Gospel Story Finder

One night, not long after moving into his own room, Nathan told his mom, “I need to sleep in Brad’s room tonight.” She didn’t think anything of it until Nathan’s shouts for help woke her up a few hours later. Brad was very ill with a stomach virus and could barely breathe. If Nathan hadn’t been in the room, she probably wouldn’t have known that Brad needed help. Brad could have suffocated.

“We’re glad Nathan listened to that little prompting and stayed with Brad that night,” his mom says.

But Nathan didn’t even see it as a prompting at first. “I just had this feeling I had to sleep in there, so I did it,” he says.

While that companion has his or her agency, you also have your own agency to choose to be obedient. You should do everything you can to follow mission rules and schedules. Your good example will always work better than anger. For example, when I served my mission, we had one hour every preparation day for emailing. I had some companions who would go significantly over their allotted email time. I would use my time, pay the internet café, and then quietly sit next to my companion until she was done. I noticed that although I never got mad at my companions or told them they were going over our time limit, they would usually start using less time and trying to be more aware of the rules. It’s amazing how powerful a righteous example can be for a missionary who might be struggling.

“My dad is mission president, and they’ve had some baptisms from the open house,” said Kent Edman. “But the temple’s influence has been more than that, because it’s sparked a lot of interest.

“The people I work for live on the same road as the temple, and when they found out I was Mormon they were really interested. The lady wanted to know if she could have her daughter married in the temple, even though they’re Jewish. I’ve taken them some literature about the temple. The temple has helped the missionaries a lot because it’s a good door opener. People want to know more about it.”

Two groups of young people in California and some Scouts in Idaho followed through on their own cemetery projects. The El Centro California Stake set aside a Saturday in February to record information found in the Evergreen Cemetery. Along with their clipboards, pencils, and typewriters, 75 youth and adult advisers arrived at the cemetery carrying rakes and shovels. Working in teams, they probed the ground to search for hidden plaques and, at the same time, cleaned up the area and cleared away overgrown grass. Approximately 7,670 names were recorded. Copies of their work were given to local agencies and a local genealogy library as well as being sent to the Church Genealogical Department in Salt Lake City.

When I was six months old, my first sign was “milk” and, several weeks later, I verbally said “panda.” I am capable of hearing, yet my first language was American Sign Language. My mom had served an ASL mission and then continued to study sign language in school, and she wanted me to know it too.
Sign language has been an incredible blessing in my life. It’s allowed me to see and learn so much more than I would have without it. It brings people together. I love being able to teach people what I know through one-on-one teaching and giving presentations in school and in church. It’s also really fun to watch general conference and other Church videos in sign language with my mom.
Having sign language in my life has been an incredible testimony builder. I am able to get to know more children of God than I would without it, and it’s also a great tool to use as a service for others. I am grateful for this blessing in my life and for the amazing people I have been able to meet and learn from.
Israel H., Oregon, USA

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.

Kenny slouched on the sofa with his head down. He was folding and refolding a paper in his hands. When the door opened, he didn’t look up. He knew it was his mother. She had just finished burying his fish, Mike.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked as she hung up her coat.
“Nothing—just making a paper airplane.”
Mom went over to Kenny. She ran her fingers through his soft brown hair. “Want to tell me what you’re thinking?” she asked.
How can Mom understand how I feel? Kenny thought. Mike was just a plain old fish that his friend Mike had given him when he had moved. That’s why Kenny had named the fish Mike.
Mom patted Kenny’s head and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll have dinner ready in a minute,” she said.
Kenny watched his mother with his eyes half raised, not caring what she fixed for dinner. He felt sick and laid his head on the arm of the sofa and closed his eyes.
“Ready for dinner?” Mom called later. “We’re having tacos.”
“I’m not hungry,” Kenny answered, keeping his eyes closed. He opened his eyes when he felt his mother sit down beside him.
“I miss Mike, too,” Mom said softly. “I enjoyed watching him swim through his bridge and hide in the shell.”
“He was a good fish,” said Kenny as he sat up. “He helped me remember Mike and all the fun we had. Why did he have to die, Mom?”
She paused for a moment, looking perplexed. “I don’t know, Kenny,” she finally answered. “All living things have to die. Maybe it was Mike’s time to die.”
“Will I die?” Kenny asked, looking up at his mother.
“Yes, Kenny,” she said, “someday you’ll die too. But only our bodies die. Our spirits live forever. Do you remember what we talked about in family home evening just after Grandma died?”
“Yeah, Dad told us that Jesus died and His body was buried. But Mary went to the place where He was buried and saw Him. He wasn’t dead any more!”
“That’s right, Kenny. And because of Him, we will all live again. If we’re good, we’ll go back to Heavenly Father, and we’ll be happy.”
“Is Mike happy?” asked Kenny.
“Yes, Kenny, I think he is,” said Mom. “Heavenly Father created Mike too. I’m sure there’s a place prepared just for him.”
“Will I see Mike again?” Kenny asked, sitting up straight. His eyes shone with excitement. “Just like you said I would see Grandma again someday?”
Mom took hold of Kenny’s hands and said, “Kenny, I can’t answer that. But Heavenly Father knows how much you love Mike. Everything will turn out for your good.”
“Do you promise?” asked Kenny.
“Even better than that, Son,” Mom replied, “Jesus promises.”
Kenny thought for a minute. He picked up his airplane and turned it slowly in his hands. “You know, Mom,” Kenny said, looking up with a smile, “I think Mike would want to know about his namesake. Will you help me write him a letter? But let’s eat first. I’m hungry!”

