together.”
The panel discussions had everyone’s interest. All the participants were given slips of paper. They could write any question they wanted discussed without a name attached. They put all the questions into a hat and then the stake president, several bishops, and Young Women leaders would attempt to answer the questions as they were drawn at random. The panel did reserve the right to refer the question to someone more knowledgeable or simply not answer.
“All the questions were interesting,” said Jaran Rosaker, Oslo Third Ward. His friend, Tarjei Gylseth agreed, “And they gave good answers as well.”
But the most important things these young people had to say were in the quiet moments when you asked them about answers to prayers or their testimonies. Then they spoke about the calm, quiet feeling of peace that could only come from the Lord. Jaran said, “I read Moroni 10:3. That says if you ask God if what is written in the Book of Mormon is true, he will answer. I tried it out. I got the feeling that it was true. It is kind of a warm, good feeling inside.” [Moro. 10:3]
Hanne Akselsen of the Oslo Second Ward also felt something intense when she read the Book of Mormon. “I had taken the first discussion from the missionaries, but I hadn’t felt anything special when they told me I had to study and pray. I tried. I prayed and studied. What happened was amazing. It felt like the Book of Mormon was written to me. I just recognized it. It was so familiar and right.”
Coming to the priests and Laurel conference “helps build Zion here in Norway,” said Ida Podhorny, Moss Ward. “We learn to be in the world, not of the world. I’m thankful for my good friends.”
Désirée Bjerkoe, the stake Young Women president, said, “Our purpose is to come together and strengthen the youth and get them to strengthen each other. Actually that’s what they do. They stay up late and talk. That time is golden. If they don’t have friendships in the Church, then they turn to their friends outside the Church.”
Then it was time to leave the mountaintop and go back down to the real day-to-day world. But as these friends make their way back down, they know that in that high place they have built a monument more significant than of simple stones. ElRay Hendricksen explained, “It is a monument that symbolized that we have all done the same things and made it to the top by helping each other. But we are not finished yet. We will have to develop ourselves and stay together and stay true.”
On a mountaintop in Norway, one group of teens has found some answers.

Nathan and his cousins were playing by a large irrigation ditch. They knew that they shouldn’t play so close to it, but it was fun to throw rocks into the water, and it was cooler near the water on this hot summer day. Suddenly Nathan slipped and fell in. His cousins yelled for help. Fortunately the aunts and uncles were not far away. Uncle Gary jumped the pasture fence, ran to the ditch, and pulled Nathan from the water just before he went into a culvert under the road. Uncle Gary saved Nathan’s life that day.
You can probably imagine how grateful Nathan’s family was to Uncle Gary that summer day. How much more grateful we ought to be to Jesus Christ! His Atonement made it possible for us to live again forever. His Atonement paid the price for our sins if we repent. No wonder we celebrate Easter! In some parts of the world, people greet each other at Easter time by saying, “Christ is risen!” And their friends reply, “In truth, He is risen.” Jesus Christ—our Savior and our Redeemer—is risen! How great is our joy!

My brothers, Billy, Tommy, and Jimmy, and I were gathered in the living room for family home evening. Father was talking about the importance of always prayerfully considering our actions before they become acts—thinking before doing. He said that Satan would rather we act on impulse, just like a fly that buzzes blindly into a spider web hidden in the shadow of an overripe July melon.
I guess that makes sense, I told myself. But what could possibly happen to a twelve-year-old boy like me?
Two weeks later, my brothers and I were sitting atop a huge rock on the crest of one of the forested hills behind town. The dry wind blew across our sweaty faces as we drank from bottles of water we’d brought in paper bags from home. After taking a swallow of cold water, Tommy thoughtlessly dropped his bottle back in his paper bag that was sitting near the edge of the rock. The bottle broke, its water spilling out. We all laughed, except for Tommy who glowered at the rest of us.
I lay back on the rock and gazed up at a buzzard that was circling high above. I wish I could fly, I thought. I also told myself that I was getting bored. To wish to do something I knew that I couldn’t do meant that I was running out of real things to do. I knew that my brothers were bored, too, because they were staring at the same buzzard and wishing that they could fly.
