Gospel Story Finder

I remember a family in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I met years ago: a father, a mother, and two teenage daughters who belonged to no church but read the Bible together every day. They pondered the Savior’s life and His words. When we found this family, they had already decided that Christ would have a church and that they should find it. They knew that it would have prophets and apostles at its foundation because that is what Christ had placed in His church when He lived on the earth. They knew that the resurrected Lord had appeared to His Apostles.
And so it seemed right to this family when we testified that God, the Father, and His Son, the Savior of the world, came to a boy prophet, Joseph Smith. And the Holy Spirit, which they also recognized, told them it was true. They recognized the truth, that this is the church of Jesus Christ, in large part because they had always remembered Him. Every day they had gathered to read about Him and His words, and so they remembered Him. And after they were baptized, they were ready to follow the living prophet because they knew that the Savior always speaks to His prophets to bless His people.

I recently started receiving the New Era when I turned 12. Whenever I feel sad or angry I turn to this magazine. One particular article caught my eye. The article was “Evaluate Your Style” (Jan. 2002). These young women set an example in never giving up the dreams they wanted. They came up with designs for modest dresses, a logo, and went through with a presentation to a clothing store. I respect and admire that. I learned a lesson from this article. I hope to follow their examples and take action in the things I want to happen.Meg DeYoungOgden, Utah

One Sunday a few years ago, when I was serving as an Area Seventy, the local mission president and I traveled together to conduct meetings with several different groups. As we approached the final meeting, we were both tired. We had already driven more than 300 miles (480 km) and had spoken several times. We began the meeting and started down the same list we had covered in the other meetings.

But as we spoke, something wonderful happened. The Spirit intensified, and the teaching and learning moved to a new level that continued through the entire meeting. We later remarked to each other, “That was wonderful. That was the best meeting of the day!”

What made the difference? It wasn’t anything we did. We hadn’t suddenly become more brilliant or eloquent or spiritual. In fact, if anything, we were somewhat worn by the activities of the day. The topics we covered were the same topics covered in the other meetings.

As we talked about it, we came to realize that the people who attended that last meeting were more humble and spiritually prepared. As a result, they were more open and hungry for the word, and the Lord was able to use us more effectively as a conduit to bless their lives. The success of that meeting was much more about them than about us.

I joined the Church at age 36, and at times I felt spiritually strong. Other times I just went through the motions. Between a hectic work schedule, my wife starting a new career, poor health, and other challenges, I began to struggle spiritually. I attended church and helped teach the deacons quorum, but that was all I could bring myself to do. I couldn’t find the strength to open my scriptures or kneel to pray.
I was still struggling when I left on a business trip to northern Chile. From the airport in Copiapó, we drove two hours to the site for a solar installation project in Chile’s Atacama Desert. I was surprised by how remote this region was, only red desert for miles and miles. The loneliness of the landscape was startling.
After being on site for about a week, we drove to the nearest town for supplies. There I saw a building that caught my eye. I asked the driver to pull over. The building had beautiful grounds that were surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. On the front of the building was a familiar sign, “La Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Últimos Días” or “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“The Church is here?” I thought. I was amazed that the Church had made it to this remote part of the world. I took a picture of the meetinghouse and texted it to my wife. Her response had a profound effect on me: “Heavenly Father is aware of His people everywhere.”
This was a direct message for me from my Heavenly Father. In the stress of living day to day, I had forgotten, and needed to be reminded, that Heavenly Father loves all His children. He loves those Saints in that small and remote town in the middle of the desert, and He also loves me.
That night I knelt and thanked Heavenly Father for the blessings He had given me that day. Knowing that He loves me has helped me rebuild my spirituality, and it continues to strengthen me each day.

