Gospel Story Finder

Many experiences have helped strengthen my testimony of the power of prayer. Perhaps the one that had the most long-term effect on my life was my decision to accept a call to serve a mission.
I had always planned to fill a mission. From the time I was old enough to understand, my parents had taught me how important a mission was and that it was the right thing to do. After graduating from high school, I was fortunate to receive an academic and athletic scholarship to the University of Chicago. It was 1937 and the United States was struggling to emerge from the Great Depression. My parents were simply unable to help me financially with my college education, so the scholarship was my great opportunity. My mother was reluctant to let me go from our home in Salt Lake City to this great university so far away for a number of reasons, but primarily because she felt I might not choose to accept a mission call after my sophomore year, when I would be old enough. Cautiously she agreed to my going if I would still plan on going on my mission when the time came. I agreed.
When I returned home that summer, after my sophomore year, one of the first things she said was, “Lynn, now you can prepare to leave on your mission in the fall.” However, after being exposed to the philosophies of men, expounded by the world-renowned professors of that great university, I had changed my mind.
In essence I said, “Mother, I have changed my mind. I feel that many of the teachings of the Church are old-fashioned and out-of-date, and that it is more important for me to complete my junior and senior years, and then possibly fill a mission.”
I will never forget the terrible hurt look on her face. She didn’t shout or scold or chastise me in any way. She just wept, and later I learned that she and Dad prayed with all the fervor of their souls that I would change my mind. I also prayed for confirmation that I had made the right decision.
Fortunately for me, our prayers were answered, and I listened to the whisperings of the Spirit. The answer came on that last day when I had to decide whether or not to return to the university, and I decided to serve a mission.
My young friends, as I look back over the 50 years of my life since that important decision was made with the help of the Lord, I can testify to you that it was one of the best and most important decisions of my life. Reflecting on my attitude at the time and the direction I was going, I shudder to contemplate what would have happened to me if I had chosen unwisely. I could have easily become inactive in the Church and missed out on the most important experiences of this life and the eternities.

Whenever my mother and father planned a vacation, they always took our family to the temple. We lived in Oregon, USA. The nearest temple was 600 miles (965 km) away in Cardston, Alberta, Canada. Our car didn’t have air conditioning. My brother and sister and I sat in the back seat. We would hang a wet washcloth outside the car window. Then we put it on our necks to cool off.
It was a thrill when we finally saw the temple. I didn’t know very much about what happened there, but my parents were always happy when they came out. I knew the temple was very important. I knew it was the Lord’s house.

In between serving slices of leche flan, a rich custard topped with burnt-sugar caramel, Maryjoy Morato, 17, of the Wilshire Ward, told how missionaries in the Philippines contacted her family and shared with them the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“They just knocked on the door one day,” she said. “But they were always welcome in our home because they would talk about good things.” Exposed to the light of the restored gospel, the entire family eventually joined the Church. Maryjoy’s father died, her mother remarried, and the family moved to America. “Members here are the same as in the Philippines,” she said. “There’s no change. They’re all nice.”

Well before his 19th birthday, Elder Duncan happened to meet a General Authority serving in the Missionary Department who challenged him to memorize the missionary discussions. He met that challenge and was later called to the Chile Santiago South Mission. His time as a missionary reconfirmed his love for serving the Lord. “I knew I wanted to be a missionary every day of the rest of my life,” says Elder Duncan.

“When I got married,” says Consolacion Pilobello of Pasay City, Philippines, “I didn’t know how to cook, and I was too superstitious to go to a doctor and get prenatal care. Our first baby died.”
She begins to cry. “If only I had been a member of the Church then, we could have saved that baby!”
After baptism, she learned in Relief Society about water purification, sanitation, nutrition, first aid, and immunizations. “I learned how to take care of my children, myself, and my family,” she says. Her next seven babies were healthy. She is now ward homemaking leader—teaching what she has learned. (See Tambuli, September 1991, pages 11–12.)

An incident reported to me recently illustrates the cooperative action of the Relief Society and the priesthood in laboring together in the Church family for the benefit of the sons and daughters of the Lord here upon the earth.
One cold January day, two visiting teachers called at the home of a family that had recently moved into the ward. There was no immediate response to their knock, but, feeling impressed to try again, the visiting teachers knocked a second time and a third.
The door finally opened a few inches, revealing a woman and a child bundled in coats and pajamas. The visiting teachers were reluctantly invited into the icy-cold house. In answer to their questions, framed with understanding and care, the woman tearfully revealed the family situation.
The student husband was desperately ill and in an intensive-care unit of the hospital. The doctor and hospital bills would take all the money the couple had saved for years to allow him to obtain additional schooling.
When their supply of fuel had been exhausted, the young wife and the child stayed in bed to keep warm, and the mother was trying to make one quart of milk and half a loaf of bread last for the remainder of the month.
When the visiting teachers offered help, the sister said, “My husband is proud. He wouldn’t want us to accept charity.”
The visiting teachers wisely explained that the Lord’s program of welfare is not one that robs the receiver of his pride or independence, but rather contributes to it. By gentle, loving persuasion the young wife finally gave permission for a call to be made to the Relief Society president.
Within a short time both the Relief Society president and the bishop arrived at the home. Soon fuel was delivered, the furnace was started, warm food was provided, and a food list was prepared. Then the bishop visited the husband in the hospital where encouragement was given to the sick man that his family was well taken care of. An administration followed in which the young man was reassured concerning his own condition. From that point on, he began to improve. The Relief Society education counselor who was assigned to personal welfare gave the wife suggestions of ways she could better manage the family’s limited resources and give service for commodities received.