I scanned my planning sheet and wondered how my companion and I were ever going to do it. How could I have forgotten that we had missionary exchanges this week? Poland had been newly opened for missionary work, and most of the members were young in age and in their knowledge of the gospel. The members of this small branch were so excited to learn, and we, as missionaries, were doing our best to teach them.
Sunday meetings had just ended. Small groups socialized around the apartment where we met, as I reviewed our plans for the coming week. We had several discussions already scheduled—something rare at that time—and they all seemed to be set for one day. I had agreed we would take a member with us.
I remembered back to a month ago when Kasha, a member with cerebral palsy, approached me so hopefully. She wore a big grin as she walked over on her crutches.
“Sister McGregor, would you please take me out to do missionary work for a day?” she had asked.
I adored Kasha and would have done anything for her, but I wondered how we would get around. No missionaries or members had cars, so our main mode of transportation would be our feet or the bus. If walking was painful for her, wouldn’t climbing bus stairs all day be worse? But there she stood, waiting for a reply. I had picked a date out of the air. The day fell in our busy week, and I desperately wanted to change it.
I picked my way over to Kasha and showed her our schedule. Her eyes glowed with excitement. I explained to her how all these appointments were scattered throughout the city and asked her how we were going to get around. She looked at me as if I had forgotten something obvious and explained that the bus was usually a pretty good way. I quickly decided that if she wasn’t worried about it, then I shouldn’t be either—but I wasn’t entirely convinced.
We picked her up in the morning and practically hoisted her onto the bus while the driver glared at us for slowing him up. There were no seats, so on our way to our first appointment, we supported Kasha on the swaying bus. Getting off wasn’t much better, and walking was slow and tedious over broken sidewalks and cobblestones. As we sat through our first discussion, Kasha taught two young women with love, testimony, and the Spirit. She was an incredible missionary.
Obstacles other than cobblestones arose as the day continued. Bus drivers had agreed to strike that day, and around noon buses, parked end to end, began to fill the streets of the city. The bus drivers refused to move them.
We walked slowly from place to place, and Kasha did her best to be cheerful. We caught taxis on the edges of the city when we could, and my companion and I physically supported her as much as she would let us.
It was getting late as we inched up the walk to Kasha’s apartment after the long day. Our discussions had been wonderful, but I was looking forward to bed. Kasha suddenly stopped on the walk, forcing me to stop also.
“Oh no!” my mind raced. “I’m going to have to carry her!”
“I’m not tired, Sister McGregor,” Kasha said. “At the end of every single day I’m tired and hurting. I’m usually in bed by now. But today, walking all over the city doing the Lord’s work, I feel like I could keep going and going.” She continued her labored walk home.
I learned a great lesson walking to Kasha’s apartment that night. When we are doing the Lord’s work, He will assist us no matter our weaknesses or disabilities. My disabilities are not the same as Kasha’s, but when I worry that I’m not quite up to what the Lord wants me to do, I think about Kasha.
She had all she needed on her day of missionary work and a little more.

