Gospel Story Finder

“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.

A few months ago, my beloved Ruth, Elder Holland and his sweet Patty, and I accompanied a group into the fascinating old city of Jerusalem to look for the door with the name of Hyde carved on it. The enchanting smells of the open containers of spices and the sounds of men selling their wares were exhilarating. As we entered St. Saviour’s Monastery, looking for the door, we entered into old passageways surrounded by stone walls. We were told that some parts of the walls went back to the time of the Crusaders. On one wall hung an assortment of ancient rusted keys. Some of these keys were huge. All were larger than the keys we use today. Many of them were very ornate. Many of the doors the keys were made to open no longer exist, or if they do, the keys and the locks would be too rusty to open them.

When I was called to Tahiti on my mission, I remember thinking, “What am I going to do there?”
I was a new member of the Church. I didn’t know a lot about the gospel. I hadn’t read the Book of Mormon cover to cover, though I knew it was true. And I would have to learn two languages: Tahitian and French.
I felt inadequate.
Thankfully, I had two things going for me: I knew how to work, and I knew how to obey. Knowing how to work came from my father; knowing how to obey came from the gospel.
So when I got to my mission, I worked hard and I obeyed. As a result, the Lord blessed me with some wonderful experiences, and He taught me to rely on the Spirit. In the process, He also taught me patience, because I was not the most patient missionary. If I had a senior companion who didn’t want to work hard, even though I was the junior companion, I would say, ‘C’mon, let’s go! We’ve got to work!’”
When I became a senior companion, I thought, “Finally, I’ve arrived. I can control the work now.”
But my mission president assigned me a companion who didn’t want to work. By that point in my mission, thankfully, I had learned enough that I knew I had to love my companion, be kind to him, and be patient with him. I knew I couldn’t push him.
One night in the little village of Fare on the island of Huahine, we were at an investigator’s home. Instead of teaching, my companion was playing a board game with a family member and I was sitting there alone, feeling that nobody wanted to listen to me. It was my first assignment as a senior companion, and I felt that I was failing.
As I was having these thoughts and feelings, an outpouring of the Spirit came into my heart. I knew I was not alone. That stayed with me the whole night—not just for a moment. When I awoke the next morning, the feeling was still with me. I knew Heavenly Father loved me. I knew He cared about me. I knew He was with me. Knowing that gave me the strength I needed.
That was a key experience for me. My mission president knew that I needed to have experiences that would humble me and help me recognize my dependence on the Spirit. From that point on I had an incredible mission.

My name is Michele Blackburn, and I am a senior missionary serving with my husband in the Caribbean Area as technology specialists. We have had a busy two years as we have provided, set up, and supported the members of the Church with technology in their buildings. Early in our mission, I knew that I would be my husband’s technology assistant, but my true passion is for music. Elder Ronald A. Rasband shared, “We need to engage in the activities, service, and lifestyle that will help to strengthen and protect our talents to be used righteously.”1
It wasn’t long into our mission until I realized I should follow this advice. I began teaching piano lessons in our stake once a week with a group of nine students. The class quickly grew to nearly forty students and needed to be divided, so I prayed for guidance and was inspired to realize that talents are gifts that lead us to conversion and to understand the importance of increasing those talents. Elder David A. Bednar suggested this conversion occurs in three parts, “Conversion is an offering of self, of love, and of loyalty we give to God in gratitude for the gift of testimony.”2
I began to see changes occurring in my students as they demonstrated a belief in themselves, completing Elder Bednar’s first step, offering yourself. Their regular attendance created a support system among each other which demonstrated their love for each other. I witnessed the third step, loyalty, from sister Isabel Morel who came every week to support her niece and a friend. Although sister Morel had never played piano during our class, I somehow felt that she knew how to play.
The following week, Sister Morel explained that she knew how to play the piano and she felt prompted to offer her assistance and would be interested in assisting with the class if I needed her. She was another answer to my prayers. Her willingness to act, by offering to share her talent, selflessly serve and love her niece and her friend, were all steps taken towards being more fully converted to our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ.
It is my testimony that our Heavenly Father loves all His children. He has a plan for each of us in this life. He prepares experiences for us that enrich our lives and help our testimonies to grow and our personal conversion to Him to deepen. He provides the assistance we need to accomplish the things He asks us to do. It is my testimony that if we embrace the opportunities He offers, the blessings of heaven will be showered down upon us as our talents are increased, our prayers are answered, and our trust in Heavenly Father grows. How grateful I am for a loving Father in Heaven.

