Gospel Story Finder

Eve loved Christmastime. Her class at school had spent the morning coloring cards and listening to fun music.
“Now it’s reading time,” Mrs. Grunig said. “And if you finish all your reading today and tomorrow, you won’t have any homework during the holiday break.”
All the kids in Eve’s class cheered. But Eve didn’t feel much like cheering. She shivered a little as she pulled out her book to read. She felt very cold, and her throat hurt. Her eyes felt hot as she stared at the words on the page. By the end of school, Eve’s stomach felt sick too.
Finally it was time to walk home with her brother and sister, Tim and Wilma. Usually they had fun on the way home. They would play tag or make a snowman. But today all Eve wanted to do was get home and lie down.
When Eve got home, Mama felt her forehead.
“You have a fever,” she said. “You need to drink plenty of water and get lots of rest.”
Eve climbed into bed and fell asleep right away. The next morning, everyone else in her family was busy getting ready for the day. But Mama said Eve was too sick to go to school.
Then Eve remembered something that made her sad. Today was the school Christmas party! They were supposed to finish their art projects and sing songs and have treats. She just had to go!
But Mama wouldn’t change her mind.
“I’m sorry you’ll miss the party, sweetie,” she said. “But your health is more important.”
Eve started to cry. Mama tried to help her feel better with yummy soup. But all Eve could think about was all of the fun her friends were having without her.
In the afternoon, Tim and Wilma got home from school. Their cheeks were red from playing in the snow.
“The school party was lots of fun,” Wilma said. “We made red paper birds to hang up at home.”
Tim pulled something out of his pocket.
“And look—your teacher sent us home with a special present for you. Now you can make a red paper bird too!”
Eve smiled. “Can you show me how?”
Tim and Wilma showed Eve how to cut on the dotted line and fold it just right. They helped her tie the string in a loop.
“Mama, look what I made!” Eve said, showing off her new favorite Christmas ornament.
Eve thought of how nice Mrs. Grunig was to remember her when she was sick, and how Tim and Wilma had helped her too. Now whenever Eve looked at her red paper bird, she would feel lots of love.

The Lord will bless you and your posterity as He is blessing mine today. I am so grateful for the times we can go to the temple with our children, Cari Anne, Kelli, and Jorge. They each have had their own individual experiences during different times.

Our oldest, Cari Anne, has been an example of faithfulness to us. She loved her time here at BYUI, but her academic journey was not easy. Cari Anne decided with a roommate to attend the temple weekly and saw the Lord bless her and help her finish her degree. She’s now a successful teacher, leading her own preschool in Queen Creek, Arizona. Her and her eternal companion, Trennon, have made us the grandparents to Nixon and Lana, who we absolutely adore.

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.

Dr. Neal Halfon, a physician who directs the UCLA Center for Healthier Children, Families, and Communities, refers to “parental benign neglect.” One example involved an 18-month-old and his parents:
“‘Their son seemed happy, active and engaged, clearly enjoying time and pizza with his parents. … At the end of dinner, Mom got up to run an errand, handing over care to Dad.’
“Dad … started reading phone messages while the toddler struggled to get his attention by throwing bits of pizza crust. Then the dad re-engaged, facing his child and playing with him. Soon, though, he substituted watching a video on his phone with the toddler until his wife returned.
“… [Dr.] Halfon observed a dimming of the child’s internal light, a lessening of the connection between parent and child.”5

During the height of cross-country season, Heather Frushour, a two-time Utah state champion who graduated last June, used to be so busy that she barely had time to eat. She would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to run three miles with her teammates. After the 30-minute run, she rushed home to get ready for her first class that started at 7:40. Cross-country practice began at 1:00 P.M., and lasted for about three hours. Then it was time for the ice pack on sore muscles. Often Heather didn’t get home until 5:30. And by 7:00 on Mutual night, she was at the church. Then there was homework, and—finally—bedtime at 10:00 or 10:30.
“I may have been busy, but I felt incredibly organized. I definitely don’t feel like I wasted my day,” she says. “I would feel great.”