The day after the explosion, doctors transferred Elder Navarro to a clinic in Lima. There Elder Charles A. Didier of the Area Presidency gave him a blessing, promising that he would soon return to the mission field.
After attending to Elder Navarro’s other injuries, doctors turned their focus to reconstructing his injured face. Shrapnel had cut his cheekbone and severed the optic nerve of his right eye, requiring the eye’s removal. His parents, who had come to Lima, broke the news to him.
With full financial support from the Church, Elder Navarro underwent three operations to remove his eye and repair its damaged socket.
While recovering at the clinic, Elder Navarro received visits from Luis Palomino, a friend from his hometown who was attending school in Lima. Although his injuries made it difficult for him to speak with Luis, Elder Navarro began sharing the missionary lessons.
Luis was surprised and impressed by Elder Navarro’s decision to finish his mission. “I want to know what is motivating you,” Luis told him. “Why is your faith so great?”
“I want to know what is motivating you. Why is your faith so great?”
Six weeks after the explosion, Elder Navarro left the clinic and started serving at the mission office in Lima. The threat of terrorism still loomed, and he was afraid every time he saw a car like the one that exploded. At night he struggled to sleep.
One day, Luis came to the mission office to visit Elder Navarro. “I want to be baptized,” he told him. “What do I have to do?”
Over the next few weeks, Elder Navarro and his companion taught Luis the rest of the lessons at a nearby chapel. Elder Navarro was excited to teach a friend, and Luis eagerly completed all the goals he set with the missionaries.
On October 4, 1990, Elder Navarro performed Luis’s baptism. Although Elder Navarro was still suffering from his injury, the ordeal had made it possible for him to baptize a friend from his hometown—something he never expected to do. After Luis came out of the water, they embraced, and Elder Navarro felt the Spirit strongly. He knew Luis could feel it too.
To commemorate the occasion, Elder Navarro gave Luis a Bible. “When the days get dark,” Elder Navarro wrote on the inside cover, “just remember this day, the day you were reborn.”

President Hinckley’s sense of humor gives him a light touch in many settings. For example, while chairing a budget session held early one afternoon in which Church Educational System managers were presenting their budget needs for the coming year, feelings became intense. Another General Authority turned to President Hinckley and asked, “What do you think?” President Hinckley, who had been listening with his chin resting on the palms of his hands, replied: “I think I am never again going to have stuffed pork chops for lunch.” Everyone laughed, and the tension was diffused.

That little girl—now sixteen—has been a comfort and joy to our family. She saved her pennies, and at age seven she presented my father with fifty-one cents in the hopes it would pay for him to go to a clinic to be cured of his desires to smoke and drink. This proved to be the turning point in my father’s life. My parents have now celebrated the sixth anniversary of their temple sealing. What a wonderful experience that was to kneel and be sealed as a family.