“This is the best Young Women activity we’ve ever had,” said Kimberly Whatcott, of the Waynesboro Virginia Stake, when the stake Beehives gathered in the Waynesboro General District Courtroom for a mock trial.
The girls took the parts of everyone involved in the trial—judge, jury, attorneys, defendants, witnesses, etc., in deciding the case of a teenage romance that resulted in violence.
“What the trial made me think of,” said Tara Hull, “was how I should not accuse people, or judge them, unless I have good evidence—and even then I should go through proper channels to ensure fairness.”
“During the trial, I though a lot about how we learn the difference between right and wrong,” said Elizabeth Rogers, proving that the activity was a good learning experience.

I was just finishing my freshman year at BYU, way back in 1975. There were ten days left in the semester when i was called to be a Stake Missionary. My senior companion, Elder Sorenson, and I were asked to teach the gospel to Joseph Abel-Abia, a graduate student from Nigeria. We taught him 7 lessons in 12 days. The Lord truly strengthened me those two weeks. I was somehow able to complete all my term papers and final exams successfully. Fortunately, I had memorized the missionary discussions earlier that year, by spending several hours every Sunday working on them.

Joseph Abia was full of faith and humility. He accepted the gospel without reservation. When I asked if he understood that he would be unable to receive the priesthood, He replied that If the church were true, who was he to question God? And if it were false, who cared what the church believes? But then he replied that he knew it was true, and that he would just have to be patient and wait upon the Lord. Little did we know...that President Kimball would receive the revelation on the Priesthood just 3 years later.

Joseph set a date to be baptized one week after final exams.

