Gospel Story Finder

Many of us have had experiences with the sweet power of prayer. One of mine was shared with a stake patriarch from southern Utah. I first met him in my medical office more than 40 years ago, during the early pioneering days of surgery of the heart. This saintly soul suffered much because of a failing heart. He pleaded for help, thinking that his condition resulted from a damaged but repairable valve in his heart.
Extensive evaluation revealed that he had two faulty valves. While one could be helped surgically, the other could not. Thus, an operation was not advised. He received this news with deep disappointment.
Subsequent visits ended with the same advice. Finally, in desperation, he spoke to me with considerable emotion: “Dr. Nelson, I have prayed for help and have been directed to you. The Lord will not reveal to me how to repair that second valve, but He can reveal it to you. Your mind is so prepared. If you will operate upon me, the Lord will make it known to you what to do. Please perform the operation that I need, and pray for the help that you need.”
His great faith had a profound effect upon me. How could I turn him away again? Following a fervent prayer together, I agreed to try. In preparing for that fateful day, I prayed over and over again, but still did not know what to do for his leaking tricuspid valve. Even as the operation commenced, my assistant asked, “What are you going to do for that?”
I said, “I do not know.”
We began the operation. After relieving the obstruction of the first valve, we exposed the second valve. We found it to be intact but so badly dilated that it could no longer function as it should. While examining this valve, a message was distinctly impressed upon my mind: Reduce the circumference of the ring. I announced that message to my assistant. “The valve tissue will be sufficient if we can effectively reduce the ring toward its normal size.”
But how? We could not apply a belt as one would use to tighten the waist of oversized trousers. We could not squeeze with a strap as one would cinch a saddle on a horse. Then a picture came vividly to my mind, showing how stitches could be placed—to make a pleat here and a tuck there—to accomplish the desired objective. I still remember that mental image—complete with dotted lines where sutures should be placed. The repair was completed as diagrammed in my mind. We tested the valve and found the leak to be reduced remarkably. My assistant said, “It’s a miracle.”
I responded, “It’s an answer to prayer.”
The patient’s recovery was rapid and his relief gratifying. Not only was he helped in a marvelous way, but surgical help for other people with similar problems had become a possibility. I take no credit. Praise goes to this faithful patriarch and to God, who answered our prayers. This faithful man lived for many more years and has since gone to his eternal glory.

I remember as a young man receiving in my home two young men. (Strangely enough, they had the same first name: Elder!) They showed our family the Book of Mormon, a divine evidence of the Lord’s care and love for his children. They declared to our family the message of the restoration of the gospel, the divine sonship of Christ, the divine mission of Joseph Smith, and the divinity of this church. Their message and their willingness to follow the prophet’s call changed our lives.

“My mom says that I can’t be friends with Mormons because they believe in Joseph Smith,” Cody said as they spilled out of their classroom onto the playground for recess.
Ricky’s face burned with confusion. Cody had been Ricky’s very best friend since Ricky had moved in at the beginning of the year. They had played soccer every recess, sat together every lunch, and promised they’d always be best friends. Ricky had even asked Cody to come to his baptism.
“My mom thinks Mormons are bad and I’m not supposed to play with you anymore. I’m sorry,” Cody said as he nervously looked at the ground. Ricky pushed his hands into his pockets and forced the tears back as he watched his best friend run across the blacktop out to the soccer field.
Since as far back as Ricky could remember, he had imagined his own baptism with pure excitement. But now, with the special day less than a week away, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Cody had said.
At dinner Sunday evening, Ricky sat quietly picking at his plate.
“Hey, Ricky, what’s up?” Mom asked. “You’ve been moping around all weekend.”
“Why do we have to get baptized?” Ricky asked.
“You know all the reasons, Ricky: to become members of Christ’s Church, to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, to follow Jesus’s example,” Mom said. “But most important, we get baptized because we want to, not because we have to. What’s bothering you, honey?”
“If I get baptized, Cody won’t be my friend anymore,” Ricky finally said.
“It’s a very important decision and it needs to be yours,” Mom said. “I have an idea. Get your pajamas on and brush your teeth and then meet me on the top of the bunk bed.” It was Ricky’s favorite quiet place where he often went to escape his busy little brothers.
As Ricky clambered up the ladder, he thought Mom looked awfully silly with her head bent to the side to keep from bumping the ceiling. She was holding a worn copy of Book of Mormon Stories.
“Ricky, before we begin, will you say a prayer and ask the Spirit to be here?” Mom asked.
Ricky folded his arms. “Dear Heavenly Father, please let Thy Spirit be here while we read. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” A still quiet fell upon the room. Tears filled Mom’s eyes as she opened the book to the first page and began.
“ ‘One day Joseph read James 1:5 in the Bible,’ ” Mom read. “ ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.’ ” Ricky had heard this story a thousand times, but this time, it all felt very different to him. Mom continued. “ ‘When Joseph told some people what he had seen and heard, they laughed at him.’ ”*
Ricky listened carefully as Mom read about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ came to Joseph Smith in a pillar of light. She read about how the angel Moroni had told Joseph about the gold plates, and how Joseph translated them. The words became the Book of Mormon.
“How can you know if Joseph Smith really saw Heavenly Father and Jesus?” Mom asked.
Ricky thought about how he had prayed about important things and answers had come. He knew he needed to pray for an answer. On the cozy little bunk bed, Ricky and his mom scooted up on their knees and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Ricky began, “I need to know if Joseph Smith really saw a vision, and if the Book of Mormon is really true because I’m supposed to get baptized this week.” A quiet peace filled Ricky’s heart as he spoke the words. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Then his heart seemed to fill with joy. As Ricky put his arms around Mom’s neck and she squeezed him back, he knew that Mom felt it too. Ricky had never felt so happy and so sure about anything before.
“Sometimes we have to make hard choices so we can do the right thing, just like Joseph Smith,” Ricky thought as he climbed down from the bunk bed.
When his little brothers scampered into the room, Ricky pressed his fingers to his lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “I don’t want this feeling to go away.” Wonderful peace warmed the whole house as Ricky continued to remind his family through the rest of the evening: “Shh, I don’t want this feeling to go away.”