“Thanks for helping me get that broken water pipe fixed.”
Elder Jose Arcia laughs, “Oh, Hermana, we didn’t help much.” During their last visit, the woman’s eight-year-old boy had broken a pipe in the front yard, sending water gushing onto the sidewalk. After an hour, with a Church member’s help, they fixed it. Today, every time the boy starts to wander away from the discussion, Elder Arcia asks him simple questions and playfully draws him back.
The mother, who is separated from her husband, is impressed by the lesson. Elder Arcia and his companion teach sensitively, urging her to love God and her neighbors and obey the law of chastity and the Word of Wisdom. “In twenty years, after the missionaries are gone, will you still be obeying these laws?” he asks.
“Of course I will,” she answers. She’ll be baptized in two weeks.
Watching Elder Arcia teach, you’d assume he’s had years of Church experience. Actually, this twenty-four-year-old Panamanian entered the MTC thirteen days before completing even one year as a member.
Later, a U.S. missionary assistant to the mission president comments on Elder Arcia’s work in the Costa Rica Mission: “The president sends him to areas where the work isn’t going well. Wherever he goes, Elder Arcia sparks excitement, teaches a lot of discussions, and has baptisms. There’s something about him that we foreigners don’t have. He can get into doors we can’t enter!”

The other day as I watched the videotape Called to Serve, my eyes moistened in instant tenderness as each new missionary opened and read aloud with his family the official call to a full-time mission, signed by the President of the Church. I recalled my own mission call to Argentina. After sharing the excitement of my call with my parents, I sought out my mentor, who was not a member of the Church, a former U.S. senator, to share the news of my call with him. He was not impressed and let me know in no uncertain terms that if I insisted on serving a mission, upon my return all the good jobs would be taken and I would never amount to anything. I was disappointed but realized that he saw my future only as the world perceives.
Years later I realized that my mission had prioritized my life toward family, service, and gospel principles. As an added bonus, I was far ahead of most of my former classmates in worldly achievements.

At Lier the girls put on an evening program about every two weeks. “It is sort of like a home evening program,” says Bonnie. “We were all kind of like a big family at school. The different groups would take turns giving the program—one time it would be the girls doing the cooking, and the next time those doing the washing. The time my group gave it, they told me to come up with an original idea. I called the mission president and he sent up a projector and the film Man’s Search for Happiness in Norwegian.
When asked if she would share some recipes and cleaning tips with New Era readers, Bonnie gladly complied.
1. “There were very few carpets or rugs at Lier, and most of the floors were made out of beautiful hardwood. Because they looked so perfect all the time, visitors thought we spent hours on them. I guess we did, but we never spent too long at one time. They were washed each day with a rag attached to the end of a long-handled, rubber squeegee and hot soapy water. We rarely had to get down on our hands and knees with a brush and a bucket because the floors never had a chance to accumulate any real dirt. Periodically (about once per week) the floors were waxed with paste wax and then rubbed with dry, clean rags until they shone.”
2. “When making bread and kneading it, you usually leave flour and dough all over the drainboard or table. If you want to clean this off easily without having your washcloth get all doughy and sticky, just sprinkle some ordinary table salt on the surface before wiping it off. The dough will rub off easily and your washcloth will quickly rinse out.”
3. “The difference between how absolutely clean everything was at Lier and how semi-straightened things are in most American homes is not the result of using any special product or particular brand of soap. The difference is made by the amount of elbow grease you cheerfully apply to each task. Extra pains taken give instant results.”
4. “We used a weak vinegar and water solution when cleaning windows, and it worked just as well as any expensive window spray I’ve ever tried.”
5. “Organization is very important in running a home. At school certain things had to be done at certain times. Big cleaning projects were alternated with minor ones during the week to give some variety. But what I really liked was never having to do a major spring cleaning. Since we’d do several major projects per week, we thoroughly cleaned the school a couple of times a year. The only time we had to do the whole thing at once was when the term ended and we had to leave the school to the next group of girls.
“Working hard to make a home clean and pleasant and to prepare regular, wholesome meals for the people you care most about brings a great deal of enjoyment and fulfillment. When I arrived at my home in Midway, I greeted my mother with ‘Hello, I’m your new housemaid. I hope we work well together.’ Even so, working at home has seemed like a vacation after the tight schedule at Lier.”
6. “We were taught that to keep your home at its best certain things needed to be done daily. They were washing the clothes, cleaning the bathrooms, dusting and polishing the furniture, washing the floors, cooking meals, and caring for the animals. There were other things we had to do, of course, but not every day.”
7. “When we did the laundry we would soak it overnight and remove all spots before putting it in the washing machine.”
8. “We worked hard at keeping the kitchen looking neat even when we were cooking. We would take out a tray or a plate, and the utensils, knives, etc., that we used while cooking would be placed on the tray when not in use. Afterwards the tray needed to be washed, but the drainboards were much easier to wipe off.”
9. “Lier was originally a cooking school, and how to prepare, serve, and store food is still one of the most important things learned there. We learned to cook for small groups and large groups. When visitors came, we really put on a show. I remember once having to help prepare a banquet for more than two hundred. Cleaning up afterwards was the worst part. We were washing dishes until after midnight.
“I brought home with me many delicious recipes. Norwegian food is beautifully prepared and very healthful. It is quite plain in nature when compared to the elaborate French or the spicy Chinese cuisine. Norwegians eat quite a bit of fish, potatoes, and bread. They seldom eat meat or chicken since they are very expensive. Here is one of the best fish recipes I learned to prepare at school. Although it is difficult to find the same variety of fish as in Norway, we can substitute.”
Fiskegryte (one-pot fish dinner)
3 leeks
3 carrots
1 small celery root
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 pounds fish filet (red snapper or other white fish)
4 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons tomato puree
Chopped fresh parsley
Chop up the leeks, carrots, and celery root and place with salt in a pan. Add enough water to cover the vegetables and cook until partially done. Roll the fish in flour with salt and pepper added and place on top of the partially cooked vegetables. Put the butter and tomato puree on top of the fish, cover the pan tightly, and let cook until the fish is done. Chop fresh parsley to garnish the finished dish.
“Here are two more recipes I really like. One is for a sort of rice porridge, and the other is a dessert made from leftover rice.”
Risengrynsgrøt (rice porridge)
3 cups water
2 cups long-grain white rice
2 quarts cooked milk
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Sugar
Cinnamon
Pats of butter or margarine
Bring the water to a boil. Add rice, cover, and let cook for about 20 minutes. Add cooked milk and salt and let cook until rice is done and the mixture has thickened like porridge. Stir often. Serve hot with sugar, cinnamon, and margarine on top.
Riskrem (rice and cream dessert)
2 quarts leftover rice
6 tablespoons sugar
10 drops vanilla or other preferred flavoring
Slivered almonds
1 pint whipping cream
Heat the rice and sweeten to taste. Cook it until all the liquid is absorbed. Add the flavoring and the slivered almonds. Cool. Whip the cream and fold into rice. Serve at room temperature with fruit sauce.
Rød saus (red fruit sauce)
1 quart fruit juice concentrate (strawberry, raspberry, or boysenberry)
Sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
Put the juice, sweetened to taste, in a sauce pan. Add the cornstarch and cook until the juice thickens. Add a little water if necessary to make the sauce consistency right. Serve in a small pitcher beside the riskrem so each guest can pour the desired amount on his serving of dessert.
Reminiscing about Lier and her experiences there almost makes Bonnie homesick for the scrub brushes and her many friends. “I learned some really great things at Lier—I certainly learned endurance—but the most wonderful thing about it was the people. They really care about you. At Easter I was allowed to fly home to the United States to visit my family. All of the girls and the teachers were up at 6:00 to see me off. And they had made me piles of delicious sandwiches because they were afraid I’d get hungry on the long trip home.”
Attending the Husmorskole was a great opportunity for Bonnie Shand, and she feels more girls ought to be taught to take pride in their housewifely skills. She was asked to speak on the graduation program at the end of her six-month course and was given a beautiful Norwegian doll by her classmates “so you’ll never forget us.” It’s not likely that she ever will.