Jody had five older brothers and sisters. When Jody was little, being the youngest was fun because she got special attention. But now that Jody was getting bigger, being the youngest sometimes meant being overlooked.
For example, today when Jody came home from school she had lots of exciting things to tell her mother, but Mom was busy in the garage helping Jody’s brother Derek repair his bike. Later, before dinner, Jody’s oldest sister, Lisa, was in the kitchen with Mom. Lisa was helping fix dinner, chatting endlessly about boys. After dinner, Jody’s sister Amber needed help with her math homework. Then it was time for family prayer, and Jody was off to bed.
On days like these, Jody was grateful she had her secret journal friend. That night she wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I wish I could spend more time with Mom. She is always busy with the family, but I wanted to tell her about school today. I got 100 percent on my spelling test, we did gymnastics in P.E., and in art, I made a beautiful flower out of tissue paper. I like my teacher a lot, but I love my mom.
Your friend,
Jody
Jody felt better when she had finished writing. She put the journal next to her bed, said her prayers, and went to sleep.
The next day, when Jody got home from school, her mother wasn’t there. Lisa told her that their sister, Ellen, who shared a room with Jody, had gotten sick and Mom had taken her to the doctor.
When Jody went into her bedroom to drop off her backpack she saw her journal on her pillow. She opened the journal and read the reply from her secret journal friend.
Dear Jody,
Your mom loves you very much too, and wants to spend more time with you. Why don’t you invite her out for ice cream on Friday night? You know how much she likes rainbow sherbet.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
Jody smiled. The ice cream was a good idea. It sounded like fun. But right now Jody was worried about her sister. She wanted to do something to make her feel better.
Jody took out her pencil and wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I am sorry that Ellen is sick. I want to give her my tissue-paper flower, even though I made it for Mom. Do you think Mom would mind?
Your friend,
Jody
Then Jody remembered something else she was feeling bad about and wrote:
P.S. Today in art I got mad at my friend, Sara, because she spilled my paints. I even pulled her hair. Later I told her I was sorry. Will you still be my friend even when I do bad things?
The next day after school Jody found Ellen resting in their bedroom and gave her the brightly colored flower. Ellen’s eyes lit up and she grinned.
“Thanks, Jody,” Ellen said. “It’s really pretty. It makes me feel cheerful just looking at it.”
Jody smiled. Then she sat down on her bed and started reading her journal.
“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.
“I’m reading a message from my secret journal friend,” Jody told her.
“Your secret friend?” Ellen asked. “I think I saw your secret friend writing in your journal today. Do you want me to tell you who it is?”
“No thanks,” Jody responded. She took her journal out to the living room couch so she could be alone. She sat down and read:
Dear Jody,
I’m sure your mother won’t mind you giving away her flower. She will be very proud of you for being such a thoughtful sister.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
(who loves you always, NO MATTER WHAT)
Jody turned to a blank page, thought for a moment, then wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
Ellen liked the flower. I’m glad I gave it to her. Last night I prayed that she would feel better, and now she does!
I used to wonder how Heavenly Father can hear everyone’s prayers when there are so many people in the world, but now I think I know. Because Heavenly Father loves us no matter what, He will always find a way to answer our prayers.
Then Jody wrote in extra big letters:
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
Thanks for being my secret friend and my mother.
Love,
Jody
P.S. Don’t forget—tonight is ice-cream night!

Once in the long ago when all the animals lived in villages and talked together, a time came when no rain fell for many days, and the animals suffered greatly from thirst.
When the dry time was over, the lion called the animals together. “We must make a plan,” he said, “so we will never again have to suffer or die from thirst.”
“We could move to a different country,” suggested the ape.
“Too far! Too far!” complained the smaller ones. “We cannot travel that far with our short legs.”
Then the snake spoke. “We could try to sleep through the dryness and—”
“That would never suit us,” chimed in the other animals, plainly irritated.
So the jackal and the hyena talked together. “Let us dig a deep pool to hold water from the rainy times,” they said. “Then in the dry days we would have water to drink.”
“A good plan,” the lion agreed, nodding his head. “Let’s begin to dig at once. And since the hyena and the jackal thought of the plan, the hyena may dig first and the jackal will dig last.”
After the hyena dug his share, each of the other animals dug in turn. At last the big hole was almost finished. “Now it’s the jackal’s turn,” said the animals. But the jackal was nowhere to be seen. Since they couldn’t find him, the other animals quickly finished the digging.
The rains came and filled the big pool with sweet, clear water. “No one but those who have dug may drink from this pool,” declared the lion, and all of the other animals agreed.
All this while the jackal had been hiding near the pool, and he heard what the diggers said. So when the long dry season came again, the jackal wakened very early each morning and went to drink from the clear pool. And because no one ever saw him, he became even bolder and went into the water to swim. This made the water muddy. When the animals came to drink later in the morning, they were angry. “Who did this?” they demanded. “Who muddied the water?” But no one knew.
Then the tortoise responded, “If you’ll cover my shell with sticky beeswax, I’ll watch by the pool all night and catch the rascal who muddied our water.” So, with sticky wax smeared all over his dark shell, the tortoise settled at the edge of the pool to watch through the night.
In the morning the jackal came to drink. “Ah! A nice stepping stone,” he said, and he put his two front paws on the shell and bent his head to drink. But when he tried to leave he found that his paws were stuck fast in the wax on the tortoise’s shell. “Let me go!” he cried. “You can’t play tricks on me!”
The tortoise began to move.
“Let me go or I’ll kick your shell to pieces with my strong hind legs,” cried the jackal.
“Do as you please,” replied the tortoise.
The jackal kicked hard, and then both of his hind paws were also stuck fast to the tortoise’s shell. “If you don’t let me go I’ll bite you into little pieces,” cried the jackal.
“Try it!” the tortoise answered.
The jackal bit at the shell and his jaws, too, stuck fast in the wax. Then the tortoise slowly crawled along to the lion’s house with the jackal stuck fast to his shell.
When the animals learned who had muddied the water and who had been drinking without having done his share of the work on the pool, they were angry.
“Tomorrow he must die!” they shouted. The lion nodded. “But we will allow him to choose the way of his death.”
All night long the jackal tried to think of a way he could escape. When morning came he said, “I have seen a monkey kill a rat by swinging him by the tail and dashing him against a tree. I choose to be killed this way.”
“If that is your wish,” said the lion, “the hyena will swing you by the tail around and around and dash you against a tree!”
Now it happened that the wily jackal saved all the fat from the meat he had been given for his last meal, and with it he greased his tail to the very tip. So when the hyena grasped him by the tail and began to swing him around and around, he could not hold tightly. The jackal’s slippery tail went right through the hyena’s paws, and the jackal landed on the ground and went streaking away as fast as he could go.
The hyena and the other animals were so surprised that they didn’t have wits enough to spring after the jackal and give chase until after he had disappeared. The jackal never came back, and many years passed, with the pool always holding clear water for the animals to drink in dry times.
But the tortoise never forgot how the jackal had troubled the water. Even to this day it is said that tortoises can be found guarding the pools of Africa from intruders.