“Do any of you know about a new family down on that block by the river?” Bishop Barton asked. “They are new converts from Brazil, and I think the oldest boy should be old enough for Scouts.” The cold air of the bishop’s office kept me, the Scout leader, awake.
“John,” said the bishop. The slumbering deacons quorum president raised his head, showing red lines where the heater he was using for a pillow had left a mark. “Glad to see you again,” observed the bishop, laughing. “I need you to get with Brother Wood and Brother Tolson and go see who this boy is and invite him to Scout meeting.”
“Okay,” John said. But I feared the assignment would turn into one of those we’ll-get-around-to-it kind of things that somehow never happens.
“Maybe you’ll need an address.” The bishop was already writing it out. “His name is Rurik Janiszewski.”
That is how we came to stand before a dilapidated door at the Janiszewski home one night.
“Guess they aren’t home,” John said after one timid attempt at knocking. Brother Wood, John, and I turned to go, but I saw a small face at the window. It quickly disappeared. The door then opened slowly, and a little girl in pajamas stood there among a pile of newspapers.
“Missionero?” she asked. Brother Wood broke into his mission Portuguese, and they talked for a few minutes. Then the door closed.
“She said something about everybody delivering newspapers,” he said. We looked in the carport and saw stacks of thick papers. Right then a beat-up minivan pulled up, and a smiling man emerged from the car. Inside the house a woman said a few things and a cascade of children hurried about, grabbing papers. I could tell that the subject of the bishop’s query was the big kid who looked at me suspiciously from the dimly lit house.
Brother Wood explained the purpose of our visit and then spoke to me. “They are new to the Church; he’s never heard of Scouts,” he said. Somehow we got the point across.
I’d like to say it was easy for Rurik in the Scout troop, but it wasn’t. His English was pretty good, but his winter camping skills weren’t. He was often late, and he sometimes missed our meetings. Unfortunately, some guys teased him about his lack of preparation and camping gear. Despite this, he kept coming and earned a few merit badges.
One day after a troop meeting, Rurik’s dad approached me, seeming a little nervous.
“Would you like to earn some money?” he asked, catching me off guard. He explained in broken English that he did a newspaper route and that he had a problem that he could only take care of by leaving with his family for two weeks. I said something noncommittal, as it was still a few weeks away.
He called again, however, and after some persistence on his part I reluctantly accepted and quickly enlisted a few Scouts in the effort. We decided to go out a couple of times and learn the route. I was unprepared for what we saw.
As I watched that little family scurrying about, dodging traffic to deliver 300 newspapers all over town in the hardest places while negotiating lots of stairs, I was humbled to realize this was how they made a living.
I called the newspaper supervisor, who in a gruff way explained that the Janiszewskis would lose the route if they didn’t obtain a substitute. That was pretty motivational to our effort. The Scouts battled and struggled, and lots of people came to help. It nearly turned into a ward project, and we were really dragging by the end of two weeks. I realized what a sacrifice it had been for Rurik to come on trips and to meetings held during times when he was delivering papers. That’s when I decided in the future we would wait even if Rurik was late to troop activities.
I knew how my perspective had changed, and the Scouts’ reactions didn’t disappoint when Rurik returned from his trip.
“Rurik, how do you do that whole paper route every night?” asked Jason. “Even when it rains?” questioned Kevin. Rurik nodded, flashing a rare smile, basking in his new popularity with the troop.
“Every day,” he said. “Why do you think I come to campouts? I don’t have to do the papers then.” There was a newfound respect for Rurik and his family. It was obvious we had come to love them when the troop refused Brother Janiszewski’s attempt to pay us.
Rurik and his family moved back to Brazil not long after that. Rurik asked for some pictures of our snow camps and igloos, as he was sure no one in Brazil would believe what he had experienced.
We hope he won’t forget us, for we will never forget how much we learned from a thing as simple as a paper route.