Shortly after I was baptized, I married a man who was not a member of the Church. He controlled all the money I earned and never let me pay tithing.
I suffered for 10 long, unhappy years, during which I could not progress. Eventually I was divorced and began to support my daughter and myself. However, what I earned was insufficient to pay for our rent, bills, food, clothes, and the other things we needed. If I had enough for one thing, I could not afford another.
One day I started to pay tithing anyway. As always I continued to plan my budget. And I began to realize that I had enough money for everything, even with the same salary. At first I couldn’t believe what was happening. Then I read the passage in the Bible where the Lord says, “Prove me now herewith … if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Mal. 3:10). I knelt down and cried unto the Lord in gratitude. He has never forsaken me.

CARMA MILLER: I'd like to share one more story from long ago, but with implications for each of us. Had this story not occurred, it's likely our own stories would be different.

In 1847, the same year the pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley, Jacob Spori was born in a small village in the Swiss Alps. Jacob entered college at the age of 16, and three years later, he graduated with honors in German, French, math, history, music, penmanship, drafting, geography, religion, psychology, and the natural sciences.

Jacob was soon widely recognized for his excellence as a thinker and teacher. He was honored in national publications, invited to serve on a prestigious church council, and elected by a landslide vote to the town council.

By age 30, Jacob and his wife, Magdalena, were the parents of two children, owned a large home, and were important members of their community. From all appearances, Jacob was successful, yet he felt unsettled. His fine mind began to question his life's purpose and its relationship to his religious culture. This was particularly dangerous because his family, employment, and social standing were completely intertwined with the Swiss Reformed Church.

And then Jacob heard something that astounded him. God's great kingdom of the future had been restored to the earth and was being established in America's Far West. Jacob was not naïve and understood the consequences of such an event. He wrote: "Many terrible things were being said about this people, the Mormons. I fully expected this, knowing that all the powers and lies of darkness would be rushed to the battle once God initiated the restoration of all things." Nevertheless, Jacob was baptized. His testimony was bright, and his devotion never faltered, although his wife had no interest in his newfound religion. As soon as he joined the Church, Jacob lost his community status. His teaching was questioned, he underwent an intense investigation, and his teaching contract was canceled. During the next election, he received less than 10 percent of the vote.

Jacob desired to go to the Zion he had sought for many years. Going meant leaving his wife and children behind. Magdalena stood to lose the family fortune if she went with Jacob, so she and the children moved into her parents' home, and Jacob left for Zion. By staying, Magdalena faced the ridicule of relatives and friends after Jacob left. She steadily refused their pleadings to divorce him, and although she could not see the truth of the gospel, she recognized that his faith had made him a finer man.

Zion contrasted sharply with Jacob's sheltered academic life in Switzerland. As an immigrant who did not speak English, it was impossible to find work in academics, languages, or writing. Fortunately he was strong and energetic, so he shoveled snow, laid railroad track, and did farm and sawmill work. This created a new humility, and later, as a missionary, Jacob introduced himself simply as a woodchopper, never mentioning his education or teaching experience. Jacob was often lonely and depressed, missing his wife and children terribly, but he considered himself rich and blessed for having found the gospel.

After five years in Utah, Jacob accepted a call to serve in the Swiss-German mission. His first month was spent becoming reacquainted with his wife and children. Because of Jacob's extraordinary ability with languages, he was reassigned to serve as the first LDS missionary in the Middle East. Through a series of events involving a severe injury when their oldest daughter fell from a swing, Sister Spori witnessed the power of the gospel, and she was baptized and confirmed just a week before Jacob left for Constantinople (now Istanbul), Turkey. The trip was difficult, and he tormented himself with guilt that he'd been too long away from his family and had now left them again. Letters from home were difficult as Magdalena wrote of her own doubts and of her worry for their injured child.

In Turkey, Jacob forced himself to focus on his missionary work, and peace came as he taught the gospel in five new languages he'd learned: Turkish, Armenian, Syrian, Hebrew, and Arabic. Six months later, news arrived that their 10-year-old daughter, Katharina, had died from her injuries. Jacob managed to accept her death and continue working. He was sent to Israel, where he performed the first baptism in Palestine and assisted in the formation of the first LDS branch there. Jacob served faithfully, and, after 2 ½ years of service, earned enough money to return home.