The next day was a holiday, and the young Mormons awoke with snowflakes tangled in their dreams and snowbanks turning into pillows. Today was the big day they had worked and saved for. Today they were going to Antillanca, a ski resort high in the mountains. Spring had a firm grip on the countryside, and the skiing season was past, but at Antillanca there would still be plenty of snow—and fun!
Green filled the windows of the bus as it rolled toward Antillanca—green in endless shades and patterns—green enough for a thousand springs—greens to make even an Irishman jealous. And inside the spring-dazzled bus, guitars began sprouting from nowhere, as they always seem to in a group of Chilean youth. Soon, green-tinted songs were floating around the bus as a changing orbit of voices surrounded each guitar—hauntingly beautiful folk songs, lively rounds, and romantic ballads. Many of the songs laughed and wept with an inexpressible yearning that was both heartbreaking and joyful—and very, very Chilean.
Leaving songs and lakes and valleys in its wake, the bus rose from spring to late winter, and then, with groaning gears and straining engine, into winter itself. Tall timber hugged the steep mountainside as the group jolted up the narrow road. They could look almost straight down at the tops of lofty pines and up to see pine stacked on pine to the rim of the world.
The lodge at Antillanca perched on a mountainside, and above it a snow hill slanted up against the sky—huge and overwhelming, like a mountain-sized Moby Dick hanging above a frail lifeboat. A ski lift climbed the slope at a breathtaking angle, a thin black strand rising into a mist that kept the top of the hill (if it had one) an intriguing secret.
The students had constructed a sled and toboggan just for the trip, and after struggling up a long slope to the base of the hill, and then a ways up the slope itself, some of them trusted their fate to their creations and the heavy hand of gravity. The mountain soon chewed up their sleds and spit out the pieces, but undaunted, the snowmasters fashioned skis out of the runners, and mounted another attack.
Turned loose on the vast expanse of snow, the rest of the group tumbled and jumped and scuffled until they were wet and cold and happy.
Back in the lodge after finally surrendering to the snow, they all logged some fireplace time, dried their feet, warmed their hands, and ate lunch. Fortified, they then bounced back for a round of impromptu folk dancing featuring the cueca, Chile’s national dance. Some passed the time with chess, Ping-Pong, fireplace gazing, quiet conversation, and sleep.
They also shared their feelings about the gospel as the aroma of pine and cedar filled the room and the fire crackled, soothing and rosy, behind the grate.
“There is a great happiness in my soul,” said a young lady named Margoth. “Only three months ago I became a member of the most beautiful of churches. I never thought I would be as happy as I am. I now live in a different, very pure world. I want to open my heart and tell all the youth of the world to keep the commandments. I testify to them that our Father in Heaven will fill them with happiness and with the great love he knows how to give his children.”
Marianela Patricia smiled and nodded. “I, too, have experienced the happiest moments of my life in the Church. I have always had a dream of serving a mission. I wanted to be like those special young men and women who taught me the gospel. I didn’t really know why at first. I only knew that I had a great desire to do so and to improve myself each day. Now that I am actually preparing to go on my mission, I know why I had that desire, and I want to go more than ever.
“I know that by keeping the commandments I will be able to sanctify myself and progress spiritually. I will be setting forth with sure steps to return to my Father in Heaven. I want to become a blessing to my family and everyone I know.
“My goal is to someday be a worthy wife for a great man. I don’t have a boyfriend now, but I know that he will come in time, and I want him to be the best—a worthy priesthood holder. I want to be the beloved wife who sacrifices for her husband, who will be self-denying for him and our children—in short, the best. President Tanner once endorsed the saying, ‘Behind every good man there is a good woman.’ I want to be that woman and be sealed in the temple to my family.
“Sometimes my joy in the gospel is so great that I suddenly realize I am crying and I don’t even know why. I only know that I am happy.”
In the fireplace, castles rose and vanished, bright ballerinas danced, and dark magicians fought with flaming armies. Outside the lodge it was spring and winter, but inside it was a glorious summer of the Spirit.
Miguel spread his arms wide for a visual aid and said, “I would like the young people from all around the world to meet together some time, from every country, town, province, and island, to worship God, holding hands and forming a fantastic circle, every one of us praising our Creator. There would be Indians, Chinese, Germans, Africans, Russians, English, Chileans, Peruvians, Mexicans—everybody! We would sing songs of love and tell our Heavenly Father that we have fulfilled the commandment his Son gave to us—‘Love one another.’”
If Miguel’s marvelous youth conference ever takes place, Chile’s Lake District wouldn’t be a bad place for it. In the meantime, there is joy in knowing that the waters of Todos los Santos still lap the high shores of two nations; that the magnificent, impossible Petrohué still runs down to Llanquihue, day and night, blue as a baby’s eyes; and that southward a thousand green islands are still reflected in the glittering sea. And most of all, there is joy in knowing that a generation is rising as beautiful as the green and singing land they call home.

When Darren climbed onto the top bunk, he found a note on his pillow: “CK 24/7.” He slid down and showed it to his older brother, Byron.
“I got the same thing!” Byron said. “What does it mean?” They asked Mom if she knew anything about it.
“Hmm … ,” she said. Then she smiled. Darren knew she was up to something! “I bet you’ll get some answers during family home evening tomorrow.”
On the way home from school the next day, Darren and Byron tried to guess what CK stood for.
Candy Kangaroos? Curious Koalas? Crafty Kings?
Mom just smiled when they asked at dinner. When it was finally time for family night, Darren was ready for some answers.
But first Mom read a story from the Friend about a boy who helped take care of his grandma. The boy didn’t realize it, but by showing Christlike love he was keeping his baptismal covenants.
“We keep our covenants every day when we show love and take care of each other the way Jesus would,” Mom said.
“Hey! Covenants starts with C!” said Darren.
“And keep starts with K. So maybe CK is … Covenant Keepers?” said Byron.
“Yeah, and the 24/7 could mean all day, every day!” Darren shouted. “We cracked the code!”
Mom high-fived Darren and Byron. “Good job, guys! But the lesson’s not over yet. I need to tell you boys that I’ve been spying on you.”
“What do you mean?” Darren asked as he watched Mom pull out a piece of paper. He could see different notes for each day of the week.
“Well, I decided to write down the times I spied you keeping your covenants this week,” Mom said. “And here’s what I saw.”
Monday: Your friend asked if you wanted to watch a violent movie, but you suggested a better movie instead. You were obedient.
Tuesday: Darren’s teacher was grouchy, but you were still kind to her. She was so impressed she called and told me about it. You were forgiving.
Wednesday: Heidi came home from college for a few days. She was sad because one of her classmates died. You two brought her tissues and kept her company. You showed compassion.
Thursday: Byron used a bad word and wished he hadn’t. But you apologized and said you would do better. You repented.
Friday: When your older brothers came to visit and teased you, I saw you guys start to get angry. But then instead of fighting with them, you laughed it off. You showed self-control.
Saturday: When Mr. Gomez offered to pay you for playing with his grandkids, you two said you were happy to help for free. You served.
Sunday: You both sat quietly as you took the sacrament to renew your baptismal covenants. You were reverent, and you remembered how important the sacrament is.
As Mom read the list, Darren felt happy and warm inside. He knew it was the Holy Ghost telling him that those were good choices to make. He wanted to be a covenant keeper by following Jesus 24 hours a day, 7 days a week!

