Gospel Story Finder

There are many today who harbor in the deep recesses of their hearts a canker, a hurt, a feeling of resentment, a dislike, or in some cases even a hate because of unpleasant experiences with past and present associations. Some have been taken advantage of in a business sense. Others have had their feelings hurt by neighbors, or relatives, or friends. A few have been lied to or had a trust of long standing betrayed. Some children, young and now grown, have been offended by harsh or dictatorial parents. Husbands and wives may have deep schisms between them caused by criticism and a resulting resentment. The list of sad experiences goes on and on—yes, it is too long. To those of you who have been nursing the wounds of hurt feelings from the past, even from the little things, I would like to tell an experience which happened some time ago.
For much of our lives, we lived in central Arizona. Some years ago a group of teenagers from the local high school went on an all-day picnic into the desert on the outskirts of Phoenix. As some of you know, the desert foliage is rather sparse—mostly mesquite, catclaw, and palo verde trees, with a few cactus scattered here and there. In the heat of the summer, where there are thickets of this desert growth, you may also find rattlesnakes as unwelcome residents. These young people were picnicking and playing, and during their frolicking, one of the girls was bitten on the ankle by a rattlesnake. As is the case with such a bite, the rattler’s fangs released venom almost immediately into her bloodstream.
This very moment was a time of critical decision. They could immediately begin to extract the poison from her leg, or they could search out the snake and destroy it. Their decision made, the girl and her young friends pursued the snake. It slipped quickly into the undergrowth and avoided them for fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally, they found it, and rocks and stones soon avenged the infliction.
Then they remembered: their companion had been bitten! They became aware of her discomfort, as by now the venom had had time to move from the surface of the skin deep into the tissues of her foot and leg. Within another thirty minutes they were at the emergency room of the hospital. By then, the venom was well into its work of destruction.
A couple of days later I was informed of the incident and was asked by some young members of the Church to visit their friend in the hospital. As I entered her room, I saw a pathetic sight. Her foot and leg were elevated—swollen almost beyond recognition. The tissue in her limb had been destroyed by the poison, and a few days later it was found her leg would have to be amputated below the knee.
It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. How much better it would have been if, after the young woman had been bitten, there had been an extraction of the venom from the leg in a process known to all desert dwellers.

On another occasion, Sheriff Thomas King of Adams County and several others were sent as a posse to arrest the Prophet and deliver him to the emissaries of Governor Boggs of Missouri. Sheriff King became deathly ill, and the Prophet took the sheriff to his home in Nauvoo and nursed him like a brother for four days. (Cannon, p. 372.) Small, kind, and yet significant acts of service were not occasional for the Prophet.

A few weeks later, our two youngest children got lost in a large department store where we had gone to get new eyeglasses for the older children. After waiting a while, they got bored and decided to go off on their own, looking for the toy section. The consequence was that they got separated from us.

What did they do when they realized that they were lost? They went to a secluded spot in the store and offered a faithful prayer that they would be reunited with us. Then they stepped out of that spot, with great faith that they would be found. At that same time, their older brother saw them as he was looking for them in that area.

Meanwhile, faithful members of the Church had resided in the German Democratic Republic and in Czechoslovakia during decades of political duress. Of course, no missionary couples served there. Members’ activities were limited by the restrictive regimes of those lands. For example, the first time Sister Nelson and I visited Czechoslovakia in 1975, I had been invited to participate in a medical capacity. While in Prague, we met with a few Saints in a member’s apartment, which we accessed up a dimly lighted stairway. Well do we remember meeting the fifteen-year-old daughter of two members who indicated that they had never before revealed to their daughter their affiliation with the Church. That night—for the first time—she was being entrusted with that potentially dangerous information. After the meeting was over, the district president dropped us off some distance from our hotel so that police would not identify him in our presence. Under such imposed limitations, there was no hope of missionary work either in Czechoslovakia or in the German Democratic Republic, both of which had been blessed with missionaries prior to the onset of the Second World War.

