Gospel Story Finder

In 1838 the Saints in Missouri were ordered to leave the state or be killed. In October of that year, while meeting with the state militia (army) to resolve some problems, many Church leaders, including the Prophet Joseph Smith, were arrested for crimes they had not committed.
Towards evening I was waited upon by Colonel Hinkle, who stated that the officers of the militia desired to have an interview with me and some others. … I immediately complied. … Instead of being treated with … respect … , we were taken as prisoners of war, and treated with the utmost contempt.
Myself and fellow prisoners were taken to [Far West]. … I found my wife and children in tears, who feared we had been shot. … I was then obliged to take my departure. … My [wife] wept, my children clung to me, until they were thrust from me by the swords of the guards.
The prisoners were taken first to Independence, Missouri, then to Richmond, Missouri, where they were jailed while awaiting trial.
[We] were brought … for trial, charged with … high treason … , murder, burglary, arson [setting fires], robbery, and larceny [a kind of stealing]. …
Those of us who had been sentenced thereto, were [moved] to Liberty jail. …
After we were cast into prison, we heard nothing but threatenings, that, if any judge or jury, or court of any kind, should clear any of us, we should never get out of the state alive. …
Those who have not been enclosed in the walls of prison without cause … , can have but little idea how sweet the voice of a friend is; … and when the heart is sufficiently contrite, then the voice of inspiration steals along and whispers,
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment. …
“If thou art called to pass through tribulation; …
“If thou art accused with all manner of false accusations … and thou be dragged to prison, and thine enemies prowl around thee like wolves for the blood of the lamb;
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; … and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?
“… Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.” (D&C 121:7; D&C 122:5–9.)
In April 1839, after being in prison for about five months, the prisoners at Liberty jail were transferred to Boone County, Missouri, for another trial. They escaped with the assistance of the sheriff and the guards and fled to Illinois to join the other Saints who had been driven from Missouri.
(See History of the Church, vol. 3, pages 188–189, 193, 209, 215, 242–243, 293.)

My dad was what I’d call an urban farmer. No, we didn’t raise crops in a metropolis. We built swimming pools.
The problem with the swimming pool business in Philadelphia is that it’s impossible to build a pool in a Pennsylvania winter. That meant Dad would do all the work he could between April and October, and then hope he had enough money to last us through the winter. Dad would pick up odd jobs to make ends meet.
I think I was about 14 or 15 when I helped Dad deliver salt. During breakfast one snowy day after early-morning seminary, Dad asked me if I would help him after school. Since basketball season hadn’t started yet, I said I would.
That day we put on our coats and boots and climbed into the truck that was normally used only in the summertime. We drove to the docks on the Delaware River in downtown Philadelphia where Dad pulled over and went into the office. Soon he came out and we drove through the gate and into the yard. Before long, we were loading several bags of road salt onto the back of the truck as snow began to fall.
Off we went, with Dad doing the driving and me doing the navigating. With the addresses and a street map, I tried to plot out the most efficient route for us to take.
We began near the historic area of the city. We drove by the Liberty Bell and into the business district. There wasn’t a place to park, so Dad just stopped the truck in the middle of the road and put on the flashers. We jumped out and carried three bags of salt into a small clock shop.
One of our next stops was a men’s clothing store. Dad made the owner laugh with one of his jokes as we carried the salt through the falling snow. After a few more deliveries, we went into a poorer neighborhood and delivered a single bag of salt to a small deli. The man there spoke with an Italian accent. I carried the salt as Dad talked with the man and had him sign the delivery papers.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the low-income areas of Philadelphia. There were small grocery stores, laundromats, pawn shops, and hardware stores. And at each of the stops, Dad treated each person with dignity and respect—and often made them laugh.
Several weeks went by, and each afternoon delivery brought new insights, new observations, and new talks with Dad. We talked about all kinds of things—world events, Church doctrine, sports. Once Dad tried to talk about what kinds of girls I liked, but I wouldn’t let him. So he changed the subject.
There were lots of things I learned the winter I delivered salt. I learned that Dad was willing to “dig a few ditches,” as he would say, to provide for our family. I learned you can actually talk to your dad about things that really matter—things like testimony, friends, and relationships.
But looking back, one of the most important lessons I learned is that we truly are the “salt of the earth.” Dad made everyone smile despite the weather or their life’s status. It didn’t matter if we were delivering to a woman managing a laundromat in the slums, or a man who owned a tailor shop in uptown Philly. Dad cheered all of them with his jokes, his attitude, and the respect he showed them. At least for that winter, Dad was the salt of Philadelphia in more ways than one.