Within two months of Jacob's return, the family left Switzerland forever. They came directly to Rexburg, Idaho, a small settlement established only five years earlier. Magdalena, 8 ½ months pregnant, said the hardest trip of her life was the final 25 miles to Rexburg, jolting across lava beds in a hay wagon with no springs. The Sporis lived temporarily in the tithing granary where Magdalena delivered their fifth baby.

Jacob was chosen as principal of the new Bannock Stake Academy, founded in late 1888. He had no doubt he'd been called to Rexburg to build the kingdom. Jacob Spori clearly understood your future when he articulated this prophetic statement 128 years ago: "The seeds we are planting today will grow and become mighty oaks, and their branches will run all over the earth."[9]

As you may have expected, the fledgling Bannock Stake Academy struggled, and Jacob honored his sacred duty to keep it running. Through the great personal sacrifice of Jacob and subsequent leaders, the Bannock Stake Academy became Ricks College and, ultimately, BYU-Idaho.

When I first met Bert Braack in the early 1930s he was nearing the end of his search. He had taken the Bible admonition, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Matt. 7:7), as his personal invitation to prayer, and it had brought him a challenging answer.
Bert’s mother died when he was nine, and his father, an atheist who wanted no part of religion, ran preachers off with a gun. The large family of children received no religious and little moral training. Drinking, smoking, and swearing were a way of life with them.
Yet as Bert grew to maturity and left home to make his way in the world, he says there was a deep craving within him. He wanted desperately to know if there was a God. And if so, what was that God like?
He began attending different churches and reading the Bible. The words in Matthew prompted him to ask for himself, and so, like the youthful Joseph Smith, with an intense desire to know the truth, he offered his first prayer: “If you are there, God, let me know and I will do what you want me to do.” And as he knelt, he says, “A great peace engulfed me, my heart burned within me, and a joy such as I had never known flowed over me. I felt as if I were completely immersed in a great spiritual essence.”
For three days this feeling remained with him, and during all that time, he says, “I hardly felt my feet touch the ground. The pure love of God seemed to completely encompass me, and it was wonderful. During this time I loved everything. I had never cared much for children, but now a great love flowed out from me toward them. I had cursed the rain; now, drenched in it, I loved every minute of it. If this is a small taste of the love of God that fills the celestial kingdom, no wonder the lamb and the lion can lie down together and there is nothing to hurt or make afraid.”
After three days this great joy left him, and he felt he had lost the most precious thing in the world. In great agony of soul he prayed to God to restore it, but he was left on his own. Only now there was a great difference—he knew there was a God. He knew God was real, for he had felt his love and power. He knew God would answer sincere prayer, for his prayer had been answered.
Then came a time of soul-searching. He had made God a promise. He would keep it. He would do what God wanted him to do—if only he could find out what it was. Determined to put his life in harmony with the truth, he first felt God would want him to change his life, so he quit smoking and drinking and tried to overcome other faults.
Then, surely God would want him to learn the truth. He began to study the Bible. Later he read the Koran, works on Buddha, Confucius, and other religious philosophers. The religion shelves at the public library became his schoolroom. He could not rest until he gained knowledge of the truth.
“The local protestant minister was a sincere man who wanted to baptize me,” Bert recalls, “but I gave him a strange answer. I told him that it would do no good for him to baptize me because he didn’t have the authority. I don’t know why I felt this way, but I knew it was true.”
At this point Bert arranged to move to Raymond, Washington, where he remembered seeing many churches. There he began questioning the ministers. “What is God like? Describe him to me. If I met him walking down the street would he be a man? Is he six feet tall, or more?”
The answers were not satisfying. He was told he could not meet God, that God couldn’t walk, that he was not any size but was something that filled the universe.
One day he noticed a small tract at his sister’s home called Rays of Living Light. He read it excitedly and asked his sister where it came from. “If you had been out on the desert for days, dying of thirst, and someone gave you a drink of clear, cold water, you would feel as I did when I read that tract,” he says. “I knew it was the truth. It was as if I were dying of thirst for the truth, and now I had received a small cup of it. I wanted more.”
Bert’s sister told him that her doctor, who was something called a “branch president” in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, had given it to her. She thought they were called “Mormons,” too.
Soon Bert had some well-marked tracts, a Book of Mormon, and an invitation to attend church. It was at the doctor’s office I first met my husband, Bert Braack. I next saw him in church. He attended all the meetings. His searching questions kept the members busy studying for the answers.
At last he had found someone who could explain God to him. Joseph Smith’s description of God and Jesus rang true. He could understand a God with a real, tangible body—a God who could walk and talk, one he could meet face to face and who could love with the great love he had felt once before. After a long search, he knew he had found the church with authority to baptize him, and since his immersion one autumn day in the cold Willapa River, his testimony has never faltered.

