Gospel Story Finder

While competing in a national beauty pageant a few years ago, I saw how much the gospel helps me in many aspects of my life. During the pageant, I refrained from negative talking or backbiting. I knew that everyone there was a child of Heavenly Father and that participating in such activities would not be uplifting.
After a few weeks, the other contestants and I found out that there was an undercover judge—our makeup artist. She had always been in the dressing rooms and at photo shoots and appearances, and she heard everything we were saying. Some girls worried the judge had heard the bad things that they were saying, and I was thankful I didn’t have that burden on my mind and that I could be at peace. I was able to make a good impression by keeping my standards and not participating in any gossip or foul language.
After the pageant, a judge came to me and thanked me for my mature conduct. All the judges had recognized that I acted different from some of the other girls.

One afternoon, Ben’s mom said he had to clean up his room in the next 15 minutes if he wanted to play video games. Ben’s room was a big mess, with toys, clothes, and books all over the floor. Ben wanted to play video games, but he didn’t want to clean his room. “Please let my room be cleaned by magic,” he prayed. Fifteen minutes later when Mom came back to check, the room was still messy. Ben was not allowed to play video games. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” he wondered for the third time.
One night Ben awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible earache. His ear hurt so much that he had to go to the hospital. On the way, he prayed, “Heavenly Father, my ear hurts worse than anything has ever hurt me before. I really need help. Please help the doctors find a way to make my ear feel better.” Ben remembered that Heavenly Father hadn’t always given him what he asked for, but he tried to have faith and believe that the pain would go away.
At the hospital, the doctor gave Ben some medicine. It tasted yucky, but Ben swallowed it, and on the way home his ear started feeling better. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.
As Mom tucked him back into bed, Ben told her about the scuba diver, the broccoli, and the messy room. “Why does Heavenly Father answer some prayers and not others?” he asked.
“Heavenly Father always answers our prayers,” she said. “But sometimes the answer is no if we ask for things that would be bad for us. He wants us to learn here on earth. What did you learn at the swimming pool?”
Ben thought for a minute. “I learned that some things float and some don’t,” he said. “And that I have a nice brother who will help me.”
Mom nodded. “Then there’s the casserole. I’m sorry you think that broccoli is squishy, but it’s good for you. Why do you suppose Heavenly Father let you eat it?”
Ben sighed. “Because he wants me to be healthy and strong.”
“And finally the messy room,” Mom said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father clean it for you?”
“I guess because it’s my job, and I need to learn to do it.” Ben sat quietly for a minute, thinking. “But when I asked Heavenly Father to help the doctors to make my ear feel better, the answer was yes,” he said.
Mom nodded. “Yes, it was. But did your ear stop hurting the instant you asked?”
Ben frowned. “No. Why not?”
“Heavenly Father wants us to do all we can to help solve our problems. What did we do?”
“We went to the doctor, and I took the medicine he gave me, even though it tasted yucky.”
Mom smiled. “Heavenly Father helped the doctor to give you good medicine, and He helped your ear to feel better.”
Ben rubbed his ear. “Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s no.”
“And sometimes it’s ‘not yet,’” Mom added.
Ben hopped out of bed. “I’m going to thank Heavenly Father for helping the doctors to make my ear feel better,” he said. “And from now on, I’m going to try to ask for things that are good for me. Heavenly Father knows how to answer best.”
Mom gave him a hug. “I think that broccoli is making you smarter already!”

When I served as a mission president in Scotland, two of our fine missionary sisters taught and baptized a man in his eighties. In a testimony meeting soon afterward, he stood and gave thanks that he now had purpose in life. “I was waiting to die when the sisters knocked on my door,” he said tearfully. Before long he was called as counselor in the ward Sunday School presidency, and later as Sunday School president. He had great joy and happiness in his church service and made many new friends. A year or so passed and he came over to Salt Lake City for a visit, made more friends and gained more experiences, and especially, was able to go to the temple for the first time. When he did step from this life a few months after his return to Scotland, what a full and purposeful life he had—and all within two years!

