Gospel Story Finder

Loving those around us includes being sensitive to feelings of others. As is often done, a conducting officer announced that when the deacons were through passing the sacrament, they were invited to go and sit with their families. One father noticed a boy walk out and sit in the foyer. The next week he invited that deacon to sit with his family rather than go through the embarrassment and loneliness caused by not having his own family in attendance. This parent responded to the need of the boy rather than criticizing the leaders for the policy. The actions of this father can be enlarged on and put into practice by every member.

I grew up in Rexburg, Idaho, where I was influenced and taught by a wonderful family, friends, teachers, and leaders. There are special experiences in the lives of all of us that touch our souls and make things different forever. One such experience happened in my youth. This experience transformed my life.
I was always active in the Church and progressed through the Aaronic Priesthood. When I was a teenager, Brother Jacob, my teacher, asked that I write down on a card what I had thought about during the sacrament. I took my card and began to write. First on the list was a basketball game we had won the night before. And then came a date after the game, and so went the list. Far removed and certainly not in bold letters was the name of Jesus Christ.
Each Sunday the card was filled out. For a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, the sacrament and sacrament meeting took on a new, expanded, and spiritual meaning. I anxiously looked forward to Sundays and to the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, as understanding the Savior’s Atonement was changing me. Every Sunday to this day, as I partake of the sacrament, I can see my card and review my list. Always on my list now, first of all, is the Savior of mankind.

Sometime ago a wife sat with her husband in my office. He had been unfaithful and had submitted himself to the loving influence of Church discipline. I had seen them several times, and the damage to the “heart” of their relationship was slowly healing. He had made much progress with help from his bishop and stake president, and their relationship was perhaps better than it had been in a long time. With tears running down her cheeks, she looked deeply into my eyes and asked, “I know I need to forgive, but how do I do it? My heart does not seem to let go. I think I can learn to forgive my husband, but I feel damaged as though I can never possibly forgive the other woman.”

I gave an inadequate, inconsequential answer to her question, but her words have remained in my mind and surfaced on many different occasions since that time: “I know I need to forgive, but how do I do it?” She needed a transformation of her heart, and she wanted it to be immediate. Her husband wanted badly to be forgiven. She felt that she had made some progress, but when she slipped, he became upset. For him he was either forgiven or not, and it was difficult for him to see that she was making considerable progress on a continuum toward being more forgiving.

While the waterfall project was underway, Brother Kamauoha challenged the young girls to make a path that would lead people from the village to the waterfall. They planned one pathway, but upon inspection they could see it wasn’t right, and so Brother Kamauoha challenged them to try another one. This still wasn’t any good. They reported to him, and he confirmed that it wasn’t right and told them that the reason it wasn’t right was because they hadn’t tried hard enough. “The third time they did their best, and the planned path was perfect. It curved properly, they had avoided the boggy spots, and the entire path was ideal,” he said.
Every evening after school the girls carried baskets of pebbles up from the river and placed them on the path. Each of them would carry 25 to 40 baskets of rocks each evening, and with everyone working, it took only a few months to complete.
Then the boys and girls brought young trees from the mountains to plant beside the trail. They also brought orchids, tree ferns, and other plants to make the trail beautiful. And they named their trail Losa (Rose) Lane.

I'll tell you a quick story about my father and President McKay. My father was called to be the Branch President of a branch of the church at the Utah State Training School. The school was a school for handicapped, mentally and physically, young adults. President Hugh B. Brown had a granddaughter there and was very interested in the progress of Dad's branch. President Brown visited the branch often.

One day, my father and neighbor who had been instrumental in the building of the church building at the school, traveled to Salt Lake with President Brown to give to President McKay a plaque made by the branch members. They took along a young man named Dary who was a mentally handicapped young man as a representative of the Branch. President McKay was aging and his health was suffering, so they went to visit President McKay in his apartment.

President McKay was in bed, yet he shook Dad's hand and welcomed the group. Dary then presented President McKay with the plaque. After which, in Dary's innocent enthusiasm, he unexpectedly threw his arms around the neck of President McKay and gave him a big hug, and told President McKay he loved him.