While I was serving as a missionary in a small town in Wales, my companion and I were tracting a street leading up one of the many hills there. It was a warm summer day. As we reached the top of the hill, the view was beautiful, so my companion and I decided to take a short break to enjoy the view and regain our energy.
As I got an orange out of my backpack, I saw a Chinese lady walking up the hill. I don’t know why, but I waved to her. She happily waved back and walked over to sit by us. We started talking, and she explained that she came up the hill to enjoy the view because it reminded her of God and His love for her. She also told us that she had been ready to go back to China when a job in Wales came up. She took it, believing that God provided this job for a reason she didn’t know.
Soon after this first meeting, we started teaching her in a recent convert’s home and shared many spiritual moments together. One of them I cherish the most. We presented her with a Chinese copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies written in the front. The Spirit was so strong that she started crying.
Not long after, I was transferred to another area. Unfortunately, I couldn’t go back to that area for her baptism, but it will always strengthen me to think back to our first meeting high on a hilltop.

“Mama! Mama! I’m sorry I got all wet, but Jalen was blowing bubbles in the pool!” Jordan shouted.
Jordan’s mother raced outside to find his baby cousin, Jalen, lying purple and lifeless on the deck of the pool near the stairs. She gathered up his body and began to pat his back. Jalen began to cough up lots of water.
Jalen’s parents had been upstairs. They rushed downstairs and took him to the doctor. Jalen’s PaPa and Grandma went with them. Then everyone began to notice that Jordan was soaking wet from head to toe—clothes, shoes, and all.
“Jordan, you are so brave! You pulled Jalen out of the pool without even taking time to take off even your shoes,” his mother said. “What happened?”
“When I went outside, I saw Jalen in the middle of the pool, and he was blowing bubbles. He was so scary looking that I didn’t want to touch him. But I got in the water and pulled him to the stairs. I didn’t know what to do next, so I went to get you.”
Jordan’s Aunt Amberly went to help him find some dry clothes. She asked, “If Jalen was so scary that you didn’t want to touch him, how did you know what to do?”
“Something told me what to do,” he told his aunt.
“Do you know that the feeling you had was like a still, small voice telling you what to do? Do you remember from Primary who the still small voice is?”
“I know—it was the Holy Ghost,” Jordan said. “I’m glad I listened to Him.”
Jordan Jones, age 6 (as told by his Aunt Dawn)Tupelo, Mississippi

The first time I paid tithing, the amount was five cents. With my father, I went to the office of the bishop, who solemnly accepted my five pennies and wrote out the receipt. Then he came from behind his desk and sat next to me. With his hand on my shoulder, he said, “Ronald, you have made a good beginning. If you continue as you have begun, you can be a perfect tithe payer.” The idea of being perfect at anything seemed well beyond my ability. But with those words, the bishop inspired me to strive for perfection in that one basic aspect of the gospel.

Several weeks ago we began planning our daughter’s wedding. With great joy, we dreamed and brainstormed as we considered all the options. And then my husband, Greg, received a phone call he couldn’t ignore. It was the oncologist confirming what we hoped wasn’t true. Greg’s cancer had returned.
Isn’t it amazing how you can go from best day to worst day in a matter of minutes?
This is mortality. A proving ground. A place designed for growth. I have learned that God allows mortality to do its work in us—and that includes both best days and worst days.
I don’t know what your story looks like right now, if today is a best day or a worst day. But here is my advice for you. On that worst day with Greg several weeks ago, I opened my For the Strength of Youth guide, wondering if the eternal truths, invitations, and promised blessings from the guide could really help Greg and me find strength in Christ.
Here is what I read. Maybe these words will help you.
“God’s plan is for you. … He has all power and knows all things. You can trust Him, even when life is hard.”
“God wants to communicate with you.” He knows you. He knows your name. “Pour out your heart to Him. … Be still and listen for His answers.”
“Jesus Christ will help you. … When you are worried, afraid, or [struggle] in any way, He will comfort you.”
“Walk in God’s light. … You make better choices when you can see things clearly.”
“Temple ordinances and covenants give you greater access to God’s blessings,” help you navigate your life with divine guidance, increase your companionship with the Spirit and with angels, and enable you to live up to your privileges and draw upon the power of God.
Finally, “Jesus Christ brings joy. … You might have a bad day, a bad week, or a bad year. [Just remember,] joy is not the absence of sorrow in your life; [it is] the presence of [Jesus] Christ in your life.”
As you spend time in this guide, you will begin to realize that this is not just a guide for standards; this is a guide for strength.

When times were tough, I learned to take time to feel joy in the little moments—the gifts—that are given to us. When my son cannot help but give me a kiss, I am grateful. When I watched my son ride the bus without anyone to sit with, I was blessed to have this scripture come into my mind: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). I knew that Brad was not alone and never will be.