When I last spoke on this campus, in the fall of 2002, I briefly reviewed the circumstances which brought my father to these islands nearly 65 years ago. Today, I wish to speak of my patriarchal grandparents. My family is certainly no better than yours. I simply know our story and want to tell you of the heritage my grandparents provided their posterity.

They lived in small towns in Idaho and then in Salt Lake City and had two children, a son (my father) and a daughter. After my father established his family in Hawaii, my aunt, who lived in Salt Lake City, married and, in time, was expecting a child. It turned out she had twins; but tragically, she and the twins all died in childbirth in 1951.

As their only descendants lived in Hawaii, my grandparents moved to Oahu when my grandfather professionally retired in 1956. My grandparents were very devoted to one another; especially, my grandfather was particularly solicitous to the needs of my grandmother. He used to often comment that he never wanted to be away from her. He even said he hoped he would die first, and then he would find a way to bring his companion soon thereafter.

They were true Latter-day Saints, completely devoted to the Lord and His Church. They enjoyed decades of service as ordinance workers in the temple of this community. Both of them were physically strong into their mid-80s. Then they began to have health problems; first one and then the other. There came a point where their health would not allow them to travel to their beloved temple in Laie. Even so, they maintained current temple recommends as a symbol of their desire to be true to their covenants.

After a time, my grandmother went into a coma. My grandfather seemed to rebound for awhile, and then one Friday night he suffered a heart attack and died. After caring for the immediate needs of my grandfather, my father went to the bedside of my grandmother, still in her coma condition, with no apparent ability to communicate. He told her that her husband had gone. Immediately, her vital signs began to diminish, and within hours she was gone. After 65 years of marriage, they were blessed to never be apart.

I was serving as my grandparent's bishop at the time. It was my privilege to conduct their double funeral. Each of the participants in the service were their grandchildren. It was not a time of sorrow, but one of profound gratitude for righteous ancestors who left their posterity an example of faith and devotion to those things that are eternal.

Let me illustrate. I am very concerned about the tendency of members to disregard the counsel of the bishop or, at the other extreme, to become overdependent upon him.
I decided to speak in general conference about the bishop.
I prayerfully prepared, and there came to mind a conversation from 50 years past. It served my need as a teacher—served it perfectly. I quote now that conversation just as I did in general conference:
“Years ago I served on a stake high council with Emery Wight. For 10 years Emery had served as bishop of rural Harper Ward. His wife, Lucille, became our stake Relief Society president.
“Lucille told me that one spring morning a neighbor called at her door and asked for Emery. She told him that he was out plowing. The neighbor then spoke with great concern. Earlier that morning he had passed the field and noticed Emery’s team of horses standing in a half-finished furrow with the reins draped over the plow. Emery was nowhere in sight. The neighbor thought nothing of it until much later when he passed the field again, and the team had not moved. He climbed the fence and crossed the field to the horses. Emery was nowhere to be found. He hurried to the house to check with Lucille.
“Lucille calmly replied, ‘Oh, don’t be alarmed. No doubt someone is in trouble and came to get the bishop.’
“The image of that team of horses standing for hours in the field symbolizes the dedication of the bishops in the Church and of the counselors who stand by their side. Every bishop and every counselor, figuratively speaking, leaves his team standing in an unfinished furrow when someone needs help.”3