A woman I once counseled was having difficulty with an adopted son and wanted to learn some techniques for dealing with him. As I listened to her, it became apparent to me that some of the problems stemmed not from the child’s behavior, but from the woman’s own impure heart.
The boy was somewhat handicapped. In addition to a physical difficulty, he was emotionally handicapped because his real mother had been unable to meet his developmental dependency needs.
But the adoptive mother had an even greater handicap: she was suffering from the disease of pride. When she was a child, her parents had tried to appear shameless and had self-righteously demanded perfection from their children. The family was extremely concerned about external appearance and the impression others had of them. They were caught up in the pride of materialism, status, and prestige. They had learned to be judgmental and critical of themselves and of others.
When this woman’s adopted child didn’t measure up to her expectations, the fear of his making her look bad became a serious threat to her personal image, and she would strike out towards him.
Together, we studied a few verses in the Book of Mormon. And she came to realize that, although she had been diligent in the outward performance of religion, she had failed to see the impurity of her heart. In a sense, she was active in the Church, but inactive in some important aspects of the gospel.
This sister began to see that she had become entangled in the pride of the world. One of the greatest evidences of her pride was that she had been relying on her own strength to solve her problems.
As she began to see more clearly, she began to feel hope—hope born not of faith in herself or in her own ability to raise her child properly, but a hope based in Jesus Christ and in his power to heal and redeem. Through repentance, she changed her attitude and behavior. And she began studying the scriptures—not just reading them—seeking the Spirit, and putting her hope and trust in the Lord.
This sister is a different woman today. She is still far from perfect and still has problems dealing with her child. But she has a different perspective now as she confronts her challenges. She is working with the Lord to find the solutions.

It is July 1984. The men’s gymnastics all-around competition of the Los Angeles Olympics is in its final round. Li Ning, the Chinese gymnast, has just completed a near-perfect routine on the horizontal bar with a score of 9.85 out of 10. That means the next—and final—competitor, a young American from Los Angeles, must score even higher to win the gold medal.
Peter Vidmar quietly rubs chalk on his hands, takes a deep breath, and walks onto the mat. He thinks of the World Cup meet in Zagreb, Yugoslavia, where Li Ning beat him in the horizontal bar and the all-around. Then he thinks of the first time he, Peter, ever received a perfect score of 10. The event was the horizontal bar. And at the meet, in Saarbrücken, West Germany, he won four gold medals.
Another deep breath. There’s not time now to think of the past. Nothing to think of but the routine. Concentrate! He signals his readiness to the officials.
Back uprise, free hip circle, California hop, front Stalder, into a giant swing. The fluid, nonstop circling revolves around the wooden bar. Hecht half turn, straddle regrasp, immediate flyaway with half turn regress, kip change, another giant swing to build momentum. Drop to a dislocate, hit an immediate giant, now the straddle front flip and recatch. There’s electricity in the audience! Kip change, giant, pirouette, another giant. Don’t slip on the Stalder! Two more giants now, nice and big and easy. A smooth arch into a half-in, half-out layout. Come on, Peter! Stick the landing!
His feet plant deep in the cushioning mat and momentum almost topples him forward. But he stands firm, then stretches his arms out wide. A smile as big as the world stretches across his face. And the crowd—the crowd goes crazy! “Vidmar! Vidmar! Vidmar!” the fans are shouting. The score is posted: 9.9! Vidmar wins the gold medal for the USA!

During my mission, I had the opportunity to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ to my brothers and sisters in Kenya and Uganda. More important, I gained a testimony of Jesus Christ. When I returned home in 1997, I was a different creature (see 2 Corinthians 5:17).
I had the opportunity to serve with companions from different countries. Most of them told me they were going back to college after their missions. I found myself wanting the same thing.
My companions gave me a lot of hope, but going back to my humble life and home after my mission was a culture shock. However, I knew that Heavenly Father would help me, so I was able to live through that time with much faith and hope.
Using loans from the Church Educational System given to returned missionaries, I was able to study. I earned my diploma in medical laboratory, graduating in 2002. Since then, I have had the blessing of serving in many Church callings. When I came to western Kenya, under area leadership we started a group of the Church in Kakamega. That group grew into a branch that has now been divided into two branches.

