Gospel Story Finder

About a month ago, my family went to the local fair. My mum and I went up to a stall that was all about being healthy. The lady said that if I could answer a question I would win a prize. She asked, “What can you do instead of smoking?” I quickly said, “Pray.” She seemed surprised but very happy with my answer. She gave me my prize, and Mum said that I was a good boy for being a good example and “shining my light.”Zachary Ainge, age 5, with help from his mum, Burpengary, Queensland, Australia

—A pot-holdered-hand pulled a door down, an oven light went on, and a wonderful, sweet smell filled the room. Another concoction was complete to add to the menu of a tea the young women of the Ashington Branch, Sunderland England Stake, were preparing for senior citizens in their community.
Not only did the young women share food, but they also shared a program of songs, thoughts, and prayers. “We wanted to show them how much they are appreciated for all their hard work,” says Rachel Woodward.

I grew up the youngest of ten children in a wonderful Latter-day Saint home. When I was a little boy, we had “home night” every Monday night.
At each home night, we were taught lessons on honesty, tithing, prayer, and fasting, as well as such practical lessons as turning off the lights and hanging up the towels. And we all gathered around the piano to sing, with Alice, my oldest sister, playing the piano. We always sang a hymn. I think that there is something very special about a family singing a hymn together in the home. It doesn’t matter how well they sing.
I have a deep love of music. I took piano lessons as a child, and my mother made sure I practiced every day after school. I have a tongue-in-cheek saying: “Mean mothers have children who play the piano.”
I had a wise bishop who called me in when I was twelve. He said, “LeGrand, we need some organists in our ward. I’d like you to take an organ class at the McCune School of Music. It costs five dollars for ten lessons. The ward will pay half of it, and you pay half.” I’m sure my mother put him up to it and paid the ward’s half.
I took the class and started to play the organ. When I was fourteen, I became the ward organist. In my high school days, I played the piano in a dance orchestra. That was a lot of fun. I loved the rhythm, and I could usually make five or ten dollars a night. When I was in dental school in Kansas City, Missouri, I played the organ at a Presbyterian church. It was a great experience for me. I played a lot of LDS hymns for them. They especially enjoyed “O My Father” and “Come, Come Ye Saints.” After playing at their service, I would get on the bus and go play a pump organ at our service.
Music has always been important to my own eight children too. When one of my four daughters was about nine or ten, we were all sitting at the kitchen table, reading the book of Mark in the New Testament. She said, “Daddy, is that where the song comes from? Could we please sing it?” We got out the hymnbooks and sang “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.” We weren’t a challenge to the Tabernacle Choir, but that hymn will never be the same again to me, because we sang it around the kitchen table.”
My girls sing together too. They’re are all married now, but they still come to see me at least once a week. I play for them and they sing. When my grandchildren come over on Sunday evenings, the ones taking music lessons always play for me. It’s a tradition.
When my wife and I went on our mission to Tallahassee, Florida, we started our missionaries singing. Our very favorite song was “Love One Another.” It helped when missionaries weren’t getting along.
My favorite hymn is “O My Father”—partly because it was my father’s favorite. After I grew up, I used to go every Sunday night and play hymns for my parents. They had an organ, and my father would sing along with me. He lived to be ninety-five. He loved good music and wanted me to play the hymns.
Now a General Authority, I sometimes play at stake conferences. I usually play “O My Father,” “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief,” “I Am a Child of God,” “Love at Home,” “I Know That My Redeemer Lives,” or “I Need Thee Every Hour.” Each time I’ve played, several mothers have come up to me and said, “Thank you. I wanted my children to see a grown man play. I have some sons who think that they want to quit, but when they see you, they want to keep going.”
My wife and I have a little tape recorder in the kitchen, and many times we turn it on and listen to good music. We love the Tabernacle Choir. Occasionally I sit down at the piano or organ and make my own arrangements of the hymns.
It’s important what children sing and listen to, because music can affect their thoughts. The Primary songs and the hymns are precious and are music that the Savior wants us to hear. There is too much music in the world, especially on radio and television, that just isn’t appropriate. I don’t think music is everything, but it is an important part of the Church—music and the scriptures and daily family prayer.