My older brother and sister, David and Shannon, also had their challenges. When David was one year old, he was severely burned. Scars covered his hands, arms, stomach, and legs. Shannon had a walking disability and was born with a slower mental capacity that often made her act younger than she was. Almost daily children at school made fun of them.
Despite their trials, my brother and sister looked to Christ in everything they did. Both of them served honorable missions. Their humility, constant faith, and perseverance provided wonderful examples. They are everything I want to become.
In this life we may be criticized and persecuted. That’s part of why we came here—to rise above the persecution and become stronger because of it. David, Shannon, and I are better people today for having been faithful in difficult experiences. I often say that everything given to us in life can be either a blessing or a curse. The strength of one’s heart determines which it is.

This is not a doctrinal discourse; rather, it is a personal witness of what I know to be true. At times my wife, Jeanene, and I have had challenges that seemed more difficult than we could possibly face alone. Once she lost a baby girl and nearly her life. Within six weeks, another beloved son was taken home. We pled for help, and it came.
When other challenges have brought us to our knees, we have had confidence that we would receive comfort and guidance, and they came. The Lord opens doors of opportunity and provides the strength each of us needs at difficult times in our life.

Guillermo Javier Leiva remembers the pain of his divorce in 2007. He had to find his own apartment and was no longer able to return home every evening to his young son, Julian. He felt empty and alone.
“I was very unhappy,” he says, “and in moments of anguish, I looked for God.”
Guillermo began praying for answers and help. “I said, ‘Father, I’m not worthy for Thee to enter my house, but a word from Thee will be enough to heal me.’”
The answer to that prayer came a short while later when two young men in white shirts and ties stopped to talk with him while he was playing with his son outside his new apartment.
“One of them greeted me and asked if I had faith,” he recalls. “I told him yes but that I wasn’t the best Christian. He then asked if I would read a book if he left it with me. I told him yes.”
As Guillermo began reading the verses in Alma 32 that the missionaries had marked for him, he says, “I immediately felt a great joy in my soul that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The book touched my heart. I couldn’t stop reading.”
Guillermo no longer attended his previous church, but he told the missionaries that he had no intention of being baptized again. Nevertheless, he welcomed their visits and their reading assignments in the Book of Mormon.
As he read, his soul grieved with Nephi when he learned how that prophet had sorrowed “because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me” (2 Nephi 4:18). “I knew that I too had sinned,” Guillermo says, “and I felt bad about it.”
As he read, he felt that he was being rescued from darkness and despair and brought into “the light of the glory of God” (Alma 19:6).
And as he read of the baptismal covenant set forth at the Waters of Mormon, he realized the importance of baptism by proper priesthood authority. “If I recognized that the seed was good, what did I ‘have … against being baptized in the name of the Lord’?” (Mosiah 18:10), he asked himself.
“Every time I read, I felt peace and I found answers,” Guillermo says. “I realized that the Book of Mormon was the word of God I had asked for in my prayers.”
When he was baptized in March 2009, he experienced a spiritual rebirth and a renewed hope for the future. “Baptism was a chance to start over,” Guillermo says. “I have changed my life. I am very happy now. I know that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ and that God answers prayers because He answered the most important prayer I ever said.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”

At one time the Lord said that He was “well pleased” with Joseph Wakefield. He was stalwart and faithful and taught hundreds about the prophetic work of Joseph Smith. But from 1833 to 1834 he was influenced by some dissidents in Kirtland. He was once in the home of Joseph Smith. Joseph came out of the room where he had been translating the word of God and immediately began to play with some children. “This convinced [Brother Wakefield] that [Joseph] was not a man of God and that [therefore] the work was false.” In due course Joseph Wakefield apostatized, was excommunicated, and became a persecutor of the Church and of the Saints.