In 1829 Joseph Smith, with the help of his scribe Oliver Cowdery, finished translating the Book of Mormon.
Oliver, the Lord is pleased with us.
Now we just need to publish this great book.
Joseph and Oliver went to Palmyra, New York, and spoke to Egbert B. Grandin, a printer.
We need 5,000 copies of this book as soon as possible.
It will cost $3,000. Since you want so many copies and this is such a big book, it may take me over a year.
Several months later Mr. Grandin became worried that Joseph would not pay. He stopped the printing of the Book of Mormon until he could be sure.
I mortgaged my farm to print the Book of Mormon. That should put Mr. Grandin at ease.
That’s wonderful, Martin!
Mr. Grandin had a new press that made the printing process much faster than earlier presses. Still, it took him a long time.
Mr. Grandin, we’re almost finished, and it has been only seven months!
I don’t completely understand how.
Once the Book of Mormon was published, the Lord commanded Joseph to organize the Church. On April 6, 1830, about 60 people met in the home of Peter Whitmer Sr.
Welcome, brothers and sisters.
The members sustained Joseph as the prophet and took the sacrament.
Though the Church started out with just a few members, Joseph later told some brethren in Kirtland about its destiny.
It is only a little handful of priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world.

After I had been living in Fairfield, Ohio, for about a year, the Nielson family moved into our neighborhood. It wasn’t long until Brett Nielson and I became best friends. One day he asked me to go to his church for a dinner. My parents said it was OK.
When we arrived at the Church, he showed me around the building. Later we saw a movie called Meet the Mormons, and he asked if I’d like to join the Mormon Church. I said I might, and when I got home I told my mom that I wanted to be a Mormon when I grew up.
My mom thought she’d better see what her son was getting into. So she went to see Sister Nielson, and asked her if she had any books about the Mormons. Sister Nielson gave Mom some books and pamphlets to read.
Pretty soon the missionaries gave us the discussions and we were baptized. Dad was baptized a year later and this year we were sealed together as a family for time and all eternity.
Even though we have since moved to St. Clairsville, Ohio, Brett and I are just like brothers. We plan to go to Brigham Young University together. I know that when you bring the gospel to someone, you grow closer to that person.

He does not want us to go through pains without purpose. He loves us so much, and He wants to prove it so much. But sometimes, through our own choices, we close that door, we separate ourselves from Him, and then it is in our own hands. We must then take that first step toward the recovery of peace in our hearts. This is something I would experience for myself.
After months of learning, missionary lessons, and classes, I experienced adversity in one of its most painful forms—adversity that confronts you with feelings of the past, tempts you to make incorrect decisions in the present, and tries to ruin the future you always dreamed of. I learned that affliction sometimes (and many times) comes from somewhere you never expected.
Being worthy and virtuous in thoughts and acts had always seemed part of who I was, up until then. I knew that the things that I was about to do weren’t right, that people I once trusted were about to go off-road, and that I had actually already begun creating a distance between me and my Heavenly Father. I knew that now was the time when I needed to choose whether I would continue this or stick to the values I had always honored. So I had to find that strength inside of me that told me that I couldn’t ruin these dreams so easily. I couldn’t ruin my hope of an eternal family and a loving husband. Something in my life was wrong, and I knew it had to change.
That feeling, together with the young testimony that had begun to flourish in my heart, and true angels in my life who were always there to help me, saved me from being lost and made me so strong again that I could choose to turn back toward the Lord in time. And I know that He always was there, blessing me in my efforts to listen to His voice and to stay worthy of eternal blessings.
When I think about that time that I went through now, I think of courage for not having surrendered, courage for having always demonstrated my values, and the faith I had and still have.
Although the time of repentance that followed was a time of pain, of recognition of wrong feelings and moments, and of humility, I am so grateful for it—and I always will be. Grateful for the fact that, at the right time, I could feel that my Heavenly Father had forgiven me, that He continues to love me, and that He always will.
The part that cost me the most was learning to forgive myself. I remember how I felt, unworthy and without beauty, neither on the outside nor on the inside. But my Savior was always there, giving me strength and inspiration. He put the right people on my path who helped me to learn even more about the Church, since I had returned to Belgium. They loved me for who I am and helped me love myself again and recognize that this experience didn’t have to be a pain that I carry in my backpack of life forever. I could see that I had the opportunity to choose, to experience how strong my testimony already was by defending my values. Now I see that because I worked on strengthening my testimony through this experience, I can be a blessing in the lives of so many people, near and far.
I was baptized on March 16, 2019, in my ward in Belgium, and I am so happy to have taken this first step on my way to eternity. Yes, I will encounter more challenges along the way—we all will—but with my testimony in my heart, I am ready to face them, since I know Whom to choose.