“One of my earliest recollections is that of putting canned goods on the shelves in my father’s grocery store after they had been priced. I didn’t think that I was helping much, but I remember Dad saying, ‘Every can that you put up is one that I don’t have to put up.’ I also distinctly remember being baptized by my father in the Blackfoot River that ran through a neighbor’s farm near our home. I was confirmed immediately afterward on the sandy riverbank.

A man lying on a mattress in the aisle. The rest of the story: When I moved into a new ward, I was surprised to see a brother on a moveable hospital bed in the chapel. This man had many disabilities and was only able to attend church in this way. I quickly realized this was typical for this ward, and I adapted quickly. His being there was not irreverent but, in fact, quite the opposite. After all, didn’t the Savior heal a man who had been lowered down on his bed by his friends into a crowded house? (see Luke 5:18–20).

While we were still new members, we encountered a man who had left the Church. He gave us a lot of anti-Mormon literature, and I was shocked. It was my first encounter with opposition to the Church, and my testimony was still tender. While he was confronting us and attacking everything the missionaries had taught us, I was filled with fear. But when the missionaries were with us, they brought peace. Because of the missionaries, our family learned to tell the difference between faith and fear, and we chose faith.

In 1988, I was concerned for the Mistolar Saints when the snow on the Andes mountains, more than double the usual amount, began to melt. It meant that the Pilcomayo River would probably flood again. But, I was told, the Saints there said, “Don’t worry, we will not be flooded this year because our land was dedicated.” Twice the flood waters surged down the riverbed, flowed over the land, but receded before reaching Mistolar.

It happened in the life of Sister Abie Turay, who lives in Sierra Leone. A civil war began in 1991. It ravaged the country for years. Sierra Leone was already one of the poorest countries in the world. “During the war, it was unclear who [controlled] the country—banks … closed, government offices were shuttered, police forces [were ineffective against rebel forces], … and there was chaos, killing and sorrow. Tens of thousands of people lost their lives and more than two million people were forced from their homes to avoid the slaughter.”6
Even in such times, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints grew.
One of the first branches was organized in the city where Sister Turay lived. Her husband was the first branch president. He served as a district president during the civil war.
“When guests visit Sister Turay’s home [now], she loves to show them two [treasures] from the war: a blue-and-white striped shirt [she got] from a bale of used clothing [given by members of the Church] and a blanket, now worn and riddled with holes.”7
She says, “This shirt is the first … clothing I [received]. … I used to wear it to go to work—it was so good. [It made me feel so beautiful.] I didn’t have other clothes.
“During the war, this blanket kept us warm, me and my children. When the rebels [would] come to attack us, this is the only thing I [could] lay [my] hands on [as we fled to the bush to hide]. So we [would] take the blanket with us. It would keep us warm and keep the mosquitos away from us.”8
“Sister Turay speaks of her gratitude for a mission president who would make his way into the war-torn country with [money] in his pocket.” Those funds, from the fast-offering donations of people like you, allowed the Saints to buy food that most Sierra Leoneans could not afford.9
Sister Turay, speaking of those who were generous enough to donate for them to survive, says, “When I think [of] the people who did this … I feel that [they were] sent by God, because ordinary human beings made this kind gesture for [us].”10
A visitor from the United States sat with Abie not along ago. During his time with her, he found his eyes “drawn to a set of scriptures that were on the table.” He could tell that they were a treasure, “well-marked with notes in the columns. The pages were [worn;] some were torn. The cover was detached from the binding.”
He held the scriptures in his “hand and gently turned the pages. As [he did, he found a] yellow copy of a tithing donation slip. [He] could see that, in a country where [a dollar was worth its] weight in gold, Abie Turay had paid one dollar as her tithing, one dollar to the missionary fund, and one dollar as a fast offering for those who, in her words, were ‘truly poor.’”
The visitor closed Sister Turay’s scriptures and thought, as he stood with this faithful African mother, that he was on sacred ground.11