Well, President McKay was weak and lying in bed. And he started to cry. Not because Dary squeezed him so hard, but because he was so moved by Dary's genuine expression of love. President Brown then bore testimony of the special place in eternity God has for the mentally handicapped here on earth. To this day, my Dad still speaks reverently of that experience with a prophet of God. My father loved serving as Branch President and loved the members of his branch.

“Our first location there was in a log stable belonging to a widow White. Some blocks east of what was known as the Temple block. This hovel was made of a small class of crooked poles, between which I often crept instead of raising the quilt hung over the doorway. This part … at that time was thickly covered with blackberry bushes mixed with oak and hazel brush. Our family were all sick with chills and fever (familiarly known as the shakes) except my mother.
“From this Mormon home … Brother George A. [Smith] started as an Apostle on his mission to England, he having to be lifted into the wagon, as he was too weak to walk. This was in September, 1839. Before leaving he placed in my hand his last quarter of a dollar with a request to get mother some tea. The next day the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum visited us and administered to us all, father being delirious from the effects of the fever. Their words comforted us greatly, as they said in the name of the Lord you all shall be well again. Upon leaving the hovel Joseph placed his slippers upon my mother’s feet and sprang upon his horse from the doorway and rode home barefoot. The next day Joseph removed father to his own house and nursed him until he recovered.”3

In September 2020, with the declining health of our parents and the instability of the COVID-19 pandemic, we relocated my sweet 83-year-old parents from their home of 45 years in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Cedar Hills, Utah, to be closer to family, making it easier for us to help care for them.
As you can imagine, this move was difficult for them on many levels. Residing in Las Vegas for most of their married years, they enjoyed their independence and the relationships they built there. They owned a lovely home and prided themselves on having an open door when family passed through. Giving up home ownership after 66 years and downsizing into a small rental home in a new state was challenging. Now they had to say goodbye to everything familiar to them, including friends they’d shared years of memories and experiences with and people they’d grown close to while serving in various callings.
At the time of the move, Church meetings were held remotely. Our parents worried how they would be able to get to know the people of their new ward when there was no opportunity to go to church and build new friendships. How could they possibly feel at home in these circumstances?
We found them a small rental home in a neighborhood in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward, unaware of what a special place it would turn out to be.
Because we had simplified their belongings for the move and didn’t need assistance with moving bulky items, we hadn’t contacted the ward leadership to announce their arrival. That didn’t matter. Within five minutes of our pulling in with the moving van, neighbors arrived at the door, gloves on, asking how they could help. Homemade muffins were delivered and cold drinks offered to our family members helping with the move.
On Thursday of that week, members of the Relief Society presidency visited to introduce themselves and welcome our parents to the ward. On Sunday the bishop came to meet them and inquire whether they needed anything. He spent almost an hour with them, genuinely getting to know them and asking if they’d be willing to take ministering assignments.
Within two weeks of their arrival, they had ministering brothers and sisters assigned to them and were contacted by both. They also received ministering assignments and were introduced to their assigned families. Even with Mom’s late-stage dementia, her ministering companion made the effort to invite her and bring her along as they visited the sisters they were assigned to. The ministering brothers were consistent, loving, and genuine. They immediately found a commonality with roots from Wyoming, and my parents felt loved from the first visit.
Later that month the youth of the ward secretly covered their front door with notes of welcome and love. The first week of November, some deacons asked if they could come by and meet Mom and Dad. About seven young men and their leaders spent time with them, introducing themselves through get-to-know-you topics such as favorite foods, where they went to school, and what they did for after-school activities. The deacons followed up by asking our parents questions about how things were when they grew up and how they met.
These youth continued to come by at least monthly, sometimes just to drop off a treat or to check in. They caroled at Christmastime and brought a lovely holiday basket of food and treats. Because of these simple kindnesses, Dad could call the boys by name when he saw them and had a sense of familiarity with the ward, even though they weren’t able to meet in person for Sunday meetings.
A girl in the ward was invited in her home evening to say hello to someone new, and she chose Mom and Dad. She proceeded to build a relationship with them, coming over almost every day with a treat or to drop off a flower she had picked from her yard.
Our parents were asked to create a short video introducing themselves that was shown at the ward Christmas party. Every time there was a ward activity or gathering, our parents were reminded and offered a ride by someone. Special treats and hand-colored cards were delivered on their birthdays and holidays, and kind neighbors shoveled their driveway, sprayed the lawn for dandelions, and pulled their trash cans in every week. The ward members made a special effort to call them by name, recognized them at the grocery store, and helped them feel like they belonged.
Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.
With Mom’s dementia, one activity she was drawn to was sweeping. A kind neighbor recognized this and allowed her to come and sweep around them as they pulled bushes from their front yard, all the while making Mom feel like she was the one providing the service.
Dad was invited to participate in the ward choir and made to feel he was a valued addition. At age 84, he was called to work in the Young Men organization as a specialist with the deacons, gaining a feeling of relevance and contribution.
After only a year, they felt at home, that they mattered, that they could still make a difference. They were never made to feel like they were a burden or just “another renter” in the neighborhood. My heart is full as I contemplate the Lord’s words in Matthew 25:40: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Well done, Cedar Hills Sixth Ward!