In 1835, Newel traveled to Ohio to help build the temple and to receive temple blessings. At Kirtland, he boarded with his good friends Hyrum and Jerusha Smith. There he met and fell in love with Lydia Goldthwaite Bailey, whose belief in Joseph Smith was equal to his.
A few years previous, Lydia’s husband had deserted her, and both of her children had died, so her family sent her to Canada for a change of scenery. In late 1833, while staying with the Nickerson family, she heard Joseph Smith preach and saw his face “become white and a shining glow seemed to beam from every feature.”3 This witness of the Spirit converted her. She then moved to Kirtland. On 24 November 1835, Joseph Smith performed Newel and Lydia’s wedding at Hyrum Smith’s home. The ceremony was the first marriage performed by the Prophet.4

In the summer of 2001, Sister Oaks and I were in Manaus, Brazil. I spoke to about 100 missionaries in that great city on the Amazon. As I stood to speak, I was prompted to put aside some notes I usually use on such occasions and substitute some thoughts on the importance of timing—some of the scriptures and principles I have been discussing here.
I reminded the missionaries that some of our most important plans cannot be brought to pass without the agency and actions of others. A missionary cannot baptize five persons this month without the agency and action of five other persons. A missionary can plan and work and do all within his or her power, but the desired result will depend upon the additional agency and action of others.
Consequently, a missionary’s goals ought to be based upon the missionary’s personal agency and action, not upon the agency or action of others. But this is not the time to elaborate on what I told the missionaries about goals. Instead I will share some other applications of the principle of timing, giving illustrations from our personal lives.
Because of things over which we have no control, we cannot plan and bring to pass everything we desire in our lives. Many important things will occur in our lives that we have not planned, and not all of them will be welcome. Even our most righteous desires may elude us or come in different ways or at different times than we have sought to plan.
For example, we cannot be sure that we will marry as soon as we desire. A marriage that is timely in our view may be our blessing or it may not. My wife Kristen is an example. She did not marry until many years after her mission and her graduation.
The timing of marriage is perhaps the best example of an extremely important event in our lives that is almost impossible to plan. Like other important mortal events that depend on the agency of others or the will and timing of the Lord, marriage cannot be anticipated or planned with certainty. We can and should work for and pray for our righteous desires, but despite this, many will remain single well beyond their desired time for marriage.
So what should be done in the meantime? Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ prepares us for whatever life brings. This kind of faith prepares us to deal with life’s opportunities—to take advantage of those that are received and to persist through the disappointments of those that are lost. In the exercise of that faith, we should commit ourselves to the priorities and standards we will follow on matters we do not control and persist faithfully in those commitments, whatever happens to us because of the agency of others or the timing of the Lord. When we do this, we will have a constancy in our lives that will give us direction and peace. Whatever the circumstances beyond our control, our commitments and standards can be constant.
The commitments and service of adult singles can anchor them through the difficult years of waiting for the right time and the right person. Their commitments and service can also inspire and strengthen others. Wise are those who make this commitment: I will put the Lord first in my life, and I will keep His commandments. The performance of that commitment is within everyone’s control. We can fulfill that commitment without regard to what others decide to do, and that commitment will anchor us no matter what timing the Lord directs for the most important events in our lives.
Do you see the difference between committing to what you will do, in contrast with trying to plan that you will be married by the time you graduate or that you will earn at least X amount of dollars on your first job?
If we have faith in God and if we are committed to the fundamentals of keeping His commandments and putting Him first in our lives, we do not need to plan every single event—even every important event—and we should not feel rejected or depressed if some things—even some very important things—do not happen at the time we had planned or hoped or prayed.
Commit yourself to put the Lord first in your life, keep His commandments, and do what the Lord’s servants ask you to do. Then your feet are on the pathway to eternal life. Then it does not matter whether you are called to be a bishop or a Relief Society president, whether you are married or single, or whether you die tomorrow. You do not know what will happen. Do your best on what is fundamental and personal and then trust in the Lord and His timing.
Life has some strange turns. I will share some personal experiences that illustrate this.
When I was a young man I thought I would serve a mission. I graduated from high school in June 1950. Thousands of miles away, one week after that high school graduation, a North Korean army crossed the 38th parallel, and our country was at war. I was 17 years old, but as a member of the Utah National Guard, I was soon under orders to prepare for mobilization and active service. Suddenly, for me and for many other young men of my generation, the full-time mission we had planned or hoped for was not to be.
Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of the state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
I had my 69th birthday two years ago and was vividly reminded of that important plan. If things had gone as we planned, I would have submitted papers to serve a mission with my wife June.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.
Faith and trust in the Lord give us the strength to accept and persist, whatever happens in our lives. I did not know why I received a “no” answer to my prayers for the recovery of my wife of many years, but the Lord gave me a witness that this was His will, and He gave me the strength to accept it. Two years after her death, I met the wonderful woman who is now my wife for eternity. And I know that this also was the will of the Lord.

