Gospel Story Finder

There are other “lost battalions” of mothers and fathers, sons and daughters who have, through thoughtless comment, isolated themselves from one another. Consider the case of one young man we shall call Jack.
Throughout Jack’s life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day, when he was seventeen, they had a particularly violent one. Jack said to his father: “I’m leaving home, and I shall never return.” So saying, he went to the house and packed a bag. His mother begged him to stay, but he was too angry to listen. He left her crying at the doorway.
Leaving the yard, he was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him: “Jack, I know that a large part of the reason for your leaving is mine. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”
Jack said nothing, but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant place. As he sat in the bus and the distance from home increased, he thought about the words of his father. He began to realize the love it had required for his father to do what he had done: Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and had left the words ringing in the summer air, “I love you.”
It was then that Jack realized that the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to show to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that Dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus. He bought a return ticket home and went back.
He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, and turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head in his hands. As he looked up and saw Jack, he rose from the chair and they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack often said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”
Here was a father who, overcoming his emotions and pride, rescued his son before he became one of the “lost battalion” of those with broken families and shattered homes. Love was the binding band, the healing balm.

I think of two women, once the closest of friends. The one, through an accident of which she was innocent, became in effect a party to the death of a child of the other. It is difficult to say which of those women suffered the most over the death of that child. The one who was not the mother, but who was involved in the accident that led to the fatality, has grieved and wept these many years, not only for the child who was lost and for her part in the tragic situation, but perhaps even more over the unforgiving spirit of the mother who lost the child. It is understandable why the bereft mother, mourning over the loss of her baby, felt bitter. But long since there should have been a realization on her part that her friend was innocent, that she too has wept, and that there should have been an outpouring of love toward her rather than recrimination. An absence of charity has cankered the soul of that woman, destroyed her happiness, brought only misery to her days and sorrow to her nights.

My wife, Mary, and I have someone we love dearly who has struggled for much of her life with certain aspects of the Church. She loves the gospel, and she loves the Church but still has questions. She is sealed in the temple, is active in the Church, fulfills her callings, and is a wonderful mother and wife. Through the years she has tried to do those things that she knew to be right and refrain from doing those things that she knew to be wrong. She has kept her covenants and continued to search. At times she has been grateful to hold on to the faith of others.
Not long ago her bishop asked to see her and her husband. He asked them to accept a temple assignment to act as proxies for those who needed temple ordinances. This calling surprised them, but they accepted and began their service in the house of the Lord. Their teenage son had recently participated in family history research and found a family name for whom temple ordinances had not been completed. In time they acted as proxies and did the temple ordinances for this person and his family. As they knelt at the altar and the sealing ordinance was performed, this wonderful, patient woman who has searched for so long had a private spiritual experience by which she came to know that the temple and the ordinances performed therein are true and real. She called her mother and told her of her experience and said that while she still has some questions, she knows that the temple is true, that temple ordinances are true, and that the Church is true. Her mother wept with gratitude for a loving, patient Heavenly Father and for a daughter who patiently continues to search.

As soon as the constable took Joseph Smith away, Joseph Knight, Sr., went out and hired two men, a Mr. James Davidson and a Mr. John S. Reid, who were “respectable farmers who were well versed in the laws of their country,” to help Joseph during his trial before Justice Joseph P. Chamberlain.
Newel wrote in his journal:
“On the following day a court was convened for the purpose of investigating the charges which had been made against Joseph Smith, Jun. On account of the many scandalous reports which had been put in circulation, a great excitement prevailed. …
“The trial commenced among a crowded multitude of spectators, who generally seemed to believe Joseph guilty of all that had been alleged against him, and, of course, were zealous to see him punished for his crimes.”
Many witnesses were called up against Joseph Smith, including Josiah Stowell, for whom he had worked, and Mr. Stowell’s daughters, whom Joseph had known socially. Despite many attempts to elicit something from them which could be held against Joseph, all of the witnesses reported that Joseph Smith had dealt with them fairly and kindly.
Joseph Smith was acquitted by the Chenango County court of all charges, and at the very moment he was released, officials from the neighboring Broome County presented another warrant for his arrest.