Ever since I joined the Church, my dream has been to serve a mission. I want to be a missionary. I want to bring souls to Christ. I want to help gather scattered Israel.
My mom always wanted me to be a missionary. She wanted me to serve a mission before her passing. She passed away April 26, 2022. My dad died in the same month, 2010. That April was a challenging time for me, and I would never have made it if it wasn’t for the grace of Almighty God.
I told myself that I wanted to go on a mission by the end of 2023. So, little by little, with the help of my bishop and close friends, I processed my paperwork. My friend told me “You said you wanted to go on a mission by the end of 2023 and your wish came to pass.” I told him “No, it was the will of my Heavenly Father, He planned it.”

Brent ran downstairs, his little sister, Lindsey, following close behind. “Mom!” Brent cried. “Lindsey won’t leave us alone!”
Brent’s best friend, Clint, had come over to play. The boys were playing with Brent’s fire truck and putting out the fires in the skyscrapers they had built out of blocks. “Lindsey always wants to do what we’re doing,” Brent said. “Why can’t she go away?”
“Brent, please be nice to your sister. She just wants to spend time with you,” Mom said.
“But, Mom, she always wants to tag along. Can’t she do something else for a while?”
“How about if we color together, Lindsey?” Mom asked. Lindsey nodded.
“Thanks, Mom,” Brent said as he started back up the stairs.
“Don’t forget, Brent,” Mom called after him. “You and Clint have practice for the Christmas program in less than an hour.”
“OK, Mom,” Brent replied.
“Mommy, why doesn’t Brent like me?” Lindsey asked, tears forming in her eyes.
“He does like you,” Mom said. “But sometimes he just wants to be with his friends. Brent loves you very much, even if he doesn’t always show it.”
A little while later, Mom took Brent and Clint to the church to practice for the Christmas program. Brent was excited. He was going to play Joseph this year. Before, he’d always been a sheep or a shepherd or a Wise Man. That was neat, but this year would be the best ever.
“OK, we’re going to practice the scene at the inns,” Brother Mitchell said. “Joseph and Mary, take your places. Innkeepers, it’s time.”
The Primary children hurried to their places onstage as Joseph and Mary approached the first inn.
“Please, do you have a room that we could stay in for the night?” Brent asked. “My wife is going to have a baby very soon, and she needs a place to rest.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no room,” the innkeeper said.
“Come on, Mary. Let’s try another place,” Brent said. They walked to the next innkeeper. “Hello, sir. We’ve come a long way, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. Do you have a place where we can stay?”
“No, we’re all full. There’s no room.”
Brent went to the next innkeeper and knocked on the door, then the next, and then the next. The answer was always the same.
“There’s no room.”
“No room.”
“No room.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” Brent said. “Let’s try this one last place.” He turned and knocked on the door. “Sir, please, we’re very far from home, we have no place to go, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. We’ve tried every inn in town. Do you have anywhere that we could stay?”
“I’m sorry. We’re all full.”
Joseph and Mary turned away slowly, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Mary,” Brent began. “I don’t know what—”
“Wait! Wait just a moment,” the innkeeper called after them. “Maybe I have a place after all. Come with me.” The innkeeper led them to the stable with cows, sheep, and other animals. “It’s not much, but you can stay here if you like.”
“This is wonderful,” Brent said gratefully. “Thank you very, very much.”
A few days later, Clint was at Brent’s house again. They were playing in a big box, pretending it was a fort that protected them from invaders. But Lindsey kept bothering them, asking if she could come inside too.
“Lindsey, why don’t you go do something else? Can’t you see that there’s no room for—” Brent stopped mid-sentence. He thought of the words that he’d heard just a few days before: “No room, no room, no room.” He thought of Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus, who meant so much to all of them. Then he looked at his little sister.
“I’m sorry, Lindsey. Of course there’s room for you. There’s always room for three.”