Elder Ezra Taft Benson of the Council of the Twelve had come to Europe early in 1946 to assess needs and open channels for the hundreds of tons of relief supplies that the wards and stakes of the Church had been contributing. In the fall of the year, just as the need was becoming most desperate, these supplies began flowing into Germany.
And not long after welfare supplies began arriving, the Church sent another great gift to Germany—a man of faith and love and compassion. A strong, humble man who had long since outgrown his wooden shoes but who would never outgrow his love for the land of his birth. Walter Stover was called to minister to the war-torn Saints of Germany as president of the East German Mission.
Eager to do his part, he purchased with his own funds two railroad carloads of food and relief supplies and took them with him to Germany. Because of his generosity many lives were saved.
President Stover was sustained as mission president in a meeting at which Elder Benson presided. It was held in a bombed-out school in Berlin. Members of the Church approached President Stover after the meeting and told him, “We have lost our homes, our farms, and all our belongings, but we have not lost our testimonies of the gospel.”
Seven of the East German Mission’s eight districts lay within the Russian zone. President Stover launched a series of district conferences into this zone, gathering together the remnants of the Saints. Many branches had almost disappeared. Some had only women and children. The men were dead or in prison camps. The people were reduced to eating weeds to supplement their meager ration of black bread. The members thronged to the conferences, as hungry for spiritual nourishment as they were for food. Time after time President Stover crossed into the Russian zone in his green Pontiac, taking both spiritual and temporal aid, a shepherd to a scattered and ravaged flock.
There was some danger in these travels. He was arrested several times, and once he was taken at gun point to be tried by a Russian military court as an American spy. He was released unhurt. He had been promised by President George Albert Smith that the adversary would have no power over him as long as he was doing his duty, and this promise was honored many times.
And always, he fed and clothed the Saints. Time after time he staved off starvation and exposure with Church welfare supplies, and sometimes with goods he purchased himself.
His reports from those days are filled with touching stories. “I went to visit one sister whose husband was killed in action in Russia. She lived with no heat, no windows, no water. There was hardly any bedding. Two small children were in bed shivering. The mother was hard of hearing, and the oldest daughter, 11, was half-starved and frozen. The little girl had no shoes and little clothing. … We gave them warm food and clothing.
“I will never forget the thankful expression on the little girl’s face when she got underclothing, a dress, stockings, and new shoes. We also could help the mother and other little girl from the welfare supplies. We gave them a couple of blankets and a few other things. The family might well have frozen to death if they had not come to our attention.”
Another time he wrote: “I gave a little girl an orange. She eyed it with suspicion and then began to play with it. I told her it could be eaten, and before I could show her how to peel it she began to eat the peeling and all as if it were an apple. Children have no knowledge of fruits or sweets. The gaunt adults remember such items as milk, eggs, butter, fats, and meats but vaguely.”
Members from all over the Church contributed to the rescue of the German Saints. President Stover was part of an event which he would call “the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has ever been my privilege to witness during my entire membership in the Church.” It began on a visit to Holland when he graphically described the suffering of the German members. Cornelius Zappey, president of the Netherlands Mission, was so moved that he asked the Dutch members if they would plant seed potatoes in their flower gardens for their former enemies. They responded enthusiastically, and in November of 1947, they sent 60 tons of potatoes to Germany, along with 96 barrels of herring. They sent another 60 tons of potatoes in 1949.
President Stover’s own generosity to the Saints was legendary. He built and paid for at least four new chapels from his own funds. Once he rented a train to bring the members from East Germany into the American sector of Berlin for a conference.
One Christmas he and the West German Mission president purchased a chocolate bar from the U.S. army commissary for every LDS child in Germany. After that the children called him their “chocolate uncle.”
At the end of his mission, President Stover and his wife adopted two little German girls, Heidi and Brigitte.
President Stover witnessed the birth of the Cold War. He saw the Iron Curtain come down across Europe. He saw access to his beloved Saints in East Germany become more and more difficult and infrequent. But he worked on tirelessly to serve his people in every way he could.
After his release in 1951, Brother Stover continued his giving ways back in Salt Lake. He hired many impoverished immigrants at his business, and quietly helped unnumbered others, shunning publicity, but always giving. Giving was his hobby, his passion, his mission. Students living in Helaman Halls at BYU enjoy one small part of his generosity. He donated all the mattresses and box springs for the whole complex.
In the meantime, he fulfilled many Church assignments, both in his own ward and as a member of Churchwide committees. He didn’t know any other way to spend his life except in service, and he saw chances for service everywhere. President Ezra Taft Benson has said of him, “Brother Walter Stover, whom I have known and loved for over 40 years, is a man without guile and an exemplary Latter-day Saint.” President Thomas S. Monson says, “Walter Stover has contributed his all after the fashion of the Master, quietly and unceremoniously—without any fanfare or credit to himself.”
Walter Stover’s whole life has been dedicated to building Zion and taking care of the needs of his Father’s children. He could have been a very rich man by now as the world measures riches. He could have had estates and mansions and fleets of vintage autos. Instead he has invested his money and himself in the lives of his fellowmen and in the restored gospel. And so instead of being very rich in dollars and cents, he is very rich in love and joy and the Spirit of the Lord.
The Savior must surely have been thinking of people such as Walter Stover when he said,
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–40).