A convert from Seattle, in answering the question “What has the Church done for you?” replied, “Everything! My life now has purpose and meaning. Now what can I do for the Lord? I owe him my all.”
Another convert living in Arizona had this to say:
“One brother was extremely instrumental in our becoming members of the Church. We will ever be indebted to him and thankful to him for asking us what we knew about the Mormon Church and would we like to know more. Through the missionary discussions we were thoroughly convinced that this was the true church. And the thing that has changed my life the most is that I have found a purpose in life and a certain peace of mind I have never felt before. I know with all my heart that this is the true church and that Christ lives and God lives.”
These converts’ testimonies are truly inspiring and emphasize the value of the gospel to them and to their families.
I have borne my testimony many times to people who were interested in knowing more about the Church, and they have asked me, “How can I obtain a conviction of the truthfulness of the restored gospel—yes, a testimony to this effect?” My answer has been, “Study the gospel, pray and attend church.”
This formula when followed will bring a conviction or testimony that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true, and when one accepts the gospel plan and lives its principles, it will bring him peace, happiness, growth, and development. However, to obtain a testimony one must have a real desire to know the truth and must be willing to exert considerable effort.
The interested person must study the gospel, and the gospel is to be found primarily in the Bible, Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price, the four standard works of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In this dispensation the Lord has counseled us to “seek … out of the best books words of wisdom: seek learning, even by study. …” (D&C 88:118.)
Jesus said, “… know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:32.)
I feel sure that part of this freedom Jesus refers to must be freedom from ignorance, as ignorance is a deterrent to happiness, growth, and development.
Through study of the scriptures we can understand our relationship to God and how the basic gospel principles apply to our daily lives. Our study, however, should be constant and intensive, for the gospel of Jesus Christ embraces all truth.
Now regarding the second step to acquire a testimony—prayer—the Prophet Joseph Smith observed that “it is the first principle of the gospel to know for a certainty the character of God, and to know that we may converse with Him as one man converses with another. …” (Documentary History of the Church, vol. 6, p. 305.)
Near the end of the Book of Mormon, Moroni, a great leader, gave this promise:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.” (Moro. 10:4–5.)
Although this promise specifically refers to the Book of Mormon, I am sure as you study the Bible, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price you will find that the promise is likewise applicable to these scriptures.
Prayer plays a vital part in our religious thinking and in our daily lives. One of my convert friends told me, “Because the elders emphasized that we should pray, I did. I barely had asked the questions when this beautiful answer came. Yes, that was the start of my new life.”
Another convert said, “I used to pray, not often, but I did pray before we became members. I prayed that someday my husband and I would grow closer together. I never thought it would come to be, but the Church was my answer. We found the power of prayer. I’m so thankful for the Church.”
Prayer then must accompany study for one to obtain a testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel.
The third part of the formula to obtain a testimony is to attend church and become involved in church activities. My Arizona convert friend also had this to say: “The first time we visited a ward meeting, I felt such a warm, loving feeling. All the people seemed to have smiles on their faces and hearty handshakes for us. We felt so welcome, and we knew we wanted to be a part of all this. This was the only way.
She continued: “Another aspect of the Church I love is its constant learning, developing, and growing power. I’m grateful for the opportunity to work in the Church because this constant contact is helping us to grow and develop in the gospel.”
Another convert expressed it this way: “As my husband and I were baptized, I had no idea just how involved we would become. My first calling was that of chorister in sacrament meeting.
“Then I was asked to be a Mia Maid leader. I asked the question, ‘What is a Mia Maid?’ I learned from experience. That is a girl at the delightful age of 14. The girls have so much enthusiasm and energy. I am thrilled with my calling in MIA. It keeps me feeling young and needed and busy.
“My husband, too, has held many positions in the ward, and his determination and dedication have been a strength to me.”

When I was young, I attended a specialized preschool for children with autism. It changed the course of my life, so I wanted to give back. I decided to create interactive storybooks to help the children learn how to read.
I’d had multiple ideas for my project and prayed to know which one was right for me. The director of the school helped me know what they needed. I did the planning and organizing, but my family, friends, and quorum members helped a lot with the project. I was able to learn good leadership and planning skills.
Doing this project gave me a greater sense of gratitude for what they do at the school. It made me feel really good to help the school that had helped me so much. They were so appreciative, and they let me read one of the books to the class. I felt so good inside.
Christopher A., Utah, USA