The youth of the Las Cruces New Mexico Stake hit the city parks en masse, but the purpose was work rather than recreation. Under the direction of their youth leaders, 80 young people accepted the challenge to help the city pick up trash and paint tables and rest rooms in the parks.
One lucky group climbed in the muck of a drained pond to clear moss from the edges. Braving dead fish, broken glass, and boot-grabbing mud, the young men and women slogged through the slime, swinging pitchforks. It was a dirty job, and this group did it without a complaint.
Employees of the city parks department were grateful for the participants’ efforts and praised their good work.

A depressing spirit pervaded the funeral congregation as the services for a young mother who had died in childbirth drew to a close. The eulogies had been eloquent, but many gathered there that day felt some bitterness. How could a loving Father in Heaven allow such a lovely mother to be taken, leaving behind a family of four little ones to be cared for alone by a grieving father?

At the conclusion of the formal program the young father calmly rose from his seat and walked to the pulpit. "I sense your grief and concern," he said quietly, "but there is something I should tell you to comfort you. The first hour after my wife’s death I didn’t know how I could possibly endure it—how I could possibly go on without her. But then a sweet, peaceful spirit filled my soul, and since then I have had the assurance that everything will be all right. Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be just fine."

This same comforting spirit spread throughout the congregation. Everyone went home comforted.

The worth of a soul! President McKay felt that every living thing deserves our respect and thoughtful care. He felt this way even about animals and birds, and he often liked to return to his Huntsville farm to ride his horses and to visit. Several years ago someone broke into the farm and stole the President’s saddles. When the saddles were replaced with new ones, they were kept in the saddle house under lock and key. One day President McKay’s sisters stopped to check on things at the farm and seeing one of the windows of the saddle house open, they closed it to avert a second theft. Hearing from his sisters what they had done, the president gently said, “I left that window open purposely because there is a bird’s nest inside, and that is the only entrance the parent birds have to carry food to their babies. I think I shall just have time to run over.” He went and opened the window and, returning, said in a gracious way, “It was just as I expected—one little bird was outside trying to get in, and the mother was inside attempting to get out.”

At this point, Henry interrupted his steeple-chasing to fulfill a mission to Brazil. He grew spiritually in the mission field, and to his chagrin he grew physically as well.

“For about 12 months in the middle of my two-year mission I didn’t run a step. I put on 20 pounds, and I was pretty out of shape. But the last six months I started running and trying to incorporate running with missionary work. I went to an athletic club, and we taught the people as we ran with them.”

Nevertheless, the Henry Marsh who returned home in August of 1975 struck no terror in the hearts of the world’s other steeplechasers.

In 1849, President Brigham Young called a small number of men to travel to various parts of the world to preach the gospel. A former Swedish sailor, John Forsgren, who had joined the Church in Massachusetts, USA, and traveled to the Salt Lake Valley, asked President Young to be sent to Sweden as a missionary. He was called to serve and arrived in Sweden in June 1850.
Elder Forsgren first visited his younger siblings in Gävle. His brother Peter was ill, and doctors said he was beyond help. Elder Forsgren explained the purpose of his mission to his siblings, then anointed and blessed Peter, who was restored to full health. On July 19, 1850, Elder Forsgren baptized his brother, who became the first convert in Sweden.
In 1850 Peter Forsgren, above, was baptized by his brother John.
Photograph courtesy of Susan Easton Black