The mother of the Prophet Joseph, Lucy Mack Smith, is a great example of unwavering faith and commitment. On one occasion, she was traveling from New York to Kirtland, Ohio. Her account of an incident in Buffalo, New York, illustrates her faith in the prophets of the Lord and the restored gospel:
“[In Buffalo] we found the brethren from Colesville, who informed us that they had been detained one week at this place, waiting for the navigation to open [the waterway that had been blocked by ice]. Also, [we learned] that Mr. Smith and Hyrum had gone through to Kirtland by land, in order to be there by the first of April.
“I asked [the Colesville brethren] if they had confessed to the people that they were ‘Mormons.’ ‘No, indeed,’ they replied, ‘neither must you mention a word about your religion, for if you do you will never be able to get a house, or a boat either.’
“I told them I should tell the people precisely who I was; ‘and,’ continued I, ‘if you are ashamed of Christ, you must not expect to be prospered; and I shall wonder if we do not get to Kirtland before you’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, edited by Preston Nibley [1958], 199).
Lucy Mack Smith then searched for and found a Captain Blake, who was willing to take her group on his boat: “On arriving there [on the boat], Captain Blake requested the passengers to remain on board, as he wished, from that time, to be ready to start at a moment’s warning; at the same time he sent out a man to measure the depth of the ice, who, when he returned, reported that it was piled up to the height of twenty feet [six meters], and that it was his opinion that we would remain in the harbor at least two weeks longer” (History of Joseph Smith, 202).
Most of the Saints traveling on the boat with Lucy Mack Smith assumed that they would be there for a long stay, and many of them murmured and grumbled. Hearing and seeing their reaction, the Prophet’s mother responded: “‘Where is your faith? Where is your confidence in God? Can you not realize that all things were made by him, and that he rules over the works of his own hands? And suppose that all the Saints here should lift their hearts in prayer to God, that the way might be opened before us, how easy it would be for him to cause the ice to break away, so that in a moment we could be on our journey! …
“‘Now, brethren and sisters, if you will all of you raise your desires to heaven, that the ice may be broken up, and we be set at liberty, as sure as the Lord lives, it will be done.’ At that instant a noise was heard, like bursting thunder. The captain cried, ‘Every man to his post.’ The ice parted, leaving barely a passage for the boat. … The noise of the ice, and the cries and confusion of the spectators, presented a scene truly terrible. We had barely passed through the avenue when the ice closed together again, and the Colesville brethren were left in Buffalo, unable to follow us.
“As we were leaving the harbor, one of the bystanders exclaimed, ‘There goes the “Mormon” company! That boat is sunk in the water nine inches [23 centimeters] deeper than ever it was before, and, mark it, she will sink—there is nothing surer.’ In fact, they were so sure of it that they went straight to the office and had it published that we were sunk, so that when we arrived at Fairport we read in the papers the news of our own death.
“After our miraculous escape from the wharf at Buffalo, we called our company together and had a prayer meeting in which we offered up our thanks to God for his mercy” (History of Joseph Smith, 203–5).

