Gospel Story Finder

After moving to Nauvoo, Illinois, Joseph and Emma Smith built the Red Brick Store. It served as Joseph’s office and as a business to support his family.
I’ll take 20 pounds of flour, Emma.
Do you need anything else?
James Leach had recently moved from England to Nauvoo with his sister and her husband, Henry. James was not a member of the Church.
We’ve searched for work all day, Henry. I don’t think we’re going to find anything.
Let’s ask the Prophet for help.
James had never met Joseph Smith or been near him before. He felt an overwhelming spirit just by looking at him.
He is truly a prophet of the Most High God.
Brethren, how can I help you today?
Mr. Smith, have you any employment?
Can you make a ditch?
We’ll do our best.
Joseph took the men a little way from the store and stretched out a measuring tape.
Can you make a ditch three feet wide and two and a half feet deep along this line?
When they finished the ditch, they called Joseph out to inspect it.
I could not have done better myself. Come with me.
Joseph gave the men two of his largest and best pieces of meat and two sacks of flour.
This is too much, Joseph.
We’ll do more work for it.
If you are satisfied, boys, I am.
Because of this encounter with the Prophet’s kindness and because of other experiences in which he felt Joseph’s power from God, James learned the gospel and was baptized and confirmed later that year.

A true story from Australia.
Jared walked into Sunday School and sat down with his classmates. He noticed a boy he didn’t recognize come in and sit down a couple chairs away.
Jared’s teacher, Brother Trudgen, smiled at the class. “This is Emmanuel,” he said. “He and his family just moved to Australia. This is their first Sunday in our ward!”
Jared thought it might be hard to go to a new ward. He would try to be Emmanuel’s friend.
Brother Trudgen got out his scriptures. “Let’s all turn to 3 Nephi,” he said.
Jared opened his scriptures and looked over at Emmanuel. He didn’t have any scriptures.
Jared gave him a big smile and leaned over. “Hi, I’m Jared,” he said. “Would you like to share scriptures with me?”
Emmanuel smiled back. “Um, I don’t know much English,” he said. “Sorry.”
“What language do you speak?”
“Swahili.”
Jared didn’t know any Swahili. He and Emmanuel didn’t say much for the rest of the class.
That evening at dinner, Jared told his family about Emmanuel.
“He seems really nice,” Jared said. “But we can’t understand each other very well.”
Mum nodded. “Emmanuel and his family are going through a lot right now,” she said. “They had to leave their country very suddenly because bad things were happening there. They left everything behind.”
Jared frowned. What would it be like to have to leave home tomorrow and move to a whole new country? That would be so hard!
I wish there was something I could do to help Emmanuel, he thought. But what?
Jared couldn’t stop thinking about Emmanuel as he got ready for bed. He sat down at his desk with his Book of Mormon and read a few verses. Reading the scriptures always made him feel better. Tonight, they also reminded him that Emmanuel hadn’t had any scriptures to read. Jared shut his scriptures and stared at the cover. Then he jumped up from his chair and hurried out into the hallway.
“Mum!” he called. “I think I know how to help Emmanuel!”
The next Sunday, Jared couldn’t wait to see Emmanuel. He sat with the other deacons at the front of the chapel and waited with a new Book of Mormon in his lap. The missionaries had helped him get this special copy just for Emmanuel.
When Emmanuel entered the chapel with his family, Jared smiled and waved him over. Emmanuel looked confused as he sat down next to Jared. But his eyes widened when Jared handed him the Book of Mormon.
“For me?” Emmanuel asked.
Jared nodded.
Emmanuel’s eyes lit up. He flipped through the pages of his new Book of Mormon. “Swahili!” he said. He smiled at Jared and hugged the book to his chest. “Thank you!”
Jared’s heart felt warm as he smiled back. He knew he couldn’t make everything better for Emmanuel, and they still couldn’t talk to each other very well yet. But that was OK. They didn’t have to speak the same language to be friends!