Manasseh Byrd Kearl, born in 1870 and raised near the Bear Lake in northern Utah, tells a wonderful story that might be instructional to his descendants, of which I am one. The following is from his journal as he wrote it:
“That fall father bought some cattle for John Dikens, a very large herd. Dikens had a large ranch on Bear River. … I remember Jimmie was down north buying cattle and he sent father that he needed more money. So father toled me to take some money to him. Mother sewed six hundred dollars in my under clothes, and father put me on a horse and said, ‘Now Byrdie my boy, don’t you get off this horse till you find your brother Jimmie, and keep your mouth shut, and if any one asks you questions don’t reply or tell them where you are going, and do not give this money to any one but Jimmie, no matter what any one tells you.’ Well, when I got to DingleDell, I was toled Jimmie was in Montpelier. So to Montpelier I went to Joe Richs, a friend of father’s, he toled me that Jimmie had gone home. Brother Rich wanted me to go in the house and get something to eat. I toled him no, that father toled me not to get off this horse till I found Jim, and here I stayed. I turned around and headed for home. When I got to Bears Valley, … I could hardly walk. Mr. Potter tried to get me to stop and rest, but I could not stay. At last I got home. Jimmie took me off the horse and carried me into the house. Mother cried to think I had been in the saddle while the horse went over eighty miles” (Personal Journal of Manasseh Byrd Kearl).

Thirteen years ago it was my privilege to provide a blessing to a beautiful 12-year-old young lady, Jami Palmer. She had just been diagnosed with cancer and was frightened and bewildered. She subsequently underwent surgery and painful chemotherapy. Today she is cancer-free and is a bright, beautiful 26-year-old who has accomplished much in her life. Some time ago, I learned that in her darkest hour, when any future appeared somewhat grim, she learned that her leg where the cancer was situated would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up a rugged trail to Timpanogos Cave—located in the Wasatch Mountains about 40 miles south of Salt Lake City, Utah—was out of the question, she thought. Jami told her friends they would have to undertake the hike without her. I’m confident there was a catch in her voice and disappointment in her heart. But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”
“But I can’t walk,” came the anguished reply.
“Then, Jami, we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.
Today, the hike is a memory, but in reality it is much more. James Barrie, the Scottish poet, declared, “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the December of our lives” (paraphrasing James Barrie, in Laurence J. Peter, comp., Peter’s Quotations: Ideas for Our Time [1977], 335). None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.

Years ago our 17-year-old son wanted to go on a weekend trip with his friends, who were all good boys. He asked for permission to go. I wanted to say yes, but for some reason I felt uncomfortable about the trip. I shared my feelings with my wife, who was very supportive. “We need to listen to that warning voice,” she said.

Of course, our son was disappointed and asked why we didn’t want him to go. I answered honestly that I didn’t know why. “I just don’t feel good about it,” I explained, “and I love you too much to ignore these feelings inside.” I was quite surprised when he said, “That’s OK, Dad. I understand.”

Young people understand more than we realize because they too have the gift of the Holy Ghost. They are trying to recognize the Spirit when He speaks, and they are watching our example. From us they learn to pay attention to their promptings—that if they “don’t feel good about something,” it’s best not to pursue it.

I am acquainted with a man who rebelled from the Church when he was a youth. He made some mistakes during this time and developed some habits. Eventually, however, he came to himself; he served a mission and returned home to hold many responsible positions in the Church. But he was never quite happy. He could have said as did Nephi:
“I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me.
“And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins.” (2 Ne. 4:18–19.)
Finally, in a night of spiritual turmoil, the man confessed to himself that he had never fully forsaken his sins. Although he had not committed sins worthy of Church court action, he still harbored attitudes and thoughts that robbed him of spirituality, and he went through cycles of guilt and despair that dampened his happiness. He made up his mind to change, and he kept his resolve. He broke the chain of sin and despair and, for the first time in memory, began to experience a real, true happiness. If someone had asked him, “Are we having fun, experiencing happiness, yet?” he could have answered, “Yes, more happiness, or joy, than I could have imagined.”