While I am over in England, let me tell you about Lady Spenz. Lady Spenz had her title by virtue of her husband having been a member of the House of Parliament in England. She had a rather large home, her husband was deceased, and she decided to let out some of the downstairs apartments so that she might receive additional income. Along came two Mormon missionaries to rent the room, and they decided that Lady Spenz should have a touch of the gospel. They started teaching her; and after about the third discussion, on a night so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, she was reading in her living room and she could hear through the floorboards the two missionaries downstairs praying, never dreaming for a moment that Lady Spenz was listening. The missionaries prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless Lady Spenz that she might recognize the truth that we are trying to give her, that she might be acted upon by the gift of the Holy Ghost, that she might come into the waters of baptism, that she might be united with her wonderful husband some day.” Well, you can guess the effect of that prayer on this lovely lady, who is now a member of this Church and who thanks the Mormon missionaries for coming into her home and bringing that kind of a blessing.

Hold an “iron-in” to raise money for a missionary? That’s what the young people of the Blacktown Ward, Sydney Australia Parramatta Stake, did for 74 hours to raise money for a ward member who was called to the France Toulouse Mission. They worked through the night to get their work done (and enjoyed several stacks of steaming pancakes that were donated to the cause), raising over $200. Additional happy results of the activity were the smiling mothers of the stake holding their empty ironing baskets.

Emily had just returned from a choir tour with BYU–Idaho’s Vocal Union and was planning on spending some time at home in Colorado. “During the trip I just didn’t feel myself,” Emily says. “I was so thirsty. I was drinking at least 20 glasses of water every day, and I was wondering what was wrong. After I was hospitalized, they gave me insulin, and I thought, ‘I’m myself again!’”
Emily’s optimism, along with her family and new husband, has helped to keep her going. “I really try to focus on what I can eat rather than what I can’t, and then I’m fine,” she says.
“After I got home from the hospital I was so grateful not to be thirsty anymore,” Emily says. “Then I thought about Christ and how He is the Living Water. I realized that there are so many people who are so thirsty that they drink and drink, but it goes right through them. And I was so grateful to know that I have the living waters.”

By Rajane S., Jamaica
I have always been fascinated by genealogy work, so when our Area Presidency gave the youth the goal of gathering 10 ancestors’ names to do baptisms and confirmations for them at the temple, I was ecstatic.
I started my research without any help, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I had three names without any information, and at that point I felt stuck both spiritually and physically. I decided to ask my mother for help. She suggested that I call her mother. When I called my grandmother, she was more than happy to help. She even gave me permission to act as proxy on behalf of the names we talked about. I was overjoyed and grateful.
The temple trip was approaching, and I had no names from my father’s side. A few hours before I was to leave home, I felt impressed to go to the cemetery and have my father call his aunt to come. We went to the cemetery, and as I watched my father and great-aunt walk around the cemetery, I felt myself being led toward some of my ancestors’ headstones. I felt their willingness to be part of the gospel. With help from the Holy Ghost and from my family members, I had reached my target. I had the names of 16 temple-ready ancestors!
When I went to the temple, I could feel the enthusiasm and excitement of my ancestors who were ready and waiting. During the baptisms and confirmations, I could feel their souls filled with joy and peace. I felt amazing, and all I wanted to do was thank them for giving me the opportunity to be a part of something so special.