Many years ago, when I was called as a bishop, I had a desire for the bishopric to visit those who were less active in the Church and see if there was anything we could do to bring the blessings of the gospel into their lives.
One day we visited a man in his 50s who was a respected mechanic. He told me the last time he had been to church was when he was a young boy. Something had happened that day. He had been acting up in class and was being noisier than he should when his teacher became angry, pulled him out of class, and told him not to come back.
He never did.
It was remarkable to me that an unkind word spoken more than four decades earlier could have had such a profound effect. But it had. And, as a consequence, this man had never returned to church. Neither had his wife or children.
I apologized to him and expressed my sorrow that he had been treated that way. I told him how unfortunate it was that one word spoken in haste, and so long ago, could have the effect of excluding his family from the blessings that come from Church activity.
“After 40 years,” I told him, “it’s time the Church made things right.”
I did my best to do so. I reassured him that he was welcome and needed. I rejoiced when this man and his family eventually returned to church and became strong and faithful members. In particular, this good brother became an effective home teacher because he understood how something as small as an unkind word could have consequences that extend throughout a lifetime and perhaps beyond.

Carlos was excited for Christmas. This year there was something different in his home. A large tree made of shiny green paper was attached to the door.
Mom, why is there a tree on the door?
We’re going to do something a little different for Christmas this year.
Carlos wondered what would be different. His sister, Araceli, and his little brother, Diego, wondered too.
I made these paper ornaments for the tree. Each day we will write something about Jesus Christ on an ornament and then put it on the tree. By Christmas Eve, the whole tree will be covered!
Carlos liked that idea. Araceli ran to the ornaments and grabbed a red pencil.
Jesus was baptized.
That’s a good one. Can I write that Jesus did many miracles?
That would be perfect. You both have great ideas!
Every night after dinner, Araceli and Carlos made another ornament and put it on the tree. Diego helped by saying, “I love Jesus!”
When it was hard to think of more ideas, they looked in the scriptures. Carlos didn’t know there were so many verses about Jesus!
On Christmas Eve the whole family sang songs and read the ornaments they had put on the tree. Carlos was happy he knew so much about Jesus. He was all ready for Christmas.