Instead, I joined a neighborhood team with lots of friends. We had a great time the first year and were successful, but the second year the team struggled and sometimes lost focus on the game. I became frustrated. I put my best effort into every game, but we almost always lost.
After one very bad game, Coach Hashem, whose team was doing well, approached me on the soccer field. He asked me how things were going. I said, “Not so good.” I told him I missed my old teammates. Hashem coached with a great deal of skill and always seemed to get the most from his players.
“How would you like to be a guest player for our team when we go to the next tournament?” Hashem asked.
“I would really like that!” I responded excitedly.
“Great!” Hashem said, smiling. “I need to ask you one question though. Can you play on Sundays?” My stomach muscles tightened. I suddenly felt sick. I remembered what had happened that last time this question had been asked.
I looked at my mom. I looked at my dad. They too waited for my answer. I looked at Hashem.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t play on Sundays,” I said. “Will that make a difference?”
Hashem stood there for a moment. He had seen the expression of hope on my face fade quickly as I had answered his question.
“No, that’s OK,” Hashem responded. “We probably won’t get to the Sunday finals. We’d love to have you play with us.”
Soon I started practicing with Hashem’s team. The team played with a great deal of intensity, and they welcomed me back. I loved playing with them.
We didn’t win all of our games at the tournament, but we all tried our hardest, and we had a good time. Soon I became a permanent member of Hashem’s team. Though they knew I didn’t play on Sundays, they still appreciated me for what I added to the team on the other game days.

Last year my family moved from Utah to Oklahoma. On our first Sunday at church, I didn’t know anyone, and everything seemed strange. Even the building seemed strange because we met in the public library while a chapel was being built. At first I felt scared and out of place in Primary. I wondered if I’d ever belong. Then a good thing happened. Primary started with a song I had often sung in my old Primary. I felt a happy feeling inside, and I didn’t feel strange or different anymore. I sang the familiar words louder than usual. Some things might be different, but the songs were the same. They gave me comfort and helped me feel at home. I am grateful for Primary songs.Preston C., age 11, Oklahoma

One day when President M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023) was a junior in high school, his friend Nedra asked him, “Russ, why aren’t you going to seminary?”
At the time, President Ballard’s parents didn’t attend church. He went occasionally with good friends, but he didn’t go to seminary. So Nedra invited him, and the next day he arrived at 6:30 a.m. for early-morning seminary. From then on, he participated in seminary every day—even on cold, snowy winter mornings.
“The things I learned in seminary touched my heart,” President Ballard said. “My testimony grew as I learned more about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. This prepared me to serve my mission in England and to continue in a lifetime of service to the Lord and His Church.”
Nedra likely had no idea what would come of her simple invitation, but her example shows that opportunities are everywhere to share the light and joy that Jesus Christ and His gospel bring.