My first week at college was difficult. I had never been away from home before, and now I was living in a different state. I was away from family, friends, and everything familiar to me. To make matters worse, my new roommate had yet to arrive. I was lonely—very lonely. I missed my family a lot.
Most of all, I missed my mother’s hugs. Each day before I went to school, and each day as I returned home, my mother embraced me. Her hugs reassured me of her love, made me feel safe, and reduced all the stresses I had felt during the day. I would then talk with her about all that had happened. She was always there to listen to me and help me feel better.
Now, when I came home from school, all I found was an empty apartment. I would sit on the edge of my bed and cry because I felt so alone. I longed for her hugs.
The only thing I felt I could do was pray. I knelt and explained to my Heavenly Father how I felt. I talked with Him as I had with my mother and told Him of all the events in my day—of the new and exciting things, the stresses I felt, and the worries I had. I then told my Heavenly Father I desperately needed a hug. I felt the warmth of His Spirit flow through me. And although I could not see His arms, I knew they encircled me. I felt as though my mother had just hugged me. All the fear and loneliness was washed away, and I felt loved. The scripture from 2 Nephi 1:15 came into my mind: “I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.”
After that day, whenever I feel lonely or need someone to talk to, I talk to my Heavenly Father. I gained a testimony of the power of prayer and the reality of the knowledge that my Heavenly Father really listens. I know I am never alone. No matter what my needs are, my Father in Heaven will help me.

I tried that once when I was riding my horse. I grabbed the limb of a tree, and my horse kept going. But then the limb broke and I fell to the ground. I suffered the consequence of that decision with a broken arm. It was very painful.
I gained a little wisdom from that experience. Even though we see other people do something, especially if it is wrong, it doesn’t mean that we should do it. We all have friends, and sometimes they do not always follow the teachings of the gospel.
Despite what our friends are doing, it is important that we always follow the teachings of the gospel. “Follow the prophet; he knows the way” (Children’s Songbook, 110–11). He will always teach us the things we need to do to make right decisions. As we follow those principles, they will become a very important part of us.

“Remember the year Dad wanted our photo taken in the mountains? He thought a background of snow and pine trees would be perfect.”
I remembered. The day we headed to the mountains, a full-scale blizzard was blowing in. The temperature was about 12 degrees, and our car slid off the road on the way home. If you look closely at the photo from that year, you can see the blue tinge to our lips, as we shivered in front of the camera.
“The year we almost died for the Christmas photo,” Lucy recalled glumly.

Goals are great! Almost everyone sets goals, and everyone reaches some level of success or failure in his efforts to reach them. Some goals seem almost unattainable—like running the sub-9-second 100-yard dash, or vaulting over 18 feet. Some goals are strange—like wanting to make the longest banana split in the whole world. And some goals are just downright ridiculous—like seeing how many live gold fish you can swallow.
But two young men from Ogden, Utah, set a goal that was a learning experience, a great character builder, and a goal that, as far as we know, has never been achieved before, especially by two brothers. Since they have been Scouts, Chad and Craig Carson, ages 15 and 16, have each earned every merit badge that has been offered by the Boy Scouts of America. Each has 127 merit badges. This is actually more merit badges than are now offered because some have been discontinued since Chad and Craig earned them. Both boys are Eagle Scouts and have found the Scouting program an exciting general education in itself. Their dad has figured that they have done enough reading, research, and study to qualify as sophomores in college.
Craig and Chad didn’t start earning all those merit badges until two years ago. Chad, the younger of the two, had a little catching up to do, but once the brothers were working together, they spent some time almost every day working toward their common goal. During one summer they earned 48 merit badges. It took more than half an hour to read them all at the Court of Honor. They now have all 127, and they each need two merit badge sashes to display their awards because there is only room for 100 per sash.
When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.
Cotton farming was also a tough one. When the brothers decided to work on this, they had to send away for the book because it seems that no one really raises cotton around Ogden anymore. And after they got the book, they just couldn’t find any cotton seeds. But their mother remembered that she had been in the South some 17 years before and had picked a ball of cotton as a memento. And there are seeds in a real cotton ball. Chad and Craig took the seeds that were in that 17-year-old cotton ball and grew four cotton plants.
Craig and Chad say that the physical skill merit badges have been the most fun to earn. They have learned how to ski, swim, shoot, water ski, and do many other things that they otherwise might not have had the opportunity to do.
When asked if they thought they had missed out on anything because they had spent so much time working on all those merit badges, Chad said, “No, sir! We’ve been able to do more ourselves and as a family because we have set goals. When we were going to get our skiing merit badge, Dad had to drive us up to take lessons, and he decided that instead of just waiting around, he might as well take lessons with us. Now we all ski. It has been great for the whole family.”
Craig said, “It’s not really hard to earn the merit badges if you put your mind to it. Scouts could earn a lot more merit badges if they tried, and if they did, they would be glad they put forth the effort.”
So, on September 21, 1974, Chad and Craig Carson received the last of the merit badges they could earn. Both brothers give a great deal of credit to their mother and father. Chad said that his mom was always saying, “Come on! You can do it!” She would help them schedule appointments and drive them wherever they had to go. At the beginning of the summer, she would help map out a plan for which merit badges they could earn. Both boys also had high praises for their Scout leaders. The leaders challenged them and helped in every way possible.
Now Chad and Craig think there should be a merit badge given to help Scouts like themselves figure out where they can keep all the projects, models and charts that it takes to earn all those badges.