Grandmother also composed poems and hymns and was a great example of obedience to the law of tithing. She grew flowers and sold them at market, and from the proceeds kept the Lord’s portion in a little plastic purse. She was deeply spiritual and taught the gospel to all of her family. Once when my father resisted her, she told him that one day he would bear his testimony from the pulpit.

“That’s something you’ll never see,” he replied. But eventually both he and my mother, as well as we children, served full-time missions in different parts of the world, including El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Uruguay, and Spain.

Ryan started learning about music when he was two years old. His parents put a set of stereo headphones on him and, instead of yanking them off, he was fascinated. He started piano lessons at seven and had to be pushed into practicing like most people. As he learned to play, he and his mother discovered his talent. “I never did like the endings of pieces in books. I would just start making up new endings.” Several years later they discovered that Ryan had perfect pitch. Then he started writing music and performing on a variety of keyboard instruments. He has won numerous awards for his musical talent—composing, performing, and singing. He was voted the most talented in his ninth-grade class.

Many magazines that are considered main stream are using what is called "soft porn" to stimulate sales. One of these is Sports Illustrated with their swimsuit issue. I began reading SI when I was about 6 or 7 that was before they felt the need for the swim suit issue. For many years, almost out of nostalgia I have occasionally subscribed. When the swim suit issue would arrive, I would just toss it away. One time when one of these issues arrived my daughters and wife got it first. They decided to be my censor. When I arrived home, my issue of SI was waiting for me. I wish that I had saved it to show you. There were only about 6 pages left. It was a fun reminder of how inappropriate this issue was for a father and priesthood holder. We had a good laugh as a family but the lesson was not missed on me.

Many years ago my father told us about going for a walk through the woods with an old friend, Judge Bringhurst. The judge sang so loudly along the way that he frightened all the wildlife. But my father said he enjoyed the judge’s singing so much that he didn’t mind not seeing any animals or birds. So when we laugh, smile, sing, whistle, or exercise, we seem to feel better. We either forget our concerns or they are put in better perspective. As we reach out to others, our happiness hormones are stimulated and we find our true selves.

How well I remember my father, the bishop of our ward, filling my small red wagon with food and clothing and then directing me—as a deacon in the Church—to pull the wagon behind me and visit the homes of the needy in our ward.