I would like to tell you of an experience that strengthened my understanding of temple worship and the benefits it brings to us and our ancestors.
It was Holy Week. The traditional activities commemorating the last week of the Savior were present everywhere. The Christian world joined the celebration, more motivated by tradition than by understanding.
At one point on that Good Friday, I stopped to reflect on the words that Christ expressed to Martha at Lazarus’ tomb. With deep attention and hope, she listened as “Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?”2
As the words of hope and faith nested in her heart, the reality of the miracle followed. Lazarus was called to life and to be among his own again.
“If I believe,” I told myself, “we will all live again after we die.”
Immediately, my thoughts turned to my ancestors and the words revealed to the prophet Joseph F. Smith, just weeks before his death, came to my mind in connection with the experience of Martha and Mary:
“While this vast multitude waited and conversed, rejoicing in the hour of their deliverance from the chains of death, the Son of God appeared, declaring liberty to the captives who had been faithful;
“And there he preached to them the everlasting gospel, the doctrine of the resurrection and the redemption of mankind from the fall, and from individual sins on conditions of repentance.”3
I thought about some of my family members I knew before they left this life. “Could it be that they accepted the gospel?” I wondered.
Reflection was followed by the impulse to go to the FamilySearch site and look in my family tree, as if there I could find the answer I was looking for.
When I opened the site and saw that I could also search for information about my ancestors in other sites related to FamilySearch, I decided to try one of them.
When I checked it, I saw a family name on the site. Yes, it was the same name as my great-uncle, married to the sister of my maternal grandmother. It was not a common surname and it was not easy to pronounce.
The person with that last name was the administrator of a family tree. Upon entering that tree, I found a family treasure. Before my eyes appeared more than 50 names with photos, names, dates, professions, and even with the nicknames by which some of them were known.
The time passed very quickly. I did not want to stop recording the information that had miraculously appeared before me.
Until that moment, that surname and that branch of the family, were not on my agenda because I did not have enough information.
At the end of the day, my thoughts returned to the question: “And my ancestors, have they accepted the gospel?”
Tears ran down my cheeks as I said to myself, “Yes,” and again Martha’s words to the Savior came to my mind as an echo, “Yes, I believe.”
As our family began to perform the ordinances for that family line, the tree began to bloom. There were no longer only 50 names as many more were found when the desire to know and do came to my mind and heart.
“Behold, the field was ripe, and blessed are ye, for ye did thrust in the sickle, and did reap with your might, yea, all the day long did ye labor; and behold the number of your sheaves! And they shall be gathered into the garners, that they are not wasted.”4

Hola! I’m Elena. It’s my first time going to the temple.
A few weeks ago, I met with my bishop. He asked me some questions to help make sure I was ready to go to the temple. (You can read the questions on page 35!) Then he gave me my own temple recommend.
We’re getting ready to go. I get dressed in my Sunday best. I also pack some things to fix my hair after it gets wet. And I make sure I have my recommend. Now we’re off to catch the bus!
There’s the temple! It’s so beautiful.
When I walk inside the temple, I feel peaceful. I show my recommend to the nice temple worker at the front desk. Another temple worker gives me a white jumpsuit. I go to the locker room to change.
Now I wait for my turn to be baptized. When it’s my brother’s turn, I stand by the font to be a witness. I make sure he goes all the way under the water.
It’s my turn now! The water is warm. I’m baptized for several people in a row.
When I get out, a temple worker hands me a towel. I rinse off in the dressing room and change back into my Sunday clothes. When I come out, a temple worker takes me to be confirmed for several people.
My time in the temple was really special! I’m happy I could help others by being baptized and confirmed for them. I can’t wait to come back again soon.