Amid my despair, I remembered a time that our ward held an activity called “Christmas in Bethlehem.” Ward members came dressed up as if they were living at the time Jesus was born. Erica, who was four years old at the time, wore a hand-me-down long, white dress and a scarf wrapped around her head. The culmination of the evening was a reenactment of the Nativity in a mock stable decorated with bales of hay and a manger. A young couple with their newborn played the parts of Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus.
As we gathered around the nativity, I noticed that Erica was missing from my side. I panicked until I caught a flash of her white dress near the nativity. Then my panic shifted from fear for her welfare to fear that she would disrupt the scene. I was about to call out to her, but I paused and watched as she made her way to the manger.
Erica quietly knelt next to Mary and looked up at her as if to get her permission. Then Erica reached out and tenderly caressed the sleeping baby. I was not the only one who noticed. Others soon quieted and watched as she knelt close to the baby. A tender feeling permeated the group as they realized that this baby was the Christ child for Erica.
In my grief, this Christmas memory brought feelings of peace and comfort as I recalled my young daughter’s devotion. My mind had been full of questions about life and death—questions that didn’t seem to matter as much before Erica’s death. As I pondered the Resurrection and the Crucifixion, I identified with Mary. She loved her newborn Son, and she later endured terrible pain and anguish as she witnessed His suffering and death. Christ was not spared the cross, and Mary was not spared her grief.

“FIRE! FIRE!”
This warning cry brought fear to the hearts of all those who heard it in the little community of Farmington, Utah, for the only way they had to fight fires was to form a line and pass buckets of water from the nearby creek to the burning building. As a result, almost any building that caught fire was destroyed, and few of the contents inside were ever saved.
Aurelia Spencer Rogers, who lived in Farmington most of her life, heard the cries of alarm, and ran toward the house from which smoke was billowing up into the hot August air. The home belonged to friends with whom she was staying, after she had rented her own house that summer of 1902 and moved into Salt Lake City, twenty miles to the south. However, she returned often to Farmington to take care of business there and to put up fruit for the winter.
Aurelia joined in the bucket brigade that quickly formed. Characteristically, she thought of the loss her friends would suffer before she thought of her own clothes and personal articles that were inside. Suddenly, she had a sick feeling. Her Primary record books were in an upstairs bedroom where she had been working on them at a table near a window! Silently she prayed that by some miracle they would be saved, but it seemed to her that everything in the building was going up in smoke.
“I mourned exceedingly,” Aurelia said later. “I would not have minded losing my clothes if the records could only have been saved.”
Aurelia helped her friends move into a vacant house to set up housekeeping again. She was heartsick as she returned to Salt Lake, for she thought that nothing in the fire swept home had been saved. Still haunted by the loss of the Primary record books, she returned to Farmington the next week to try to gather what information she could about the organization of the Primary so she could begin to write another history.
News of the miracle for which she had prayed awaited her when she called on her bishop. This is how she described it:
“Bishop Moroni Secrist felt prompted to climb onto the porch (during the fire) and go through the window to my room, thinking he might save some of the property; but when he went inside, the smoke was so dense he was nearly suffocated and had to be helped out by others … As he neared the window, he reached out his hand and felt the cover on the table and drew it toward him, gathering up the corners with the books … and passed them to those on the outside. Thus the records were saved through the providence of God.”
These records told the story of the first Primary ever held and how it came to be. They were used as the basis for Aurelia Spencer Rogers’ Life Sketches that she later wrote for children and dedicated to them with these words:
“Our children are our jewels; we have counted well the cost:
May their angels ever guard them, and not one child be lost.”

In his ward Dale met a young woman named Ruth. She was the daughter of a member of the stake presidency, Merlin R. Lybbert, who later served in the Seventy. Dale’s recollection is that he mustered the courage to ask Ruth out on a date, but she said no. When he tried again a few months later, she said yes. Ruth’s version is a little different. She remembers that when he spoke in sacrament meeting about his mission, she was impressed. They got better acquainted, and she was thrilled when he asked her to go on a date, but she was hosting a party that required her to decline. She was pleased to accept when he asked again.

“I wondered how this new program would bring sisters together if we met in smaller groups, but I was willing to try it,” writes Richelle Pearce of the Shadowbrook Ward, Kaysville Utah South Stake. “I make bread a couple of times a week, so after making the proper arrangements, the Relief Society leaders invited anyone who was interested to come to my home for an activity.
“The next Thursday five sisters showed up at my door. They were from all different stages of life: one new mother, one working mom, one senior sister, and two with large families like mine. What happened over the next two hours was a testimony to me of the inspiration of this program. The sisters not only learned how to grind wheat and make bread, but they also talked, laughed, shared ideas, and really connected. By the time they left with their bread and wheat flour, I knew this program could bring sisters together in a wonderful way.”