I was a senior in high school when I knew I needed a change from my best friends. There were seven of us who had been best friends since middle school, and we did everything together. All of our fathers worked for the railroad, so we rode the train with them for free from southeastern Idaho to Salt Lake City and back many times to attend general conference and shop for school clothes. Sometimes when we were together we laughed so hard we would be bent over with side aches. We were really close.
The problems started in my junior year. The parties my friends and I attended changed. Things started happening that I didn’t feel good about. Sometimes there were overnight parties when parents were out of town, and boys who had been drinking started coming.
One time a boy put a can of beer up on a bookshelf in the living room and started laughing about how my friend’s father would react if he could see it there. But I didn’t think it was funny. I liked my friend’s parents a lot. Their home had been my home away from home for years—a home where I loved to kneel with them in family prayer.
By the time summer came I was more uncomfortable with what my friends were doing with their lives. I didn’t want to follow them, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Then a wonderful change came into my life. With school out, my parents let me take the train to California to visit my aunt and uncle for three weeks. My family didn’t go to church, but in California, not only was my uncle active, but he was also the bishop of the ward. The teenagers in his ward included me in everything they did during my visit.
My new friends shined with the light of the gospel, and I was impressed with how much fun they had while living gospel standards. My cousin took me on a short trip with some of her friends. They impressed me with their integrity and goodness while having a great time. At the end of the three weeks, I came home with a determination to change my life to be more like the Savior, even if it meant having to change my friends.
When I returned home, I turned down opportunities to hang out with my old friends. At the end of the summer I met a wonderful LDS guy with a great smile and big dimples who lived his religion and was planning on a mission. I hung out with him and his friends for the first half of my senior year. Then he left for his mission.
Up until then it had been easy to spend time with my old friends at school and with new friends on weekends. But I knew I had to make some major changes if I wanted to stick with my goals.
Our ward had a large Young Women program, and though they had not been my closest friends, I liked these girls. They loved and lived the gospel teachings, and they were so much fun to be around. They accepted me wholeheartedly into their circle, and my senior year ended up being a great year. Not only was it fun, but it also pointed me firmly in the direction I wanted my life to go—towards the gospel.
I will always be thankful for my California friends who inspired me to take my life in the right direction. I am also thankful for a great group of friends in my home ward who welcomed me when I needed to make a change of friends. And the guy with the big dimples—we were married in the Idaho Falls Temple a few months after he returned from his mission.

“Anchored by Faith and Commitment,” page 30: Elder M. Russell Ballard tells about his great-grandfather who was offered a life of ease if he would leave the Church. He refused and chose instead to make the difficult trek to Salt Lake City, arriving ragged and destitute but true to his testimony. What are you willing to give up for your faith? Is there anything you would not be willing to sacrifice if the Lord required it?

The young women in the Fort Wayne Indiana Stake were in the habit of sharing their talents and service with everyone all year round. So when it came time to have An Evening for Sharing program, they decided to have something a little different and share with each other some fun and some good learning experiences. First of all they called a steering committee of young women. Then they handed out questionnaires to all the young women in the stake to find out what they would like to do. It seemed unanimous—they all wanted to have a 24-hour time for sharing (really a one-day girls’ conference) and call it “Unlimited.”
They began the event with a Friday evening filled with games, food, a special introduction of the theme, and an original song written by one of the Beehive girls, Becky Wall. The next morning, workshops in the six areas of focus in the Young Women program were conducted. Adult specialists from the stake presented workshops on the Treasures of Truth book, quilting, social dancing, macramé, speaking to the deaf, and other topics. (The girls sang “I Am a Child of God” in sign language for weeks after the activity.) After the workshops they held a testimony meeting and shared their most priceless possession with each other.
Eighty girls and leaders participated. They turned what is usually one evening into 24-hours of sharing.