“Brother Ng,” the man’s voice began. Being addressed as “brother” by a gwailouh (foreigner) caught Ng Kat Hing’s attention. A group of clean-cut Americans wearing dark suits had wandered into the furniture store where he was employed, and their unusual appearance fascinated the 25-year-old Hong Kong native. But he was even more intrigued by being called “brother.”
When Ng Kat Hing questioned them about the title, one of the Americans, who wore a name tag identifying him as President Heaton, asked, “Do you believe there is one Father in Heaven?”
When he nodded, the man continued, “Then we are brothers, and I will call you that.”
Forty-three years later, Brother Ng still recalls his response. “I was touched, and in that moment, a little bit of the restored gospel was manifest to me. I wondered about it all that day and through the night. Four days later when the man called back to confirm the furniture order, I knew I wanted to know more.”
Although Grant Heaton, president of the newly opened Southern Far East Mission, was merely looking for advice about teakwood furniture that August day in 1955, he found much more than that in Ng Kat Hing. He found a language teacher, a convert, a missionary, a Church leader—a true pioneer.
“Brother Ng and his family are real pioneers of the Church in the Hong Kong area,” remarks Elder Jacob de Jager an emeritus member of the Seventy, who, while President of the Asia Area, worked closely with Brother Ng. In fact, Brother Ng was Elder de Jager’s Cantonese teacher. “He has great experience and wisdom and reaches out to people in a natural way. This was especially evident when Brother and Sister Ng were serving as temple missionaries in the Taipei Taiwan Temple, where they were of great help to the Cantonese-speaking members.”
Reaching out to people has always been one of Brother Ng’s talents. In fact, it was his willingness to serve others that put him in even closer contact with the missionaries. After ordering furniture for the mission home, Brother Ng agreed to help President Heaton find someone to teach Cantonese to the missionaries. He talked to several friends, but none of them could help. So he quit his job at the furniture store and taught the missionaries himself. Married and the father of four young children, Brother Ng took a cut in salary with the job change. But he believes it was well worth it.
“I learned the truth,” Brother Ng states simply. “That was a good deal, right? Nothing is more important than that.”
The men took turns learning and teaching. Brother Ng presented basic language lessons, and the missionaries taught gospel discussions. At that time, investigators were taught a total of 18 discussions, so Brother Ng went through several sets of missionaries before hearing all the lessons.
“It took quite a while,” he acknowledges, “but by the time I was baptized, all my questions were answered. I had a strong foundation and a strong testimony.”
Brother Ng was baptized on 31 May 1956. He was one of the first converts after missionary work resumed in Hong Kong following the Korean War.
But Brother Ng’s search for truth had started years earlier. His grandmother, a Buddhist, had begun attending Christian churches shortly before her death, and Brother Ng often accompanied her. “I was looking for a god who was different than the one I’d been taught about while growing up,” he remembers. “But the pastors and preachers at those meetings were difficult to approach, and they were more concerned with donations than with answering my questions.”
Brother Ng’s questions went unanswered until he met the missionaries. “From the beginning, I learned about our Father in Heaven and his son, Jesus Christ. The missionaries taught of our relationship to these beings. And they continually talked of being children of God,” he remembers.
The gospel changed Brother Ng’s life. “My wife tells me I was entirely different after joining the Church,” he says, laughing. “My temper became smooth. My finances were better because I paid tithing. I didn’t worry about food or shelter because I kept the commandments. A happy life followed.”
After seeing the difference the gospel made in her husband’s life, Sister Ng Pang Lai Har also investigated the gospel. Missionaries often visited their home, teaching her husband one of the new member lessons, then teaching her one of the 18 discussions.
Ten months after her husband’s baptism, Sister Ng was baptized. Brother Ng had the privilege of baptizing their seven children as they reached age eight.
Brother Ng’s family is important to him. His dark eyes sparkle as he speaks of the joys of being a husband, father, and grandfather. Highlights of Brother Ng’s life include the temple marriages of all seven children as well as the sealings of each of the children to him and his wife.
“We were not sealed to all our children at once,” he explains. “Traveling to the temple, either in Tokyo or in the United States, was very expensive.” After saving for years, Brother and Sister Ng were sealed in the Provo Temple in 1974. Subsequent temple trips have strengthened the couple’s dedication and commitment to temple work. From 1986 to 1987, they served as missionaries in the Taipei Taiwan Temple.
The high point of their temple service is their most recent calling—president and matron of the Hong Kong Temple, dedicated in May 1996.
“My wife and I were thrilled with the announcement of the temple. We were planning on becoming temple workers, maybe even working three or four times a week,” President Ng says. “We’ll work more than that now!
“I was frightened with the calling at first and very humbled. I had feelings of unworthiness. But after praying, I felt confident that Heavenly Father would give us the spiritual strength and guidance we need to fulfill this calling. We are so grateful for this opportunity.”

Will you join me as we look in on a typical Latter-day Saint family offering prayers unto the Lord? Father, mother, and each of the children kneel, bow their heads, and close their eyes. A sweet spirit of love, unity, and peace fills the home. As father hears his tiny son pray unto God that his dad will do the right things and be obedient to the Lord’s bidding, do you think that such a father would find it difficult to honor the prayer of his precious son? As a teenage daughter hears her sweet mother plead unto the Lord that her daughter will be inspired in the selection of her companions, that she will prepare herself for a temple marriage, don’t you believe that such a daughter will seek to honor this humble, pleading petition of her mother, whom she so dearly loves? When father, mother, and each of the children earnestly pray that the fine sons in the family will live worthily that they may, in due time, receive a call to serve as ambassadors of the Lord in the mission fields of the Church, don’t we begin to see how such sons grow to young manhood with an overwhelming desire to serve as missionaries? I am sure that family prayer motivated a letter written some years ago by a young Latter-day Saint girl attending a Colorado high school. The students had been asked to prepare a letter to be written to a great man of their choice. Many addressed their letters to well-known athletes, to a noted astronaut, to the president of the United States, and to other celebrities. This young lady, however, addressed her letter to her father, and in the letter she stated: “I have decided to write this letter to you, Dad, because you are the greatest man that I have ever known. The overwhelming desire of my heart is that I might so live that I might have the privilege of being beside you and Mother and other members of the family in the celestial kingdom.” That father never received a more cherished letter.