As the only young woman in her branch, miles and miles from the nearest group of LDS youth, Justine Goodson of Maryborough, Queensland, Australia, could get pretty lonely sometimes. Although finding non-LDS people who respect LDS standards sometimes proved to be a difficult task, Justine knew she could always turn to one friend—her Father in Heaven.
Justine wasn’t sure what she should do. She wanted to have friends, but she didn’t want to compromise her standards.
“People started to influence my friends to do wrong things. As hard as it was for me to accept it and move on and find new friends, I knew that I had to do it,” says Justine.
Justine prayed to Heavenly Father for help. The answer to her prayer for friends came in a rather surprising way.
In an effort to fill her time and keep her mind off her loneliness, Justine threw herself wholeheartedly into her studies.
“I started to get really academic,” she says. “I would just go to the library and study.” Not only did Justine’s grades improve, but she started to meet other people who were interested in learning—and in making friends.
“We all got along really well,” says Justine of her newfound friends. “So we decided to enter an academic competition.”
After much hard work and many long study sessions, Justine and classmates Janelle Gordon, Ian Neilsen, and Michael Weekes sent off their project in the mail and forgot about it until their English teacher called them out of class a couple of months later to tell them they had won.
Not only did Justine get the satisfaction of doing well in her studies, she knows her prayer for friends who respected her standards was heard and answered.
Justine gives all the credit for her good fortune to her Father in Heaven. Although being the only LDS student in her school is a challenge, Justine knows that with a little help, she can do anything.
“I can just see my Heavenly Father’s hand in so many events. He’s always looking over us and guiding us toward what would be best for us.”

At Christmas time Cynthia, Richard, Gerald, Mom, and Dad went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The children helped set up the stable like the one where Baby Jesus was born, sang Christmas carols, and opened presents.
A few days after Christmas Dad said, “It’s time to go home.”
Grandpa and Grandma looked sad.
“Mommy,” Cynthia said, “why are Grandma and Grandpa so sad?”
“Because they will miss us when we go home.”
Cynthia went to find Grandma, who was helping Gerald pack his clothes.
“Grandma,” Cynthia said, “will you be happy if I leave some of my toys? You can play with them till we come back.”
“Thank you, honey,” said Grandma, “I will miss you, not your toys.” She gave Cynthia a big hug.
Cynthia wondered how she could help Grandma and Grandpa be happy. Suddenly she remembered how happy Dad was when Mom put notes in his lunch sack. She ran and whispered to Gerald and Richard and gave them each some pieces of paper. Richard sat on the floor and wrote and wrote and wrote. Gerald drew pictures because he was too little to write.
“Mommy,” said Cynthia, “how do you spell love?”
“L-o-v-e,” Mom told her.
When Cynthia finished writing, she tiptoed into the living room. She hid one of her notes on Grandpa’s chair. She put another note in the piano bench. She even put two in Grandma’s slippers under the couch. Then she tiptoed quietly out.
Richard waited in the hall until Grandpa left the kitchen. Then he scurried in and put one note in the cracker box, one on top of the forks, and one in an apron pocket. He also put notes in the refrigerator and the pantry.
Meanwhile, Gerald was in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. He put all his picture-notes under their pillows for them to find when they went to bed.
Soon Dad and Mom were bundling them into their coats. “Kiss Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and get in the car!” said Dad.
Grandpa kept saying, “I’m going to miss all of you. I’m really going to miss you!” He looked like he was already missing them, and they hadn’t even gone yet!
Grandma kissed all the kids and Mom and Dad too. “Remember to write me,” she told them.
Cynthia, Richard, and Gerald started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Grandma.
“You’ll see,” Cynthia told her, grinning from ear to ear. “We left love notes for you all over the house.”