At some time in life almost everyone yearns to travel to a faraway country and meet people of another culture, another language, and another way of life.
For the following Latter-day Saint youths this dream became a reality when they spent several months studying in Europe. Here is a report on what this experience meant to them:
Lee Vanhille, 23, from Palo Alto, California: “The impression I had of Spain before I left home was the standard one—flamenco dancers and castanets—but that is a very small part of Spain. There are wide, open flatlands, mountains, beaches, castles, cathedrals—everything, including bagpipes in the north.
“I enjoyed the young people in Spain better than those anywhere else we traveled. I found them very open and willing to talk. They were nice, clean-cut kids.
“I really enjoyed the experience of studying Spanish literature and then seeing what I was reading about. It’s like seeing poetry come to life.”
Jana Christensen, 19, from Alpine, Utah: “I was in southern Spain and it was very hot, but the beaches were beautiful. And, oh, the Mediterranean! Spain is such a beautiful country!
“The people were the most loving I’ve ever met in my whole life. For instance, I was waiting for the bus one night, in a pouring rain, and I didn’t have a coat on. It was miserable! An older lady was standing at the bus stop, and we began conversing in Spanish. When the bus came, we talked all the way to my stop. To get up and leave her was the hardest thing to do. It was just as if I had known her forever. I said, ‘Adiós. Buena suerta.’ (Goodbye. Good luck.) She reached up, hugged me, and kissed me on both cheeks. After I got off the bus and glanced back, she was still waving good-bye.
“One thing that amazed me about Spanish girls was that whenever they’d be in the mood to do something exciting, they’d go upstairs in the dorms and turn on the record player full blast—that great Spanish music—and they’d get up and dance. They would give it everything they had, really dancing up a storm. They’d do flamenco; they’d clap; they’d sing. Pretty soon I’d go join them, and then we’d all be singing. It was so much fun. I left a lot of copies of the Libro de Mormon around for them when I left.
“The Saints there are great! It was really strengthening to hear the Spanish people bear their testimonies at their branch.
“For me this was a trip of firsts. It was my first time on an airplane, first time on a train, first time in a taxi, first time out of the country, first time in a subway—everything was a first. I appreciated learning more about other people. I am a lot more accepting and tolerant of others than I was. I feel more love for others.”
Tamera Nielsen, 20, from Salt Lake City: “Austria is one of the most beautiful countries in all the world. It fills your heart to go there. The youth of the Church there are very dedicated to the Lord—some of the most dedicated people I’ve ever met. The Austrian people have such enthusiasm for the gospel!
“The country is very green, and the Austrian Alps are really inspiring. The people often take what they call a spaziergang, a kind of nature-appreciation walk.
“Austrian young people like to go to movies. A date is really different in Austria; the young couple meet someplace downtown instead of the boy calling for the girl at her home. I’ve learned a lot about people and about tolerance, and I’ve learned that the Church is truly worldwide.”
Stephen Driggs, 22, from Phoenix, Arizona: “I went on a mission to Germany, so I had a good language background.
“I stayed in Salzburg, where we have an active branch. For an Austrian branch, it has a lot of young people. It’s a very young and growing branch, very enthusiastic.
“The country is terrific! Austria has great culture—things like operas, concerts, and an overwhelming sense of history. It’s a fantastic place to study history because of the things you can see, the buildings you can visit, and the monuments—people and places that were influential in making history.
“While there, I stayed in a private home. Family life is more formal than in the United States. The relationship between parent and child is quite formal. Dinner is always at a particular time, and they usually have cake and coffee in the afternoon. The family are always together for dinner. They served me a lot of coffee substitutes.”
Mark Stoddard, 22, from Auburn, California: “My main intent in traveling was to help myself improve in the French language. I went to Grenoble.
“My father’s in the U.S. Air Force, so I’ve lived in Germany for three years, in England for three years, and a little while in Taiwan and Australia, but I found Grenoble to be an interesting city, bigger than I thought it would be. I thought it would be a small village but it’s not. There are mountains completely encircling it, and it’s situated right in the middle of the whole valley. There are apartments after apartments—thousands of apartments.
“I found that the French people behaved much differently toward me than they had when I visited there before. Now I was learning the language. When you won’t try to speak their language, they won’t spend much time with you. If you make an attempt, they are extremely hospitable. I went into a patisserie one day—that’s a place where they sell beautiful, delicious pastries. They bent over backwards trying to help me with the language, just because I was trying.
“In my travels I have found that when you find other members of the Church, it doesn’t matter whether you are French, Italian, German, Australian, or whatever, there is no difference except that we speak different languages. I kept thinking of Ephesians, where it says that the reason we have the Church is to bring us to a unity of the faith. The French people are great. I really grew to appreciate them.”
Judy Harrison, 21, from Ogden, Utah: “I went to Grenoble because I’m a French major and I wanted to learn the language. My family and I lived in Japan from 1960 to 1962.
“Lots of people have said that the French really don’t have a distinct culture. As I traveled through Europe, I would see the Austrians with their dirndls, the Germans with their dirndls and lodens, and the Spaniards with their ponchos—they all seemed to have a definite symbol for their country. It took me quite a while to find the symbol of the French. There just aren’t any people like the French. They are small, dark, slender, excitable—a truly unusual people. Anyway, I finally decided it was the French personality that was France’s symbol.
“Meeting the people and showing them friendship brings them alive. I found that out well when one lady in Marseilles took time to help me. I was buying santons (dolls used in nativity scenes), and she took time to set out all of her dolls, taking them from the window, lining them up, and explaining the history behind each one of them. I was really impressed.
“I attended the comife de patronage (school for foreign students). The teacher was a dynamic French woman, Madame Bonneville. I loved to watch her talk; she used her hands so expressively.
“Before I went to France, I wasn’t up on current affairs. I went to school and to church and enjoyed life the way it was, and I didn’t know what was happening in other countries. But I soon found out that in France you can’t do that. You’ve got to face problems and find out what’s happening and see what you can do. I’ve suddenly been confronted with many problems that I have always ignored before. It’s changed my whole outlook on life.
“I’ve learned something else. Americans tend to be a little overconfident and to go around speaking English all the time, expecting others to understand them. But most Europeans speak two or three languages. How many of us can do that?”