A couple of months ago, we were heading home from Church to go eat lunch. As we were biking, a woman sitting near the roadside, called out to us. We pulled our bikes over to her to see what she needed. She introduced herself as Florence and asked us if our Church prays for people. She was thinking in the ways of healing, not just in general. We explained a little bit about how the Church is run but told her we didn’t really pray about people in Church. She then explained to us that she was a single mother to a young boy.
She said that her son was almost 4 years old and couldn’t walk or talk. She talked about how she had taken him to many different places to try and heal him from his sickness. We listened to her and responded by teaching about priesthood blessings. She then asked us if that was something we could give to her son. We agreed and followed her to her house to meet her little boy.
On arrival, we met her little boy. She told us his name was Edem and showed us a little bit of his skills. He was able to crawl well and was very flexible. He made some noises but could not speak words. She also showed us that he could walk a little if you held his hands. After some talking, we had him sit down on a stool so we could give him a quick priesthood blessing. We blessed him that he would continue to develop and gain strength in the Lord’s due time.
After the blessing, we thanked his mother and told her we would come back soon. Every so often, over the next couple months we checked up on Edem and his mom to see how they were doing. Each time Edem seemed to be just like before, happy and curious. We also noticed that he was able to walk a little easier just by holding onto one of his hands. After a few weeks we visited again. This time around we found Edem playing in the sand with his mom nearby. She seemed happy and told us she wanted to show us something. She had us sit and watch as she stood Edem up on his two feet. After holding him up for a second, to help him balance, she let go. With no help, Edem began to walk! One little step in front of the other, he began to make his way across the sand. We were amazed.
It was so amazing to see this young boy making progress. We knew the Lord was helping Edem.
We know the Lord truly has power and does works wonders for us in these days. Miracles may not be instantaneous, but they are a work in progress.