I once asked Dad if I would see an angel. He said that he didn’t know, but he hoped so. “They’re all around us, you know.”
Well, I saw one last Sunday, I think.
Before I tell you about it, though, I need to explain something. Sometimes Sundays are hard for me. I don’t understand much of what happens in sacrament meetings, and since my feet don’t touch the floor, my legs hurt from hanging over the bench. I think that parents ought to sit on giant chairs every week, dangling their legs above the ground while listening to someone speaking in a foreign language, so that they understand what it’s like.
Last Sunday was hard. Sacrament meeting had seemed extra long, and the baby behind us cried a lot. By the time I got to Sharing Time, I just wanted to go home to my pet caterpillar, Zipper. Jimmy Pasko and Fred Grey didn’t help, either. They kept talking to me about the movie they had seen on Saturday. It sounded a lot more interesting than Sharing Time.
I kept moving around on my chair, trying to get my legs to quit hurting. Finally I leaned my chair back against the wall and stretched my arms. It was an accident, but I hit the light switch, and all the lights turned off. A lot of the kids laughed. I quickly turned them back on. Then, for some reason, I flipped them off again—but that time it was on purpose.
That’s when the angel came,
I didn’t think she was an angel at first. She looked more like an upset Sister Eisen of the Primary presidency. She came from the front of the room, staring at me with wide blue eyes. She looked like Mom does when she has a headache and I’m pestering her.
Sister Eisen bent down and whispered, “Dan, let’s go outside for a moment.”
I thought that she would talk to me about being reverent and threaten to get my parents if I didn’t behave. But instead, after we left the room, she calmly asked, “Dan, how are you doing?”
I didn’t feel safe, so I shrugged my shoulders.
“Having a hard time today?” she asked then, still calm.
Feeling safer, I said, “I hate it in there. Sometimes I just hate Primary.” After I said it, I thought I had made a mistake. I was sure that she would talk to me about my attitude.
But she surprised me. She said, “Tell me why you hate it.”
I thought for a moment, then decided to tell her the complete truth. “My legs hurt from dangling over the seat in sacrament meeting, I didn’t understand what the speakers said, my chair is hard, it’s hot and noisy in the Primary room, I’m tired of sitting, Jimmy and Fred keep talking to me, and I wish I were somewhere else.”
Then she said, half smiling, “I know. Sometimes I wish that I were somewhere else too. So, what do you need to do, Dan?”
“I just need to walk around.”
“Do you need a drink?”
I thought for a second, then said, “No, not now. Just a walk.”
“How far?”
“Just to the end of the hall.”
She said, “OK. May I walk with you?”
“Sure,” I said. We started walking, but I stopped. I looked at her and said, “Sometimes you hate it here too?”
“Well,” she answered, “let’s say that sometimes I have a hard time being here.”
“Then why are you here? You’re a grown-up. No one makes you come.”
“Because,” she said, “it’s OK to do something we don’t like, especially when we know that it’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a moment. “Dan, do you remember what happened at the end of Jesus’ life?”
“You mean when they nailed Him on the cross?”
“Yes. And even before that do you remember when He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and it was so painful that He bled from every pore?”
I told her I remembered that and also that they whipped Him and made fun of Him.
She then said, “You know, I don’t think that He liked doing any of those things. But He did it because He loved us and He knew that it was right. Did you know that He even asked Heavenly Father if there wasn’t another way?”
She paused, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So I figure that if He didn’t like doing hard things that were right, it’s OK if I don’t like doing hard things that are right. And it’s OK if you don’t like doing hard things, like being reverent in Sharing Time when you’re hot and tired.”
I noticed as she was talking that she kept putting her fingers on the side of her head. So I asked, “Is it hard for you today?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have a bad headache.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling very different than I had ever felt about Primary. I looked at Sister Eisen and said, “I don’t think I need to walk any farther. I can go back in now.”
She told me that she was glad, and we returned. Before we went in, she said, “You know, Dan, I really like you.”
I told her that most people did after they knew me.
She went to the front of the Primary room, and I sat down in my chair. After she sat down, she looked at me and smiled. Then she touched her fingers to both sides of her head, like Mom does when she has a headache, and winked.
Although my chair still felt hard, the room was still too hot, and Jimmy and Fred still kept trying to talk to me, I didn’t mind so much. I wondered as I watched Sister Eisen if Dad had been talking about her when he said that angels are all around us. I think I’ll tell him that I saw one last Sunday—and that she had a headache.