Snow was falling outside the kitchen windows, and the pines looked as pretty as those on a Christmas card. A perfect day for sledding! I smiled and was reaching for the juice glasses as Mom came into the kitchen.
“Morning, Jackie.” Mom gave me a big hug. “Kiley didn’t want to get dressed this morning,” she said with a happy chuckle. “She just stood in front of the window, watching the snow.”
“Is that what took you so long upstairs?” I asked.
“That, and I called Grandma. She has a cold, so Kiley and I won’t be taking her shopping today.”
“You mean Kiley is going to be here all day?” I moaned.
“She lives here, honey. Where else would she be?”
“Mom!” I groaned. “You know I invited Mary Alice over to go sledding!”
“Sure,” Mom said with a quick nod and a smile. “So?”
“So you know how Kiley always butts in when I have company! And besides, I haven’t told Mary Alice about …” I stopped and shook my head. “Oh, never mind!”
“You haven’t told her you have a retarded sister?” Mom said in a quiet voice. “Are you afraid it would make a difference to her?”
“No. It’s just that I hardly know Mary Alice yet.” I poured the juice and stared at the table.
“Honey, the fact that Kiley is retarded isn’t a crime, or a sin—it’s a fact. Jesus loves and accepts her the way she is, and you do too. Your only problem is how you feel about her when your friends are around. But don’t worry so much about it. Everything will work out.” Mom smiled and went over to the stove.
Maybe Mom wasn’t worried, but my day had suddenly turned rotten. Mary Alice probably could have gone a million places today! I thought. She’ll probably wish she had, now.
Kiley clumped into the kitchen with the toes of her slippers pointing in opposite directions and stood grinning. “Your slippers are on wrong,” I said as I knelt and picked up her right foot. I put each slipper onto the correct foot and stood with a frown. “Come on now and eat.”
Kiley went to the table and sat in her chair, then lifted her chin as I fastened a bib around her neck. “Dank you,” she said with a happy grin.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
Mom slid eggs onto our plates, and we bowed our heads and asked a blessing. I dipped my toast into the yolk and glanced at the clock.
“What time is your friend coming?” Mom asked as she aimed a forkful of food at Kiley’s mouth.
“At 10:30. I’ll do the dishes, then get ready.”
Mom steadied a glass as Kiley raised it to her lips. “Good girl!” Mom said proudly.
Kiley replaced the glass on the table and pointed to the window. “No,” she said excitedly.
Mom smiled. “Yes, snow,” she repeated. “Good girl!”
I watched Kiley’s happy face, but crossed my fingers, hoping Mom wouldn’t ask me to take Kiley sledding. Why should I be stuck with her? I argued silently.
Mom didn’t ask me to take Kiley. Instead, when they were through eating, she and Kiley left the kitchen while I did the dishes. As I scoured the skillet, I thought, If Mary Alice wasn’t coming, I’d take Kiley sledding. I’d spend the whole day with her if she wanted. But today is different.
I was pulling a turtleneck sweater over my head when Mom called upstairs. “Jackie, a girl is coming up the lane with her sled.”
“OK!” Excited, I brushed back my hair and bounced down the stairs in time to answer Mary Alice’s knock. “Hi. Come on in,” I said as she stomped snow from her boots.
“Mom dropped me at the end of your lane,” she explained. “It sure is beautiful out here! I saw a hill on the way over. Is that where you go sledding?”
“That’s it. And wait till you see the view from the top!” I grabbed my jacket and called, “Mom, Mary Alice is here and we’re going now!”
Mom came from the kitchen with flour on her hands and a smile on her face.
“Mom,” I said, “this is Mary Alice Martin.”
“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Odgen,” Mary Alice said.
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, dear. When you two come back, I’ll have something ready for you to eat.” Then Mom returned to the kitchen.
Suddenly Kiley came into the hallway with a happy smile on her face. She went up to Mary Alice, grabbed her hand, shook it, and kept right on smiling.
“Hello,” Mary Alice said. “What’s your name?”
“She’s my sister, Kiley,” I put in quickly. “Well, let’s get to that hill.” As I zipped up my jacket, I had a hard time ignoring Kiley standing there, smiling.
“Sister,” she said, pointing to me. “Special sister.”
“Yeah, Kiley,” I replied impatiently. “We’ll see you later, OK?”
Kiley nodded. “Special sister,” she repeated proudly.
Mary Alice smiled at Kiley.
I wrapped my scarf around my neck and yanked a woolen cap down over my ears. “Come on, Mary Alice,” I said, “let’s go.”
Outside, I grabbed my sled. I could feel Kiley watching me through the window. I glanced at Mary Alice, who stood with her face turned skyward, catching fluffy snowflakes. She seems happy, I thought, and glad that she came. I looked back at Kiley. She was still smiling at me, even though I was leaving her behind. Mom was right, Jesus loves her the same as anyone else. Kiley loved me, too, no matter what I did. Did I love her as much—or did I just have time for her when no one else was around?
Mary Alice looked at me, and I gulped, “Do you mind if we take Kiley along?”
Mary Alice shook her head. “I was wondering why we weren’t. She looked like she wanted to go.”
I turned and tapped on the window, then opened the door. “Come on,” I said to Kiley. “I’ll get you dressed, and you can go too. Mom,” I called, “Kiley’s going with us.”
Mom came to the doorway of the kitchen and winked at me. “OK, honey. Have a good time.”
As I tugged at Kiley’s boots, her big grin seemed to disappear around both sides of her face. “Sister!” she announced as she banged me on the head. “Special sister!”
I just kept tugging at her boots and didn’t look up. After all, how could I explain to Kiley that tears don’t always mean that you’re sad? Maybe she would have understood; I don’t know. What I do know is that I have a special sister who thinks I’m special too.

Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.

The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.