Some decisions are choices between doing something or doing nothing. I heard an example of this kind of choice at a stake conference in the United States many years ago.
The setting was a beautiful college campus. A crowd of young students was seated on the grass. The speaker who described this circumstance said they were watching a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of a beautiful hardwood tree. Sometimes it was on the ground, sometimes up and down and around the trunk. But why would that familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree, the setter would quietly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparently indifferent posture. This was what held the students’ interest. Silent and immobile, their eyes were riveted on the event whose outcome was increasingly obvious.
Finally, the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the little animal away from the dog, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving his or her arms or crying out, but none did. They just watched while the inevitable outcome got closer and closer. No one asked, “Where will this lead?” When the predictable occurred, all rushed to prevent the outcome, but it was too late. Tearful regret was all they could offer.
That true story is a parable of sorts. It applies to things we see in our own lives and in lives and circumstances around us. As we see threats creeping up on persons or things we love, we have the choice of speaking or acting or remaining silent. It is well to ask ourselves, “Where will this lead?” Where the consequences are immediate and serious, we cannot afford to do nothing. We must sound appropriate warnings or support appropriate preventive efforts while there is still time.

One of these enduring frontierswomen, Lucy Hannah White Flake 1 received her basic education in the home from her schoolteacher mother. The eldest of eight children, she also assumed many responsibilities in caring for the younger children. Lucy was baptized in the Missouri River at a time when the ice had to be broken to perform the ordinance. Then, along with her parents, she walked every step of the way from the Missouri River to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, arriving there in August 1850.

Lucy spent her childhood in Cedar City, Utah. There, at the age of sixteen, she met William Jordan Flake, and they were married in 1858.

After years of hard work and many disappointments, William found a ranch he could buy in what is now called Snowflake, Arizona. There the Flakes lived in a four-room adobe dwelling called the “White House.” For many years this house served as a courthouse, post office, meetinghouse, and school. Lucy eventually bore thirteen children—nine sons and four daughters—five of whom died in childhood.

Sister Flake made her life tolerable by her many religious activities and by the pleasure of doing for her family. She was an officer and teacher in the Primary, Sunday School, and religion class, and had been stake president of the Primary for five years at the time of her death in 1900 at the age of fifty-eight. Among the activities that she chronicled one spring were whitewashing her home; gardening and irrigating; gleaning wool from carcasses along the trail over which sheepmen were, by this time, making a seasonal circuit to and from the Salt River Valley, and picking, washing, and cording it to make a mattress; sewing, including making underwear, shirts, and carpet rags; tending her grandchildren; and feeding her husband and growing children. On one occasion she set down in simple detail her morning tasks, which were typical of pioneer women generally:

“I will just write my morning chores. Get up, turn out my chickens, draw a pail of water, water hot beds, make a fire, put potatoes to cook, brush and sweep half inch of dust off floor … , feed three litters of chickens, then mix biscuits, get breakfast, milk besides work in the house, and this morning had to go half mile after calves. This is the way of life on the farm. …”2

Yet, the most important decision I have ever made in my life was to marry my wife, Mary Jayne Broadbent, in the Manti Temple. Everything else pales in comparison to that most important act.

The years have come and gone—three sons and now nine grandchildren. It is impossible to count the blessings that have been mine for being guided by the Lord to seek her hand in marriage. She has been my faithful companion these forty-four plus years. We have traveled to many parts of the world on business and Church assignments; she has been my helpmeet in times of storm and sunshine.

My admonition to each of you is to seek out your eternal companion and work very hard to be sure your companionship is a fulfilling and rewarding experience for both of you every day.