Fifteen-year-old Renata Araujo’s footsteps echoed forlornly as she walked down the cold tile floor. Renata knew that when she reached the end of the hallway and entered her Young Women class, she’d be the only one there. The formation of her new ward had made her the only active girl in the Young Women program. “I felt very lonely,” she remembers.
Renata isn’t lonely anymore. The once quiet and all-but-empty classroom now reverberates with the enthusiastic voices of 10 active young women of the Botafogo Ward, a change that took place over only a year. The story of these young women of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, illustrates what can happen when Church members follow President Gordon B. Hinckley’s counsel (included throughout the article) to reach out to new converts, less-active members, and nonmembers.

Kai Fitzhugh’s motivation comes from his family. He says that having a brother with special needs has motivated him to want to serve others with disabilities. The night of the prom was no exception. Like most high school dances, there’s a photographer who takes photos of couples in front of a pretty backdrop. Prom night at special-needs Mutual was no different. Kai was more than happy to stand in line with a girl who had a disability and have his picture taken with her. “It’s hard to explain,” he says, “but whenever I’m here serving, I just feel good inside.”

In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, who had joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
While the family was in St. Louis working to earn enough money to complete their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera swept through the area, leaving death and heartache in its wake. The Miller family was hard hit. In the space of two weeks, four of the family members succumbed. The first, on June 22, 1849, was 18-year-old William. Five days later Mary McGowan Miller, my great-great-grandmother and the mother of the family, died. Two days afterward, 15-year-old Archibald passed away, and five days after his death, my great-great-grandfather, Charles Stewart Miller, father of the family, succumbed. The children who survived were left orphans, including my great-grandmother Margaret, who was 13 years old at the time.
Because of so many deaths in the area, there were no caskets available, at any price, in which to bury the deceased family members. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make caskets for the family members who had passed away.
Little is recorded of the heartache and struggles of the nine remaining Miller children as they continued to work and save for that journey their parents and brothers would never make. We know that they left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.
Others of my ancestors faced similar hardships. Through it all, however, their testimonies remained steadfast and firm. From all of them I received a legacy of total dedication to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Because of these faithful souls, I stand before you today.