In the hall he saw Cathy and Jay talking in serious tones. Steve, pretending to examine the school’s trophy case several feet away, listened to them.
"Jay, I want you to stay here with me."
"You don’t trust me."
"I trust you, but I don’t trust those others you run around with."
"We’re just going for a walk to the end of this one-horse town and back, that’s all."
"If you really love me, like you say you do, you’ll stay here with me."
"And if you trust me, like you say you do, you won’t worry when I’m out of sight for five minutes."
"Jay," she pleaded, "if you mean it about us getting married in the temple after we graduate, you’re going to have to change your life."
"I will; I promise I will. You know I love you."
Jay kissed her and that ended the argument.
...
Outside, the wind cut through them and stung their faces. Most of the stores had closed early in the afternoon; the only one that hadn’t was in the next block, and its large red neon sign blinked erratically the word Bar.
It was a corner bar and they could look into a window away from the wind’s direction for some protection. Inside Jay and his two friends sat at a table playing cards. There was a big pitcher of beer on the table.
"I never should’ve let him come with those guys," Cathy said.
"Let’s go back. I’m cold."
"Don’t you care about him? He’s a member of the priests quorum."
"Sure I care."
"Then go in there and bring him out."
"It looks to me like he’s where he wants to be."
"He promised me he wouldn’t drink again."
"Look, Cathy, everybody knows the only reason he goes to church is because of you."
"But if I can get him away from his friends, he’ll change. I love him. He’s asked me to marry him after we graduate."
They watched as Jay poured himself another glass.
"If he goes to the bar after you’re married, then what?"
"He wouldn’t do that. Besides, I’d be with him."
"All the time?"
"He wouldn’t do it!"
"Okay."
"You don’t believe me, do you? I can help him be strong."
"Can you?"
"Yes, and I’m going in there to bring him out."
"Do you know what he’s going to say if you go in there?"
He wasn’t sure if she heard him, because she just looked down at nothing in particular for the longest time.
"Yes," she finally said, "I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me that it’s just the music and the air hockey and the laughter and the cards that he likes, and he’ll ask me to just sit with him, and if I do, then all the way back he’ll tell me that he’s no good and that I deserve somebody better, and I’ll tell him it isn’t true but that he needs to change, and he’ll say he knows it, and he’ll ask me to help him to be good, and we’ll map out goals for him, and then things will be good for a while, but in a few weeks it’ll happen all over again."
She melted into his arms and cried, and he told her it was all right. A few minutes later they returned to the school.
"Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder," she said just after they were inside.
"It’s okay," he smiled, "the jacket’s waterproof."
...
About midnight, after the bar closed, Jay returned with his friends and some of the truckers. He stumbled around until he found Cathy, who was sleeping on the floor near the other girls in the band.
"Cathy, I’m back. I hope you’re not mad. We found a little cafe in town and we played cards there."
"Oh," Cathy said sitting up. Steve watched them as they talked.
"Anything exciting happen here while I was gone?"
"Jay, if you only knew."
"Knew? Knew what?"
Cathy looked at him carefully in the dim light. "Jay, Steve said he’d pick you up for priesthood meeting next Sunday. I hope you go. Good night."

A few years ago, my wife and I had the sacred privilege of meeting with some faithful members of the Church in Mexico City. Many of them, either personally or through their loved ones, had endured indescribable trials, including kidnappings, homicides, and other heartbreaking tragedies.
As we looked into the faces of those Saints, we did not see anger, resentment, or a desire for revenge. Instead, we saw a quiet humility. Their countenances, though marked by sorrow, radiated a sincere longing for healing and comfort. Even though their hearts were broken by suffering, these Saints pressed forward with faith in Jesus Christ, choosing not to let their afflictions become gaps in their faith or cause instability in their testimony of the gospel.
At the conclusion of that sacred gathering, we greeted each one of them. Every handshake, every embrace became a quiet testimony that with the help of the Lord, we can choose to respond with temperance to the frustrations and challenges of life. Their quiet and unassuming example served as a tender invitation to walk the Savior’s path with temperance in all things. We felt as if we were in the presence of angels.

I did tell this young man of an experience I had as a youth in an environment where inappropriate language was often used. It seemed that whenever I heard any type of profanity, those words would take hold in my mind more easily than the good thoughts I wanted to have. A wonderful priesthood leader told me that the mind was like a miraculous storage device and that we could remove inappropriate thoughts by quickly overwriting them with things that were praiseworthy.
A friend and I decided to do just that. We memorized two hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98) and “More Holiness Give Me” (Hymns, no. 131), and the thirteenth article of faith. We agreed that if either of us said something inappropriate, we would immediately sing one of the hymns or quote the article of faith.
We quickly realized we did not want to sing the hymns aloud in certain places. We were too embarrassed! So we quoted the thirteenth article of faith, emphasizing the part, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” It worked! We discovered that when we would repeat it, the inappropriate thoughts would disappear. By changing one word, we also created a simple motto: “We speak after these things!” When either of us said this phrase, we would think, “Are my words true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy?” (see Articles of Faith 1:13). If they were not, we knew we had work to do.