Often, when fast-offering funds were depleted, my father would take money from his own pocket to supply the needy in his flock with food that would keep them from going hungry. Those were the days of the Great Depression, and many families were suffering.

I remember visiting one family in particular: a sickly mother, an unemployed and discouraged father, and five children with pallid faces, all disheartened and hungry. I remember the gratitude that beamed in their faces when I walked up to their door with my wagon nearly spilling over with needed supplies. I remember how the children smiled. I remember how the mother wept. And I remember how the father stood, head bowed, unable to speak.

These impressions and many others forged within me a love for the poor, a love for my father who served as a shepherd to his flock, and a love for the faithful and generous members of the Church who sacrificed so much to help relieve the suffering of others.

Several years ago, as this Conference Center was being built and nearing completion, I entered this sacred building on the balcony level in a hard hat and safety glasses, ready to vacuum the carpet that my husband was helping to install. Where the rostrum now stands was a front-end loader moving dirt, and the dust in this building was thick. When it settled, it did so on the new carpet. My part was to vacuum. And so I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed. After three days my little vacuum burned up!

The afternoon before the first general conference in this beautiful building, my husband called me. He was about to install the last piece of carpet—under this historic pulpit.

He asked, “What scripture should I write on the back of this carpet?”

And I said, “Mosiah 18:9: ‘Stand as [a witness] of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”

Years ago when I was vacuuming this carpet—trying to act well my small part—I didn’t realize that I would one day stand with my feet on the carpet under this pulpit.

Matt, Joey, Isaac, and Liza had spent a whole week at Grandma and Grandpa’s house with their parents. They had played at the park, visited the river, and seen the last patches of snow melting in the mountains. They also went to a children’s museum, read books at the library, and watched a funny movie. It had been a good trip.
“Are we leaving tomorrow?” Liza asked on the last night of their vacation.
“Yes,” Mom said. “But we don’t have to leave until after lunch. Maybe we can do something fun together in the morning.”
“Shopping?” Matt asked. He was hoping to search the second-hand store for treasures.
“I have a different idea,” Mom said. She pointed out the window at the garden. Spring was almost over, but most of the things growing in the garden were weeds. Last year’s grapevines draped over a fence. One fuzzy, pale green plant had started an army of little shoots just like itself. Matt remembered that plant—lamb’s ear. He helped Grandpa choose it a few years ago.
“Don’t you think we’d have fun helping Grandma and Grandpa get their garden ready for summer?” Mom asked. Nobody said a word. “Think about all the nice things Grandma and Grandpa have done for you. Wouldn’t you like to do something kind for them? I know you’re all good workers, and they’d be thankful for your help.”
Matt didn’t think working sounded like fun, but he did want to help his grandparents.
After breakfast the next day, Grandpa gave each person a job. Mom used big clippers to trim the grapevines. Liza pulled weeds, Isaac lined up smooth stones around the edges of a new flowerbed, Joey carried weeds and grapevine trimmings to a compost pile, and Matt helped Grandpa and Dad dig up the little lamb’s ear plants so they could be planted in new places in the garden.
Soon the sun was high in the sky. “I think we’ve put in a good morning’s work,” Grandpa said.
The garden looked much different than it had earlier that morning. Matt was amazed they had done so much work.
“Everybody, go clean up for lunch,” Mom said. “After we eat it will be time to go home.”
After lunch, Mom and Dad buckled the children into the car. Grandma and Grandpa came out to say good-bye.
“Thank you for all your hard work,” Grandma said. “It would have taken us a lot longer to do it all by ourselves.”
Grandpa leaned into the car and handed Matt a big, sealed plastic bag. When Matt looked closely, he realized it was one of the small lamb’s ear plants surrounded by dirt.
“Remember when you chose that plant, Matt?” Grandpa asked. “I thought you’d like to have one for your own garden.”
Matt looked at Mom. “Can we put it in our flowerbed in the front yard?” he asked.
“Sure, Matt. Then you’ll see it every day,” Mom said.
“Awesome,” Matt said. “And every time I see it, I’ll remember working in Grandma and Grandpa’s garden.”