“Let’s play a game,” my oldest brother, Billy, said.
“What kind of game?” Tommy piped in crossly. “If it’s a running-around game, you can count me out. I’ll get thirsty, and I don’t have any water!”
“You can have some of mine,” Billy offered, “if you play.”
“What kind of game is it?” I asked.
Billy sat up. He took his water bottle out of his bag, slid down off the boulder, picked up a stick, and broke it in four pieces, each a different length. Then he dropped them into his bag and closed it up.
“Are you going to tell us about the dumb game or not?” my youngest brother, Jimmy, snapped impatiently.
“It’s kind of like tag, but different,” Billy explained as he picked up a small branch. “The one who draws the shortest stick from the bag is ‘It.’ He has to sit on this rock and count to fifty while everyone else hides. We can hide anywhere from up by the quarry down to the old graveyard.”
“What’s so different about that game?” Tommy asked.
“Well,” Billy went on, “the one who’s It uses this stick to tag with. Then the person tagged gets a stick, too, and he and It look for someone else together. Then—”
I sat up, my excitement growing. “Oh, I get it!” I interrupted. “Then they tag the third guy, and they all go after the last guy!”
Billy drew the shortest stick and started counting. Everyone else scattered.
About a half hour later, I was hiding behind an old shack. I saw Billy, Tommy, and Jimmy above me on the top of a hill, looking down on the dumped rocks from the quarry. We knew the area well because a lot of blue-belly lizards lived in those rocks, and we often tried to catch them. Anyway, now I knew that I was the last one left to be tagged! It was kind of scary in a fun sort of way because they were all after me! It would only take them a minute or two to see me and scurry down those rocks and tag me with their sticks.
I turned and bolted away. I looked back once and saw my brothers already close to the bottom of the hill. They had spotted me!
I lunged through the trees, jumping over rotting logs. I glanced behind me. I couldn’t see my brothers. For the moment I was safe from their sight, but I soon found myself in the middle of a clearing. They would spot me unless I lost myself in the tangles.
Suddenly I was face-to-face with a wall of thick brushwood. I’ll hide there until I can catch my wind, I thought as I protected my face with my hands and leaped through the dense undergrowth, not knowing what lay beyond, and not taking time to even think about it.
Everything beyond the wall of brushwood was a good ten to fifteen feet below me! I fell hard through its brittle branches and landed on my back.
The rest of the world above me was spinning—the sun, the clouds, the twisted tops of the towering oaks. And my wonder at what had happened. Rising between my right arm and side, protruding like a great spear with a big, ugly point, was the shaft of a long, iron spike from an old graveside!
I felt a stinging sensation on my arm and discovered that the point of the huge spike had torn my shirt and scraped the inner side of my arm. If I had landed few short inches farther to the right, the spear would have pierced my chest and my time on earth would have been brought to an immediate end.
I lay there listening to the sound of my pounding heart, glad it was still beating. Glad that when my brothers found me, after coming the long way around to where I lay in the old graveyard, it would be a happy tagging. As I waited, I remembered my father’s words at family home evening two weeks before. He had said that we should prayerfully consider our actions before they become acts. That we should let the Spirit, instead of blind impulse, be the guiding force in our day-to-day living. My father always said that it’s in our hearts and minds that God speaks to us.
In the quiet of the thicket that day, I promised Heavenly Father that from then on I would try to live as my father had counseled. As I gazed up and again caught sight of that buzzard high above me, I was glad that it was circling something else and not me!

One day, after my husband, three daughters, and I had moved across the country and away from our large, extended family, we received in the mail a photograph of my husband’s brother. All three girls had known him well, so I was amazed to find that my three-year-old daughter did not recognize him. We had been away for only six months! This incident convinced me that we needed to spend time talking with our children about our family members if we wanted them to grow up feeling that they knew and belonged to an extended family unit. My husband and I decided to use some of our family home evenings to accomplish this goal.
