Gospel Story Finder

You should also give everyone an opportunity to participate. Someone came to me once and said that he thought it inadvisable to use a certain girl in a dance festival because she was overweight, homely, and lacked coordination. But that girl was one of the most enthusiastic young girls in the show, and she desperately needed to participate in the festival. Needless to say, we left her in. After the festival she came up to talk to me. With tears in her eyes she said, “I just wanted to thank you and let you know how special it was for me to be in that dance festival. It has been the greatest experience in my whole life.” Enough said.

On the long journey by sea from India to England, Elizabeth’s infant daughter became seriously ill. She died and was buried in Liverpool. Elizabeth later said that losing her baby was so painful that she didn’t know if she could continue. Heartbroken and alone, but encouraged by Elder Franklin D. Richards of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who was serving as president of the European Mission, Elizabeth sailed for Boston, Massachusetts, USA.

After crossing an ocean, Elizabeth found herself in a completely new culture. She traveled by train to Iowa, USA, the end of the westbound railway at the time. Arriving in July 1856, Elizabeth joined the Willie handcart company.

Ever Onward, by Joseph Brickey
The suffering of the Willie and Martin handcart companies is well chronicled. The companies left late in the season and got caught in an early winter in the Rocky Mountains. Freezing and low on food, more than 200 died.
Among the rescue party sent by President Brigham Young was Elizabeth’s husband, William. The couple was reunited in deep snow and freezing wind.
After recovering in Salt Lake City, the couple ended their journey in Cedar City, only a few miles from where Rosalene’s began.