Another young person, William Hamilton, met Joseph and Hyrum when, on their first night in Carthage, they stayed at his father’s inn. They arrived at the Hamilton House hotel five minutes before midnight on June 24. Early the next morning, the Smith brothers voluntarily surrendered to a constable. After a court hearing during the day, they met with Governor Ford. During the interview a justice of the peace appeared with a paper from a judge authorizing the jailing of Joseph and Hyrum Smith until they could be tried for treason—which was a change from the original charge of rioting.

Despite protests from their attorneys, Joseph and Hyrum were hurried off to Carthage jail, only a few blocks away. Several friends and associates were allowed to stay with the Prophet and the patriarch that evening. On the next day, June 26, the treason hearing was held. No witnesses appeared, so Joseph and Hyrum were required to stay in jail until another hearing could be held, this one scheduled for June 29. But the conspiracy to murder the Prophet and his brother was already in motion.

On June 27, 1844, William stood as lookout on the roof of the county courthouse. It was hot and humid. Sometime near five o’clock, William noticed a group of about 100 men with blackened faces going toward the jail. He hurried to report the movement, but it was already too late. The soldiers assigned to protect the prisoners were outnumbered by the mob. They stormed the jail, rushed up the stairs, and fired shot after shot after shot. Then a yell that the Mormons were coming caught everyone’s attention, and the mob fled.

William went into the jail, where he saw the body of Hyrum Smith. Outside the jail, the Prophet Joseph also lay dead in a pool of blood. John Taylor was severely wounded. Willard Richards was only grazed on his ear by a bullet.2

Before President Hugh B. Brown was a General Authority, he served in England as an officer in the Canadian army and had great power. Men stood at attention before him and called him “sir.” One day Brother Brown received a message that he was wanted in the hospital. When he got there, someone directed him to a little room where a sick young man lay. Brother Brown remembered that he had once been that young man’s Sunday School teacher. “Brother Brown,” said the young man, “would you use your authority in my behalf? The doctors say I cannot live. Will you give me a blessing?” All the pride Brother Brown felt in wearing the uniform of the king disappeared as he laid his hands upon the boy’s head and gave him a blessing. The help that the boy needed was not from any authority of an officer in the king’s army but from the authority of the priesthood.

As the flight attendants began their usual safety instructions, I checked to make sure my son, Max, was secured in his infant carrier in the seat next to me on the airplane.
I reflected on the day Max was born a few months prior. When I held him for the first time in the hospital, I was determined to do everything in my power to keep him safe, teach him how to find happiness, and provide everything he would need to successfully navigate this life.
I’m sure most fathers experience these feelings. Mine were particularly poignant as I looked into his eyes and remembered the struggle of infertility that preceded his birth, with the physical, emotional, and spiritual toll that it took on me and my wife.
The flight attendants had just explained the way to use the overhead oxygen masks during an emergency, and when one of them reached our row, she had a look of absolute seriousness. She pointed right at me. “If the masks come down, you put yours on first before helping him,” she said, pointing at Max. For some reason, the emphasis with which she said the word first struck me like lightning.
Looking out the airplane window, I imagined the scene—oxygen masks deploying, doubting that I would feel comfortable wasting any time to help Max. Then the thought came to me of the words Jesus Christ spoke to Peter, whose only desire in that moment was to serve and protect the Savior: “When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32).
And it hit me: the best way I can help Max is to first help myself. I realized that if I needed to secure my own oxygen mask, it would only take a few seconds, but then I could fully and properly help Max. I thought for the remainder of the flight about the small and simple things—much more eternally important than oxygen masks—that I can do first that would put me in the best position to then help Max, to first become converted and to then strengthen others.
These following things only take a few minutes of my time but have made a major difference in strengthening me:
Kneeling in prayer helps me gain the proper focus to have an honest discussion with Father in Heaven.
Using a notebook or computer document to write down thoughts and insights has created a richer scripture study experience for me.
Pausing to ask, “What does that really mean?” or “What does that mean for me?” while worshipping in the temple or reviewing general conference talks has helped me receive important insight and understanding.
Writing down how I saw the Lord’s hand in my life at the end of each day has helped me see His influence more easily and feel closer to Him.1