For Bernardo and Leonides Obedoza of General Santos, going to the temple in faraway Manila seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip so that they and their children could be sealed as an eternal family. After they sold their home and most of their possessions, they managed to scrape together the exact amount to pay the boat fare to Manila for their family of nine. Leonides was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Bernardo assured her that the Lord would provide. They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. It was worth every sacrifice they had made, for in the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Bernardo’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay. Their children completed their schooling, and the family eventually acquired their own home in a new location.

I now would like to share another experience. In January of 2019, my wife, Debbie, and I were invited into the office of President Nelson. He had positioned a chair close to us, and we sat almost knee to knee. After extending to us our current calling, President Nelson turned to Debbie and focused on her. He was kind, loving, gentle, and full of joy, like the perfect father or grandfather. He held Debbie’s hand and patted it, reassuring her that it would be OK and that our family would be blessed. It seemed to us at that moment that we were the most important people to him and that he had all the time in the world for us. We left his office that Friday afternoon feeling reassured, loved, and joyful.
On Monday we saw the news. During that same day that President Nelson had spent with us, one of his daughters had passed away from cancer. We were stunned. Our hearts were full as we mourned for him and his family. Our hearts were also full of gratitude for his Christlike attention to us while mourning for his daughter who was suffering.
As we pondered this experience, we asked ourselves, “How could he be so kind, loving, and even joyful at such a difficult time?” The answer is because he knows. He knows that Christ has been victorious. He knows he will be with his daughter again and will spend an eternity with her. Joy and eternal perspective come through being bound to the Savior by making and keeping covenants and through Christlike discipleship.

Emily is a young wife who was in search of the truth. Her husband, Michael, was less interested in religion. When Emily became ill and spent some time in the hospital, Cali, a Relief Society sister who is also her neighbor, took the family meals, watched their baby, cleaned the house, and arranged for Emily to receive a priesthood blessing. These acts of charity softened Michael’s heart. He decided to attend Church meetings and to meet with the missionaries. Emily and Michael were recently baptized.

Thirteen-year-old Jody Earnshaw climbs over the chute and with trembling knees carefully lowers herself onto the back of a holstein calf. Her hands, in green garden gloves, are wrapped in the rigging of the stamping animal. With a cry from her comrades and a shout from the stands, Jody explodes from the chute. Down the arena she goes—one second, two seconds—her hands still in the rigging as she fights to keep her balance on the twisting animal.

Not until eight seconds later does Jody slip from the holstein’s back, dodge its flying hooves, and roll into the dirt. She lies on the ground for only a moment before standing up. The crowd cheers wildly: “You did it! Jody, you did it!” A spectacular ride, her very first in rodeo competition.

Later, 18-year-old Scott Shurtz, the rodeo clown and director of the second annual rodeo, plunges from the horse chute on “Pepper.” They serpentine through the area, race for the fence line on the opposite side, glance off the signboard mounted on the fence, twist to the right, and buck all the way into the holding pen. The spectators shout in delight, and the other contestants scratch their heads: “How can we top that?” They can’t. Scott’s 100-point ten-second ride wins him the All-Around Cowboy award for 1979.

How do you stage a rodeo? The Woods Cross Second Ward, Woods Cross Utah Stake, begins by borrowing a truck and some park bleachers. Local farmers supply the stock such as calves, goats, pigs, and chickens. (Horse riders are limited to those who can furnish their own horses.) Someone’s mother sews a rodeo flag and different groups bake cookies, crush ice, chill soda pop, and heat barbecued beef. Others work the arena until the dirt is ankle-deep and mix it with sand so it is soft enough to break the hardest fall. Four loads of water are sprinkled on top to keep the dust down, and each contestant (or his parents) signs a written liability release form. Finally, the arena is filled with ward members, family, and friends. Photographers are also busy recording the action on film so it can be shown time and time again.

The rodeo is all homemade, all amateur, and all challenge. Although some of the participants have never even been on horseback, when the time for the rodeo arrives, nearly everyone finds out he has a little of the cowboy in him anyway!