The young couple’s courtship was interrupted when Elder Benson was called to the British Isles Mission. When he returned, he lost no time in proposing.
But Flora had a timetable of her own, and “Not yet” was her answer. She felt this young man needed a good education to be prepared for the great future ahead of him. Besides, she had received her own call to the Hawaiian Mission. She served twenty months, part of the time teaching in the Church schools; for the last eight months, her mother was her missionary companion.
One of young Sister Amussen’s mission duties was working part-time in the Hawaiian Temple. One night, as she was getting ready to leave, she discovered everyone else was gone. Her walk to the mission home was through a dense forest and by a camp where some dangerous incidents had occurred. She feared for her safety.
Before leaving the temple, Flora prayed for the Lord’s protection. As she stepped outside, a circle of light appeared and surrounded her. That radiance shone around and ahead of her as she walked through the forest, past the camp, and to the steps of the mission home, disappearing as she slipped safely inside. She has since felt encircled with security and guidance many times as she has trusted in the Lord, though never as literally as that night in a land far from home.
Returning from her mission, Flora prepared to marry Ezra Taft Benson, who by then had graduated from Brigham Young University. On 10 September 1926, Flora Amussen left a handsome monthly allowance to begin married life on a meager subsistence with her beloved T.
“I had inherited from my father quite a portion of worldly goods in stocks and dividends,” Sister Benson explains. “I turned all of this over to my widowed mother at the time of my marriage. I chose to marry a man who was rich spiritually, not materially. I preferred that whatever positions of honor or material things would come to us we would achieve together, starting at the bottom.”
Hours after the ceremony, the newlyweds left Salt Lake City to take a seventy-dollar-a-month postgraduate scholarship at Iowa State College at Ames, Iowa. They traveled east in a used Ford Model T pickup truck that contained all their earthly possessions, camping along the way in a leaky tent.
While her husband worked on his Master of Science degree, Sister Benson took courses in home economics. The couple learned new ways to make their money stretch through the month, always taking out seven dollars first to pay the Lord his tenth. “The lessons I learned were priceless,” Sister Benson recalls. “Money could not buy them. We lived on the Lord’s help and the love that bound us together.”
A few weeks after their marriage, “T” felt they needed some recreation and suggested a tennis game. “I tell you, I never was beaten so badly in my life at anything,” President Benson laughs. “I said, ‘Where did you learn to play like that?’ Flora replied, ‘Oh, I won the women’s singles championship at Utah State Agricultural College.’ I hadn’t known that.”
After Brother Benson’s graduation, the Bensons moved to a farm in Whitney, Idaho. “We had a heavy debt on the farm,” President Benson remembers. “It took hard work, budgeting, and planning to meet our obligations. Sometimes we would just get a cow paid for, and then we would have to sell it to pay the doctor for the arrival of a precious baby.”
But the Lord did not leave the young family on the farm for long. Brother Benson’s interests soon took him to Preston, then Boise, Idaho; then to California, for additional schooling; and eventually to Washington, D.C. It was his call to the Council of the Twelve in 1943 that brought them back to Salt Lake City.
Just two years later, at the close of World War II, Elder Benson was called by President George Albert Smith to go to Europe to reorganize the Church there and to distribute badly needed food, clothing, and medical supplies. President Smith lived near the Benson family and promised to watch over Sister Benson and the children while Elder Benson was away.
Although her health was severely tested during the ten months he was gone, Sister Benson’s steadfastness never wavered. Three months after Elder Benson left, their nineteen-month-old daughter, Beth, became seriously ill with pneumonia. Sister Benson’s constant faith and tireless nursing, accompanied by priesthood blessings, restored Beth to health.
Another chapter in the Bensons’ life began a few years later when Elder Benson, with the encouragement of President David O. McKay, accepted an appointment as United States Secretary of Agriculture under President Eisenhower. Sister Benson cheerfully moved her family to the nation’s capital, focusing her time and energies on her family and shunning much of the Washington social scene.
But on one occasion, as a missionary effort, Sister Benson decided to give a luncheon for Mrs. Eisenhower and the other wives of the president’s advisers. As was common practice in the Benson household, no outside help was hired for the affair. She and her four daughters spent weeks carefully planning a menu, cleaning their home, preparing entertainment, and reviewing etiquette and protocol.
If Sister Benson worried that her guests would miss the coffee, cigarettes, and card playing which normally were part of such affairs, she needn’t have. The cocktails made from ginger ale and home-bottled apricot juice were a great success, as was the entertainment—a choir from Brigham Young University that was touring the east coast.
“The most exciting part was the beautiful letters we received afterward from the women, telling us what a thrill it was to experience a touch of ‘Mormonism’ and what wonderful youth the singers were,” Sister Benson remembers.
Those Washington years, fraught with controversy and criticism over agricultural policy made Secretary Benson the target for more organized and sustained criticism than anyone else in high government office. Yet he was known for his peaceful manner and ability to stay cool under pressure.
What was his secret? American Magazine identified it as his home and family life, and more specifically Sister Benson. “[Secretary Benson] has gathered from both his religion and his close family life a strength and serenity that’s … unique in public life. … Flora is considered to be the pivot on which the family moves. Friends of the family agree that she acts as a leavening influence on her husband.” (American Magazine, June 1954, pp. 109–10.)
Her husband, children, and Church have been the principal focal points of Sister Benson’s life. Her husband has been absent from home at least half of their married life, leaving much of the family responsibility on her willing shoulders. She often declined invitations, even one from the President of the United States, when she felt she was needed at home.
“I would be willing to live in a log cabin if I could have my family and the gospel,” Sister Benson claims, then adds with a semi-serious wink, “Well, if the cabin is clean and I can have curtains at the windows.”
The Bensons’ family includes son Reed, his wife, May, and their nine children of Provo, Utah; son Mark, his wife, Lela, and their six children of Salt Lake City; daughter Barbara, her husband, Robert Walker, and their five children of Calgary, Alberta, Canada; daughter Beverly, her husband, James Parker, and their four children of Burke, Virginia; daughter Bonnie her husband, Lowell Madsen, and their six children of Littleton, Colorado; and daughter Beth, her husband, David Burton, and their four children of Salt Lake City. In addition, they have twenty great-grandchildren.
“I wanted a dozen children, but had to settle for a choice half dozen,” Sister Benson, says, adding, “If we just would have had twins every time, we would have made it.”
In her patriarchal blessing, given when Flora was only eighteen months old, she was promised that men would not be able to deceive her. That promise has been fulfilled in her discernment and unerring judgment. On meeting a person for the first time, she often relates her impressions to her husband, only to have those feelings shown to be correct at a later time.
“Mother has the ability to hear the whisperings of the Spirit,” agrees Reed. “Whenever she says, ‘I feel you should do such and such,’ I listen to her, because so many times she has been right. I have often walked into a room to find her on her knees, praying. I know that when she prays for you, you have a direct line of help.”
The Bensons enjoy one another’s company now more than ever, still going on frequent drives in the mountains, eating ice cream at a favorite spot, and singing and dancing together. Each day Sister Benson reads the Book of Mormon aloud to her husband, after which they discuss what they have read.
Both agree that one of the greatest strengths of their marriage is the absolute love and trust each has in the other. “I have never, never had any question about Flora’s loyalty,” President Benson stresses. Each is still happiest when they are together.
After singing “There’s a Long, Long Trail Winding” and “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” at a recent family gathering, President Benson smiled at his wife of sixty years, declaring, “You’d think we were still in love … and we are.”

When she told me that they needed volunteers, I knew I could help by using social media to get the message out to as many Church members as fast as possible.

I contacted some of the bishops and Relief Society presidents of the Chorley England Stake and by Monday morning they were headed to various designated distribution hubs for the Holiday Hunger East Lancashire initiative.

These wonderful friends and members of the Church showed up on multiple occasions, willing to serve with no questions asked, to collect bags full of meals that had been prepared by established local food businesses.