Sept. 13, 1853 I was stopped by ruffians. They said they would sink me in the Bay. (It made me mad.) I asked them if I could say a few words and I commenced to talk. I told them it was their religion that slew righteous Abel, killed the prophets, crucified the Savior and put his disciples to death, persecuted the Saints, martyred the Prophets Joseph Smith and Hyrum, and drove the Latter-day Saints, men, women, and children, into the deserts and mountains among the hostile Indians to suffer death and starvation. Then I told something about the religion of Jesus Christ. The sun was just setting when I stopped, as I saw the man of the sloop coming toward me. He wanted to know if I was ready to go. I told him yes. Says I, “I thought you would have been gone long ago.” “No,” says he, “there has been no wind.” We started for the boat. (Some of my persecutors begged me to forgive them. Says I, “Repent of your sins, be baptized, and get forgiveness of them.”) (11)

Says I, “How long have I detained you in talking to them people.” He said, “About one hour and a half, but there has been no wind.” The wind then began to rise. We made a quick trip over (in silence). As soon as we landed I started to go to Mr. P. Lewis’s. Says he, “Hold on, you must take supper with me.” I was surprised as he had always been my enemy. Says I, “I do not want to be late to meeting.” Says he, “You will not have to wait long. I am going to your meeting.” When we got in the man went in the kitchen. I heard his wife say, “What have you brought that fellow here for?” Says he, “To supper.” And says to her, “I never heard such preaching before as he gave the sailors and roughs. … They were going to drown him and he talked to them by the power of God; and I am going to his meeting and I want you to go. Hurry up the supper.”

Some years ago I was working with the missionaries in Korea. We walked into a furniture store in downtown Seoul and were soon introduced to the proprietor. He was very kind to the elders. I listened to them encouraging him to accept a copy of the Book of Mormon. I do not speak Korean, but I understood enough to know the proprietor was friendly and open to the missionaries. In a few moments he invited us upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to what we thought was a window, where he drew back the curtain to reveal a bookshelf. It held at least 12 copies of the Book of Mormon in the Korean language. Obviously, someone had been there before us. My thought at that time was, “We need to place a copy of the Book of Mormon in this man’s heart, not on his bookshelf.”

I have discussed the duty of priesthood leaders and members to care for their families, quorums, wards, and stakes. I should like now to discuss another aspect of priesthood responsibility, which is our privilege to sustain those in authority over us. Wilford Woodruff recorded a remarkable account which illustrates the importance of this responsibility.
In the early days of the Church, President Brigham Young asked Wilford Woodruff to take his family to Boston and gather the Saints from New England and Canada and send them to Zion. With a company of 100, they arrived at Pittsburgh at sundown. Brother Woodruff recorded:
“We did not want to stay there, so I went to the first steamboat that was going to leave. I saw the captain and engaged passage for us on that steamer. I had only just done so when the spirit said to me, … ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, nor your company.’ Of course, I went and spoke to the captain, and told him [that] I had made up my mind to wait.
“Well, that ship started, and had only got five miles down the river when it took fire, and three hundred persons were burned to death or drowned.” What if the Saints had not followed the counsel of Wilford Woodruff? All wisely chose to be obedient. Had they not done so, they would have perished.