Something was different about nine-year-old Heidi after school that cold afternoon. Instead of flinging her jacket when she walked in the door, she carefully hung it on the hook. Rather than pouncing at the refrigerator like a hungry tiger, she stared quietly out the window as if she were looking at something far beyond the border of the yard.
“Well, hi there!” Mom said, trying to get her attention.
Like a person awakened from a dream, Heidi looked at her mom and smiled. “Oh, how was your day, Mom?”
Mom wiped her hands on her apron and studied Heidi’s face. “My day was fine. How was yours?”
“Well … ,” Heidi began slowly, “it was … different.”
“I believe you. You seem to be light years away.”
“Well, maybe not that far. But as least as far as Arkansas.”
“Arkansas is a long way from California. What started you thinking about Arkansas?”
Mom cut an apple into four pieces and offered one to Heidi, who cradled it in her hand.
“There’s a new boy named Billy coming from Arkansas to join our class tomorrow. My teacher told us his parents were both in a car accident. His mother died, and his father is in a hospital and probably won’t survive, either. Billy was sent here to California to live with an uncle.” Heidi looked down at the apple she was holding. “Can you imagine being that boy, Mom?”
“No, but you’re really trying to, aren’t you?”
Heidi nodded. “I just wish there was something I could do for him. He’s going to feel really alone tomorrow.”
“I’m sure there are some things you can do to help. Let’s think of some.”
“I can smile at him.”
“Good idea.”
“I can show him around the school and tell him about our classroom routine.” Heidi put her chin on her hand and looked up at her mother. “But it isn’t enough. Isn’t there something special I can do?”
“Well, there is something special we can do for Billy. Something that just might be enough.”
“What?”
“You and I can fast and pray for him. We can ask Heavenly Father to bless him to feel at peace in his new home and at his new school. We can also pray for his father. What do you think about that?”
Heidi thought for a moment about fast Sundays. She had been taught that fasting would help her feel the Spirit, but she usually just felt hungry and grumpy. She hesitated, but then something inside let her know she would be OK. She smiled at her mother. “Let’s do it.”
Just then, Heidi’s 13-year-old brother, Chris, entered the kitchen. Hearing Heidi’s last sentence, he asked, “Do what?”
Mom briefly told Chris about Billy and explained their plan. Chris said, “I’ll fast with you.”
“Wow! Really?” Heidi asked.
“Yeah, sure,” he answered, reaching for some cookies. Stopping his hand just above the cookie jar, he asked, “When do we start?”
“After dinner,” Mom answered.
The next day, Heidi came home looking a little pale—but happy.
“Wow! I thought fasting on Sundays was hard! Try playing kick ball and watching everyone else eat lunch! But I think our fasting and prayers helped Billy.”
“Good! Tell me about it.”
“Well, when I smiled at him, he smiled back at me. The other kids were nice to him, and he made friends with a couple of boys by the end of the day.”
“That’s great,” Mom said.
“And then—it was weird,” Heidi added. “You know how some of the kids’ bad language has been bothering me lately?” Mom nodded, and Heidi continued, “Well, it was amazing, because I heard those same swear words, but for some reason, they couldn’t get inside my mind. It was as if my brain was protected all day from getting dirty! Neat, huh?”
“That’s wonderful, Heidi,” Mom said, smiling.
“I’m really tired, but I feel happy. I hope Billy feels as peaceful as I do right now.”
Mom gave her a little hug. “I have a feeling he does.”
When Chris came home, he flopped into the nearest chair and let his heavy backpack thud to the floor. He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. “When do we eat?”
“Let’s finish our fast with a prayer. We’ll have dinner soon,” Mom suggested. “But first, tell me how your day went.”
“My body felt pretty weak, but I kept thinking of Billy, and that helped,” Chris said. “Missing a couple of meals isn’t so much if it helps him feel better.”
As the three of them knelt to say one more prayer for Billy, Mom put her arms around her children’s shoulders. Was it her imagination, or had her children both grown a little taller that day?