Nineteen-year-old Emily Rowland takes a deep breath. The task ahead of her seems nearly impossible. A trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down her face to drip off her chin, and her face becomes flushed, but she won’t give up.
Emily knows she must persevere, not only for herself, but for others who will follow. Her heart pounds and her muscles beg her to stop, but she knows it will be worth it.
This is Relief Society Homemaking meeting.
Of course, it’s not always this much of an ordeal—but this particular Homemaking night finds Emily and some of the other women in her ward—the University Ward near the University of Nevada at Las Vegas—working to improve their health and fitness, and that means working up a sweat doing aerobics. Other times Homemaking might mean learning about how to manage finances (not a bad skill for a college freshman like Emily), or how to look for a job, or maybe even how to change a flat tire.
What, no recipes, no baby quilts?
“Sure, cooking and sewing are important too,” says Emily. “It always amazes me how well Relief Society can adjust to individual needs. It’s a lot of fun.”
Emily and two of her friends, Aubrey VanDrimmelen and Charlotte Ballard, say that leaving Young Women behind was hard, and maybe even a little frightening. But it’s also something they all agree it was time to do.
“I really loved Young Women,” says Charlotte. “And Relief Society is different from Young Women. For one thing, there are a lot of people who are older than you. But after you’ve gone a few times, you realize how nice everyone is, how much they want to be your friend.”
Emily points out that going from Young Women to Relief Society happens at a time when most girls are headed off to college, entering the work force, preparing for missions, or getting married.
“Those are big changes,” she says. “Relief Society is a big change, too, but it helps you cope with all the other new things in life.”
Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”
Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”
“Last week, our lesson on Sunday was titled ‘Aging Is Part of God’s Plan,’” says Aubrey. “I looked at that and thought, How on earth is that going to apply to someone like me? I mean, no one in my ward is exactly getting old.”
Even though there is only one lesson in the Relief Society curriculum about aging, there are lots of lessons on family and social relationships. Does that mean that someone who is young and single can’t get anything from them?
“No way!” says Emily, who serves as a Spiritual Living teacher in her ward. “I work on my lesson all week, reading it so many times I practically know it by heart. Every lesson has something that is valuable, whether you’re 19, 29, or 79.”
Charlotte says that the age differences in Relief Society actually add to her experience.
“You can always learn things from people who are older than you,” she says. “You may not need to know those things right at the moment you learn them, but lots of them come in handy later on. There’s always a great spirit in Relief Society because people share their own experiences.”
Of course, one thing that doesn’t change whether you’re in Young Women or Relief Society is the chance to learn about the Savior and how to become more like him.
“I know with a surety that my Savior lives,” says Emily. “Sometimes you start to doubt things, but if you listen to the lessons in Relief Society you learn and grow so much because you’re doing the right thing. Relief Society helps you stay close to the gospel.”
And along with that closeness to the Savior and the gospel come a closeness and friendship with each other that the girls say is hard to duplicate anywhere else.
“There’s a lot of love in our Relief Society,” says Charlotte. “You can tell when you’re there that people are willing to help each other. There are opportunities to serve and teach everywhere.”
This year, young women all over the Church will be taking the plunge into Relief Society. With a little less than a year of Relief Society under their belts, Emily, Aubrey, and Charlotte know what that initial plunge feels like: exciting, scary, and possibly (for the newcomer) a little intimidating. They also know what it feels like to keep coming: rewarding, uplifting, and a smooth transition to a lot of fun, where age differences don’t matter much.
“Everyone in Relief Society wants you to know you are accepted and to make you feel good about being there. What could be better?” says Emily.
Aubrey agrees.
“It’s a little like reading the scriptures,” she says. “Every time you go, you learn something different. And the longer you do it, the more you learn.”
Friendship, love, skill training, and spiritual growth—it’s a good deal no matter what age you are and no matter what your needs are. And who knows? The first time you go, they might even serve a delicious, fancy dessert—with the recipe, of course. After all, this is Relief Society.
Feeling left out because there’s not a student or singles’ ward in your area? Well, whether you live hundreds of miles away from the nearest Church member your age, or just a few minutes from Church headquarters, your home ward is still a great place for you to be—including Relief Society!
Christy Pimper, another 19-year-old college student from Las Vegas, has chosen to attend her home ward. Here are some of her tips on finding a way to fit in:
Mentally prepare to make the move. “I really liked Young Women, but when I turned 18, I felt ready to leave. I was older than everyone and my needs were different. When it’s time to move on, don’t hesitate!”
Take the opportunity to develop your testimony. “The lessons in Relief Society are great. You learn things you never knew before, and you understand things you’ve known all your life much better than before.”
Make friends. “Even though everyone in my ward is older than me, I don’t feel left out. All the women go out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
Keep an open mind. “Relief Society is different from Young Women, but unless you give it a try, you’ll never really know for yourself what it’s like.”

At times, the Lord needs a little help to assist some as to the validity of this truth. I recall when I served as chairman of the Church Missionary Committee that I received a telephone call from a member of the presidency of the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah. He advised that a particular young man called to a Spanish-speaking mission was having difficulty applying himself to his language study and had declared, “I never can learn Spanish!” The leader asked, “What do you recommend we do?”

I thought for a moment, then suggested, “Place him tomorrow as an observer in a class of missionaries struggling to learn Japanese, and then advise me of his reaction.”

My caller responded within 24 hours with the report, “The missionary was only in the Japanese language class one-half day when he called me and excitedly said, ‘Place me back in the Spanish class! I know I can learn that language.’” And he did.