“Here she comes!” Shelly hissed, and the three girls flattened themselves against the ground.
The wild sweet peas rustled, and Julie jumped.
“Shhh!” Deena whispered. “If she sees you, she’ll turn you into a frog.”
Julie knew it wasn’t true, but she shivered anyway. Cautiously she peeked through the tangled weeds. Across the street she saw the hunched figure of the old woman trudging toward her mailbox. Overgrown shrubbery caught at the sleeve of the woman’s patched sweater as she made her way down the path from her house to the side of the road. The girls watched as the old lady’s gnarled hand tugged at the rusted latch. She peered inside, then closed the little door. With her shoulders hunched even more, she turned and walked empty-handed back to her house.
Shelly rolled over on her side and propped her head up with one hand. “Why do you think she looks for mail every day when she never gets any?”
“Do you really think witches get mail?” Deena asked.
“Oh, Deena, she’s not really a witch,” Julie said.
“She is, too!” Shelly protested. “Why else would she live all by herself in that old run-down house? She never talks to anyone, and did you notice her hair? It looks kind of green under that old scarf she wears. Of course she’s a witch!”
Julie shrugged. The stories they made up about the witch who lived down the street had added a little excitement to the long summer afternoons, but Julie’s mother had told her that Mrs. O’Hearn was just a lonely old lady who had no one to look after her. Sometimes Julie felt sorry for her and even considered being Mrs. O’Hearn’s friend. But she was afraid. Maybe the woman really is a witch, she thought.
“Let’s go back to your place, Julie,” Shelly said as she scrambled to her feet.
The three girls cut across Julie’s front yard and glanced around quickly before sliding into the space between the garage and the neighbor’s fence. Blackberry vines curved overhead to form a tunnel. It was their own special place.
“Want to play truth or dare?” Deena asked.
“OK,” Shelly replied.
“It was my idea, so I go first. Truth or dare, Shelly.”
“Dare.” Shelly always chose the dare.
“I dare you”—the other two girls learned forward eagerly—“to go knock on the witch’s door.”
“You have to come, too,” Shelly said.
“Oh, we’ll come, but only as far as the corner of the hedge.”
From the street Mrs. O’Hearn’s house was barely visible, but the back door was only separated from the alley by a wooden porch. The three girls paused at the hedge that marked the boundary of Mrs. O’Hearn’s yard.
“Go on, Shelly,” Deena prodded.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Julie said hesitantly.
“Aw, come on, Julie, don’t be such a sissy. Besides, all you have to do is hide,” Deena said.
“I know, but …” Julie stopped. I know it’s wrong to tease the old woman, she thought, but I don’t want Deena and Shelly to make fun of me.
Shelly darted forward. Her feet echoing against the wooden planks, she pounded on the door, then raced back to where the girls hid behind the laurel hedge.
The door opened, and the old woman looked in their direction. “You young rascals stay away from my door!” she shouted, shaking her fist. The door slammed as she went back inside.
The girls scampered back to their hideout to continue their game.
“It’s my turn now,” Shelly announced. “Julie, you’re first, and this time you have to pick a dare.”
“Yeah, Julie,” Deena agreed. “You never want to take a dare.”
“I dare you to go look in the witch’s window,” Shelly said before Julie could protest.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Deena applauded.
“That’s not fair,” Julie argued. “She’ll be watching.”
“She’ll never see you,” Shelly said,” not if you’re quiet.”
“Julie’s a scaredy-cat. Julie’s a scaredy-cat,” Deena began to chant.
“OK, OK, I’ll do it.”
“That’s better.” Shelly led the way back to the alley. When they reached the hedge, she began to whisper directions.
“Just follow the hedge to the Petersons’ yard, then go along their fence to that hole. You can squeeze through there, and you’ll be right under her window. All you have to do is climb that apple tree and look inside.”
As Julie crept along the hedge and Peterson’s fence, she wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans. She hoped Mrs. Peterson would see her and chase her out of the yard, but nothing happened. She reached the gap in the fence and looked back.
“Go on!” Shelly motioned.
Dropping to her knees, Julie edged forward, her heart pounding. She rose to her feet, and directly in front of her, on the other side of the tree, was the house. She glanced toward the alley. Shelly and Deena were hidden from view. It was very quiet, and Julie felt totally alone.
They’ll never know if I don’t do it, she told herself. But even as she thought it, she moved toward the tree.
Julie’s sneaker-clad foot slipped once on the damp bark, but soon she reached the level of the window. Curiosity overcame her fear, and Julie rubbed the dirty windowpane with a dampened finger and peered inside.
The room was dark. At first she could only make out dim outlines of furniture. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw the old woman hunched over a table, her head resting on her arms. At first Julie thought that she was sleeping. Then she saw the shaking shoulders and realized that the woman was crying.
Julie slid down the tree, thoroughly ashamed of her actions. She retraced her path and joined the other two girls in the alley.
“What did you see?” demanded Deena.
“Was she making witch’s brew in a kettle?” Shelly asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Julie snapped.
“Well, what did you see?” both girls chorused.
Julie hesitated. “Nothing,” she said at last. “It was too dark.”
A voice called out.
“That’s my mother,” Julie said. “I’d better go.” She ran home, glad to get away from the house and from her friends’ questions.
“Want to get cleaned up and go shopping with me?” her mother asked.
As they drove toward town, Julie kept remembering Mrs. O’Hearn bent over her kitchen table, shaking with sobs. She was sorry that they had teased her.
While her mother shopped, Julie paused at the greeting card counter. She picked up a small card with a picture of a raccoon in a mailbox. It seemed to have a smile on its face, and one paw poked out as if it wanted to shake hands. Julie looked at the card for a long time. “Can I get this?” she asked when her mother came by.
Her mother glanced at the card in Julie’s hand, and smiled. “It’s kind of cute, isn’t it? All right, we can buy it. Just tuck it into the shopping cart.”
When they were home from the store, Julie pulled the card from the shopping bag. Just looking at the furry little animal made her want to smile. She slipped the card into its envelope and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. Then she went outside.
The next day Julie hunched down in the tall weeds of the vacant lot and waited. The sun grew warm, and the back of her neck began to itch, but Julie stayed motionless as she continued to watch the house across the street.
At last Mrs. O’Hearn came down the path. She opened her mailbox and started to turn away. Then she stopped and looked inside again. Slowly she reached into the box and pulled out a small white envelope. The gnarled fingers shook as she opened the envelope and pulled out the card inside.
Julie saw Mrs. O’Hearn open the card and read it, then carefully slide it back into its envelope and into her pocket. The old woman looked across the street for a moment, smiled, then turned to make her way back to the house.
Julie rolled over on her back and watched the clouds skim across the blue summer sky. Aloud she recited the words that had been written inside the card: “Have a nice day. From your Secret Friend.”