When I was in my 20s, I had to take a very hard exam to get into a prominent business school in France. I had been studying long hours every day for two years. But I always went to church and institute and fulfilled my Church responsibilities.
The most important part of the exam was the interview. I had an interview with one school, and when they found out I was a member of the Church, it didn’t go well.
Then I took the exam with the school I wanted to go to most. After some time in the interview, the interviewers started asking questions about what I did outside my studying hours. I knew that it was a go/no-go question for me. But I decided in a second I would be faithful to my principles.
I said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” and then I spent 15 minutes explaining what I did in the Church.
The director of the school said, “You know, I’m glad you said this. When I was a student, I studied in the United States, and one of my best friends was a Mormon. He was a great man, a very kind person. I consider the Mormons to be very good people.”
What a relief! I was one of the first candidates that year to be accepted to this school.

During a spelling test I looked at someone’s paper and saw that I had spelled the word tease wrong. I changed my answer. During lunch that day my mom took me to my violin lesson. I felt bad about cheating, and even though I was scared to tell my mom about it, I did. She said I needed to tell the teacher what had happened. When we got back to school my mother asked if I needed her to come with me to tell my teacher. I told her no. I was scared for the rest of the school day. I kept walking up to my teacher to tell her and then going back to my desk because I was too scared. Finally at the end of the day I told my teacher what happened. She marked the answer wrong but then gave me a hug and told me, “Thank you for being honest.” I’m glad I told my teacher even though it was very hard. I felt much better afterward. I will never cheat on a test again. I will always try to be honest in everything I do.

Let me share with you a few of my own experiences.

In 1978, shortly after returning from my mission, I had the opportunity to take the first of several trips to Italy to work with my father and grandfather carving statues from the crystalline-white marble quarried in the mountains above Carrara. On weekends we visited the great cathedrals and museums in Italy. One of the first cathedrals we visited was Santa Maria Novella, a quiet cathedral near the train station in Florence. As we entered the cathedral, the morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, projecting colored light along the walls and pews. I was drawn to a large fresco painting of the Trinity by the early Italian Renaissance painter Masaccio. The painting depicts the three members of the Godhead: God the Father at the highest point, His hands supporting the cross that bears His Son, and the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove immediately above Christ’s head. As I gazed on the painting, a strong spirit of reverence came over me. I remained there quietly admiring it, pondering the concept of the Godhead.

In the years that have passed since that time, the image of this painting has often come to mind, and each time I feel the same warm reverence that I felt that day. At the time I was 21 years of age and knew very little about the history of art. I later learned as part of my studies that this painting was among the most important in art history because it was the first use of scientific perspective in Western art. I also learned that Masaccio was only 21 years old when he painted the work. This masterpiece was one of only a few works that he completed before his untimely death at the age of 27. As I learned more about the technical details and historical significance of this work, my admiration for the painting, and its spiritual message, grew.

Another painting had a profound spiritual influence on me. As I child I lived in the Sugarhouse area of Salt Lake City. Our ward met in a lovely old meetinghouse built in an English Tudor style. The chapel had a long vaulted ceiling with dark oak woodwork and a wonderful pipe organ. At the front of the chapel behind the pulpit was a large mural of the Sacred Grove painted by the Latter-day Saint artist Lee Greene Richards. Every week as we met in sacrament meeting, I gazed at that painting. I don’t remember any of the words I heard over the pulpit, but the sweet promptings of the Spirit that I felt as a child in that chapel will always remain in my heart and are forever associated in my mind with that beautiful image of the Sacred Grove.