This is our little family the same month that I started grad school. We were young parents, my husband was serving as the bishop of our ward and working on a PhD himself.
How did the enabling power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ help me?
I stayed up late and got up early so that I could be a mom, a companion, a disciple, and a student. My husband and I made weekly date night a priority. And I began the habit of praying for efficiency! Every time I opened my computer, I started my work with a prayer for efficiency.
Do you think Heavenly Father wanted us to succeed? He did! And He blessed me with the gift of good health, with the gift of gratitude, with a patient and understanding family, and the gift of efficiency. And, through His enabling power, He will bless you too!

Such hopes make our lives interesting and can often lead to unusual, even superstitious behavior. For example, my father-in-law is a huge sports fan, but he is convinced if he doesn’t watch his favorite basketball team on television, they are more likely to win. When I was 12 years old, I insisted on wearing the same pair of unwashed socks to every Little League baseball game in the hopes of winning. My mother made me keep them on the back porch.

On the day I received my endowment, my family and I ran into a few obstacles before we got to the temple. But despite the challenges we had getting there, once I was inside I felt that nothing mattered but the sweet and peaceful feeling of joy that comes as we perform temple ordinances. One of the greatest feelings I had that day was, “I made it! I know this is where I am supposed to be.”
I knew in my heart that I’d done everything I could to be worthy and ready to receive what Heavenly Father had prepared for me. I could feel His love and His gratitude for my desire to follow Him and make and keep covenants so that I can return to live with Him someday.

If there is one thing that Elder Erich Willi Kopischke has gained a testimony of, it is that the Lord knows what is best for individuals.
He recalls being a little disappointed when called to serve a full-time mission in his native Germany. “I wanted to learn a different language,” he says. But he soon came to love teaching his own people. And when he was assigned to the mission office for nine months as a secretary, he had to learn English.
Elder Kopischke came to realize that his mission had truly been the Lord’s plan for him, because it had prepared him.
“The Lord knows your mission in life—that is my greatest testimony,” he says. “He knows what is in store for you.”

Evan and I created a great “hut” down in the rocks and sand of Ash Creek. That was a small tributary to the Virgin River in southern Utah. It was the perfect place for catching little blue-bellied racing lizards. When it came to catching those, Evan and I had no peers. That was one thing we could do better than even my two older brothers.
I did not know until we were about ten years old that Evan had been born with a heart defect. He had asthma and often coughed and wheezed from that, but it did not interfere with our play. One reason I did not know that his health problems were serious was that he never once complained.
All along, his parents had been waiting for him to reach an age when he was strong enough to survive surgery. Finally, the doctors felt that they could wait no longer, so off to Salt Lake went Evan and his parents.
He wrote to me saying that he had taken an advance tour of the hospital to see everything, including the operating and recovery rooms. The doctors wanted him to see them in detail, so that when he awoke, he would not be frightened. To me, it seemed that he took that all in stride.
Several days later Evan underwent eight or ten hours of major surgery. Unbelievably to me, he died on the operating table.
I was crushed. I had prayed faithfully and fervently that he would survive. I thought my prayers had gone unanswered. Brokenhearted, I went back to our river hut one last time after the funeral. I stayed only long enough to push some of the rocks aside and destroy the fort that we had built. I guess I thought if I could destroy what represented Evan, I could destroy the horrible feelings of grief that I was experiencing.
Later I would learn that those feelings were normal. I loved Evan. I would miss him. That is a natural instinct, and there is nothing wrong with it.
I thought about Evan every day for a month or so. Then I began to get busy with other friends, and soon I was just thinking about him every now and then. After about ten years, I found that I would go months at a time and never think of the closeness that we had shared. I noticed, however, that when I started thinking about him, all of the good feelings that I had felt with him so many times would come rushing back into my mind and heart.