Young women laughed, joked, and sang songs while the sausages they were roasting on an open campfire sputtered and sizzled to keep them company. The group had hiked all day, and the rest and food were welcome.
It could have been a girls’ camp anywhere in the world. But this was on the border of the Wildschutzgebiet (a game preserve), and the four days of nature treks planned during the camp would lead 22 Latter-day Saints from the Frankfurt Germany Stake and their three leaders through the scenery surrounding the towns of Laubach, Ilbeshausen, Lauterbach, and Schotten.
Each morning there was a devotional. One night Brother Baumgart from the stake high council came to visit and conducted a fireside and testimony meeting. And everywhere they went the girls sang folk songs like “Hejo, spann den Wagen an” (“Hey, Hook the Wagon Up”), or hymns like “Der Morgen erwachet” (“The Day Dawn Is Breaking”).
There were pillow fights, trips to town for food, a night spent in a quaint hostel with yellow shutters and squeaky beds, meals like goulash and rice, a daily quiz with questions such as “Does a cow use its front or rear legs first when standing up?”, and many entries in journals.
Two particular experiences remain impressed on the girls’ memory: (1) At Lauterbach, the group chanced to meet a couple being married at city hall, so they serenaded them. (2) Hiking in the woods during the only day with bad weather, the group got lost in the fog. After stumbling around for several minutes, they decided to say a prayer. Following the prayer, they all agreed on one direction and walked straight to their destination.
But perhaps the ideals shared on the trip show more than anything else that it was an activity planned by young Latter-day Saint women. The goals were: (1) to be together as girls and have enjoyable, beautiful experiences; (2) to get better acquainted with nature; (3) to increase physical endurance; and (4) to draw closer through spiritual moments and to learn to understand one another. As they rode the train back to Frankfurt, the girls’ comments suggested that those goals had been realized in many ways.

This Christmas carol was written, set to music, and performed for the first time all in one day. On Christmas Eve in 1818, the organ at a small Austrian church was not working. Knowing they needed music for the evening church service, Joseph Mohr, an assistant parish priest in Oberndorf, Austria, wrote the words for a new hymn in a flash of inspiration. He took the lyrics to the church organist, Franz Gruber, who wrote a melody on his guitar. Franz and Joseph performed their beautiful new hymn, “Stille Nacht,” or “Silent Night,” that evening. Its popularity spread quickly throughout the world. Today we sing the first, sixth, and second verses of the original hymn (see Hymns, no. 204).

A story I heard years ago has helped me recognize and then act on promptings from the Holy Ghost. Sister Bonnie D. Parkin, former Relief Society General President, shared the following:
“Susan … was a wonderful seamstress. President [Spencer W.] Kimball lived in [her] ward. One Sunday, Susan noticed that he had a new suit. Her father had recently … brought her some exquisite silk fabric. Susan thought that fabric would make a handsome tie to go with President Kimball’s new suit. So on Monday she made the tie. She wrapped it in tissue paper and walked up the block to President Kimball’s home.
“On her way to the front door, she suddenly stopped and thought, ‘Who am I to make a tie for the prophet? He probably has plenty of them.’ Deciding she had made a mistake, she turned to leave.
“Just then Sister Kimball opened the front door and said, ‘Oh, Susan!’
“Stumbling all over herself, Susan said, ‘I saw President Kimball in his new suit on Sunday. Dad just brought me some silk from New York … and so I made him a tie.’
“Before Susan could continue, Sister Kimball stopped her, took hold of her shoulders, and said: ‘Susan, never suppress a generous thought.’”