I did not fully prepare him; I surprised him, and maybe I hurt him. I could not bring myself to say it so bluntly. So I explained, “I was a new member when Dad and I met and fell in love. I had heard an interfaith marriage could be hard, but no one explained it. I had not known any active, part-member families; maybe that should have been a warning to me? Anyhow, I just thought telling people to marry in the Church was prejudice. No one told me Dad should know more about the Church and my hopes, and it never occurred to me that I would feel so lonely going to church without him. I also did not realize how I could upset him by going to church.
“You see, when you’re planning to marry, you think you are going to have everything you already have, plus everything the other has. There just is not time, energy, or room enough for everything, and sometimes one of you does not want everything the other has to offer. Compromises have to be made. It’s not easy to compromise your beliefs and way of life.
“Anyhow, after a lot of experiments, Dad and I finally came to an adjustment. As the saying goes, ‘When life hands you a lemon, add the sweetener of love and make lemonade.’”
“Yes, Dad even went so far as to let you three go to church with me—after I was reactivated. Some nonmember dads would not be so generous. You have a very fine father.”

Let me share with you a pointed letter which came from a resident of Minnesota. It was addressed to Brigham Young University:
“Gentlemen:
“Beginning December 22, I made a bus trip from southern Minnesota to Florida via Des Moines and Chicago and points south.
“There was a large group of young men and women traveling the approximately same route from Des Moines. These fine young people were students from Brigham Young [University] going home for the holidays.
“They were all very polite, well-behaved, articulate young men and women. It was a pleasure to travel with them—to know them—and it gave me a new hope for the future.
“I realized that the university cannot do this. Young men and women of their caliber are the product of fine homes. The credit is due the parents. I cannot reach the parents, so my appreciation must go to the school.”

I’d like to share an experience that reminded me that I was a son of God, that He loved me and has a work for me to do. I had been in South America sourcing new potato varieties and, at the conclusion of my trip, was scheduled to fly home from Lima, Peru at midnight on Saturday night. That weekend happened to be General Conference, so I went to a local Stake Center to view the proceedings on Saturday.

In the afternoon, I asked a native Peruvian how long it would take to get from the Stake Center to the airport so that I could arrive in time to catch my flight. He said I should leave halfway through the Priesthood session, but then he cautioned me not to take a taxi. He said there were many taxis that were dishonest and very dangerous, and as a foreigner, I could be taken advantage of – even robbed and beaten. I thanked him for the information but knew that since I didn’t have a vehicle, or know anyone with a vehicle, my only option, other than walking, was to take a taxi.

That evening as the brethren stood to sing the rest hymn, I said goodbye to the missionaries in the RS room where we had been watching the session. One of the Zone Leaders, who looked like a big defensive lineman, offered to walk out to the street with me, and said he would try to find a good taxi. We stood there for a few minutes, and many taxis drove past, but none of them looked trustworthy.

Suddenly a Peruvian man wearing a white shirt and tie appeared at my side. He stated, “You are going to the airport,” and as I nodded, he said, “Wait a few minutes and I’ll be back.” Relieved, I thought he was going to get his car. However, to my surprise, he returned on foot, and then after watching the traffic for a few minutes, he stopped a taxi for us to get in.

Full of questions, I asked, “Who are you, and how did you know that I needed to go to the airport?” He replied that he was President Fernando Soriano, first counselor in the Stake Presidency. He then asked if I remembered the counsel from President Monson at General Conference a few years ago, that we were to act when we receive impressions of the Spirit. Then, he said that tonight as he was singing the intermediate hymn, an unmistakable impression came into his mind: “Walk out to the street and you will find a man that you are to take to the airport.”