During the summer of 2015, three of us Young Men leaders, including our bishop, took six young men from the deserts of southern New Mexico to the Rocky Mountains of central Colorado for a high-adventure backpacking trip. At the time, I was serving as ward Young Men president. For four days, we hiked, fished, explored, and gathered in the evenings for spiritual fireside chats. We made lasting memories—including one we will always remember.
Before making our way off the mountain at the end of our trip, the only thing that had marred our adventure was a cut foot and a little rain and hail. After we broke camp the morning of our return hike, none of us worried about the slippery, muddy trail until we leaders approached the bottom of the first steep descent.
That’s where I slipped, fell, and hit the ground. I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my right leg. I had no idea what I had done to my leg, but I couldn’t move it.
As I sat on the ground, dazed and in pain, our bishop, Bryce Heiner, rushed to my side. A surgeon, Bishop Heiner examined my leg but couldn’t tell how badly I was hurt. What we didn’t know is that when I fell, I hit a rock so hard that it severed my right quadriceps tendon, the large tendon just above the kneecap. I could neither stand nor walk.
One of our young men, Nathan Donaldson, said later, “There was a lot of panic on the mountain. Everyone was praying for guidance.” Another young man, Brighton Heiner, said, “We didn’t know if Brother Ewing’s leg was going to be all right or if he was going to die!”
I knew I couldn’t get off the mountain without a lot of help, including heavenly help. So I asked for a priesthood blessing. Bishop Heiner anointed and Mark Handly, a counselor in the bishopric, sealed the anointing. As Brother Handly spoke, a stillness settled over our group.
Nathan still remembers what he and the other young men felt as he listened to the powerful words of the blessing: “I was at peace, my heart slowed down, my mind became calm. I was in awe of the Savior’s power manifested by the Holy Ghost, which touched my heart. I thought to myself, ‘I want to be able to do that someday. I want to be able to bring peace and healing to my loved ones.’”
Despite that calming reassurance, the words of the blessing that struck me the hardest were these: “You’ll be fine, but it’s going to take a while.”
That “while” included the time it would take to get me off the mountain. I’m six feet, four inches tall (193 cm), and at the time I weighed 230 pounds (104 kg). The young men wondered, “How are we going to get him down?” I wondered the same thing.
Because I had taken wilderness first-aid training the summer before, I directed our group in fashioning a splint for my leg out of rope, tape, tree branches, and a foam sleeping pad. We still had four miles to hike and a rushing mountain stream to cross before we could reach our vehicles and seek medical attention.
The two tallest members of our group supported me by holding on to my upper arms as they walked beside me. Slowly, we began making our way downhill. Sometimes my good knee would buckle, and I would fold over like a lawn chair. I had to fight nausea with every painful step. Bishop Heiner grew increasingly concerned with each passing hour of our descent.
While some of our crew cleared the trail ahead of rocks and debris to make the journey easier for me, others hiked back up the trail to bring me water, food, and encouragement. A hike that would normally have taken about two hours lasted eight hours.
Bishop Heiner and some of the young men hiked ahead to the stream. There, with what Daniel Palmer described as “a prayer in our hearts,” they lashed together logs from fallen trees and built a bridge over an abandoned beaver dam. They also made a makeshift handrail.
“When I reached the stream four hours into the hike,” Steven says, “I slowly and carefully crossed the log bridge supported by several helping hands.”
When I reached the stream four hours into the hike, I slowly and carefully crossed the log bridge supported by several helping hands. We stopped to rest and say another of several more prayers. At that point, we were halfway off the mountain.
A few hours later, the first young men emerged from the wilderness near the trailhead. They explained our predicament to some campers riding all-terrain vehicles. Several of those good Samaritans drove up the trail, picked up several of us, and drove us to our cars.
Soon we were headed for Trinidad, Colorado, where I received treatment at a hospital emergency room. A doctor fitted me with a knee brace and crutches, and we headed home.
Steven Ewing (second from left) and Bishop Bryce Heiner (far right) with the “ministering angels” who helped Steven off the mountain (left to right): Eric Palmer, Brighton Heiner, Daniel Palmer, Jacob Donaldson, and Zane Heiner (not pictured: Nathan Donaldson, who was serving a full-time missionary; and Mark Handly, who had moved).
No, I wasn’t healed instantly. Healing did “take a while” after surgery and physical therapy. But I’m thankful for the priesthood blessing I received, the faith shown by those who prayed for me and helped me (see James 2:26), and the unity of purpose we achieved as we worked together to get me off the mountain.
We learned some important things that day, lessons that strengthened our testimonies and resolve, helped the young men commit to serving missions, and prepared them for difficult mountains they would climb in the future.
“Among my amazing leaders and peers was the power of God,” Nathan remembers. “I believe He sent down angels that day to help us. This experience helped me understand the importance of being worthy to bless the sacrament and fulfill my other priesthood duties.”
I don’t know how big a part that experience played in helping the young men on that hike commit to lives of prayer, service, and worthiness. Many experiences in their young lives likely played a key role in their commitment to Jesus Christ and His Church. But every one of those young men went on to serve the Savior as full-time missionaries.
With the passage of time, I am increasingly grateful for those good servants of the Lord—what they did for me then and what they continue to do for others today. For me, they were, and remain, ministering angels (see Doctrine and Covenants 13:1).
For their “outstanding service in implementing Scouting skills and ideals,” young men from the Rio Grande Ward in Las Cruces, New Mexico, received the Medal of Merit award from the Boy Scouts of America.