Seth is running a dairy farm for his grandfather, who is in the hospital. When Grandpa’s best cow has trouble calving, Seth doesn’t know where to turn. His father is busy with the roundup, and Seth is too small to deliver the calf himself. Mrs. Bowers, the telephone switchboard operator, tells him to pray, but he doesn’t even know how to do that. Then two LDS missionaries come calling. One of them, a rancher, delivers the calf and teaches Seth how to pray.
The next two weeks seemed to fly by with the help of Elder Wood, the tall young man from the city, and Elder James, the rancher. Elder Wood kept the house spic and span, and Elder James helped Seth in the barn. As the missionary and the boy worked side by side, Elder James taught him more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“Elder James,” Seth said one morning as they milked, “I like to pray, and it makes me feel good. But how do I know if I get an answer?”
Elder James continued to milk Sweetie with strong but gentle hands. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “there are several ways. Mostly you start with faith that you’re really talking to your Heavenly Father. Then you learn to know when you get an answer. Some people just feel good, some feel peaceful, and some get ideas. Every person is different, and different problems sometimes require different kinds of answers.”
Seth thought about it. He did feel peaceful when he prayed, and sometimes new thoughts did seem to come into his mind.
Elder James continued. “When I was young, I liked to listen to the testimonies of prophets. I felt that if they could get direct answers to prayer, then I could too.” He carried his bucket of milk to the barn door, covered the bucket, and picked up a clean one. Then he leaned over the stall and looked at the boy for a minute. “Just keep praying and listening for answers,” he said. “It’s kind of like milking. At first it’s hard. You just have to keep trying and gaining strength. Soon, real soon, you get good at it.”
Seth finished milking his cow and stood up. He stretched and turned to the man. “Who were those prophets you were talking about—the ones who got answers to prayer?”
Elder James moved his milking stool next to Seth’s. “Sit down, boy,” he said, “and I’ll tell you about Joseph Smith.”
Seth listened intently. The story he heard filled him with amazement. A boy not much older than he was had actually talked to God and had seen His face! “Do you really believe that?” Seth asked.
“I really believe it.”
“This is important! Why doesn’t everyone know?”
Elder James shook his head sadly. “Not everyone believes that God would talk to a young boy. But He did, and great things have happened as a result.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, Joseph Smith received a record of people who lived on this continent hundreds of years ago. He translated the record and had it published in a book.”
“I’d like to see that book,” Seth said eagerly. “Do you have a copy?”
“Yes I do, and I’ll give it to you.”
Seth couldn’t even speak for a moment. Books were very expensive in Wyoming in the 1920s. “Th-Thank you,” he stammered. “Will you tell me more about it, please?”
They moved over to the last two cows, and as they milked, Elder James told him story after story from the Book of Mormon. Seth couldn’t seem to hear enough. “What happened to all those people?” Seth asked as they strained the milk.
“Well, the Nephites were all killed in battle. Some of the Indians in North and South America are what’s left of the Lamanites.”
Seth stared at him. “Really? Do they know that they’re the Lamanites?”
Elder James laughed. “Some—those who have read the book—do. It touches something inside of them. It’s very close to the traditions of their fathers.”
After the Elders left, Seth had so much to think about that he forgot to call his family. When the telephone rang, he jumped.
“Are you all right, Seth?” his mother’s worried voice asked.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just forgot to call.”
“Is everything ready for Grandpa?”
“Everything’s ready.”
Grandpa was coming home from the hospital the next day. Seth and the Elders had made sure that everything was clean and shiny. Elder Wood had even baked a cake, and it sat on the pantry shelf, covered with a clean cloth.
“We’ll be over after supper tomorrow,” Mom promised. “It’ll be good to see you, son. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, Mom,” he said, and his voice got husky. Up till now, he’d been too busy to be homesick.
“I love you, Seth,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
When Grandma’s Model T came up the dusty road, Seth was waiting on the porch. It was wonderful to see them! Grandma bustled around and helped Grandpa out of the car. Seth got hugs from both of them before he carried in their bags and parcels.
“My, it’s good to be home!” Grandma said. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep or a good meal since we left.”
“Me either!” Grandpa whispered weakly and chuckled.
Seth saw the twinkle in Grandpa’s eye and felt comforted. Grandpa was still Grandpa, even if his body seemed different. Seth helped get Grandpa settled in bed, then pulled a chair up to the bed and began his report on the farm.
“Sweetie’s giving more milk than ever!” he announced proudly. “And her calf is going to be as good as she is.” Then he told Grandpa about the missionaries helping with the farm.
“Who are these missionaries?” Grandpa asked with a scowl. “I don’t like strangers messing around with my animals.”
“They’ll be here this afternoon, and you can meet them. You’ll like them,” Seth promised. He ran out of the room and returned with his Book of Mormon. “While you’re waiting, you can read this book they left me. It’s about Jesus Christ.”
Grandpa continued to scowl. “It’s not the Bible! I don’t want to read it!”
“It’s really interesting,” Seth said, ignoring the scowl. “There’s a story about a good king named Benjamin. He worked as a farmer so the people wouldn’t have to support him.”
Grandpa’s gray brows came together, and Seth could tell that he was thinking. “Well, that does sound interesting. It just might be a good book—but it’s not the Bible!”
“They believe and use the Bible, too,” Seth explained. Then he left the bedroom so that Grandpa could rest. As he shut the door, he saw Grandpa opening the cover of the book.
(To be concluded)

Even then, baptism was a challenge for Eliza, a humble woman who followed social rules and propriety. She prayed for someone to come baptize her, but no one came. When she heard of a meeting of the Saints about two miles from home, she asked her father’s permission to go and be baptized—as an adult, she respected her father, and he readily consented. At the meeting, there was no discussion about baptism, but Eliza gained courage to stand up and request the privilege. Before she could arise, a dark fear came over her. She pushed through the fear and was baptized in a nearby stream on April 5, 1835. “From that day to this I have not doubted the truth of the work,” she wrote.