Following the promptings of the Spirit, President Soriano walked out to the street and found me looking for a taxi. He ran home to tell his wife that he would be going to the airport and would be home late. Because he didn’t own a car, he relied on taxis when he needed to get across the city and knew which ones were legal. Even so, our taxi did not have authority to enter the airport and stopped several blocks away, leaving us to walk the rest of the way. President Soriano helped me with my luggage and led me in the dark as we walked through an area where homeless men gathered around campfires.

Once we entered the airport, I thanked him for his assistance. Without his guidance, I knew that arriving at the airport safely without being robbed or beaten was questionable. However, President Soriano refused to say goodbye. He explained that in his impression, he had a very clear vision of escorting me through the security gate, and that until he had fulfilled his duty to God, he would not leave. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for this good brother who listened to the Spirit and came to my rescue at great personal sacrifice. I asked for a photo together, although I knew that I would never forget him.

As my plane flew through the night, I found I was sleepless. Tears flowed from my eyes as I reflected on the events of the evening. I have traveled throughout the world without any difficulty, yet, that night I was in danger. Even though I hadn’t been aware of my need, my Heavenly Father was. He knew of the potential perils that awaited and protected me by inspiring President Soriano to escort me to the airport. Although I have had spiritual experiences in helping others, I don’t know if I had ever been on the receiving end before as strongly as was manifested in this experience. I was humbled and overwhelmed with a feeling of exquisite love from above. I knew that God was aware of me individually as His son and that He loved me.

I knew a faithful mother who humbled herself and asked, “What is keeping me from progressing?” In her case, the response from the Spirit came immediately: “Stop complaining.” This answer surprised her; she had never thought of herself as a complainer. However, the message from the Holy Ghost was very clear. In the days that followed, she became conscious of her habit of complaining. Grateful for the prompting to improve, she determined to count her blessings instead of her challenges. Within days, she felt the warm approval of the Spirit.

There have been many times when the purity of her life has helped me, even saved me. I will show one example.

Once on my mission, we encountered a severe storm and were thrown overboard. I thought I was a good swimmer, but eventually I ran out of energy. As I went under, for what could have been the last time, I saw in my mind Jean's pure smile. It was as though she instantly came 9,000 miles and lifted me up.

No one can tell me there is not power in purity because I know there is.

Two other powerful ideas were given voice by a noble young woman who survived a terrible experience. Virginia Reed was a survivor of the tragic Donner-Reed party, which made one of the earliest wagon treks into California. If this wagon train had followed the established Oregon Trail from Fort Bridger (Wyoming) northwest to Fort Hall (Idaho) and then southwest toward California, they would have reached their destination in safety. Instead, they were misled by a promoter. Lansford W. Hastings persuaded them they could save significant distance and time by following his so-called Hastings Cutoff. The Donner-Reed party left the proven trail at Fort Bridger and struggled southwest. They blazed a trail through the rugged Wasatch Mountains and then south of the Great Salt Lake and westward over the soggy surface of the salt flats in furnace heat.
The delays and incredible energies expended on this unproven route cost the Donner-Reed party an extra month in reaching the Sierra Nevada Mountains. As they hastened up the eastern slope trying to beat the first snows, they were caught in a tragic winter storm only one day short of the summit and a downhill passage into California. Marooned for the winter, half their group perished from starvation and cold.
After months in the mountains and incredible hardships of hunger and terror, thirteen-year-old Virginia Reed reached California and sent a letter to her cousin in the Midwest. After recounting her experiences and the terrible sufferings of their party, she concluded with this wise advice: “Never take no cutofs and hury along as fast as you can” (Virginia E. B. Reed letter to her cousin Mary Gillespie, 16 May 1847, quoted in J. Roderic Korns and Dale L. Morgan, eds., West from Fort Bridger [Logan, Utah: Utah State University Press, 1994], p. 238).