Brigham Young was in Peterborough, New Hampshire, when he received news that the Prophet Joseph Smith had been killed. He immediately left New England and returned to Nauvoo. Within two years, he would start leading groups of Mormon pioneers to the West.
Not far from Peterborough—in an area that today is in the Nashua New Hampshire Stake—Latter-day Saint youth had their own pioneer trek in 2009. But the journey began long before anyone started pulling a handcart.
To gain spiritual strength, many of the pioneers sought temple blessings before leaving Nauvoo. Like those early Saints, members of the Nashua stake took the opportunity to participate in temple work and other activities that would strengthen them. They focused on preparing for two journeys: the 17-mile handcart trek they were about to make and the spiritual journey they would undertake.
They did this through the “Trail of Faith Award,” which stake leaders invited all members of the stake—not just the youth—to participate in. Many of the goals of the program, which began in January, overlapped with requirements from Duty to God, Personal Progress, and the Brand New Year fireside. Other challenges were specific to the stake. All of them helped participants draw closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
“Trail of Faith helped me realize that we weren’t just going on a 17-mile hike or having another youth conference,” says Alexander Petrie, 16. “This was something a little bit different.”
One of the things that made it different for Alexander was memorizing several hymns, including “Press Forward, Saints” (Hymns, no. 81). “Later, when I was on trek and it was getting a little bit tough, the words of that hymn kept going over and over in my mind,” he says. “I really felt strength from its words. I’ve realized that hymns are a good thing to memorize and to have in our mind anytime we encounter something difficult. I’m so grateful that the Trail of Faith Award helped me prepare.”
Alden Durham, 12, was not yet old enough to participate in the trek, but, along with his family, he completed the Trail of Faith Award. Two of his most memorable goals involved daily scripture study and journal writing. “When I do these things, I feel the Spirit more, and I definitely act different when I feel the Spirit. I try to be a better brother to my four sisters.”
Alexander Jeffrey, also 12, said his favorite goal was performing baptisms for the dead at the Boston Temple, something he had done only once before. “Doing the Trail of Faith gave me a new understanding and got me better prepared for doing some of these goals and habits on my own,” he says.
Participating in temple work was meaningful for Julia Parker, 16, as well. “It was really neat to take names of people who were related to us—our own ancestors,” she recalls. “When I went to the temple, I thought about them as individual people with individual lives and individual interests. I thought about their testimonies and their experiences and their trials. It was really cool to feel connected with them.”
Upon completing the Trail of Faith Award requirements, stake members were given a small medallion so they could remember things they had experienced and felt. “I came out with a medallion at the end,” says Emily Durham, 17, “but I also came out with a stronger testimony.”
After months of preparation through the Trail of Faith Award, firesides, and other stake-wide activities, the group was ready to embark on its three-day, two-night, 17-mile journey.
The area they live in is rich in American history, so in many ways, the trek experience wasn’t much different from things that youth in the Nashua Stake participate in regularly at school. After all, Emily points out, “Those of us who grew up here have gone on walks at Walden Pond and taken field trips to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,” she says. “But remembering pioneer heritage at youth conference was somehow different.”
Elizabeth Jeffrey, 15, agrees. “You dress up, pull handcarts, and have a fun, spiritual experience with your friends,” she says. “I expected that. What I didn’t realize was how hard it would be—the actual, physical pulling over hills and rocks and things.
“We were only walking 17 miles; the pioneers walked over a thousand miles to Utah,” she continues. “I think about them differently now. Instead of a Sunday School story on a page, I believe I can now feel a little bit of their struggles and their pains and their great joy. It all became more real when I went on trek.”
As the youth and their leaders completed the trek, other stake members gathered at a local park for a “Welcome to the Valley” celebration. McKenna Gustafson, 14, remembers feeling “so happy” when she was greeted by the cheering of more than 900 people.
“I saw my younger brothers and sisters running toward us, and I started crying,” she remembers. “I thought about what it will be like in heaven when we see our family and friends who have gone before us and what an awesome reunion that will be.”
As exciting as “Welcome to the Valley” was, it wasn’t the end of the trek experience—not really. In many ways, the trek started friendships with neighbors and community members who had watched the youth over the last 72 hours or heard about the trek through local news coverage.
Anna Parker had an opportunity to connect with neighbors as she and her peers passed through one community. Anna immediately noticed that some of the women there were on horseback, so she told them how much she loved horses. She also explained to them what the youth group was doing and then invited the women to join the youth that night for country dancing. One of them came and even stayed for a short devotional afterward. She was so impressed by the youth that she asked to learn more.
Other youth shared the gospel by telling their friends how they were spending three days of their summer vacation. Others got to know people in the community who had made the trek possible. Youth and adults became friends with kind community members who agreed to let the 150 youth and adults camp on their private property; one of the couples who did so came to a testimony meeting, shared their own feelings, and invited the youth to return.
“In planning trek, we wanted the youth of the stake to recognize that they can do hard things,” says President Mark Durham of the stake presidency. “Trail of Faith and trek were both part of that.
“What the pioneers did is just unbelievable, but they took it a little bit at a time, and they had their testimony and their faith as a foundation. We can also move one foot in front of the other foot, just like they did.”
James Parker, 18, says that his experiences last summer have helped him to be more diligent in living the gospel and to have a better attitude about the things he is asked to do as a Church member today.
“The pioneers had to get up every day and make a conscious decision to pull their handcarts miles and miles. Trek was a good reminder of the sacrifices they made for the gospel,” he says.
“We’re not asked to do anything as dramatic as that, but I can get up every day and consciously decide to pray and read my scriptures and be reminded of what the gospel is worth to me. Because of trek, I know how much the gospel of Jesus Christ was worth to the pioneers, and their sacrifice makes it more valuable to me.”