Andy’s bare feet kicked at his reflection in the water. He bit his tongue to keep himself from talking, but it didn’t stop his thoughts. Why can’t I go? I’m twelve now. I could help!
Slowly Andy put his moccasins on and sauntered up the footpath to the house. Disgustedly he kicked into the dirt. The flying pebbles sent the chickens squawking in every direction.
“Andy,” his mother asked, “are you still pouting about your father’s decision?”
“I’m not pouting.” Andy stuffed his hands deep in his overall pockets and leaned against the porch post. “I’m just wishing I could go on the hunt.”
“Maybe next time,” Mother said.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“I know, but the bobcat hunt is not just a game. You’ve heard of the damage that old cat’s done. If the cat wasn’t killing the sheep, the men wouldn’t go either. It’s dangerous! Now come on in, your father’s already washing for lunch.”
“Andy,” Father said as they finished eating, “I’m sorry you can’t go on the hunt. I hope you understand.”
Andy sat back down in his chair. His eyes were glued to his empty plate. “Is Billy going?” he asked.
“No. Mr. Longrun and I decided together that you are both too young. Maybe next time, Son.”
Andy went back out to the porch and sat on the step. At least Billy isn’t going either, Andy thought. But still I wish I could go. I’ve listened to all the men talking at the trading post and I know almost everything there is to know about that cat.
His thoughts were interrupted as a wagon pulled up in front of their house. Billy Longrun jumped out of the wagon and started toward him. He didn’t smile and Andy knew why. Without a word Billy sat down on the steps.
After a long silence Billy finally spoke. “My mother said you could come stay with me while my father is gone.”
Andy began to smile. He remembered what fun it was to stay in a Navajo hogan. If he couldn’t go hunting, this was the next best thing.
“I’m sure Mother will let me go,” he said.
“Let’s ask her now. I don’t want to watch them leave,” Billy said as he pushed his black hair out of his eyes.
Andy’s mother said that he could stay with Billy, and in a few minutes he had a small blanket roll of his belongings collected.
“I’m ready!” he shouted as he ran out the door. “I’ll race you to the black rock.”
Both boys ran as fast as they could to the rock then slowed to a walk, laughing between deep pants as they tried to catch their breath.
“I have an idea,” Andy said when he had his breath back. “While the men are on the hunt, let’s go trapping.”
“That’s a great idea,” Billy said. “Then when they get back we’ll have some pelts to show them.” His black eyes began to shine.
“That way staying home won’t be quite so bad,” Andy said.
Mrs. Longrun was sitting just outside the hogan weaving. Her long black hair was tied back with a piece of bright cloth and her arms and fingers were covered with beautiful turquoise and silver jewelry.
Billy sat down beside her. “Can we go trapping?” he asked.
“If you don’t go for long,” she answered.
“We’ll be back before the sun sets,” Billy promised.
Inside, the hogan was very warm. The fire in the coal stove was still smoldering. There was not a lot of furniture, but Andy recognized the bedrolls stacked against the wall. While he put his bedroll by the others, Billy gathered up the traps.
“Now be careful,” Mrs. Longrun called after them. “Don’t forget the time.”
Andy and Billy tramped through the bushes and grass into the hills, then they followed a large stream into the forest. It did not take long to find several good places to set the traps. Just as the boys started back, Andy suddenly grabbed Billy’s arm and said, “Hey, wait!”
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“What’s that between those two trees way over there?” Billy looked in the direction where Andy was pointing.
“I can’t tell.”
“Let’s go see. We have time,” his friend suggested.
Billy looked at the sun and then nodded in agreement. Quickly the boys made their way over to the trees.
As they came closer Billy grabbed Andy’s arm. “Stop! It’s a shindee hogan.”
Andy had heard his father talk about the Navajo customs, and he knew that when one of them died a new door was cut in the north wall of the hogan for everyone to leave and then the hogan was destroyed. But if for some reason the hogan was not destroyed, it was considered haunted. The haunted hogan was called a shindee and under no circumstances would any Indian go near it.
Slowly the boys found their way back to the stream and started for home. Billy’s mother had supper ready. “Tell your mother about the shindee hogan,” Andy whispered as he took a bite of fry bread. Mrs. Longrun stopped short.
“It was near the river in the forest,” said Billy. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Was it near the high ledge?” Mrs. Longrun asked.
“Yes, and it was almost hidden by the trees,” Andy told her.
Mrs. Longrun began to smile. “It is not a shindee. It was Littlewolf’s hogan, but it was built in a very bad place. Instead of building on the warm mesa he built in the forest where the sun could give it no warmth. He had to move.”
Very early the next morning Andy and Billy were up and off to check their traps.
The first trap had been sprung, but nothing was in it. However, a skunk odor was so strong that it was almost impossible for the boys to get near enough to reset the trap.
“Wow, that animal left a strong message!” Andy said as they wiped their stinging eyes.
“Let’s get out of here!” Billy motioned for Andy to follow.
They hadn’t gone far when they heard a strange, weak bleating sound.
“Oh no!” Billy pointed to the left. “One of the lambs is caught in our trap.”
The lamb’s front leg was not seriously cut, however, and carefully Andy opened the trap while Billy tried to comfort the frightened animal.
“She’s just scared. She’ll be fine,” Andy said as he patted the lamb’s head.
“We’re not far from that abandoned hogan. Let’s take her there until we finish checking the traps,” Billy suggested.
The boys were almost to the hogan when they heard a noise. Carefully they crept behind a dirt bank so they could see what was causing it. Two bobcat cubs were playfully rolling in front of the hogan.
Quickly the boys ducked down! “The big cat must be near,” Andy whispered. “The man at the trading post said she’d never go far from her cubs.”
They looked again just as the mother cat appeared with her ears pricked, as if she sensed intruders. Then the lamb began to bleat. The hungry old cat tensed and held very still. Billy grabbed for the lamb’s mouth, but it was too late. The cat had heard.
“What will we do now?” Billy asked softly.
“Put the lamb down!” Andy cautioned.
“But we can’t let the cat get her,” Billy protested.
“We won’t,” said Andy. “We’ll just use her for a decoy. Hold the lamb down in that crevice where it will be hard for the cat to see her and I’ll circle around behind the hogan.”
Andy took the downwind side and quickly, but very quietly, circled behind the hogan to where the cubs were still playing. The big cat continued to search for the lamb.
Carefully Andy crawled up behind the cubs and then, when the old cat was out of view, he grabbed one of the cubs by the tail. The cub started squalling.
Andy leaped behind a rock just as the mother cat ran to see what was wrong. She pushed the cubs into the hogan and then came out again, her head erect and alert for intruders.
Andy’s heart was beating so hard that he was afraid the cat could hear it. But she soon disappeared into the hogan. Andy moved cautiously toward the opening of the hogan, slammed the door shut, and put all his weight against it.
“Hurry, Billy, and bring the biggest rocks you can carry,” Andy shouted.
The angry cat growled and pawed furiously at the other side of the door. Andy’s heart was racing faster than ever while he waited for Billy to bring rocks to barricade it. Afterward both boys quickly carried heavy rocks to make the barricade secure. Then they ran home, stopping only to pick up the lamb.
Breathlessly they told Mrs. Longrun what had happened. She listened quietly and then said, “The men were just here. They’ve been hunting the cat all night, but they could not find it. I’ll see if I can catch them and tell them where it is.” And she hurried from the hogan.
In a few minutes Billy’s mother returned. “I told them where to go,” she reported. “You boys did a very dangerous thing. You could have been slashed to ribbons.”
“But I know all about that cat,” Andy insisted. “And we’ve helped everyone by catching it! I’m just glad I listened to the men talking about her at the trading post.”
“Bobcats are smart,” Mrs. Longrun explained. “There is only one thing that really saved you from being attacked. The cat must have thought the intruder was a skunk because that is what you both smell like!”
“Is that why she didn’t come after us?” Andy asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Longrun answered. “And it’s lucky for you or you might have been in real trouble.”
“I’d be in trouble if I went home smelling like this,” Andy said. Then turning to Billy he added, “I’m glad for that stinky old skunk, but we better wash up good, so my mother will let me in the house tonight or I’ll have to start living in that shindee myself.”