We began with my husband’s grandmother, who was about to celebrate her eighty-first birthday. Following our home evening lesson the week before her birthday, we told the children that someone very special to us was about to have a birthday and that we were going to help her celebrate it. We began by showing several photos of Grandma while helping them remember some of the things they had enjoyed doing with her in the past. Next, my husband related some of his memories of her and of the experiences he had enjoyed as a boy on her farm.
We then got out the colored paper, crayons, and glue, and each girl made a birthday card for her great-grandmother. My husband wrote a letter telling Grandma of his love and appreciation for her. We mailed the greetings the next day.
The girls enjoyed this activity, but more important, they learned more about their great-grandmother. They learned that even though she is far away, she loves us. They learned that it is fun to do something nice for someone else.
We all learned that it is important to set aside time to build family relationships, and long-distance birthday parties have become a tradition in our home.

When knights wore shining armor and fair damsels waved from castle walls, there lived in the tiny village of Bristol a boy named Darby. His mother tatted lace and his father carved spoons and bowls. Then he went about the countryside selling their wares. To help out, Darby also ran errands from sunrise to sunset.
Other boys grumbled and growled as they cleaned stables or fetched wood, but Darby did not complain. His pay might be a piece of fruit or a crust of bread—but no matter—he took it home and placed it on the table to be shared. His mother would hug him, and his father would smile proudly.
At night, the small family sat before the hearth and sang until sleep called them to their cots. Darby was a plain boy who did nothing great or famous, but he had a kind heart. And a kind heart, as everyone knows, is well worth having. Except sometimes people do not understand, and that is how it was with Darby.
One sunny day as he ran an errand, two knaves were raking outside a stable. As Darby approached, one poked the other in the ribs and murmured, “Watch!” Without a second thought, the cruel knave tripped Darby as he passed. The boys pointed and jeered as Darby sprawled in the dust-covered straw.
Darby’s anger began to rise. But he thought, it is better to see them laughing rather than scowling as they usually do. So he shrugged and brushed the dust from his clothes.
“Oh, look!” cried the other knave. “Darby’s stockings don’t match! One is purple and the other yellow. Darby should be in a circus!”
Darby blushed, for it was true. His only concern was that his feet and legs were covered, whatever the color.
As the day wore on, Darby stood outside the cobbler’s, waiting to run an errand. On the sill a window box of dainty flowers bloomed. He stood on tiptoe to smell their fragrance. As he did, a bucket of water was carelessly thrown from the window above and Darby stood dripping wet. A small crowd gathered to laugh as Darby pressed the water from his shirt and trousers.
“Oh, Darby!” Molly, the flower girl said with a frown. “You are a sight!”
The crowd moved on while Darby sat down to empty the water from his shoes.
“Don’t you care that everyone laughs at you, Darby?” Molly scolded.
Darby shrugged good-naturedly. “I like to see them happy.”
“There’s no use talking to you! Box a few ears!” Molly scolded. “That’ll stop their laughing.”
Darby looked up and smiled. “I am a sight, Molly, and it’s enough to make me laugh too!”
Molly shook her head and left Darby to himself.
The following day a proclamation was posted, and all the villagers gathered to read it. Darby strained his neck with the rest. “What does it say?” he asked.
“The duke is coming for the tournament at the end of the summer.” Thomas the butcher read. “And not only will he judge the jousts, he will also judge the beauty of our village.”
Darby made his way through the crowd and sat down on the green. What can I do to make the village more beautiful? he wondered.
Suddenly he leaped to his feet and ran off to find Molly. “Molly!” he shouted, as he ran to catch up with her. “Have you some flower seeds I can have?”
“I have a lot of seeds in these withered flowers, Darby, if you’d care to pick them out.” Molly smiled and handed him the wilted blooms. “I guess you’ve heard of the judging, but where will you plant the seeds? You’ve no plot of ground.”
“Aye, Molly, I’ve no plot to call my own, but the roadway belongs to everyone. Surely no one will care if I plant flowers there.”