Although she could barely see over the leafy branches she carried, Willa knew she was near the bees because of the low humming sound. She dropped the branches and pushed her sunbonnet back off her head.
“Come, Willa,” her grandfather called. “I want to show you something.”
Willa hesitated to join Grandfather, who was standing by several straw hives fastened onto a four-wheeled cart.
“Come, Willa, the bees are too busy to think of you today. There is much honey for them to gather.”
Willa walked carefully to where Grandfather stood and looked where he pointed. She could see a cluster of bees hanging on the outside of one of the hives.
“They are so crowded in there that they will soon swarm,” he explained. “Then when the queen flies out, many will follow her. After they are gone, a new queen will hatch to lay eggs for those who remain.”
“Where will they go?” asked Willa. She stifled the urge to swat at the bees humming past her face.
“Probably to a nearby tree. They’ll gather there and send out scouts to find a new home. I’ll make a new hive for them so we can catch them and bring them back to the cart.”
“How will you get them into the new hive?” asked Willa. She was edging away from the cart, hoping Grandfather would follow.
“If they gather on a small branch, we can cut it off and bring it down to the hive. Then we’ll turn the hive upside down and shake them in.”
Being anywhere near those thousands of swarming bees frightens me, thought Willa. She knew her grandfather wasn’t spry enough to climb trees, and by the way he kept saying “we” she knew she would be asked to help.
She looked to where the covered wagons were gathered.
“Maybe my friend Kurt will help you hive the swarm,” she said hopefully.
“The bees will fill themselves full of honey before they fly off, and it’s hard for a full bee to bend her tail to sting,” Grandfather encouraged, patting Willa on the shoulder.
He gathered up the branches and began to place them on the hickory pole framework built over the cart. The branches would provide shade for the hives.
“It’s still a long way to the Salt Lake Valley,” he said. “I was told that no bees had been seen there. We must take our own to pollinate our fruit trees.
“I want you to learn to help with the bees, Willa. I won’t always be able to do the work,” Grandfather said, putting his arm around her waist as they walked to their wagon. “I’d like you to gather lots of long dry grass to make the new hive. I’ll go down to the river to find something to use for the binding.”
That afternoon Willa sat with Grandfather in the shade of the wagon to watch him make the hive. Kurt came from his wagon to watch too.
“This kind of hive is called a skep,” explained Grandfather. “My father taught me how to make them. He gave me this bone needle that I use to pull the binding through the straw. When he came from Holland on a sailing ship, he brought his bees with him.”
“Like the Jaredites!” said Kurt.
“Yes, like the Jaredites,” agreed Grandfather.
“They carried their bees in barges across the ocean to the promised land,” said Kurt. “I read about it in the book of Ether.”
“‘And they did also carry with them deseret,’” quoted Grandfather, “‘which, by interpretation, is a honey bee; and thus they did carry with them swarms of bees. …’” (Ether 2:3.)
Willa sat on the seat of the wagon the next morning while Mother combed her long, honey-colored hair. “Mother, I’m afraid of the bees,” she confessed. “I’ll never forget how it hurt that time when I was stung.”
“Your grandfather knows a great deal about bees,” encouraged Mother. “If you do as he says, they probably won’t sting you.”
“But I’ll still be afraid,” murmured Willa.
“Sometimes it’s good to be afraid,” said Mother. “Only the foolish are never afraid. The brave are those who keep trying even when they are afraid.”
Willa sat in silence as her mother wrapped her braided hair in a golden crown around her head.
Suddenly Mother said, “Listen! The bees are swarming.”
Willa jumped down from the wagon and saw a cloud of bees gathering about the cart. “Call Grandfather,” she cried. “I’ll follow them.”
The bees flew to a large tree by the river with Willa in hot pursuit. She watched as they collected into a mass of crawling bodies on a branch above her head. When she caught her breath, she began to call out so Grandfather could find her.
He arrived carrying the new hive and a wooden plank. Inside the hive were a pair of gloves and a wide-brimmed hat covered with cotton netting.
“You’re a plucky girl, Willa,” said Grandfather as he squinted up at the swarm. “Do you think you can climb that high?”
Willa looked at the tree. She knew she could, but the sight of those thousands of bees gave her a cold feeling in her stomach.
“I’ll go get Kurt,” she called as she ran back to the wagons. However, a few minutes later she returned wearing a pair of britches. “Kurt is sick,” she explained, still breathless from running. “He can’t come, so I borrowed these pants from him. I’ll climb the tree.”
Grandfather helped her put on the hat. He made sure the netting fit closely about her shoulders and neck. Willa put on the gloves and took the knife Grandfather pulled from his pocket.
“Remember, child,” cautioned Grandfather, “the bees are happy, and they’re full of honey. But you must be careful not to shake them loose from the branch or they’ll fly away again.”
Willa was able to sit on a branch and reach the limb where the bees hung like a living Christmas stocking.
As she cut the branch, bees walked over her gloves and down the long sleeves of her blouse. They hummed about her head and settled on the netting hung from her hat.
She had the branch free and was climbing down when she felt a bee crawling into her glove. A hot, stabbing pain shot through her hand. She lost her grip on the branch and it fell with the swarm. But Grandfather caught it handily in the upturned hive. Then he turned the hive over with the bees inside and set it on the plank.
“We’ll leave them there,” said Grandfather as he helped remove the bees from Willa’s clothes. “By evening they will all go inside and we can carry them back to the cart.”
Later that night as she helped Grandfather carry the hive back, Willa thought, What Mother said about being brave is true. It helped a lot. Aloud she mused, “Grandfather, do you remember that line from Shakespeare that says: ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.’ I think I died at least a thousand times in that tree this afternoon.”
“But you were brave, Willa, and for your effort I want to give you this hive of bees.”
After the hive was fastened to the cart, Willa said excitedly, “Grandfather! Why don’t we call this new colony Deseret, after the Jaredites’ bees?”
“That’s it, Willa!” Grandfather said, taking off his hat and rubbing his head. “I think it’s a perfect name. Honeybees are a true symbol of industry and harmony,” he added, “and the name will just suit them.”
Willa watched while Grandfather put screen on the hive entrances and hitched the cart to their wagon so they’d be ready to leave early in the morning. When he was done, he gazed at the hives a moment before turning to go. “Deseret,” she heard him murmur contentedly as he walked away.
Willa touched the sting on her hand. It felt better already.

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries.
As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that,” I told them. “I just need a more organized way to learn about beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than the members of other churches I had met—and in my search for religion, I had met members of many faiths. My friends’ prayers were different, too. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. And they lived what they learned in church. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the brilliant stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another.
I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was 10 and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially touching lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he will tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. Heavenly Father did tell me. All I had to do was listen.