It was Saturday morning. To Greg that meant cartoons on TV. He woke up early, even before his father and mother or his older brother Tony were up. Tiptoeing into the living room, he turned the TV on low so he wouldn’t wake anyone. He loved to see the strong, brave heroes fight the monsters who tried to wreck the world.
Tony woke up and asked Greg if he wanted to go outside and play baseball, but Greg said, “No, I want to see the end of this show.” But when that show was finished, an even better one came on the screen.
When his father woke up, he asked Greg if he wanted to help him work on the car, but Greg answered, “Not now. This is my favorite show.”
And after that show, there was one that seemed even better than the first two.
Breakfast over, his mother asked him if he wanted to go shopping with her, but Greg replied, “No, I’d rather stay and see this show.”
“If you don’t watch out,” his mother warned, “you’ll turn into a TV set.”
But Greg didn’t pay much attention to her because he was watching the adventures of Captain Plastic, a hero who could turn himself into any shape he wanted to be.
I wish Dad were Captain Plastic, Greg thought. And I wish Mom were Wonder Woman and could stop bullets with her belt. And I wish life were more like it is on TV. Then he curled up in the large rocking chair …
The next thing Greg knew, his father jumped into the living room wearing a red cape and blue tights with a big letter P on his chest. “Hi there, son!” his father said, hanging from the ceiling like a lamp. In fact, he looked like a lamp.
“Why are you wearing that funny suit and hanging upside down from the ceiling?” Greg asked.
“Because I’m Captain Plastic!” his father said proudly, still looking like a lamp.
“No, you’re not,” Greg laughed. “You’re my dad.”
“Well, to you I’m your dad, but to the world I’m Captain Plastic.” And with that, his father came down from the ceiling and turned into a piano. “I can fly to London and back faster than you can say, ‘Where’d he go?’ But today,” his father said, changing back to Captain Plastic, “I have a cold.”
“You should go to bed and get plenty of rest,” advised Greg, remembering the TV commercials.
“Well, yes, but when Captain Plastic—the world’s strongest man—gets a cold, it’s even more of a problem because when I …”
His father sucked in his breath before letting out a great big sneeze, “Aaaaa-choo!” And his breath blew a hole through one wall of the house.
“You see what I mean?” his father asked. “That’s what happens when Captain Plastic gets a cold. Boy! I’m sorry about the wall. It was one of my favorite walls too. Well, I guess we’ll just have to put a big window there.”
Then his father looked like he was going to sneeze again. “Dad, you’d better go outside.” Greg warned. “If you sneeze one more time, you’ll wreck our whole house.”
“I know, but I hate to go outside and just sit on the porch. Some people make fun of me when I’m wearing my Captain Plastic costume.”
“Then turn yourself into something else,” Greg suggested.
“OK. I’ll turn myself into a big truck.” And with that, his father marched outside, sat down in the driveway, and became a giant truck.
Greg went outside and walked around the truck, admiring its glistening chrome hubcaps and its bright, metallic color.
Dad would love to drive a truck like this, Greg thought. But then he remembered that his dad was the truck.
Greg became confused trying to figure out what was happening. A few minutes later his mother came home from the store. “Whose truck is that in the driveway?” she asked.
“That’s not a truck—that’s Dad,” Greg told her.
“I thought so,” his mother said. “When I walked by, it sneezed.”
“I hope you weren’t hurt,” Greg said.
“Oh, no, but the sneeze broke our elm tree in two. Poor Dad has such a bad cold.”
“What did you get at the store?” Greg asked his mother.
“I thought you’d never ask!” his mother shouted. Suddenly in the house—Greg didn’t know how it happened—there was a banjo player and a drummer and a man with a large TV camera aimed at his mother. And his mother, who usually didn’t even dress up for Halloween, was dressed like a giant potato. “Hey, kids! Be the first in your neighborhood to have your very own potato!”
“A potato?” Greg asked.
“Sure! A potato is so much fun! Look, you can throw a potato just like a ball!” His mother tossed a potato through the hole in the wall. “Do you think that’s all you can do with a potato?” she sang in time with the banjo player. “No, sir! Why, you can boil potatoes and then take them out of the water and step all over them. Do you know what we call that? We call that smashed potatoes!” His mother jumped up and down on a pile of potatoes and the banjo player and drummer did a fast song and the cameraman caught all the action with his camera.
“Are you really my mom?” Greg asked when they stopped.
“Well, to you I’m your mom, but to the world I’m Potato Woman!”
“If you’re not my mom,” Greg said, “you’d better get those smashed potatoes cleaned up, because my mom doesn’t like messes in her house.”
“Do you think that’s all you can do with potatoes?” his mother sang, looking into the TV camera. “No, sir! You can put them in a glass of water for a few days and they’ll grow long roots. Very scary!”
Suddenly a giant potato with long arms sticking out of its body and with many eyes was slithering toward him.
“Potato Woman to the rescue!” his mother shouted. She took out a long, thin rope and lassoed the potato monster and flung it outside through the hole in the wall.
Just then Tony came into the room wearing a magician’s costume. “Hey, kids! Tired of the same old boring outdoors? The same old blue sky? And why do the trees always have to be green? It’s so boring. Right?”
“I like blue sky,” Greg said.
“Well, since you don’t want to go outside and play, we are changing things around. Now we bring you the new and improved orange sky!” Suddenly the sky turned a bright orange color. Greg thought it looked awful.
“And since you were so bored with the same green trees and grass,” his brother continued, “we now bring you the super sensation of the year—purple trees and purple grass!”
It looked horrible! Everything was the wrong color. “I think blue is the best color for the sky,” Greg told his brother.
“Well, thanks a lot!” Tony said disgustedly. “We went to plenty of work just to turn the sky orange and the trees purple because you didn’t like the color they were.”
“What makes you think I didn’t like the colors they were?” Greg asked.
“Because you wouldn’t go outside this morning to see them.”
Just then, his father the truck sneezed and knocked over three telephone poles. Greg ran outside to watch them crash to the ground. “Sorry,” the truck said.
“Dad, I don’t want you to be Captain Plastic anymore! You’re wrecking everything!”
“If you think this is bad, wait until I have the hiccups,” the truck said.
“Hey, kids!” his mother sang, now outside with the banjo player and drummer and cameraman. “When you’re hungry, ask your mom for chocolate covered potatoes!”
“I’m hungry now,” Greg wailed, “and I just want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!”
“Oh, that’s so boring!” his mother exclaimed. “Here, try some super soup! It’s so thick that you can eat it like a lollipop. Here, try some!” His mother thrust the lollipop into Greg’s hand. “This will turn you into Plastic Boy, like your father. You’ll be the world’s strongest boy!
“I hope you don’t get a cold,” the blue truck moaned. “If you sneeze in school, you’ll turn your desk into a box of toothpicks.”
“I don’t want to be the world’s strongest boy! I don’t want to be Plastic Boy! I want everything to be the way it was before.”
“At least try it for a minute,” his father enticed. “Just take a lick of this super soup and think about becoming something. I know—think about becoming a TV set!”
Greg was sure he wouldn’t like that. But he took a lick of the soup lollipop and thought about being a nice color TV.
And before long he was a 17-inch color TV!
“A chip off the old block!” his father exclaimed proudly, standing next to his son and turning himself into a 27-inch color TV.
“I told you that if you watched too much TV, you’d turn into one,” his mother reminded Greg.
His father turned himself back into Captain Plastic again, put his arm around Greg, and picked him up in his arms. Of course, Greg was still a TV set. “Oh, look,” his father said, “he has an automatic channel selector.” Then his father looked like he was going to sneeze again …
“Dad, don’t sneeze!” Greg yelled through his TV speaker.
“Aaaaaa …” his father again breathed in sharply, raising his head high into the air.
“Dad, if you’re going to sneeze, at least put me down!”
“Aaaaaa … CHOO!”
When his father sneezed, he threw his arms into the air, tossing Greg high into the sky. Above the house and trees he rose, then above the mountains and even higher until he was above the clouds. A second later he zoomed past a large jet plane and saw the surprised looks of the passengers at seeing a 17-inch color TV set flying past them in the air.
I’d better think about being a plane, reasoned Greg. He knew that before long he would begin falling back toward the ground. And just then he did start back down. Before long he was below the clouds again, and he could see the purple ground coming toward him very fast. So he thought and he thought about being a plane until his feet turned into airplane wheels. I need wings most of all, he decided, now falling down below the mountains. But the wings were the hardest of all to think, and he was still falling … downward …
And then he suddenly woke up! He ran into the kitchen where his mother was making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he kissed her. “Mom, I’m glad you aren’t Potato Woman.”
“What did you say?” his mother asked.
Next he ran into the garage where his father was working on the car. “Dad. I’m glad you’re not a truck!”
“What did you say?” his father asked.
Then he ran outside and looked around. The sky was a brilliant blue and the trees were a cool green and Greg rejoiced in their beauty.
That afternoon Greg played baseball with Tony.
“Aren’t you glad the sky is blue?” Greg asked, lying back in the green grass and looking at the beautiful blue sky dotted with lacy clouds.
“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I’ve never thought about it much before. What other color could it be?”
“Orange,” Greg said, remembering his dream, “with ugly purple trees.”
And the next Saturday morning, Greg didn’t watch much TV. He was too busy playing outside!