Craig checked the invoice as he loaded the sprinkler parts into the cardboard box and wondered if there was possibly a more boring job on the planet. He put the box on the conveyor belt and decided the girls down the line had it worse. At least he got to pull the orders. The girls got each order off the belt and had to sort through the boxes and verify that the order pullers had pulled the right stuff, then place their tag, “Checked by number whatever,” in the box and check the next one. And the next. Yawn.
He couldn’t complain too much, though. He’d found the job after high school graduation, when he’d been thrown into the uncomfortable phase of life known as “Now What?” He’d planned on a mission for a long time, and this job would help pay for one if he decided to go, but he wished his parents would help. He didn’t know if he could do it without their support.
He rubbed the back of his head. Another headache was coming on.
He noticed that Mike, another order puller, had stacked his boxes too high. Suddenly, most of them came crashing off the line, spilling sprinkler parts at the feet of the startled order pullers. There were groans from everywhere.
Craig was the closest to the disaster.
“Oh, no!” he said. The belt stopped.
“Congratulations,” said a voice at his elbow. Amber, an order checker, had come to see what had happened, while some of the others smirked. The break bell sounded, and all the order pullers except Craig made a beeline for the break room. The other order checkers left, too, leaving Amber standing there.
“I know,” said Craig. “Pretty swift.”
“No, I meant congratulations that you’re the only one who doesn’t swear his head off when that happens.”
Craig looked at her, surprised. He’d never really noticed her. He’d have thought her pretty if she didn’t have the worn, burnt-around-the-edges look. Her dark roots advertised obviously over-dyed blond hair, frizzy at the ends, and her perfume was eau de tobacco. But she had stunning green eyes, though they looked tired. That she would notice he never swore, unlike most of his co-workers, astonished him.
Amber was busily checking one of the boxes that had fallen to make sure it held the right parts.
“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” Craig told her.
Amber shrugged. “I’ll have to do it anyway. I might as well do it now.”
They worked in silence for a while, hearing barks of laughter from the break room. Whenever anyone opened the door, a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed in.
Craig sneezed and his head pounded. He rubbed at his eyes.
Amber asked, “You go to high school around here?”
Craig shook his head. “Graduated,” he said, “from Sand Valley High.”
She nodded. “I never did. Graduate. Used to go to Clairmont, though.” She looked at him as though she had more questions but said nothing.
When the bell rang to signal the end of break, she seemed relieved, though her co-workers gave her a hard time for not coming.
Craig didn’t see Amber again the rest of the day and didn’t really think about her. His mind was occupied with the mission decision. He knew what his parents’ reaction would be if he decided to serve. His dad would think he was wasting his time. His mom would go to pieces and would worry excessively for two years straight. Neither one would be happy for him, and he wondered whether they would even write. Mom, maybe, letters full of anguish. Dad, no. They had been active when he was little, but by the time he could drive himself to church, they had stopped going.
That Sunday he drove to church alone but found his friend Dan and sat with his family. Dan’s missionary farewell was only three weeks away. Dan would get plenty of letters from home. His parents were proud of him.
They were sitting near the back, and Craig found himself squinting to read the hymn numbers. Dan looked at him and laughed.
“You must be near-sighted. Better get some glasses.”
Craig was startled at the joking suggestion, but it stayed on his mind.
Lindsay Carter gave a talk on scripture study, using a quadruple combination as a visual aid. She blew along its pages, sending an obvious cloud of what appeared to be dust flying.
“Don’t let this happen to your scriptures,” she said, and the congregation laughed. Craig decided she had probably put flour or baby powder on the scriptures to emphasize her point. His own parents’ scriptures had sat on top of the bookcase for literally years. He could see them in his mind’s eye: one black set, one brown, his parents’ names imprinted in gold on their covers. Lindsay could easily have used their scriptures for her visual aid—no powder necessary.
He knew his parents’ inactivity had been gradual. Over several years’ time, the gospel, which had become so important to him, had conversely dwindled in importance to them. They had unintentionally drifted. Their distance from the gospel was now reflected in the way they acted and talked—more negative, more cynical, less hopeful. He wished his parents would come back. He prayed for it every night. But would a mission bring them closer to the Church or drive a larger wedge between them?
He spent a lot of time at work thinking about it, since his work didn’t require much thought. He’d been at it long enough to pull orders on autopilot. So he was unaware of Amber at his elbow again one day when she spoke.
“Can I ask you something?” Her eyes had dark circles around them, like she’d spent the weekend partying. “Are you happy?”
He wasn’t sure what he thought she would ask, but that wasn’t it. It caught him off guard.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I mean, when I’m doing what I know is right, I am.” He could tell the answer was important to her.
“See, I don’t expect to be happy constantly, but I’m mostly happy.” He hesitated. “I know God loves me. He’s given us the way to be happy if we’ll make the right choices.” He looked at Amber, surprised to hear himself saying things he’d never said before, but he was being nudged. She still needed to hear one thing more.
“God loves you, Amber. He knows you and wants you to be happy.”
She looked like she was about to cry. She turned away and went back to work. Craig wasn’t sure whether she believed him or not. But he knew what he had said was true.
After work he had an eye appointment. He realized he had been squinting at anything farther away than about 50 feet.
The ophthalmologist called him in and did so many things Craig wasn’t sure what he was doing. He sat Craig in front of a strange apparatus and kept turning wheels that changed the lenses in front of his eyes: right, left, both; asking him if each was better or worse until Craig was so confused he wasn’t sure of anything. After a while the doctor studied the data and told Craig the results.
“Looks like you’re quite near-sighted and will need some glasses or contacts.”
Craig took the prescription and staggered outside, shielding his dilated eyes from the sun. He sat down and waited until his vision cleared.
On Friday Amber came up to him.
“Hey, you got glasses. They make you look smart,” she said. “Not that you didn’t look smart before,” she added hastily. She hesitated for a moment, then asked him a question.
“What would you do if you were trying to get off drugs and your friends were all doing them at lunch and expected you to join them?”
He considered this, wondering if she could just go with them and not do any drugs. He decided against the suggestion, not sure how tough it would be to resist. The right answer hit him, as awkward or unlikely as it would be.