Allie was so happy that she felt bouncy!
She got in the car to ride home.
“Today was great!” she told Mom. “We drew pictures. And I met a new teacher. Her name is Miss Gregg. Now I have two teachers!”
Allie had been in kindergarten for three weeks. She loved everything. Activities. Projects. Lunchtime with friends. Her teacher, Mrs. Coleman. And now she had another teacher, Miss Gregg. It was perfect!
“Wait,” Mom said. “You aren’t going to have two teachers. Just one. Miss Gregg is your new teacher. That’s why you went to her class today.”
Allie frowned. “What?” Her bouncy feeling popped like a balloon.
“Mrs. Coleman’s class was too big,” Mom said. “The school chose you for a new class.”
Allie thought about her friends in Mrs. Coleman’s class. “I don’t think the class was too big.”
“You’ll have fun in your new class,” Mom said.
But Allie didn’t want a new class. She would miss Mrs. Coleman and her new friend Caitlin. This morning school was perfect. Now it was ruined.
At bedtime Allie kneeled to pray.
“Why don’t you ask Heavenly Father to help you in your new class?” Mom said.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Allie said, “please help me have fun at school.” She started to feel a little better. But she was still nervous.
The next morning more worries filled her head. Will I like my new class? Will I see my friends? But new thoughts came too. I can be brave. Heavenly Father will help me.
After school, Allie was happy.
“How was your day?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Allie said. She climbed into the car. “Miss Gregg is really nice. I saw Caitlin on the playground. And I got to make a goody bag!”
“That does sound like a good day,” Mom said.
Allie smiled. “Heavenly Father answered my prayer!”

When I was 12 years old, my father took me along to look for a new car. Nothing is more exciting for a boy than to shop for a new car with his father. Our car was old and well worn. On the outdoor lot of a car dealer was a brand-new 1953 Plymouth. It was just the ticket, my father thought. A four-door sedan at a reasonable price. After some rather intense negotiating, my father said, “Would you take $1,600 cash?” I was stunned. I didn’t think anyone in the world had that much money, let alone my father! The offer was accepted, and that car served us well until I returned from my mission over nine years later. When I turned 16, I learned to drive in that car.

A few years ago, my father reminisced about that car over lunch.

“That old Plymouth was a great car,” he said.

I reminded him that one of my friend’s fathers bought two cars in 1957, just four years after we had acquired the ’53 Plymouth—one was a Plymouth Fury, the other a Studebaker Golden Hawk. You’re too young to remember those speedsters. Both had big V-8 engines and were built to be fast! My friends and I took measure of a car in those days by just how fast it would go over Parley’s Summit, a long climb to a high point on the four-lane highway east of Salt Lake City.

“Both of my friend’s cars could do 100 miles an hour over that summit,” I said, making sure my father understood that my friend had reported that to me and that I was not present to witness it.

Curiosity finally got the best of him. “What about the old Plymouth?” he said.

“Thirty-seven,” I reported, “in second gear.”

“Still, it was a wonderful car,” he said.

“It was a flathead six,” I complained. “It had no radio, no air-conditioning, no power windows, no power brakes, no power steering, no power seats, no power.”

“It never broke,” he said.

“It couldn’t,” I said. “It had no moving parts!”

“You didn’t suffer a bit,” he said. “And it was paid for.”

He had me. I hadn’t suffered, and I knew it was paid for because I had been there when he bought it and had watched him write out the check for $1,684, including taxes and license.