In the early 1970s, I was extended a call to translate the Book of Mormon. I wondered how I would be able to do this because I was still manager of the travel agency, my office was noisy, it was on the busiest street in Saigon, and I had to supervise a large staff. I had a big house, but my six children and their families lived there. So I could neither translate at my office nor my home. I was also serving as Relief Society president in my branch. I needed a private place where I could think and study. I prayed to my Heavenly Father, “How can I find the time and the place to translate this book and still earn a living?”
Soon after, my son Le Viet Hung, who had just joined the military, came to me early one morning. To my great surprise, he gave me a gift of 400,000 piasters that the had just won in a government contest. When I got the money, I gathered my children and told them, “I will give you my home and all that I own. I will leave my job, take a portion of the contest money, and buy some land in a remote area.”
My children agreed—the property was worth about six million piasters—and I found a quiet place about one acre in size, fifteen kilometers from Saigon. There I built a cottage and planted a garden.
In my new home I prayed, “How can I translate; my English is not good enough?” I secluded myself and studied extensively. I read many books on the life of the Savior, and, because my French was better than my English, I studied a French Book of Mormon. I read the English Book of Mormon many times. When I came to sections that I found difficult to translate, I would often dream about them and see where I could find help in other books I owned. And as I translated, I pondered. I forgot myself. It was almost as if someone else was helping me write. I know that Heavenly Father blessed me that the translation might be a good one—many have studied it and said so. It took me two years to finish.

When one of my great-grandfathers, Philander Colton, marched off with the battalion from Council Bluffs, he didn’t realize he was being followed. His nine-year-old son, Charles, secretly ran away to join the battalion. He couldn’t bear having his father leave him behind. The night Charles sneaked into the battalion’s camp in Nodaway, Missouri, he sang to the men around the campfire. His clear soprano voice softened the soldiers’ hearts, and they decided to let him stay with his father in the battalion as an officers’ aide.
I can imagine how carefully Philander protected Charles on their journey—he had already lost one son in Nauvoo, Illinois. Charles’s love for his father kept his little legs marching—all 2,000 miles from Iowa to San Diego.
Map by Tom Child
Today San Diego is a panorama of skyscrapers and freeways, but when the Mormon Battalion arrived after their long march across the country, San Diego was little more than a few dozen adobe structures. Even so, Charles, Philander, and the other exhausted soldiers shouted for joy when they arrived.
Philander was a brick maker. He and three other men made 40,000 bricks that were used in a building, some chimneys and wells, and a walkway of Old Town. With the help of Philander’s strong, weathered hands, the battalion began to improve this desert village, which is now a beautiful coastal city.
Making bricks isn’t easy. They are put under intense heat. I learned from Philander that people are like bricks. His life was a fierce furnace of trials. But he emerged rock solid, with a testimony strong enough for others to build on. Philander and Charles marched for me and all who would come after them, to show us that if we endure trials well, we don’t have to crack.

“A spiritual experience that had a positive influence on my life, but one that I really don’t remember, happened when I was a baby. I played the part of the Christ Child in a pageant in the Tabernacle, and my mother played Mary. Since then I have often been reminded that I had had that honor. When I was called as a General Authority, I mentioned in my first conference address that my initial appearance in the Tabernacle was as a baby.
“I had a happy childhood. During the summers I would spend time at my grandmother’s in Goshen, Utah. A city boy, I had a delightful time riding horses and swimming in the hot springs. One morning when the raw milk just obtained from the morning’s milking was served for breakfast, I said, ‘Oh, no thank you. I want bottled milk, not cow’s milk!’ My cousins had a good laugh over that.”