My friend Rachel asked me if I would attend church with her. She was active in her own faith, and I was curious to see how her church was different from mine. I asked my parents for permission to go with her. They said that since her worship service time did not conflict with our meeting times, I could attend.
Many things about her church’s service were unfamiliar to me: the songs and the prayers were different; the way the preacher spoke was unfamiliar. When the offering plate was circulated, I wasn’t sure what to do.
Finally, the preacher asked anyone in the group who hadn’t publicly accepted Jesus Christ as his or her Savior to come forward. Rachel whispered, encouraging me to go. I was hesitant. In our ward the bishop had never asked anyone to come forward and publicly accept Christ. I didn’t know what to do. Perhaps I hadn’t done something that was important for my salvation. I left the meeting confused.
As I thought about this experience later, I came to realize that I had indeed publicly accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. I had been baptized by one having priesthood authority from Jesus Christ. My baptism was a covenant with Heavenly Father that I would take upon myself the name of Jesus Christ and be His disciple. I promised that I would keep His commandments and try to be like Him. Present at my baptism were priesthood holders who acted as witnesses, as well as family and ward members.
Since my baptism and confirmation, I have had the opportunity every Sunday to partake of the sacrament and witness once again to my Heavenly Father that I will continue to take upon myself the name of Christ.

Before I left on that mission, President Anthon H. Lund (1844–1921), who was then a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church, talked to us missionaries, and he said, “The people will love you. … They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not understand that then, but before I left Holland, I went around saying good-bye to the Saints and the converts whom I had brought into the Church, and I shed a thousand tears, as compared to what I shed when I told my loved ones at home good-bye.
For instance, in Amsterdam I went into a home where I had been the first missionary there, and the mother, looking up into my face with tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it’s much harder to see you go.” Then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
I went to tell a man good-bye. He stood erect in the uniform of his country. He got down on his knees and took my hand in his and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. And then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant.
Now I have labored much with the missionaries. I have been on four missions and presided over two, and I have toured many missions. I love to hear those young missionaries bear their testimonies. For instance, a young man in Oregon in our testimony meeting said there wasn’t a company in this world that could pay him a large enough salary to get him to leave his missionary work.
I received a letter here from a missionary from Idaho. He wrote this:
“There is no greater work than that of missionary work. … My life is dedicated to serving the Lord. My heart is overflowing as are the tears of joy that are now coming from my eyes. There is nothing so wonderful—nothing—as tasting the joy and success of missionary labors.”
After all the missionary service I have had, I wouldn’t want to raise a boy and not have him go on a mission, for his good and because I think we owe it to the world to share with them the truths of the gospel.

You recall the legend of a king who became bored with his routine living. He announced to his subjects that the person who could provide him with a game that would give him constant pleasure would be rewarded greatly, even unto half of his kingdom. Of course everyone wanted a “piece of the action.” Day after day, month in and month out, he reviewed all of the games that were invented. Finally a subject came to him and told him he had invented a game that would entertain the king as long as he lived. The subject demonstrated the game—he told the king that the game must be played on a board with 64 squares. He said the name of the game was chess. He taught the king all the moves and played several games with him. The king was so enraptured by the game that he told the subject to ask for anything. The man declined, suggesting that he had received enough pay if the king enjoyed the game. However, the king would not take no for an answer. Finally the subject said, “If you are determined to pay me something, give me one grain of wheat for the first square on the chessboard, two for the second, four grains for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on, doubling the number for each square until all 64 squares of the board are covered.”
The king was very disappointed that this was all the subject desired of him. Finally he agreed and sent a servant out to get a bushel of wheat and pay the man off. Well, by now you have the message—it wasn’t that simple. By the time the king tried to pay off the 64th square in wheat, he found that all of the crop of his country was not adequate to pay the debt. To do so would have required 18,446, 744,073,709,551,615 grains!