Alan picked up one of the beer cans and studied it. “When’s the last time I held one of these?” he thought to himself.
It was in high school and he had been working at a gas station after school. He was just finishing up one night when a carload of kids from high school came in to get a dollar’s worth of gas. The driver, Nick Hill, got out and talked to him. Alan and Nick had played on the football team.
“Hey, when are you through working?” Nick asked.
“In about five minutes.”
“Why don’t you come with us? We’re just driving around. We’ve got an extra girl.”
“I should get home,” Alan said.
“You’re not afraid to go, are you?”
“No.”
“Then come along.”
“My folks’ll expect me home.”
“So what? You’re old enough to do what you want, aren’t you?”
“Okay, I’ll come, but just for an hour,” Alan said.
He had been in the car for only a few minutes when someone handed him a can of beer and an opener. He nervously stared at the can for a long time. The girl beside him looked at him with curiosity.
“Are you through with the opener?” someone in front asked. He handed the opener forward and gently placed the unopened can on the floorboard of the car.
Nick drove the car to an overlook above the town and parked. There were a few nervous jokes, and then it grew silent. Alan turned and looked at the girl next to him. She smiled awkwardly at him.
“Do you want to take a walk?” he finally asked her.
They got out and walked down a path near the edge.
“It’s a nice view,” he said.
“Yes, it really is.”
“I forgot your name,” Alan said.
“Candy.”
“Oh, sure. I’m sorry about tonight. I’m not very good at things like this.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “You didn’t drink the beer.”
“No.”
“Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were. I was wondering what you’d do.”
“They said they were just going to drive around,” Alan said.
“You knew what it’d be like, though, didn’t you?” she asked.
“I guess so. Maybe I did. Maybe I just got tired of always saying no to people. Why did you come?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s fun to be asked—to be important to somebody—even for just a few hours. I can’t take being a nothing.”
“Is that what you think you are?”
“Yes. Isn’t that what you think I am?”
“No. You’re special.”
“I wish I were. I dream that I am—a movie star or something like that. But I’m just plain.”
“Can I teach you a song? A Mormon song? Would you mind?”
“What’s the name?”
“‘I Am a Child of God.’”
When they got back, they made noise purposely so Nick and the others would know.
“How long are we gonna be here?” Alan asked.
“We just got here,” Nick replied.
“I need to get home.”
“What’s the matter, are we corrupting you? We found your beer in the back. You didn’t drink it.”
“I don’t want it. You drink it.”
“Are you ever going to grow up and act like a man?” Nick asked.
“You don’t mean act like a man. You mean act like you. Never. I never want to be like you. Does that answer your question?”
Nick got out of the car, as did one of his friends. There was a fight, and before it was over, it was Nick and his friend against Alan. When they were through, they drove off and left him and Candy. After they stopped the nosebleed they both walked down the dirt road to the highway where they phoned a friend who came and gave them a ride back to town.
Alan tossed the empty beer can into the garbage container.

Although most of the Saints had left Nauvoo by summer, some remained because of poverty or sickness. This made anti-Mormons very angry. On 10 September 1846, about 800 men with six cannons began to fire on the Saints still in Nauvoo. The attack continued for several days until an agreement was reached that every Mormon would leave except five men and their families, who would stay to sell the remaining property.
Five or six hundred of these remaining Saints crossed the Mississippi and camped on the riverbank in Iowa. They had only blankets and brush bowers for shelter. None of them had food for more than a few days, and many were very sick.
On 9 October, a miracle occurred. Flocks of quail flew into their camps, landing on the ground and even on the tables. The hungry Saints were able to catch the birds. The meat saved many people from starvation and stirred their hearts as they realized that the Lord was caring for them.
Their fellow Saints had not forgotten them, either. Many came back from the Missouri River to help. Others went into neighboring cities to seek money to aid the poor and sick. In the end, the refugees were rescued and divided among the various camps in Iowa, a few even reaching Winter Quarters.