That feeling has brought back to my memory the first day I walked into the Salt Lake Temple. I was a young man. My parents were my only companions that day. Inside, they paused for a moment to be greeted by a temple worker. I walked on ahead of them, alone for a moment.
I was greeted by a little white-haired lady in a beautiful white temple dress. She looked up at me and smiled and then said very softly, “Welcome to the temple, Brother Eyring.” I thought for a moment she was an angel because she knew my name. I had not realized that a small card with my name on it had been placed on the lapel of my suit coat.
I stepped past her and stopped. I looked up at a high white ceiling that made the room so light it seemed almost as if it were open to the sky. And in that moment, the thought came into my mind in these clear words: “I have been in this lighted place before.” But then immediately there came into my mind, not in my own voice, these words: “No, you have never been here before. You are remembering a moment before you were born. You were in a sacred place like this.”

In British Columbia, Canada, Scouts of the Fifth Kelowna Troop arranged a special Remembrance Day recognition evening. The young men, ranging in age from 11 to 13, moved out of their comfort zones to interview LDS veterans in the Vernon British Columbia Stake, the troop’s sponsor.
Patrol leader Michael Edis of the Kelowna Second Ward conducted the evening as master of ceremonies. After a flag ceremony, the singing of the Canadian national anthem, and a presentation on the history of Remembrance Day, each Scout gave a short biography about the veteran he had interviewed. Each veteran was then presented with a “thank you” crest.
“They risked their lives for us,” said Brady Wilson. “It was fun to give out the thank-you awards and listen to their stories.”