“Come have lunch with me.” It wasn’t important what anyone thought. Amber was the important one, and she needed to know it.
“Serious?” she said.
“Sure. I usually bring my lunch and go out to the patch of lawn next to Carpet World.”
They spent more time talking than eating lunch over the next several weeks. At first Craig didn’t think they would have much to say. Then he began looking forward to lunchtime.
They talked about their families. He told her he was disappointed in his parents, that there was a cold feeling in his home.
“Cold? Your house doesn’t sound so bad,” Amber said. “If your house is cold, my house is Antarctica. I’m working this job so I can get enough money together to move out. My mom sneaks around with boyfriends, and my dad thinks I’m some kind of a punching bag.”
Craig stared at her and suddenly noticed a series of bruises on her arms and one on her cheek he’d mistaken for too much dark blush. Why hadn’t he ever noticed those before? It was like he was seeing her for the first time, like he was seeing his father and mother for the first time. Since he’d gotten his new glasses, he could see a lot better far away. Yet he was looking at his immediate surroundings in a new way. It was like the old saying about not being able to see the forest for the trees.
When he went home that night, he hugged his mother and told her he loved her and asked his father if there was some yardwork that needed doing. He was getting a reality check and realizing he didn’t have it so bad after all. He mowed the lawn and started digging postholes for a fence, and his dad came out to help. His dad talked for quite a while, reminiscing about helping his own father on the farm and talking about the dream he’d had to become a pilot. Craig went inside that night, long after the sun had set, sweaty and exhausted, but feeling happy. His dad came in whistling and threw together a plate of nachos for all of them, something he hadn’t done in a long time.
Craig and Amber continued to have lunch together, though her friends made crude comments about it. She turned bright red and later apologized to Craig.
“It’s so hard,” she said. “People won’t let you change. They want to keep you down in the gutter with them.”
Craig was at a loss. “It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry about them. They don’t realize where they are or how bad it is.”
Amber’s friends made fun of him in his new glasses. They had caught wind of his talking about the gospel with Amber and called him the minister. It didn’t hurt Craig at all. He didn’t care what they thought.
Craig asked Dan what the missionaries taught, and Dan showed him the materials he’d collected. Dan was the type to be right on top of everything he did, diving in completely. He’d do well in the mission field, Craig was certain.
“See, here are the things someone new to the gospel needs to know.” As they discussed it, Craig hit upon the perfect subject for Amber.
“That’s it!” Craig pulled the lesson on the plan of salvation closer. “This is what she needs to hear.” Then he looked doubtful. “But maybe I should have the full-time missionaries teach her.”
Dan looked at his friend. “Somehow, I think you must be doing a great job teaching Amber. You’ll be able to reach her because you’re her friend.”
The next time they ate lunch together, Craig taught Amber about the plan of salvation.
“Oh!” Amber said, after he had explained about the premortal existence and our coming to earth to be tested, and our spirits going on beyond the grave. “Oh!”
She said nothing more that day, and he wondered what she thought. Was it too much to accept? His own testimony had grown as he studied and taught Amber. He again realized how much Heavenly Father loved all of them.
At lunch the next day, Amber said, “You know what you said about us being spirits? Well, I always thought that once you died, you were gone. Kaput. But what you told me rings true. It really does. And it explains a lot of things to me.” She took a bite of her apple. “Lots of nights, I lie awake. I hear my parents fighting. Sometimes I hear my dad slap my mom. Then I want to retreat, to be asleep, dreaming I have another family. Sometimes I fall asleep, and then I feel my Grandma Norene, my dad’s mother, right beside me. And she holds my hand. And I feel wonderful until I wake up. Do you think she worries about me?”
Craig whispered, “I’m sure she does.”
Craig invited Amber to Dan’s farewell. She arrived late to the church, breathless and wearing a dress that was a little too short, still smelling of cigarette smoke. She was nervous but excited. She spent the meeting listening closely.
After the meeting she wanted to know all about missions, and the questions came rapid-fire.
“How long do you go on a mission? How do you know what to teach? What if you go to a foreign country? Do you get paid by your church?”
Craig answered all her questions and told her he might be going on a mission soon. He was a little afraid of her reaction, but she actually clapped.
“That’s perfect! Of course! You’d be terrific at teaching people, just like you’ve taught me. You’ll be good at this!” She then said, “I’ll miss you, but I could write you letters, couldn’t I? And you could still answer my questions about the gospel.”
Craig nodded, a slow smile overtaking his face. Amber had just answered some of his questions for a change, like whether or not to go on a mission. And whether or not he’d have any support if he did. He realized he’d already started his missionary work. And he’d been really happy lately. He’d have to trust that the Lord would help him reach his parents somehow. Maybe it was in the way he saw things. He knew for sure it had a lot to do with faith.
The next time Amber came to church, he did a double take. She had dyed her hair a shiny chestnut, closer to her real color, and was wearing a long skirt, nice blouse, and sandals. Her makeup was light instead of her usual overkill, and she smelled like flowers instead of cigarette smoke. Her eyes looked vibrant, with a fire in them that had replaced the dull, half-lidded sleepy look she used to have.
Craig met her in the foyer. “These new glasses are great. I didn’t know how cute you were.”
Amber smiled and he noticed dimples in her cheeks he hadn’t seen before. For a split second, he could imagine her being baptized. He was reminded of the scripture about the Lord not looking on the outward appearance but upon what was in the heart.
At first he had worried that she might be changing because of an interest in him. Then he had seen that she was truly happy he would be going on a mission. Craig realized she thought of him like a brother, like someone who had given her an incredible gift.
His parents had seemed happier. He finally summoned up all his nerve and told them he was going on a mission. They were a little upset that he would be leaving, but they could see it was what he wanted to do.
Craig knew everything might not work out the way he wanted it to. He knew his parents might never make their way back to activity, but for the first time in a long time, he started to believe in what could happen if the people he loved wanted it as much as he did.
In the same way that he had started to see Amber going down into water in a white dress, he was starting to see his parents’ scriptures off the bookcase, dusted off, and open.