My wife, Elizabeth, and I know the power of such feelings firsthand. Nearly 40 years ago, a good friend and colleague, a member of the Church, started bringing up the gospel with us in casual conversation. On several occasions, he sent the missionaries to visit us. We liked the missionaries and agreed to take the discussions, but we were not truly interested in what they had to teach.
That changed in October 1978, when my colleague invited several friends, including us, to the São Paulo Brazil Temple open house. He rented several buses at his own expense so that his friends could join him at the temple, about 50 miles (80 km) away.
When Elizabeth entered the baptistry, she felt something she had never experienced before, something she later recognized as the Holy Ghost. The feeling was a great joy in her heart. She knew in that moment that the Church was true and that it was the Church she wanted to join.
A similar feeling came to me at the end of the open house, when we were escorted to the sealing room and taught the doctrine of eternal families. That doctrine touched me. I was successful in my profession, but I had long felt an emptiness in my soul. I did not know what could fill that void, but I sensed that it had something to do with family. There, in the sealing room, things started to fall into place in my mind and heart.
Within a few days, missionaries contacted us again. This time we were very interested in hearing their message.
The elders encouraged us to pray fervently about the truth. I decided this was the only way I could pray. I knew that I couldn’t make a commitment to join the Church without having a real testimony. I was anxious about approaching Heavenly Father to ask for a confirmation from Him, but at the same time, I was sure He would answer me. I shared with Him the deep desires of my heart and asked Him to give me an answer that would assure me that joining the Church was the correct path.
The following week in Sunday School, our friend who had invited us to the temple open house was sitting behind me. He leaned forward and began talking to me. The words he said answered exactly what I had prayed to know. I had no doubt that Heavenly Father was speaking to me through him. At the time, I was a stern, hardened man, but my heart melted and I began to weep. When my friend had finished, he invited my wife and me to be baptized. We accepted.
On October 31, 1978, less than a month after our experience at the São Paulo Temple, we were baptized and confirmed. The next day we participated in the second dedicatory session of the São Paulo Brazil Temple. A year later we returned to the temple with our two sons to be sealed as a family. All three occasions were beautiful, memorable experiences. We have continued to perpetuate those feelings with regular temple worship over the years.

When I was 12 years old, my bishop said I was the right age to become a deacon. The bishop explained that Heavenly Father shares His power with the Church through the priesthood. If I kept the commandments, I could act for Jesus Christ—passing the sacrament, teaching the gospel, and someday giving priesthood blessings to help people who were ill or sad. I wanted to have the priesthood and become that kind of boy. I said I would come to Sunday meetings, trying very hard not to miss.

Soon I was prepared to become a deacon, and my parents came to my ordination. I remember the next Sunday, when I passed the sacrament for the first time. I was assigned to take the bread up to the bishop and then to the others on the stand. As I was walking up the stairs, the sacrament tray came detached from the handle, and the tray and the bread fell onto the floor. I felt as if everyone in the whole universe was looking at me. The bishop came over, put his arm around me, and whispered, “Let’s just pick up this bread and put it in the tray. Then sit down here until they’re through passing the bread, and you can pass the water.” Luckily, I passed the water without any problems. The bishop’s kindness and warmth helped me not to feel embarrassed. I felt a great love for him and was glad that he was my bishop.