The Primary. How did it come about? Did not the Lord promise the Saints at Kirtland that if they would be patient and faithful, all things would work together for their good, and that as the gospel unfolded, they would be taught line upon line, precept upon precept? (See D&C 98:2, 3, 12.)
The inspiration for a children’s class came to Aurelia Rogers of Farmington, Utah, one hundred years ago. There was a need to teach children the principles of the gospel in children’s language along with good manners and dress.
In 1878 Farmington, Utah, was a cultured community with over 1,200 people and a beautiful stone chapel. They had a Relief Society, Young Men’s Literary Association, and a Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association, along with a brass band.
But with all this spiritual and cultural influence, Farmington, like other communities, had its juvenile problems—little boys out late at night; darkness and mischief made the boys into a challenge.
Bishop John W. Hess, a Mormon Battalion veteran, called a meeting of parents and urged them to look after their children. These conditions also concerned Aurelia Rogers. She pondered and prayed.
In March 1878, Eliza R. Snow and others attended a Relief Society conference in Farmington. Aurelia Rogers later wrote:
“After the meeting, … when on their way to the depot, these sisters … stopped at my home. … The topic of our conversation was the young people, and the rough, careless ways of many of the young men and boys. … I asked the question, “What will our girls do for good husbands, if this state of things continues? … Could there not be an organization for little boys, and have them trained to make better men?” (Aurelia S. Rogers, Life Sketches, Salt Lake City: George Q. Cannon and Sons Co., 1898, pp. 207–8.)
Eliza R. Snow seemed deeply impressed with the question and indicated she would speak to the Brethren.
Brigham Young had died a few months before. The Twelve, with John Taylor as president of the council, presided over the Church.
Shortly, approval was received by Bishop Hess for a new organization of children. Bishop Hess asked Aurelia Rogers if she would be willing to preside over such an organization. She was willing.
Aurelia wrote that in contemplating the possibility of an organization for boys, “A fire seemed to burn within me. … The query then arose in my mind could there not be an organization for little boys wherein they could be taught everything good, and how to behave.” (Rogers, p. 207.)
Up until that time little girls had never been mentioned, but Aurelia felt the class would not be complete without them. The name Primary was suggested as “the first” or “original.”
On August 11, 1878, Aurelia Spencer Rogers was set apart to preside over that first Primary Association by Bishop Hess. At his suggestion, Aurelia Rogers and her new counselors, Louisa Haight and Helen Miller, visited all the homes to secure the names of the children and to see if their parents were willing to send them to Primary. Following this careful preparation, 115 boys and 100 girls came to the stone chapel on August 25, 1878, for the first meeting. Citizens passing the meetinghouse that eventful day heard the children’s voices singing:
In our lovely Deseret,
Where the Saints of God have met
There’s a multitude of children all around;
They are generous and brave,
They have precious souls to save,
They must listen and obey the gospel’s sound.
Hark! hark! hark, ’tis children’s music,
Children’s voices, O how sweet,
When in innocence and love
Like the angels up above,
They with happy hearts and cheerful faces meet.
(Sing with Me, B-24.)

This is the only known written description of this baptismal site. Between February and May 1840 the first eighty convert baptisms were performed here and it was continuously used up to at least 1847. I knew the burn, but Paisley has grown a great deal over the years and it seemed as if the burn was now underground.
Recently I started a more detailed search for the baptismal site. When researching to identify places I use the resources of the National Library of Scotland. They have a very detailed online collection of maps dating back to the earliest days of Scotland. The older maps can also be overlaid onto the more modern maps. I also used Google Earth and could see that the burn wasn’t underground at all. However, on a particular section no matter where we were standing we didn’t have a direct view of the burn due to tree foliage.
I asked my son, John, to try and get a photograph using a telephoto lens. He did all the legwork as I don’t climb fences anymore. As it turned out, the telescopic lens, though a canny idea, wouldn’t have worked. Mainly because it was behind a garden wall and a good deal lower than ground level, out of sight and too far around the corner. A week later John emailed me this photograph:
There was the “two feet of a waterfall” with “trees all around, a gently rising hill just above”. . . “the place where we immerse in the water. . .only large enough to admit the administrator and the candidate”. Just as Andrew Sprowl had described it.
It turned out to be in the garden of a private residence belonging to a very lovely and accommodating woman by the name of Carol. She was flabbergasted and delighted to hear about the 1840s baptisms, having always wondered about the waterfall’s origins. She told us that the bottom of her large garden, the waterfall part, was gifted to the Royal Burgh of Renfrewshire a long time ago by a previous landowner and as a result, she’s not allowed to alter or landscape in any way.
The waterfall is completely out of sight. It’s probably never been altered, having always been on private land. For members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Carol and her family have been the custodians of this sacred place, hidden and protected from the world.