Recently, an August graduate sent such a letter describing an experience that provided gospel insights for her. A portion of the letter reads:
Recently I sat in a physics class and had the Holy Ghost teach me. We were discussing fiber optics and how light travels perfectly through strands of plastic without losing energy. I realized as the lecture proceeded that all things point to Christ. Christ has all power and never “loses energy” as He influences our lives. I sat in awe at the understanding that came to me; not a physical understanding but a spiritual enlightenment filled my soul. I came out of that lecture on a spiritual high. [Letter from Patricia Farr, 7 August 2000]

When I was a young boy, my Grandfather Ignacio gave my brother, David, and me a used bicycle as a gift. We quickly thanked him and sped off to give the gift a test ride. When we returned from our ride, my mother asked us to go to a nearby phone booth and telephone our grandfather to thank him for the bike.
We arrived at the booth and waited several minutes to make the call. Realizing that the woman using the phone would not leave anytime soon, we decided that it would be best to go to another pay telephone. As we got on the bike to leave, a police officer arrived in his patrol car. The woman who had delayed us immediately left the booth and protested loudly and emphatically, “That is my child’s bicycle. It was stolen several months ago.”
The police officer asked where we had gotten the bicycle, and we answered that we had just received it as a gift from our grandfather. The officer loaded us and the bicycle into the patrol car and took us home, where he asked that my mother produce some proof of purchase for the bike. After my mother called my grandfather from a neighbor’s phone, my grandfather arrived and presented a receipt for the bike’s purchase. The receipt showed that he had purchased the bike that very morning at the police station auction, where unclaimed and recovered property was sold.
The officer had a dilemma to resolve. Give the bike to the pleading mother or give the bike to us, the recent purchasers. I am sure you have come to your own conclusions based on what you perceive to have been the fairest course of action.
The officer returned the bicycle to the woman who had claimed it to be rightfully her child’s. Of course my brother and I were devastated. At the time I felt it was a serious injustice for the officer to have taken the bicycle and given it to this stranger. As time passed, my legal education here at the BYU Law School only reinforced my feelings about our loss.
After law school I returned to work in the city where this bike episode had occurred, and I became one of its city attorneys. Ironically, I remember analyzing and applying the very law that should have prevented the officer from taking my first bike had the law been applied correctly.
It is only in more recent years that I have come to understand the lasting lesson that my grandfather taught me on that day—one that lives longer in my heart than the bicycle ever could. In my mind’s eye I have come to understand that he must have seen something in that mother’s face, a tired yearning for compassion, that caused him to allow the bicycle to be returned to its rightful owner.
That day my grandfather taught me a higher law, the second great commandment: how to love your neighbor. My grandfather demonstrated and exercised the gift of charity for another human being.

A few weeks after that Friday, the presidency of my young adult branch was released. As anyone from a small branch can probably attest, it was hard to think of what would happen without our branch being able to rely on these men and their wives, whom we had grown to love and trust. But I closed my eyes and repeated to myself the words that had struck me that Friday: good things keep on coming. I was comforted and ready for the change.

They started out with a block of wood, gold paint, Styrofoam, and lots of imagination. The results were numerous questions about Book of Mormon peoples and the gold plates.
The annual Bundaberg, Australia, show provides area citizens the opportunity to show talents, test skills, and renew old acquaintances. For Latter-day Saint members and missionaries it was a chance to share the gospel.
“Ancient America Speaks” displayed pictures of the Book of Mormon scenes as well as Joseph Smith translating. The missionaries even went so far as to reproduce an ancient calendar and replica of the golden plates.
The townspeople of Bundaberg were full of questions: “What was written on the plates?” “What language were they written in?” “Who were these ancient people, and where did they come from?” “Who translated the golden plates, and where are they today?” Many of the visitors to the show viewed the film “Ancient America Speaks,” which answered the majority of their questions.
The members and missionaries viewed the display as a big success. It had introduced the Church to many who had not been acquainted with Latter-day Saints, and it produced many referrals.
At the close of the show, the ancient calendar stone was given to a man who now explains its original purpose to everyone who sees the huge replica. He has also decided to find out more about the calendar so as to better tell others.