From Idaho comes a story of Jonathan, who went to school in the cold weather wearing his warm hat. When he got to school, he noticed another boy’s ears were frostbitten because he had had to wait so long in the cold for the school bus to pick him up. On his own, Jonathan went to the telephone, called his mother, and asked if it would be all right to give the younger boy his hat because he needed it more. As we bear on another’s burdens, as Jonathan did, we are fulfilling the covenant we made at baptism.

Another part of Elder Taylor’s prophecy likewise was quickly fulfilled. The Olympus had just entered the terrible Irish Sea when harsh headwinds whipped huge waves against the wooden vessel day and night. For three weeks many of the passengers were tossed-about and seasick, “suffering intensely from the distressing affliction.” Finally, when a calm day brought relief, the passengers felt the worst part of their voyage was behind them. But Captain Wilson’s trained eyes, making a careful survey of the horizon, spotted a rapidly approaching cloud. At first it was no bigger than a man’s hat, but it swelled and spread at an alarming rate.

Quickly the captain gathered both shifts of the crew on deck and ordered all sails immediately shortened. He allowed Brother Nowers and a 20-year-old carpenter from Dover, England, Edmund Fuller, to stay on deck and help the crew. (Later in the voyage Mr. Fuller fell in love with a Mormon girl, Adelaide Jelley, and he joined the Church and married her in St. Louis, Missouri.)

The sails were just hauled in and secured, and passengers gathered below deck, when the new storm struck the ship full force. The Olympus trembled and reeled “like a drunkard.” The violent wind snapped the foremast off and carried it overboard. Several men nearly went overboard with the broken mast, which hanging, by the ship’s side, had to be cut loose from its stays with axes. Torrents of wind and water cracked the mainmast at the deck.

Thrown on her side the Olympus became unmanageable. Into a fearfully dark night the ship struggled, battered by hurricane winds. Seams of the vessel cracked, letting water seep into the bottom of the ship.

Two hours after the storm began, about 8:00 P.M., four feet of water had poured into the hold and the ship’s pumps were started. Above, knee-deep waters rushed over the decks, causing Brother Nowers and Mr. Fuller to lash themselves to the pumps they were operating to keep from being washed overboard. Hour after hour the storm raged. And the Olympus took on more and more water.

By midnight the captain, crew, and men on deck were despondent because the storm showed no signs of abating. Brother Nowers heard the captain order Second Mate Hamilton to go below deck and tell the Mormon’s president, Elder Howell, that “if the God of the Mormons can do anything to save the ship and the people, they had better be calling on him to do so.” The captain confessed that despite the crew’s best efforts the Olympus was sinking at the rate of 30 centimeters per hour and that by daylight it would be on the bottom of the sea unless the storm ceased

The second mate asked Brother Nowers to accompany him below to deliver the message to the Mormons. As soon as the crashing waves allowed the two messengers unbarred the companionway and went below. They found Elder Howell in his bed and told him the captain’s appeal.

The Mormon leader answered calmly. “You may tell Captain Wilson that we are not going to the bottom of the ocean for we embarked from Liverpool on a voyage for New Orleans, Louisiana, and we will arrive safely in that port. Our God will protect us.” Mr. Hamilton returned to the deck and gave Captain Wilson the Mormons’ answer.

Brother Nowers, dripping wet, could not help noticing the absolute chaos below deck. Everywhere unsecured trunks and packages rolled and skidded from one side to the other as the ship swayed and rolled. Some passengers were crying. Others prayed. Others simply waited.

President Howell quickly arose, dressed, and called about a dozen brethren, including new convert Wilson Nowers, to his side. The leader instructed that each man in the circle take a turn to pray vocally that the Lord would spare the vessel. Elder Howell prayed last.

“While he was still engaged in prayer,” Brother Nowers said, “I noticed a significant change in the motion of the ship.” Instead of rolling and tossing, the Olympus “seemed to tremble as one suffering from the effects of a severe cold.” He could not believe the ship was sinking. But he also could not believe that the storm had so suddenly ceased.

After the final hearty “amen” President Howell sent the prayer circle members back to bed. Brother Nowers, however, returned to his pumping duties on deck. There, astonished, he found that “the storm had miraculously ceased; the wind had gone down, and the waves were stilled close around the ship, while in the distance the billows were still raging.” The Olympus trembled at so sudden a change.

Pumping continued until daylight. When the Sabbath day finally dawned, clear and bright, Captain Wilson admitted that he had done all he could do before calling on the Mormons and that only God’s hand had saved the sinking ship.

Riptide “‘He needs a hug,’ Zach’s father said, ‘and then he needs a name.’” Zach named the puppy Riptide after the current so strong when it runs out to sea that the sandbars crumble. Riptide became a self-appointed lifeguard on the beach. The officer didn’t want him there—until the riptide came when the human lifeguards couldn’t save all the swimmers being dragged out to sea. … Based on a true story.Frances Ward Weller4–8 years

I remember a fine minister, visiting Salt Lake City from South Africa, who came to my office inquiring:
“What is the basis for your doctrine of baptism for the dead?”
“Is baptism essential?” I asked.
“Yes,” he responded.
“Do you believe God is just?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Then what of those who died without baptism?” I inquired, and he indicated that he had often wondered about that. I asked whether he had overlooked Paul’s teaching: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29.) The minister looked at me and quietly said: “Thank you for explaining that doctrine.” I was glad he had been enlightened but sad that he and so many others had failed to see before. Yes, our Father in Heaven loves all of his children and has provided a way for every one of them to return to him.