It was inspiring to see willing volunteers, from the Church and community, queuing out of the doors. Some would pick up the lunches, go to more than ten addresses, and then come back asking if they could do more.

Some volunteers even helped in the kitchen preparing those meals. As the professionals worked tirelessly cooking endless amounts of pasta, sausages, sauces, vegetables and so much more, the volunteers got it all packed in individual takeaway tubs; one meal for each child for each day of the half-term week.

On more than one occasion, I was able to help with giving drop-off location details to the deliverers, and sometimes deliver lunches myself.

The stories we heard of grateful mothers, fathers, and children kept us all motivated when things got hectic, when we became weary with the load, and felt we couldn’t get the food out on time.

What brought us all together was an unfortunate turn of events, but it united us in our determination to feed the 3,000 signed-up children who would otherwise have gone hungry that week. I’ve never been a part of an event on such a large scale. It was overwhelming at times. Some days I would be up and out the door by 7:30 am and not return until 8 pm. As a stay-at-home mum, it was quite a change of pace! But I know that the Lord required my help for that one week. He guided me to bump into the friend that got me involved. By no means can I take any of the credit, but I know that I was a tool in the Lord’s hands. It was my purpose to help gather those volunteers so that essential work could get done—to feed His children.

Alana, 15, sat with her mother, Rachel, scanning a list of goals Alana could work on when Alana’s dad, Jeff, walked by. “Which of these should I do, Dad?” Alana asked.

Jeff looked at his watch, grimacing a little, and glanced at the list. “Um, this one looks easy. How about ‘Memorize a hymn’? You can get that one checked off fast. What else looks easy?”

Jeff paused. Something didn’t feel right, so he took the time to think about what it was.

I’m late, he thought. I just want to get this over with. I’m not very good at this parenting stuff. Hmmm. He looked at his daughter and then realized he felt other feelings too. Hope. Delight. This was not just about checking things off. This was about her growth. And this was a chance to connect with her. A smile spread across his face.

“Let’s stop and think about this,” he said. “What if we each write down what we have felt prompted to work on lately?”

“Um, OK,” said Alana. Rachel found pencils and paper, and they spent a few minutes thinking and writing.

“OK,” said Rachel. “Now what?”

Alana remembered, “I think we’re supposed to pray about it and then choose a goal and make a plan. But Dad, do you really think Heavenly Father cares about what goal I choose?”

Jeff reflected. “You have lots of good ideas, so maybe Heavenly Father just wants you to choose one to start with. But I am absolutely sure of one thing. Heavenly Father cares about you.”

“I know you want to use your gifts to make a difference,” added Rachel, “so if one of these is more important, I’m sure Heavenly Father will help you feel that.”

Alana smiled, then remembered, “President Nelson asked the youth to do a thorough assessment of our lives. Can I go get what I wrote?”

“Sure!” said Jeff, smiling. He looked at his watch again. “Oops, I’ve got to run. Find what you wrote and let’s talk at dinner, OK? I have some questions that might help.”

“Great!” said Alana, smiling. “And, Dad? Mom? Thanks.”

I’m bored! Let’s do something!
I’m already doing something. I’m looking at family photos.
But I want to have a party!
How about doing both? We could have a family history party!
It sounds boring.
Let’s go! It’ll be fun.
Should we make some popcorn?
Welcome to the family history party! Our first game is family tree trivia.
Where was Grandma Jensen born?
Now it’s time for the great index race! The team that indexes the most names wins.
Look! That person has the same name as me.
Now we’ve saved the best for last. Family history story time!
When my dad was little, his family lived on a ranch …
Later that night …
That was the best party ever. Let’s do it again tomorrow!

One unique thing about this seminary class has been how much the students enjoy being together. It seems every weekday morning isn’t enough. They now get together every Saturday night, too.
It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. Brett said, “We can get a group of people and go out and have some fun. We decided to take the whole class, make it a seminary thing. After that, every Saturday night, we’ve been doing it. It’s good fun.”
What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games (the Crowthers taught them to play capture-the-flag) or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk. It’s very fun. When I was in Primary, I never used to mix. I’d stay to myself. When I was in school, I never talked to anybody. But my confidence has grown to talk to people more since I started hanging around with the group.”
For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has helped her be comfortable in her decision to stay strong in the Church. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work because they go out every weekend. Sometimes, I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but it was just being there. It just didn’t feel good. It wears out your spirit eventually. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. When I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. And that’s accepted.”
And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “Usually my friends go out on Saturday night. Their standards are completely different from mine. I prefer and feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”
Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary has brought us closer, and we’re better friends. Definitely. Saturday evenings we have activities. It’s not planned by any adults. It’s all arranged by us. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. Most nights the kids at school would go out and get drunk and break the Word of Wisdom. I wouldn’t even consider that as a choice.”