May I bear humble testimony to that fact? I was once in a situation where I needed help. The Lord knew I needed help, as I was on an important mission. I was awakened in the early hours of the morning and was corrected on something that I had planned to do in a contrary way, and the way was clearly defined before me as I lay there that morning, just as surely as though someone had sat on the edge of my bed and told me what to do.
We as individual members of the Church may receive personal revelation by the power of the Holy Ghost. The Lord said to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the early days of the Church, “Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall dwell in your heart. Now, behold, this is the spirit of revelation” (D&C 8:2–3). The Prophet Joseph Smith said, “No man can receive the Holy Ghost without receiving revelations. The Holy Ghost is a revelator.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Section 6, sub-heading 64, paragraph 2, p. 328.)
May I change that about and give it emphasis to the Latter-day Saints and say, any Latter-day Saint who has been baptized and who has had hands laid upon him from those officiating, commanding him to receive the Holy Ghost, and who has not received a revelation of the spirit of the Holy Ghost, has not received the gift of the Holy Ghost to which he is entitled. Therein lies a very important matter. Let me refer to what the Prophet Joseph Smith said about revelation:
“A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation, for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon; that is, those things that were presented into your minds by the Spirit of God will come to pass, and thus learning by the spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Section 3, subheading 2 from the end, p. 151.)
On what matters may you receive a revelation? Is it startling to you to hear that you—all members of the Church who have received the Holy Ghost—may receive revelation? Not for the president of the Church, not about how to look after the affairs pertaining to the ward, the stake, or the mission in which you live; but every individual within his own area of responsibility has the right to receive revelation by the Holy Ghost.
Every man has the privilege to exercise these gifts and these privileges in the conduct of his own affairs, in bringing up his children in the way they should go, in the management of his business, or whatever he does. It is his right to enjoy the spirit of revelation and of inspiration to do the right things, to be wise and prudent, just and good, in everything that he does. I know that this is a true principle and that is the thing that I would like the Latter-day Saints to know. Now then, all of us should try to strive and listen to and obey the sudden ideas that come to us, and if we’ll obey them and develop the ability to hear these promptings we too—each of us—can grow in the spirit of revelation.
Now there’s one more way by which revelations may come, and that is by dreams. Oh, I’m not going to tell you that every dream you have is a direct revelation from the Lord, but I fear that there are those of us who are prone to disregard all and say they have no purpose. And yet all through the scriptures there were recorded incidents where the Lord, by dreams, has directed His people.
Let us see what Parley P. Pratt said about this matter:
“In all ages and dispensations God has revealed many important instructions and warnings to men by means of dreams. When the conscious mind and physical senses are released from their activity, the nerves relaxed, and mankind lies asleep, it is then that the spiritual senses are at liberty in a certain degree to assume their functions, to recall some faint outline, some confused and half-defined recollections of that heavenly world, and those endearing scenes of their former estate. Their kindred spirits then hover about them with the fondest affection, the most anxious solicitude. Spirit communes with spirit, thought meets thought, soul blends with soul, in all the raptures of mutual, pure, and eternal love. In this situation the spiritual organs (and if we could see our spirits, we would know that they have eyes to see, ears to hear, tongues to speak, and so on) may converse with deity, or have communion with angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect.” If we will learn not to be so sophisticated that we disregard that possibility of impressions from those who are beyond sight, then we too may have a dream that may direct us as a revelation.
The revelations of God are the standards by which we measure all learning, and if anything does not agree with the revelations, then we may be certain that it is not truth.
I come to you as one who sits in the company of men who live close to their Heavenly Father. I have seen matters come before the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve in our weekly meetings on which decisions have been reached that were not based upon reasoning, but were based upon an impression which, after that decision had been made, has been found to have been a heaven-sent direction to protect and to guide.
After an important decision has been made, it has been a thrilling thing to hear the president of the Church say, “Brethren, the Lord has spoken.”
The thing that all of us should strive for is to so live, keeping the commandments of the Lord, that He can answer our prayers. If we will live worthy, then the Lord will guide us—by a personal appearance, or by His actual voice, or by His voice coming into our mind, or by impressions upon our heart and our soul. And oh, how grateful we ought to be if the Lord sends us a dream in which is revealed to us the beauties of the eternity or a warning and direction for our special comfort. Yes, if we so live, the Lord will guide us for our salvation and for our benefit.
I want to bear you my humble testimony that I have received by the voice and the power of revelation the knowledge and an understanding that God is.
It was a week following a conference, when I was preparing a radio talk on the life of the Savior and read again the story of His life, crucifixion, and resurrection, that there came to me a testimony, a reality of Him. It was more than just what was on the written page, for in truth, I found myself viewing the scenes with as much certainty as though I had been there in person. I know that these things come by the revelations of the living God.
I bear you my solemn testimony that the Church today is guided by revelation. Every soul in it who has been blessed to receive the Holy Ghost has the power to receive revelation. God help you and me that we will always so live that the Lord can answer the prayers of the faithful through us.

After I finished high school, I was working to save money for a mission. Soon my desire to serve a mission became lost because I enjoyed the money I was making. It would have been a sacrifice to go on a mission because the money I earned helped support my family. Each time I started filling out my mission forms, I thought about the money I would be giving up, and I dropped my forms and continued working.

As my friends left on missions, I felt bad because I knew I should also be getting ready to go. This caused me to examine myself. I thought, “Sustaining the prophet and my leaders is not just raising my right hand. It’s doing what they say and obeying our Heavenly Father’s commandments.”

Now was the time to serve a mission, so I submitted my mission papers to the bishop. It was the second happiest day of my life. The happiest was the day my bishop called me to his office and gave me a white envelope with my mission call to the Nigeria Ibadan Mission. My heart was full of joy.

In the missionary training center, I became better acquainted with the doctrines of the gospel and learned marvelous things. I was also able to receive my endowment in the temple. I am so grateful for my decision to come on a mission, and I have never regretted it. I too have grown spiritually on my mission. I believe it is because I am helping people receive the same gospel blessings that have brought so much happiness to me and my family.