One of my haunting childhood memories begins with the howl of distant air-raid sirens that awaken me from sleep. Before long, another sound, the rattle and hum of propellers, gradually increases until it shakes the very air. Trained well by our mother, we children each grab our bag and run up the hill to a bomb shelter. As we hurry through the pitch-dark night, green and white flares drop from the sky to mark the targets for the bombers. Strangely enough, everyone calls these flares Christmas trees.
I am four years old, and I am a witness to a world at war.
Not far from where my family lived was the city of Dresden. Those who lived there witnessed perhaps a thousand times what I had seen. Massive firestorms, caused by thousands of tons of explosives, swept through Dresden, destroying more than 90 percent of the city and leaving little but rubble and ash in their wake.
In a very short time, the city once nicknamed the “Jewel Box” was no more. Erich Kästner, a German author, wrote of the destruction, “In a thousand years was her beauty built, in one night was it utterly destroyed.” During my childhood I could not imagine how the destruction of a war our own people had started could ever be overcome. The world around us appeared totally hopeless and without any future.
Last year I had the opportunity to return to Dresden. Seventy years after the war, it is, once again, a “Jewel Box” of a city. The ruins have been cleared, and the city is restored and even improved.
During my visit I saw the beautiful Lutheran church Frauenkirche, the Church of Our Lady. Originally built in the 1700s, it had been one of Dresden’s shining jewels, but the war reduced it to a pile of rubble. For many years it remained that way, until finally it was determined that the Frauenkirche would be rebuilt.
Stones from the destroyed church had been stored and cataloged and, when possible, were used in the reconstruction. Today you can see these fire-blackened stones pockmarking the outer walls. These “scars” are not only a reminder of the war history of this building but also a monument to hope—a magnificent symbol of man’s ability to create new life from ashes.
As I pondered the history of Dresden and marveled at the ingenuity and resolve of those who restored what had been so completely destroyed, I felt the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit. Surely, I thought, if man can take the ruins, rubble, and remains of a broken city and rebuild an awe-inspiring structure that rises toward the heavens, how much more capable is our Almighty Father to restore His children who have fallen, struggled, or become lost?

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

Klarie dribbled hard and fast down the court. This is it, she thought. The tallest, fastest girl on the team had been guarding Klarie the whole game. But now she was guarding someone else. This was Klarie’s chance!
She quickly spun away from another player and set her feet. Then she jumped and took her shot. The ball sailed through the air as Klarie held her breath. Please go in.
The ball swished through the net.
Klarie’s team members gave her high fives. Then Coach Garcia looked down at the timer and blew her whistle. “And that’s the end of practice! Good job, everyone! I’ll see you all tomorrow. Make sure to rest up because we’ll be doing a lot of sprints.”
Klarie groaned and walked over to gather her stuff. Then she saw Coach Garcia waving her over.
“Hey, Klarie,” she said. “Good job today. I know you work really hard in practice, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Klarie said with a big smile.
She was still smiling as she walked out to her mom’s car. As they drove home, she replayed her last shot in her head. Especially the swish of the ball through the net. She hardly even noticed the conference talk Mom was listening to.
But then something caught her attention. The speaker said, “We must take time to actively exercise our faith.”* The words “actively exercise” sounded like something she would hear at basketball practice. How do you exercise faith? she thought. Do you run with faith? Or dribble faith like a ball?
Klarie turned to Mom. “How do you exercise faith?” she asked.
Mom smiled. “How do you get better at basketball?”
“I practice,” Klarie said. “My coach tells me how to get better. And when we do drills, I try really hard to do them right.”
“Is it easy?”
“No!” Klarie said, remembering how tired her legs felt after sprints. “I have to practice a lot.”
Mom nodded. “Heavenly Father wants us to have faith in Him, but we have to work on it. He gave us ways to practice and get better.”
“Like what?”
“He asks us to talk to Him in prayer. He’s kind of like our coach. He gives us scriptures. They’re like His playbook. And He gives us families to help us. Our family is like—”
“Like our team!” Klarie interrupted.
“Exactly! Our family team works and practices together,” Mom said. “And what happens when you go to practice, Klarie?”
“I get better,” she said. She thought of how good it felt to make her final shot after working hard in practice for weeks.
“That’s right. When we practice spiritual habits, like prayer, we’re exercising our faith. That helps our testimonies get stronger. And it makes us happier.”
Klarie had never thought of faith like that. She had heard faith was like a seed. But she’d never known it could be like playing basketball! She thought about how her coach made practice plans for their team. Maybe I can make a practice plan too, she thought, but for faith! As soon as she got home, she found a big notepad and started writing:
Prayer—morning and night
Scripture study—every day
Church—every Sunday
Maybe exercising faith wasn’t exactly like practicing basketball. But practice was practice. She felt warm and happy inside as she looked at her plan. She trusted Heavenly Father and knew He would help her!
See Primary manual, pages 121–122, 126–127; family manual, page 123.