The most effective missionaries, member and full-time, always act out of love. I learned this lesson as a young man. I was assigned to visit a less-active member, a successful professional many years older than I. Looking back on my actions, I realize that I had very little loving concern for the man I visited. I acted out of duty, with a desire to report 100 percent on my home teaching. One evening, close to the end of a month, I phoned to ask if my companion and I could come right over and visit him. His chastening reply taught me an unforgettable lesson.

“No, I don’t believe I want you to come over this evening,” he said. “I’m tired. I’ve already dressed for bed. I am reading, and I am just not willing to be interrupted so that you can report 100 percent on your home teaching this month.” That reply still stings me because I knew he had sensed my selfish motivation.

I hope no person we approach with an invitation to hear the message of the restored gospel feels that we are acting out of any reason other than a genuine love for them and an unselfish desire to share something we know to be precious.

If we lack this love for others, we should pray for it. The prophet Mormon’s writings about “the pure love of Christ” teach us to “pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ” (Moro. 7:47–48).

My son, Chris, was in his senior year in high school and was enjoying a fourth year in the choir. He had worked hard, and his voice was very good, yet he had never tried out for the annual high school talent show before. This was the year he decided to try.
Chris said that he had decided to sing “How Great Thou Art.” I knew it was a song very close to his heart. I asked him why he would sing such a spiritual song in that setting. He said that he and his sisters had taken a lot of flack about believing in Jesus Christ. Many people at school and in the choir had accused them of not being real Christians. He felt strongly that this song would help settle the question once and for all that he did believe in and love the Savior.
I was scared for him and said I would support him in whatever he did. After successfully auditioning, Chris was notified that he was to be the last performer out of 18 acts.
On the night of the performance, the crowd went wild over the more extreme acts. Then there came a girl singing a country song. She had a lovely voice, but because the crowd would not calm down, she couldn’t hear her music and got off the beat. The crowd kept whistling and yelling, basically driving her off the stage.
At intermission Chris left the performers’ waiting area and made his way to us at the back of the gym. I wanted to be encouraging, but I also wanted to take him home. He calmly said, “I saw what the crowd did, and went off by myself backstage and prayed. I still feel like I should sing that song. It doesn’t matter whether they like it or not. I will have given my testimony of Christ, and that is why I came.”
I still felt afraid for him. Even though the director of the program had spoken to the crowd about their behavior, there was still a lot of noise. Two acts before Chris was a very popular rap group. They got the crowd going at such a high level we just sat in the middle of the noise and watched. After this group left the stage, about half the kids in the gym got up and left as if the show were over.
The act just before Chris was a blind girl and her friend playing a guitar duet. It changed the feeling and spirit in the gym. It was beautiful and sweet. As Chris moved onto the stage, we all prayed that he would do his best and that somehow it would be a positive experience. As his mother, I felt that I had let my son walk into the lion’s den and only the Lord could save him.
Chris’s music teacher had given him a mouth harp. That was the first sound we heard. Then his voice, sweet and clear, came across the gym to us. I could feel the feelings of love he had for the Savior as he sang all three verses. When he finished, half of the crowd gave him a standing ovation.
We waited around to hear the judges’ results. Chris had told us they usually voted for the group that was most popular with the crowd. Still, we decided to wait and see how things went. Then the judges announced the first-place winner as Christopher Tucker. We were all yelling, jumping up and down, and hugging each other.
What a night! We felt that winning was nice, but the most important thing was seeing the faith that our son had put into action.
Editor’s Note: Christopher is now serving a mission in the North Carolina Charlotte Mission.

In 1975 Robert was in a board meeting when his secretary handed him a note saying that President Marion G. Romney was on the phone. Since it was very unusual for anyone to leave a board meeting, everyone was surprised when Robert left to take the phone call. At that time, President Romney asked Robert to serve as a mission president. Later the assignment came to preside over the England London Mission. Shortly afterwards, Robert got another call from Salt Lake City—this time from President Spencer W. Kimball. He asked Robert if he would mind going to a different mission.
Robert replied, “I don’t mind. Send me wherever you want to send me, President.”
Then President Kimball asked, “Do you mind if we ask you to serve longer than three years?”
Robert said, “Okay.”
President Kimball then extended a lifelong call to him to serve as a General Authority.
“President Kimball told me he knew I was disappointed because I wanted to go out as a mission president,” says Elder Hales, “but he said, ‘Don’t worry about it; you will have many missions.’”