I remember once in 1957, while I was acting as a new president of a branch in Argentina, I decided to interview the members with respect to the importance of paying tithing. I found myself talking with one good brother of the branch whose name was Jose, who had difficulty paying his tithing. I asked him bluntly, “Brother Jose, why don’t you pay your tithing?” I’m sure Jose didn’t expect me to be so direct.
After a moment of silence he responded: “As you know, President, I have two children. The wage of a laborer is very low. This month I have to buy my children shoes to go to school; and, mathematically, I just don’t have enough money.”
In an instant response, I said, “Jose, I promise you that if you pay your tithing faithfully, your children will have their shoes to go to school, and you will be able to pay for all the needs of your home. I don’t know how he will do it, but the Lord always keeps his promises. Besides that,” I added, “If you still find that you don’t have enough money, I will give you back what you paid in tithing from my own pocket.”
On the way home, I wondered if what I had done was the right thing. Here I was, recently married, just getting started in my career, and faced with my own economic problems. I began to worry about my own shoes, let alone those of Jose’s family! Even though when I got home my dear wife wholeheartedly supported me and reassured me that everything would be all right, I must say that that night nobody prayed harder for Brother Jose’s economic welfare than I did.
One month later, I once again sat down with Jose. Though the tears in his eyes almost made it impossible for him to speak, he said: “President, it is incredible. I paid my tithing; I was able to meet all of my obligations, and I even purchased the new shoes for my children, all without an increase in my wage. I know that the Lord keeps his promises!”
Jose remains to this day a faithful tithe payer.

Annie threw her paper airplane. It sailed up and over the gray block wall at the back of her yard. She stomped her foot and thought, Now I’m never going to get it back.
Just then, her typing-paper airplane glided back over the wall and landed by the patio. Annie grabbed the plane and ran back to the wall.
“Thank you,” she called. No one answered. “Is anyone there?” she asked. No one answered.
She threw her airplane back over the wall, sat on her swing, blocked the setting sun with a salute, and waited. Suddenly a different plane, made of newspaper, flew over the wall, through the swing chains above her head, and glided to a perfect landing in front of the sliding-glass door.
“Wow!” Annie reached for the plane. “I wish I knew how to make planes fly like—” Suddenly she stopped. The plane had a message written on one of the wings. “Hi, Amelia! From the Secret Pilot.”
Who’s Amelia? wondered Annie. Maybe the family who lived here before us had a girl named Amelia. The Secret Pilot sure can’t print very well. Her writing’s so scribbly, she couldn’t be very old. Or, it could be a boy. He sure knows how to make good airplanes. I have to find out who the Secret Pilot is.
“I’m going to ride around the block—OK, Mom?” Annie called.
“Not now, Annie. I need the table set for dinner.”
Annie chewed on her bottom lip. “May I go after dinner, please?”
“You need to wash your hair tonight,” said her mother.
Annie glanced back at the block wall. “May I please have a minute to do something before I set the table?” Her mother smiled and nodded. Annie grabbed a pen from the desk in the hall and ran back to the yard. On the other wing of the airplane, she wrote:
Dear Secret Pilot,
I’ll be over tomorrow.
Your friend,Annie
She paused for a minute, then added “Amelia” after her own name. She sailed the plane back over the wall and waited, but it didn’t come back.
The next morning Annie jumped on her bike and pedaled around the corner. She kept her eye on the tall palm tree in her backyard. When she rode past a park on the next street, she lost sight of it for a minute but then was able to line it up with a long, low building. It didn’t look like a house. There was a parking lot beside it, and a large sign on the lawn. The sign said, “Seacliff Retirement Home.” Annie could see her palm tree behind the building.
She went up the sidewalk and peeked through the door. As she stepped on the black rubber doormat, the door buzzed aside like the one at the supermarket.
A nurse hung up a telephone and smiled at Annie. “May I help you, dear?” she asked.
Annie walked to the desk. “Do any kids live here?”
The woman said kindly, “No children—just older people.”
As Annie turned to leave, she saw a man with white hair and a blue captain’s hat walking slowly down the hall. His hat had gold wings embroidered on the bill. Annie saw something sticking out of his jacket pocket—her paper airplane. He saluted to the nurse.
“Hi, Captain Penny,” said the nurse. “Off to the park again?”
Captain Penny nodded and patted the nurse’s hand.
“Excuse me,” said Annie. “I’m Annie Amelia. Are you the Secret Pilot?”
Captain Penny smiled with every wrinkle on his face.
“He was a pilot all right, but it’s no secret,” said the nurse. “You should see his scrapbook. Why, he even knew Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone.”
Captain Penny took off his winged pilot’s hat and set it on Annie’s head. She grinned back at him.
“He can’t speak very well since his stroke, but he doesn’t let that stop him,” the nurse explained. “He takes his newspaper to the park every day and watches the children play.”
Captain Penny scribbled a shaky note and handed it to Annie:
Dear Miss Annie Amelia,
Some young friends and I are meeting at the park today to make airplanes. Might your mother let you join us?
Your Secret Pilot
Annie gave him a salute. The nurse called Annie’s mother, and Annie and the Secret Pilot headed for the park.