For example, when I was younger, I really wanted to play school basketball. I practiced and practiced. One day the coach pointed to our 6-foot-4-inch (1.93 m) all-state center and our 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) all-star forward and said to me, “I can put you on the team, but you’ll likely never play.” I remember how kindly he then encouraged, “Why not try out for soccer? You’d be good.” My family cheered when I scored my first goal.

There is a story told of an unscrupulous character who approached a trusted employee of a reputable old firm. His intention was to convince the employee to help him steal a considerable amount of money from the company. The employee refused consistently until finally, after being offered one million dollars, he gave in to the scheme.
After the two had successfully done their dirty work, the criminal offered the employee one hundred dollars for his help. The employee was furious. In a voice filled with anger the employee said, “What do you think I am, a criminal?” The man who had planned the crime said in a voice filled with contempt, “We have already established the quality of your character; now we are just dickering over the price.”

“If those clouds get any darker, I’ll need a light to work by,” grunted the older man who worked alongside Lao Moy. He was placing a low-power explosive into a crack in a mammoth-size granite boulder.
Twelve-year-old Lao Moy wiped the rock dust from his eyes and squinted into the wintry heavens. The sharp wind that knifed down through the cottonwood canyons of the Wasatch Mountains cooled the sweat on his face. He thought of the high winds he and his father Chen had experienced on the clipper ship that had brought them to America from their ancestral home in China seven years ago.
Lao Moy’s father had been a fisherman on a sampan in Canton when a terrible wharf fire took the lives of Mother, Grandfather, and his baby sister Sze. Then the lure of gold in a strange, far-off land called America tempted Chen in the summer of 1855 to leave China for the goldfields of California. Perhaps, he thought, I can do better by Lao Moy there.
But Lao Moy was to discover at a very young age, along with his father, that the Lord makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust. What little gold Chen was able to earn as a mine worker was stolen by his rough, bad-tempered employers. Then had come that awful night when a half-dozen drunken men had broken down their shanty door and killed him.
Lao Moy stared at the cloud shadows drifting across the canyon walls like a vulture’s wing. He gritted his teeth and his eyes filled with tears. The bitter memory of his father’s death lodged once again in the depths of his heart.
The immigrant’s youthful eyes shifted to Mosiah Twiggs, the big, bearded Mormon who had rescued him that fateful night. Waves of love and gratitude rolled up the shores of Lao Moy’s sore heart and washed away his tears.
Mosiah, too, had been ensnared by dreams of gold, so he left the Salt Lake Valley settlement in ’49 to fall prey to the same misfortune that had beset so many others—empty pockets and broken dreams.
After his father’s death, Lao Moy had agreed without misgivings to return with Mosiah to Salt Lake City, feeling a loyalty to the soft-spoken stranger who had risked his life to save someone he didn’t even know.
It had been a hazardous journey by wagon from the goldfields of California to the Salt Lake Valley, and they had encountered countless perils. But Mosiah’s promise that the God of Israel would protect them had planted the seeds of a testimony in the boy’s heart. Lao Moy wondered about this man who dutifully paid 10 percent of his earnings to his church for tithing.
Yet standing in the way of Lao Moy’s spiritual progress was that old bitterness born in the goldfields. It crouched like a great beast over his peace and challenged his moments of newfound joy. He had long wished to rid himself of it, to strike out against it, but something or someone always seemed to stand in the way.
Mosiah gazed curiously in the direction of the boy’s unbroken stare. “Autumn leaves die beautifully, don’t they, Lao Moy?” he said, his face lifted into the leaf-spattered wind.
“Yes,” answered Lao Moy, his hurtful thoughts suddenly scattered by his guardian’s grand vision. Autumn was indeed a beautiful time of year, especially in the canyons. Lao Moy’s eyes raced up the huge, yellow red chasms with renewed excitement. He loved these mountains. Mosiah had told him many times about them. How the erosion of long ages had cut deep canyons. How huge glaciers, descending with unyielding power, had broken loose and carried countless boulders, many of goliath size, down the immense mountain furrows. It was these isolated blocks, called erratics, that provided the supply of building stones for the Salt Lake Temple.
In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.