For many who live in central Idaho, USA, burning firewood to heat their homes is a necessity. Woodstock, a community event that takes place there each July, helps those in need. It has also built bridges of understanding and fellowship between the different congregations, the Forest Service, and smokejumpers (firefighters who parachute into wildfire areas) stationed in the area. The event helps people serve together to meet a common goal: providing wood for those who cannot do it for themselves.
Naomi P., 18, said, “There’s a certain spirit behind doing Woodstock. Where we live, wood is such a valuable resource, and seeing the reaction on everyone’s face as we show up with freshly split wood makes all of the hard work worth it. Woodstock makes me so much more aware of the people in my community and the world outside of myself. It helps me see opportunities to serve.”
Ryan H., 18, said that participating in Woodstock has helped others in the area know more about the Church as they work together. “It’s cool seeing so many peers from the community, both recipients and non-recipients, come out to help. An entire pit is filled with wood, and it’s almost miraculous seeing the huge trees chipped into usable blocks of wood. We do 100-plus cords in one day. A cord is 8 feet by 4 feet by 4 feet; we cut and deliver all those in one day.”
“The feeling of serving the needy was overpowering,” said Jessica J., 12. “When delivering the wood, we experienced a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. Many of those we visited began to cry.”
Seth J., 13, also said, “This year when we were delivering some wood, we came to a house with a widow who tries to cut her own wood but was unable to do it. We threw some wood into a woodshed but then started to stack wood alongside her house. When we finished, she had tears in her eyes and couldn’t thank us enough. She also pitched in some s’mores, but besides this treat, we received something greater: we all learned that a simple act of service can go a really long way.”
Benjamin M., 14, admitted that at first he wasn’t excited about spending a summer day splitting and delivering wood but was humbled by the experience. “Many people who were going through hard times themselves participated in the project,” he said. “This actually showed me how to serve; it was an example of seeing people putting others’ needs before theirs, which is the second great commandment according to Jesus Christ” (see Matthew 22:39).
The spirit of service is alive and well in this rugged mountain community as they look forward to the opportunity to work together, serve, and increase faith and goodwill in their area.
Becky J., Idaho, USA

I’ll never forget the lesson I learned a few years ago. It was a lesson of how to show, not just teach, the gospel message. At the time, I was serving in the Sweden Stockholm Mission in a town not far from Stockholm.
One rainy day, while my companion and I were riding the bus home for lunch, we met a young lady who had been an exchange student in the United States. She told us that her name was Anna and that she was attending the university in town. We asked her about her beliefs and found that she was very active in another church. She said that she would never change but accepted our invitation to hear more about our beliefs.
During the weeks that followed, we taught her several discussions and had some wonderful spiritual experiences. She read from the Book of Mormon and prayed for answers to her questions. She felt that it was right, but because of her previous religious ties, she had a hard time accepting the challenge to be baptized.
That Thanksgiving we had planned a small “feast” for our investigators and some member friends. As the word spread, our small feast became a large gathering. Of course Anna was invited, along with others that my companion and I had grown very close to.
Before the blessing on the food, I took the time to explain the significance of Thanksgiving and why we celebrate it. I also explained to the guests just how much my companion and I loved and appreciated each one of them. I thanked them for the kindness they had always shown us.
The rest of the night went rather well. There were musical numbers by members and nonmembers alike and many other fun activities. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, however. It had taken much more of our time than I had expected, and I wondered if the time could have been better spent.
Later that next week, I received a notice of transfer, but before I left, Anna wrote a short letter and gave it to me. I have translated a portion of that letter:
“I also want to thank you for letting me come to your Thanksgiving party. It was quite an experience for me in two ways—partly because I got to eat American food and partly because I got to see the warmth that exists between you and your friends. It will be of great importance for me in my decisions concerning your teachings.”

I was baptized into the Church as a teenager but stopped attending not long afterward. Three years in the army did nothing to restore my spiritual health. Yet soon after I was discharged, the gentle but insistent urging of the Spirit of the Lord directed me to return to activity in my home ward. I dutifully obeyed.
Although I was rough around the edges, the elders quorum welcomed me without question and put me to work as a home teaching companion to Burniss Skinner, second counselor in the bishopric. Under Brother Skinner’s loving tutelage, I felt my testimony begin to take root.
Some of our assigned families struggled with tight finances, young children, chronic illness, loneliness, and Church activity. Others exemplified the peace of gospel living. Among these families, Hazel and John Peterson were particularly special. Their son Mike had been a high school friend and one of the young men most instrumental in my conversion. As a young investigator, I had taken the missionary discussions in their home; now I was returning as their home teacher.
In each home we visited, Brother Skinner pleasantly and patiently ministered from the abundance of his heart. His words and gestures of comfort, blessing, care, and counsel have remained in my heart as lessons of the Savior’s love. Home teaching with Brother Skinner was not a burden but the greatest privilege and honor.
Within a year I had advanced in the priesthood, was sealed in the temple to my dear wife, and moved away from Brother Skinner and our home teaching families. After finishing college and law school, I spent 20 years in the military, moving my family to live in four countries on three continents. But I never forgot Brother Skinner, and while serving in various wards and branches, I tried to emulate his compassion and commitment.