My husband and I recently moved, and while unpacking, I came upon a box of my old writings. This is an excerpt from a journal entry I wrote when I was 16 years old. It was about a year after my mother died from cancer and before I was introduced to the gospel.
Do you believe in God, in a power, in a Creator? I don’t know what I believe, but I love the idea of God. I love that there is someone who loves me, cares about me, protects me, and wants me to do His work. I look back on the sentence and realized I typed “I love that” instead of “I love the idea that.” It’s funny what you mean to type and what you actually end up typing. I can’t help but wonder about the depths of my subconscious. Sometimes I think God is just another thing humans made up in order to make themselves feel better, because who doesn’t want to be loved? Who doesn’t want the safety of a divine force? Who doesn’t want to believe that when in times of hopelessness, they can count on God? But if I say I believe in God, I want to be able to say it from the depths of my soul. I want it to be a true belief.
Faith is what all religion is founded on. I don’t believe there is any true way to prove God exists. I don’t need anyone else to believe it or validate it. The only person I’m struggling with is myself.
Now I’m crying. At this point in my life, I want to believe. Something is driving me to think about this so much it’s hard for me to get to sleep at night.
After reading this, my eyes wandered to the top of the page where I had written the date, August 2005. I remembered that it was in September of 2005 that I became friends with some returned missionaries who introduced me to the Church. After going to church for several months and asking lots of questions, I decided I wanted to meet with the missionaries. I was baptized about two weeks later; it was the happiest day of my life.
Many people thought my conversion happened quickly—two weeks did not seem long enough. In truth, my conversion started long before I met the missionaries or was even introduced to the Church. As my journal entry testified to me, for a long time Heavenly Father had been softening my heart and helping me prepare to receive the gospel. I now realize more fully the truth in the words spoken by Alma on faith: “And now as I said concerning faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true” (Alma 32:21).

That evening, Holly went to the LDS dance, which is one of the highlights of social life for young Latter-day Saints in Calgary. After the dance, she brought home many of her friends to meet her grandfather, who received them with graciousness and humor. He made them all feel like old and valued friends, and they also felt the powerful witness of the Spirit that they were in the presence of a beloved servant of God.

Grudges, if left to fester, can become serious maladies. Like a painful ailment they can absorb all of our time and attention. Guy de Maupassant has written an interesting chronicle that illustrates this.
It concerns Master Hauchecome, who on market day went to town. He was afflicted with rheumatism, and as he stumbled along he noticed a piece of string on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and carefully put it in his pocket. He was seen doing so by his enemy, the harness maker.
At the same time it was reported to the mayor that a pocketbook containing money had been lost. It was assumed that what Hauchecome had picked up was the pocketbook, and he was accused of taking it. He vehemently denied the charge. A search of his clothing disclosed only the piece of string, but the slander against him had so troubled him that he became obsessed with it. Wherever he went he bothered to tell people about it. He became such a nuisance that they cried out against him. It sickened him.
“His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.
“He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of [his] death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:
“‘A little [piece] of string—a little [piece] of string. See, here it is, [Mister Mayor.]’” (See “The Piece of String,” http://www.online-literature.com/Maupassant/270/.)

President David O. McKay used to tell a story about a railroad engineer. Let me share it with you as recorded by President Harold B. Lee:
“The engineer pulled his train into a station one dark night, and a timid passenger inquired of the engineer if he wasn’t frightened to pull his train out in the dark with 400 or 500 passengers’ lives at stake. The engineer said, pointing up to the bright headlight, ‘I want to tell you one thing: when I pull out of this station I won’t be running in darkness one foot of the way. You see that light a thousand yards ahead? I run my engine just to the edge of the light, and when I get there it will still be on a thousand yards ahead.’ Having said that, President McKay added: ‘I want to tell you something. Through all this dark night of uncertainty, I want to tell you that this Welfare Program will not be running in the dark one foot of the way. You remember it. We can only see the next October as the first circle of light. We have told you what to do six months from now. By the time we get there the light will be on ahead of us, but every step of the way that light will be there. You teach your people to follow the light and they will be safe on Zion’s hill when the destructive forces come in the world.’” (Welfare Agricultural Meeting, 5 Apr. 1969.)