When I was 11 years old, my father died, and at his funeral I was very touched as I heard the people speaking about what a kind man he had been. At the cemetery as they were lowering the casket down in the grave and starting to throw those shovels full of dirt and rocks down on the casket, I stood watching, thinking he was my hero, and I wondered what would ever happen to me having lost my father. I saw good men exercising the priesthood and doing what was right—the men who had helped in digging the grave and taking care of things—and I saw a good man push a five-dollar bill back into the hands of my mother, who had offered him some money for helping to dig the grave. He pushed that money back toward my mother and said, “No, you keep it because you will need this later on.” And so I would like to declare to all of you in these assemblies tonight, in the Aaronic Priesthood and the Melchizedek Priesthood, isn’t it interesting to see the wisdom of our Heavenly Father and His Son in putting all of these things together, how in the lesser priesthood we learn to do the temporal chores? We’ll have temporal duties, learning in a humble, simple way those things that need to be done. This will teach us of service and of living the commandments of the Lord, preparing us so that we someday will be advanced to the Melchizedek Priesthood, with all of the majesty and the eternal glory that that entails.

I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out [and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human?] I would like to find out what an Apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”

I remember the occasion more than 70 years ago when, as a missionary, I was speaking in an open-air meeting in Hyde Park, London. As I was presenting my message, a heckler interrupted to say, “Why don’t you stay with the doctrine of the Bible which says in John, ‘God is a Spirit’?”

I opened my Bible to the verse he had quoted and read to him the entire verse:

“God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth” (John 4:24).

I said, “Of course God is a spirit, and so are you in the combination of spirit and body that makes of you a living being, and so am I.”

Each of us is a dual being of spiritual entity and physical entity. All know of the reality of death when the body dies, and each of us also knows that the spirit lives on as an individual entity and that at some time, under the divine plan made possible by the sacrifice of the Son of God, there will be a reunion of spirit and body. Jesus’s declaration that God is a spirit no more denies that He has a body than does the statement that I am a spirit while also having a body.

I do not equate my body with His in its refinement, in its capacity, in its beauty and radiance. His is eternal. Mine is mortal. But that only increases my reverence for Him. I worship Him “in spirit and in truth.”

I can’t refrain from telling you one other thing about that visit with my brother in Washington. He was to take a B-25 bomber to Texas to pick up something and return to Washington the next day. I went with him. That was the only time we flew together.
Many years later I was honored by Weber State University, where we both had graduated. He had been a student body officer during his college days. Because I would be in South America, he agreed to attend the banquet and accept the award in my behalf.
In his acceptance speech he told this story—part of which is true. He said that in Texas we were lined up side by side on the runway ready to take off. He radioed to me and said, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”
Then he told them that after I became a General Authority of the Church, once in a while I would check on his behavior and add, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”
Well, Leon made it. He is now where I hope one day to be.

I’ll never forget our family reunion the summer I turned eight. It was at the sawmill site on our mountain homestead. Our family is a big one, with lots of uncles and aunts and big and little cousins—especially Lucinda. She’s just my age. Our birthdays are both in July.
The ranch has a meadow, a creek, a pollywog pond with a zillion frogs, ponderosa pines, and lots of things to do and places to play. Lucinda and I made little fences and houses out of pinecones and wildflowers, and our people and animals were pretty rocks and twigs.
The reunion was two days and nights of fun. The first night, when the canyon breeze whispered through the pine trees, Papa lit a campfire that felt good. Everyone brought folding chairs and circled the fire. The sun was setting in a sky of pink and gold. Uncle Jake strummed his guitar and began to sing, “Just a Song at Twilight,” and Papa and Mama and all of my uncles and aunts joined in. I felt like heaven itself had come to our reunion. Nothing could have been prettier. Stories and songs filled the evening. We sang songs like “You Are My Sunshine” and “Red Wing,” and we giggled while we sang “Plant a Watermelon on My Grave and Let the Juice Soak Through.”
The second night, after our marshmallow roast and singing, Aunt Venice told us about the time the Savior came to America and blessed the children. When Lucinda and I snuggled into our beds, we lay looking at the stars while we talked about the angels that had come down among the children.
The next morning after breakfast, we cleaned up camp and packed to go home. We were sad to leave. I wished we could have stayed forever. Lucinda and I walked out into the meadow while the cars were being loaded. The penstemons were blooming tall and pinkish white. In one of their snapdragon-like blossoms was the shining black rear of a big bumblebee.
“Hey, look, Lucinda,” I cried.
The blossom’s lips were pursed snugly around that fat bee. I tapped the stem to see if he would back up, but he didn’t. So I tapped harder. “He likes it so much he won’t come out,” I said.
“He’s so full of honey, he’s taking a nap,” Lucinda remarked.
Papa honked the car horn and shouted, “All aboard.”
“Are you riding with us?” Lucinda asked.
“Thanks,” I answered, “but I think I’ll go home with my family. I want to show Robbie my bumblebee. He’ll love it.”
Car horns honked again and Lucinda ran. I picked my bee-flower and started to run, then tripped on a morning-glory runner. I lost my bee in the tall grass and couldn’t find him. Cars were leaving, and some of them had already crossed the creek. By the time I got back to camp, the last car was pulling out. It was my family. I yelled, “Hey, wait for me!” but they went right on. I knew my parents would think I was with Lucinda, because that was the way I had come.
I ran as fast as I could, but it was no use. No one looked back. The cars crawled in a dusty caravan over the bumpy road and vanished around the bend. And there I was. Alone.
The only thing I could think of was to keep running. Maybe someone would have to stop. I ran until my lungs burned. I stopped at the gate, which was wired shut. I’d have to climb over it. I remembered a nearby mountain road where someone would see me and take me home.
As I reached for the bars to pull myself up onto the gate, a warning thought came into my head. Firmly it said, Don’t go out that gate.
I stepped down. “The only way to get home is to climb that gate,” I said to myself, so I put my foot on the bottom bar. This time the thought shouted, Don’t go out that gate!
I was already panting from running so hard, and now I was shaking. I leaned against a tree to think. Home was seventeen miles down the mountain. The road was twisty and steep. Papa called it a slow road. It would be a long time before the folks got home and discovered I was missing, and then a longer time before they could get back to find me. If I could get out onto the road to catch a ride, I might get home before they missed me.
Then I remembered my parents warning us all to never get into a car with a stranger. Something terrible might happen. My heart was pounding and a sob stuck in my throat, but I was determined not to cry. I knew I wasn’t alone, because of the warnings that kept me from climbing over the gate.
I could hear the trickle of the nearby creek. I sat on its bank and watched the water splash over the rocks. My thoughts went back to last night’s get-together around the campfire and Aunt Venice’s story. The sweetness of her telling about how Jesus came to America after the Resurrection comforted me. How wonderful it was when He kneeled in the midst of the little children. I felt His love as He blessed each one of them. How beautiful it must have been with all of the people looking up and seeing heaven open and angels descending in the midst of fire and encircling the little ones.
I’m one of the little ones, I thought. It seemed like those very angels were with me. A song filled my heart. I found myself softly singing, “I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How he called little children like lambs to his fold; I should like to have been with him then.”*
“Thanks, Heavenly Father,” I whispered. “It’s good to know that I’m not alone.”
With time on my hands, I enjoyed the wildflowers and the bluejays, the woodpeckers and the squirrels, the chipmunks and the wrens. Finally I got sleepy. I gathered armfuls of bracken ferns and stacked them for a pillow on the shady tabletop of a huge tree stump that had been timbered off years ago, and curled up for a nap.
I slept so soundly that I didn’t hear anyone coming through the gate. Mama’s kiss and her tears on my cheek awoke me. Opening my eyes, I saw her and Papa bending over me. The bursting happiness that was mine can never, never be forgotten. I wanted to shout to all the world the goodness of our Savior and Heavenly Father, and the preciousness of families.