President Checketts alluded to some of the blessings we can receive from having faith in the Lord Jesus Christ in a Stake Conference that I attended several months ago when he talked about the refining and the resulting development of our testimonies. His talk reminded me of an analogy I had once heard about a group of women who were involved in a Bible study on the book of Malachi. As they were studying chapter three, they came across verse three which says: “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.” This verse puzzled the women and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God. One of the women offered to find out about the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible study. That week this woman called up a sliver smith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn’t mention anything about the reason for her interest in silver beyond her curiosity about the process of refining silver. As she watched the silver smith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest to burn away all of the impurities. The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot-spot, then she thought again about the verse, that he sits as a refiner and purifier of silver. She asked the silver smith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined. The answer was “yes, he not only had to sit there holding the sliver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left even a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.” The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silver smith, how do you know when the silver is fully refined? He smiled at her and answered, “Oh, that’s easy, when I see my image in it.”

Sunshine highlighted the autumn leaves as Lottie and her collie, King, picked their way down the rocky path to the springhouse to fetch a crock of butter. She held up her long skirt that she wore to school so as not to dirty it. Despite Mama’s lecture, however, she had discarded the stiff high-button shoes in the weeds. The cool grass chilled the bottoms of her calloused feet. She hadn’t worn shoes all summer (except to church because Mama insisted), and she hated to start now. Mama said that a ten-year-old girl should act like a lady, but Lottie didn’t feel like a lady as she ducked under a low limb of an apple tree.
As she opened the wide, heavy door of the springhouse, she felt a chill sweep past her, and she was grateful for King’s companionship. Although Lottie had three older sisters, they stayed at the house to help Mama with the three younger girls and her little brother.
It was damp and dark in the springhouse. The icy springwater flowed briskly through the long troughs where they kept their perishable foods. Maybe I’d better get one more crock, thought Lottie. It takes a lot of butter for hot cakes for all of us. Just then Lottie lost her footing on the slippery floor. As she grabbed a shelf to break her fall, the fancy butter crock that she had just chosen slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a sickening crash! Pieces of blue pottery scattered in all directions!
Tears welled up in Lottie’s eyes as she remembered Papa’s words of caution: “These are hard times and we cannot afford any waste.”
Fearful of being late for school and of getting a tongue-lashing from Mama, while King licked up the splattered butter, she stuffed as many pieces as she could find into her apron pocket, grabbed another crock of butter, and hurried toward the house.
Lottie quickly pushed the pieces of broken crockery into a crevice in the old stone fence at the edge of the field and ran back to the house. As she neared it, the smell of bacon floated out with the chimney smoke to meet her.
“What kept you, Charlotte?” asked Papa as Lottie appeared in the doorway.
“I guess I’m a little slow this morning, Papa,” Lottie answered, trying hard to smile. She felt Papa’s sideway glance every so often during breakfast. It was a questioning expression that Papa always wore when he knew that there was something that he should know but didn’t.
“Anything special going on at school today?” he asked.
“No, not much,” Lottie answered, trying to be cheerful.
“I have a busy day ahead of me,” he said. “I need to mend some fences to get ready for the new herd.”
Lottie nearly choked on a bite of bacon. What if Papa checks that particular fence? she wondered. It wouldn’t have been such a big thing to Mama had it not been her favorite crock, nor to Papa had it been empty, nor to herself if careful inventory would not be taken, but she knew that an accounting must come.
It came sooner than Lottie had anticipated, for Papa was waiting outside the barn as the girls came home from school. “Come into the barn, girls. We need to talk.”
The four girls looked at each other, recognizing the concern in Papa’s voice.
“I happened onto these pieces of Mama’s best crock today while I was mending the stone fence,” he said, displaying the broken pieces. “Who can tell me how they got there?”
A big lump jumped into Lottie’s throat. She hung her head. The older girls looked at each other and then back at Papa.
“How about you, Charlotte?” Papa’s voice, although even and mild-tempered, thundered in Lottie’s ears.
“I don’t know, Papa.” It was a lie, and she knew it—and she knew that Papa knew it. But somehow, down deep, she secretly hoped that he didn’t.
“I suppose that the wind broke it and scattered the pieces into the fence,” Papa said, looking hard into each girl’s eyes. Finally he sighed and said, “All right, get to your chores.”
Lottie’s mind wasn’t on her work. It was on her last Primary lesson. “The best remedy for a guilty conscience,” Sister Thompson had said, “is to repent and admit what you’ve done wrong.” Gathering her courage, Lottie walked slowly back to the barn.
Papa looked up, pitchfork in hand. “You want to tell me something, Charlotte?” After a long, awkward silence, he prodded gently, “It was you, wasn’t it, Lottie?”
“Yes, Papa. I suppose that I have to tell Mama too.”
“It’s up to you. You’ve always been taught to do what’s right. Listen to your conscience; then decide.”
As Lottie dragged into the house, Mama was fixing supper. The tears Lottie hated were back again.
“Oh, Mama,” Lottie sobbed, “I broke it.”
“Broke what?” asked Mama, giving her a hug.
“Your best crock—and King ate it!” Lottie clung to Mama and cried even harder.
“He ate the crock?” Mama smiled and wiped Lottie’s tears.
“No, the butter,” Lottie explained, still sniffing. “Mama, I’m so sorry.”
“Well, I’m glad that you were honest and told me.”
“I just had to tell you and Papa, Mama. I felt so bad.”
“That’s a thing called conscience,” said Mama.
“I guess I just found out that I have one,” Lottie said, finally able to smile.