If having a variety of skills and work experience on a résumé is a good thing—and it is—then 16-year-old Sarah K. is off to an awesome start. She has worked at babysitting, house cleaning, and doing yard work. She’s done photography shoots at weddings and receptions. And for the past nine months, Sarah has been working part-time at a restaurant as a hostess and a busser.
“I believe in a strong work ethic,” Sarah says. She believes firmly that every job she’s had has taught her something useful.
Sarah got started in her work-for-hire jobs the same way many Latter-day Saint youth do: by checking first with people in her ward. “The Church members started hiring me, and they would tell their friends,” she says.
It’s also been a family effort with her siblings. Sarah is the second-oldest of nine children. Her younger brothers know how to network and find yard-work jobs. “Whenever they had a gig, I would tag along,” she explains.
Her work plans are only getting started. “My goal is to be a cosmetologist and to have a business degree so I can build on that skill,” Sarah says.

As ward missionaries, my wife and I fellowshipped a young couple. We loved them and their children. Eventually, they accepted our invitation to come to church.
When we arrived to pick them up one Sunday morning, however, they apologized because they weren’t ready. But their six-year-old son, Keaton, pleaded with his parents to go. So, with their permission, he got dressed and came with us to church.
Arriving late, we slipped in the back of the chapel. Suddenly I felt a tug and turned to find Keaton gripping my suit coat. With an anxious expression and his eyes fixed on the front of the chapel, he asked, "Who died?"
"What?" I responded, following his gaze. "No one died."
As I pondered Keaton’s question, I looked at the sacrament table. For a boy with little experience in the Church, it would be easy to see what seemed to be a body lying under the cloth covering the sacramental bread and water. Then it hit me: someone had died. The sacred emblems representing Jesus Christ’s body were right in front of us. With so much experience in the Church, why hadn’t I seen the sweet symbolism?
I thanked Keaton for his question and explained that the sacrament cloth covered bread and water and what they mean to us. His simple question had reminded me that the Savior really did die so we could live.
Since that day, Keaton’s question has continued to resonate in my soul. It has helped me approach the sacrament table more focused on the Savior. The emblems of the sacrament have become more vivid, and their meaning lingers with me longer throughout the week. I’ll be forever grateful for Keaton’s innocent question.

Years ago, my adventurous son Jeff and I were traveling on an old bus bouncing along on a dirt road in Central America at 1:00 a.m. We took the early, early bus because it was the only bus that day. A half hour later, the driver stopped for two missionaries. When they got on, we asked them where in the world they were going so early. Zone conference! And they were determined to do whatever it took to get there. At 2:00 a.m. two more elders boarded the bus and enthusiastically greeted their fellow missionaries. This scene repeated itself every half hour as the bus climbed the remote mountain road. By 5:00 a.m. we had 16 of the Lord’s finest as fellow passengers and were basking in the spirit they brought on board.
Suddenly, we screeched to a halt. A massive mud slide had buried the road. Jeff said, “What do we do now, Dad?” Just then, the zone leader shouted, “Let’s go, elders. Nothing is going to stop us!” And they scrambled off the bus! We looked at each other and said, “Follow the elders,” and we all sloshed through the mud slide, trying to keep up with the missionaries. There happened to be a truck on the other side, so we all hopped aboard. After a mile, we were stopped by yet another mud slide. Once again the elders plowed through, with the rest of us close behind. But this time there was no truck. Boldly, the zone leader said, “We will be where we are supposed to be even if we have to walk the rest of the way.” Years later, Jeff told me how those missionaries inspired and motivated him tremendously as he served the Lord in Argentina.
Although we overcame the mud slides, we were all spotted with mud. The missionaries were somewhat nervous about standing before their president on zone conference day when he and his wife would be carefully checking their appearance.

For as long as anyone in the Maryland Heights Ward can remember, the Byrnes have arrived at church with a car full of friends.
“When one girl we picked up had trouble being on time,” Christina Byrne explains, “we started saying the Byrne Express was leaving, so she’d better be ready.”
The Byrnes—single mom Janet, and daughters Christina, Anna, and Josie—are simply responding to an invitation from missionaries to fellowship new and prospective members.
“We try to make people feel welcome,” Christina says. “If they feel needed, they keep coming.”
Stefany Richmond agrees.
“After my family started coming to church,” Stefany explains, “Anna offered to pick me up for Young Women. I had a lot of bad influences at school, so coming to church gave me a chance to make new friends. It helped to have somebody to talk to.”
Stefany is now a Latter-day Saint. So is Jason Barker, who first met Anna when sister missionaries brought her by. “I thought it was cool how young people in this church feel about dating and standards. My standards were pretty low, and I didn’t feel right about it. It was reassuring to find teenagers who thought high standards were important.”
But the biggest benefit of the Byrne Express may be what it has done for the Byrnes. “There’s been a lot of testimony building for me,” Anna says. “I had to be sure of what I was saying, because it was influencing people I really like. I spent a lot of time fasting and praying. It was like the missionaries found them to help me.”