All the Smith children grew up with a rich supply of love—and nearly as much work. School often had to be set aside when too many chores and too little money stood in its way. For a short time, when he was about thirteen, Hyrum was able to attend an academy in Hanover, New Hampshire. But classes there ended abruptly for him when an epidemic of typhus fever broke out, for Hyrum was needed at home to help care for his sick family.

Joseph had come down with the fever, and the infection moved to his leg. Caring for her ailing children had drained Mother Smith until she, too, became ill, and since Hyrum was a trustworthy boy and had uncommon tenderness and sympathy, he was allowed to care for his little brother. Joseph, suffering greatly with the pain in his leg and unable to get around by himself, was moved to a low bed, where Hyrum could sit beside him. Much of each day and night for many days Hyrum sat holding his brother’s affected leg in his hands, pressing it between them to help ease the pain. Hyrum’s loving care undoubtedly helped Joseph recover, and it strengthened the bond between them.

When disaster struck in Oklahoma City last April, rescue workers were on the scene almost immediately. Many workers, who gave up regard for personal safety, made one request. They wanted some candy—it helped to keep their energy up while they were working.
Laurels in the Choctaw Ward, Oklahoma South Stake, went to work, stringing candy “leis” together for the workers to wear around their necks. Other leis were given to bomb victim’s families as a symbol of the love and prayers the Laurels were sending to all the people involved.
“We took the leis to the hospital and met a man whose wife and two sons had been hurt in the bombing. Our leis let them know they were loved and we were behind them,” says Laurel Rebecca Nevin.

When a family in my ward posted photos on Facebook about their experience being stuck in an elevator for two hours, I could not relate to it. That was, until I got stuck in an elevator myself.
I had left my cell phone at home, so I pounded on the elevator doors and called out for help. I also prayed. Soon, several young men heard me and—like good Samaritans—called emergency services. Then they said they lived in apartment number 38 and joked that when I got free, I could bring some food by their apartment to say thanks.
They left, and I found it hard to calm down. What if the emergency crew didn’t arrive? I prayed more. I knew that my husband would soon return home from work and would not know where I was.
I began pounding again. Between the crack in the elevator doors, I could see people walking by. I called out to them and asked if they could call my husband and tell him about my situation. They did, and I was able to calm down. My husband now knew, and he would make sure I didn’t stay stuck.
I sat in the elevator for about an hour. Finally, a maintenance worker came and freed me. He said the elevator had jammed, so he had to climb up the elevator shaft to get the elevator working again. I thanked him for his help.
Later that day, I went and thanked my neighbors in apartment 38. I brought them some home-cooked food. They said they were just joking about the food, but I was glad to thank them. As I look back on this experience, I now know what the family in my ward went through, and I am grateful to the people who did not pass me by but stopped and helped.
They might not have known it, but they followed the Savior’s example. He did not pass us by or leave us. He gave His life so we can be saved from physical and spiritual death. Because of this, I will try to follow His example and never pass by someone else’s trouble. I’m grateful for this experience that has unexpectedly given me a greater appreciation for Him and for His blessings.

Each new convert should be provided a calling in the Church. Such brings interest, stability, and growth. The task may be somewhat simple, such as that given to Jacob de Jager when he and his family became members in Toronto. He held lofty posts in business, but his first calling in the Church was to put the hymnbooks in place along the pews. He took his assignment seriously. In recollecting this first calling, he said, “I had to be present each week, or the hymnbooks would remain undistributed.” As you know, Elder de Jager later served many years as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. Though he had many demanding responsibilities as a General Authority, he never forgot his first calling in the Church.