Several years ago after my retirement from the Air Force we were contemplating buying our first computer. I was concerned because I had heard so much about the pollution that could flow through the computer screen. But it quickly became evident that, absent my aide-de-camp, my Executive Officer and my secretary, I was going to need some administrative assistance. So we bought a computer, but before we had it installed I put a picture of President Gordon B. Hinckley on the shelf behind my shoulder so he could always see what was on my screen. Now that sounds a bit childish, but it worked. Offensive pop-ups were quickly relegated to the trash bin.

Growing up in southern Utah, some of us sought employment at the many gasoline service stations that lined Highway 91, which ran through downtown St. George. My younger brother Paul, then 18, worked at Tom’s Service, a station located about three blocks from our home.
One summer day a car with New York license plates pulled in the station, and the driver asked for a fill-up. (For you under the age of 30, in those days someone actually came out and filled your car with gas, washed your windows, and checked your oil.) While Paul was washing the windshield, the driver asked him how far it was to the Grand Canyon. Paul replied that it was 170 miles.
“I’ve waited all my life to see the Grand Canyon,” the man exclaimed. “What’s it like out there?”
“I don’t know,” Paul answered. “I’ve never been there.”
“You mean to tell me,” the man responded, “that you live two and a half hours from one of the seven wonders of the world and you’ve never been there?”
“That’s right,” Paul said.
After a moment, the man replied, “Well, I guess I can understand that. My wife and I have lived in Manhattan for over 20 years, and we’ve never visited the Statue of Liberty.”
“I’ve been there,” Paul said.
Isn’t it ironic that we will often travel many miles to see the wonders of nature or the creations of man, yet ignore the beauty in our own backyard?
It is human nature, I suppose, to seek elsewhere for our happiness. Pursuit of career goals, wealth, and material rewards can cloud our perspective and often leads to a lack of appreciation for the bounteous blessings of our present circumstances.
It is precarious to dwell on why we have not been given more. It is, however, beneficial and humbling to dwell on why we have been given so much.
An old proverb states, “The greater wealth is contentment with a little.”
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul wrote, “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content” (Philip. 4:11).
Alma instructed his son Helaman, giving him counsel that all fathers should teach their children: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day” (Alma 37:37).
Alma said, “Let thy heart be full of thanks unto God.” The Lord desires that we give thanks. In Thessalonians we read, “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you” (1 Thes. 5:18).
We should always strive to increase our gratitude. Gratitude may be increased by constantly reflecting on our blessings and giving thanks for them in our daily prayers.
President David O. McKay (1873–1970) said: “The young man who closes the door behind him, who draws the curtains, and there in silence pleads with God for help, should first pour out his soul in gratitude for health, for friends, for loved ones, for the gospel, for the manifestations of God’s existence. He should first count his many blessings and name them one by one” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1961, 8).
A constant expression of gratitude should be included in all our prayers. Often prayers are given for specific blessings which we, in our incomplete understanding, believe we need. While the Lord does answer prayers according to His will, He certainly must be pleased when we offer humble prayers of gratitude.
The next time we pray, instead of presenting the Lord petition after petition for some action in our behalf, give Him thoughtful thanks for all with which He has blessed us.
President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918) has instructed us that “the spirit of gratitude is always pleasant and satisfying because it carries with it a sense of helpfulness to others; it begets love and friendship, and engenders divine influence. Gratitude is said to be the memory of the heart” (Gospel Doctrine, 262).
In October 1879, a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red-rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”
I pray that we might keep our hearts full of thanks and appreciation for what we have and not dwell on what is not ours. Let us adopt an attitude of gratitude in all we do.

What would you do if a frantic mother came running toward you with a lifeless baby in her arms? If you had hours of lifesaving training in Scouts like Karl Durst does, you’d probably do what he did. He administered CPR to the child and saved its life.

Karl’s neighbor’s 11-month-old baby had slipped under the bath water and lost consciousness. The mother dialed 911, then ran her baby next door for help. Karl, an Eagle Scout, had come home early for lunch (the only day all summer he’d done that), and was the only one at home when his neighbor came. Karl was shocked but acted quickly and efficiently, and soon the baby was breathing and crying again.

Karl is a priest in the Rigby Fifth Ward, Rigby Idaho Stake.