Some years ago I had the opportunity to address a business convention in Dallas, Texas, sometimes called “the city of churches.” After the convention, I took a sightseeing bus ride about the city’s suburbs. Our driver would comment, “On the left you see the Methodist church,” or “There on the right is the Catholic cathedral.”
As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady from the rear of the bus asked, “Driver, can you tell us something more about the Mormons?” The driver steered the bus to the side of the road, turned about in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything about the Mormons?”
I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. I found nothing—not a sign. Then I realized the truth of the statement, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.” For the next fifteen minutes I had the privilege of sharing with others my testimony concerning The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I was once moved by a Christlike example of everyday ministering when I was shopping in a big grocery store. I came across a lady who was trying to lift heavy cases of water into her cart.

A man nearby quickly noticed that she was struggling and came over to help. When they got the cases loaded, he even asked if she needed any more help from him.

As I noticed this beautiful act, this stranger looked over at me and greeted me kindly with a smile. His expression seemed to say that he was willing to help me as well if I needed it.

His example reminded me of the Savior.

The Savior always ministered without hesitation when He saw a need. He often served and offered His aid without question—only love. Seeing the example of this man has stuck with me and inspired me to look for everyday opportunities to minster in my own life. And I now see that those opportunities are everywhere.

The afternoon my mother died, we went to the family home from the hospital. We sat quietly in the darkened living room for a while. Dad excused himself and went to his bedroom. He was gone for a few minutes. When he walked back into the living room, there was a smile on his face. He said that he’d been concerned for Mother. During the time he had gathered her things from her hospital room and thanked the staff for being so kind to her, he thought of her going into the spirit world just minutes after her death. He was afraid she would be lonely if there was no one to meet her.
He had gone to his bedroom to ask his Heavenly Father to have someone greet Mildred, his wife and my mother. He said that he had been told in answer to his prayer that his mother had met his sweetheart. I smiled at that too. Grandma Eyring was not very tall. I had a clear picture of her rushing through the crowd, her short legs moving rapidly on her mission to meet my mother.
Dad surely didn’t intend at that moment to teach me about prayer, but he did. I can’t remember a sermon from my mother or my father about prayer. They prayed when times were hard and when they were good. And they reported in matter-of-fact ways how kind God was, how powerful, and how close. The prayers I heard most were about what it would take for us to be together forever. When I saw in my mind my grandmother rushing to my mother, I felt joy for them and a longing to bring my sweetheart and our children to such a reunion.