“You’ve gone daft, Darby! The horses and carts will trample them into the dust, and the whole village will have another good laugh at your folly!”
“Better that than have them frown, Molly!” Darby shouted as he ran toward the open road.
Time passed and the village bustled with activity. New straw was laid upon the floors, and pennants were hung from the gables. Water was carefully drained into troughs, yards were tidied, and flowers waved from every window and garden.
Meanwhile Darby planted his seeds, and each day he went to tend them. He watered and weeded, and if a plant were trampled, he planted another in its place. Then when his flowers began to bloom, the knaves came to poke fun at Darby’s efforts. “The duke is going to judge the village, not the open road, Darby!” one of them shouted.
“We’ll pick them to decorate the lists,” another knave laughed and reached for a handful.
“Please don’t!” Darby cried. Then as the rascal knelt to pick the flowers, a tall shadow fell over him. With fearful eyes, the boy looked up. Gleaming in the sunlight, a knight in armor sat upon his horse. In his hand a long shiny lance pointed its sharp “finger” toward the sky. The boys trembled as he spoke.
“Who plants flowers here?” the knight asked.
“Not us! We would not be so foolish!” the boys exclaimed and pointed at Darby. “He planted them! He’s known for his witless behavior.”
“Then why are you knaves here?”
“To teach him a lesson,” one of them replied quickly.
“What lesson would you have him learn?” questioned the knight. “Kindness and compassion? Good cheer and hope?”
“No,” the knaves shook their heads. “We would teach him that no one plants flowers along the open road where they will be trampled.”
“They are not trampled,” the knight challenged, pointing to the nodding blooms.
“But … but, it’s just not done!” the knaves stammered.
The knight nodded. “But he has done it … hasn’t he? I have been sent to judge the beauty of the village, but I need look no further. This display before us is the most beautiful.”
“But you must see the village!” the knaves bleated. “These common flowers cannot compare with what grows there.”
“A whole garden of flowers could not compare with blooms planted in faith—planted where nothing grew before. What dreary spot have you knaves brightened?” the knight asked sharply.
The knaves hung their heads, but Darby looked up in surprise. He had not thought of it like that before. Yet, below the linden trees that lined the open road, flowers now waved in the bright sunlight, splashing the way with color.
There was no prize for Darby’s efforts, but when the tournaments were over and all the nobles were returning to their manors, the knight came to see Darby. “Darby of Bristol,” the knight said. “You are a fine, cheerful lad, but unappreciated here. You must come to court and join the jesters.”
“Are there many?” Darby asked.
“Oh, yes indeed,” the knight replied, nodding his head. “But you would be right at home among them.”
“Then your court has enough laughter already. I am not needed there, but here where my home is,” Darby declared with a smile. “And it would pain me to leave the ones I love.”
The knight understood. He saluted Darby then turned and left.
Darby stayed in Bristol. He planted more flowers and watered them. And the seeds of the flowers blew in the wind until the countryside all about was covered with blooms. Darby continued to run errands, and the villagers continued to laugh, but Darby took no offense. He knew that just as his thirsty flowers needed water, his village needed laughter, and in that way Darby felt very much appreciated.

Another elder entered the mission just after I arrived in San Antonio. He came from a large family. The father found that he needed to pick up a part-time job to help support his son. This was not quite enough, and so the sweet mother went to work in the school lunch program so that she could be home when her children were home. Even with this additional money, the elder fell a little further behind each month. A choice friend occasionally gives me several $100 bills to share where they are needed. When I interviewed this elder, I asked him how he was doing financially. His eyes clouded up, and he said was really trying, but his folks weren’t sending him quite enough. He said, “President, I haven’t been wasting. I haven’t eaten anything for three days, trying to cut back.” Then he said, “Even my little sister is helping. She received a one-dollar bill for her birthday, and she put it in an envelope and sent it to me because she thought I needed it more than she did.” Then he wept openly. I reached into my shirt pocket, and extracted two crisp $100 bills, and said, “A choice friend of mine asked me to give these to you.” He put his head down in his hands and was overcome.