Teddy pounded up the stairs and right past Cecil. “What’s up?” yelled Cecil as his big brother ran by. Teddy didn’t answer, so Cecil followed him into the bedroom, where Teddy was already shaking his robot bank as hard as he could. A nickel fell out, and the rattling stopped.
“Rats,” said Teddy.
“Rats, what?” asked Cecil.
“A nickel’s no good.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Cecil. “I wouldn’t mind having a nickel. I’d give it to Freddy Jackson so he’d let me play with his toad. Did you know that toads don’t really give you warts?”
“I’m not interested in warts,” said Teddy. “Or toads. I’m interested in Mother’s Day.”
“Mother’s Day? I’d rather talk about toads. Did you know—”
“Listen a minute, will you?” interrupted Teddy. “Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. We need to get a present for Mom, and all I have is a crummy nickel!” Teddy looked at his brother. “Cecil, old pal,” he said, “you’ll help me out, won’t you? After all, who’s your best friend if it isn’t your own brother?”
“Freddy Jackson,” Cecil answered promptly. “He lets me play with his toad.”
“Listen, Cecil, this isn’t for me; it’s for Mom. Maybe I’m not your best friend, but she’s a good mom, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” agreed Cecil. “She is. So what do you want?”
“Money for a present, of course,” said Teddy. “How much do you have?”
“None,” Cecil answered.
“None? What about that dollar you earned last week?”
“Gone.”
“Already? What did you do with it?”
“Ten cents for tithing and fifty cents for ice cream that I just happened to share with my big brother.” Cecil looked hard at Teddy.
“Oh, yeah,” said Teddy, scuffing his toe on the carpet. “I forgot about that. But that still leaves forty cents.”
Cecil shook his head. “Twenty-five cents for a glider. The one you accidently stepped on.”
“Oh,” said Teddy, scuffing his toe harder. “Sorry about that. But what about the last fifteen cents?”
“Three turns with Freddy Jackson’s toad,” answered Cecil. “Have you ever seen a toad catch flies? He sticks out his tongue and—”
“So all we have is a lousy nickel,” interrupted Teddy. “What can we get Mom with a nickel?”
“Well …” Cecil said. Suddenly his face brightened. “Hey! Maybe she’d like to play with Freddy Jackson’s toad.”
“You have to be joking,” said Teddy. “Now think!” He paced around the room with his face all scrunched up, thinking.
After a minute Cecil said, “Maybe we could earn some money.”
“But it’s already Saturday afternoon,” Teddy pointed out. “By the time we earn any money, the stores will all be closed. And Mother’s Day is tomorrow.”
“Maybe we could cut some flowers from the garden,” suggested Cecil.
“Oh, great,” said Teddy. “I’m sure Mom would just love a present she grew herself. You’re full of wonderful ideas, aren’t you?”
“At least I’m trying,” said Cecil. “I don’t hear much coming from you.”
Now both boys were pacing the floor.
“Hey!” Teddy yelped a couple minutes later, stopping so suddenly that Cecil ran into him. “I do have an idea! Listen.” He bent over and whispered into Cecil’s ear.
Cecil’s forehead wrinkled while he thought. Finally he smiled. “Not bad,” he said, “but we’ll have to keep it a secret. A secret Mother’s Day present.”
The next morning Cecil woke up, hopped out of bed, and jumped on top of Teddy. “Good morning!” he said loudly, right in his brother’s ear.
“Good morning, yourself,” muttered Teddy as he tried to roll over to go back to sleep. Cecil hit him with a pillow. Teddy laughed, and the boys wrestled until all the covers were on the floor. When Teddy stopped laughing enough to talk, he said, “Do you remember our secret present for Mom?”
“Yup,” said Cecil.
“This is going to be fun,” said Teddy.
“Yup,” said Cecil.
“Is ‘Yup’ all you can say?” asked Teddy.
“Yup.”
The boys washed, dressed for church, and straightened their room. They were making breakfast when Mom walked into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you boys up already? And washed and dressed and even making breakfast? What’s the occasion?”
“Why, nothing,” said Cecil, setting the table as casually as if he had done it every day of his life.
After breakfast the boys did the dishes. Then the family went to church. Teddy and Cecil sat quietly all through the meetings. Cecil didn’t even giggle when Freddy Jackson passed him a picture he had drawn of a toad that looked like Teddy.
On the way home Mom said to Dad, “Did you ever see two better-behaved boys in church?”
“Never,” agreed Dad.
Teddy and Cecil smiled at each other.
As soon as they got home, the boys changed into playclothes and put away their Sunday clothes. “Now,” said Teddy, “I’ll set the table while you help Mom in the kitchen.”
“OK,” said Cecil.
“And remember,” Teddy warned, “don’t give away our secret.”
“Who, me?” said Cecil as he ran downstairs.
During dinner, the boys were very polite. They said, “please” and “thank you” and ate all their vegetables. No one spilled anything or argued or teased. Finally Mom asked if they were feeling all right.
“Of course,” said Teddy.
“We’re fine,” said Cecil. “By the way, we’ll wash the dishes, Mom.”
“Now I know they’re sick!” Dad said with a laugh.
That evening Dad came into the family room, where Mom was reading. “I think you’d better look at something,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mom, jumping up quickly.
“Nothing, I just want you to see this. I think it’s a Mother’s Day present.”
Mom and Dad walked into the living room. In the middle of the floor was a bumpy-looking mound covered by a striped sheet with a bow on top.
“What on earth … ,” Mom began.
“I told you,” Dad said. “A Mother’s Day present.”
Just then something under the sheet squirmed.
“A squirmy Mother’s Day present,” said Mom.
Then something giggled.
“A squirmy, giggly Mother’s Day present,” said Dad.
Then something else went, “Sssh!”
“A squirmy, giggly, sssh-y Mother’s Day present,” said Mom. “This I must see.”
She pulled off the sheet. Teddy and Cecil were huddled together on the floor, grinning.
“Surprise!” they said together. “Happy Mother’s Day! We’re your Mother’s Day present,” said Teddy, “the two good boys you always want us to be. Today we did everything we could to be good and make you happy. Aren’t we a good present?”
“The best I’ve ever had,” said Mom, giving them both a hug.