Paul Hanks gripped the handle of his canvas duffel bag with a sweaty hand and listened to his mother repeat the instructions that she had been drilling into him all week.
“Now, your bus will get to Cheyenne in the middle of the night, and you’ll have to change bus stations there. Just go outside the depot, look across the street, and you’ll be able to see the other depot. Go over there and buy your ticket right away, even though you’ll probably have a couple of hours before your bus leaves, and—”
“You’ll get to Grandma and Grandpa’s in the middle of the morning!” Paul’s two little sisters, who had heard the speech as many times as he had, finished their mother’s sentence in shrill unison.
“Maybe you should send them, too, Rose,” Paul’s father said with a chuckle. “It’s just a bus trip. He’ll be fine.”
“Sure, Mom,” Paul reassured her. “I remember how the rest of us did it when Dad couldn’t go a couple years ago. I’ll be OK.” Then, thoughtfully, he added what he’d been thinking ever since he’d found out that he’d be going to Wyoming by himself for the summer. “You know, I wish I was going by covered wagon or pulling a handcart. All the challenges are gone now. I’m going to be doing in a few hours what the pioneers spent most of a summer doing—and some of them died in the effort.”
“No challenges!” his mother exclaimed. “I’m worried to death about turning a twelve-year-old boy over to an impersonal bus company, and you’re looking for challenges! I suppose you want to hunt buffalo too!”
Paul grinned. “Well, it might keep me from getting bored.”
Before he could continue, a big silver bus pulled up to the curb, and a voice over a loudspeaker announced that it was the bus to Cheyenne and that it was ready to board. Paul hurriedly hugged his sisters and father, gave his mother a quick kiss, and, hopping that he looked more confident than he felt, boarded the bus. As it pulled out of the depot, he waved from a window seat, then settled back to watch the prairie whiz by.
Paul was sound asleep when the bus reached Cheyenne, and the driver had to wake him. But Paul managed to retrieve the big suitcase that he had checked, and he struggled across the street with it and his duffel bag. He bought his ticket, checked his suitcase again, then bought some cookies and a can of pop from a vending machine. He was glad to go back to sleep again on the bus when he was finally headed north.
Paul was tired of sleeping, tired of sitting, and tired of reading, when the bus pulled into a small rural town in northern Wyoming at midmorning. He was glad to see Grandma and Grandpa Hanks waiting for him. They loaded Paul’s baggage into the back of a battered pickup and, amid lots of hugs and questions about his trip and the family, had him sit between them on the seat.
“We have one stop to make before we go home,” Grandpa told Paul. “If you’re going to be my best hand for the summer, you need some irrigation boots and a shovel.”
“That’s great,” Paul agreed. “I’d love to have my own shovel, but not those hot, heavy rubber boots. I brought a couple pairs of old sneakers. I’ll just use those.”
“But your feet will be wet and muddy all the time,” Grandma protested.
“Now you sound like Mom.” Paul grinned. “A little mud never hurt anyone.”
It was after lunch before Paul and Grandpa Hanks left the house to irrigate.
“You drive,” Grandpa told him as they neared the pickup.
“Me? Oh boy!” Paul climbed in proudly, then found it wasn’t as easy as it looked to work the clutch on the old pickup and back up smoothly. He killed the engine a time or two and jerked the pickup so much that Grandpa had to hold his hat with one hand and the dashboard with the other. Maybe it’s a good thing that the pioneers had horses, Paul thought.
“By the time your father was your age, he could drive everything on the place,” Grandpa said. “Why, I started him guiding the truck across the field while I fed hay to the cows off the back of it when he was only eight years old. When we got to the end of the field, he just turned off the ignition key and waited for me to turn the truck around and start us back. It was a proud day when he could reach the brake and the clutch pedals without getting off the seat and when he could shift gears without taking his eyes off the road. You turn here.”
Paul turned the pickup at the head of a grassy field and stopped beside the dam in the irrigation ditch.
“Whew!” he gasped. “That was fun. I’m too young to drive at home. I wish I could live in the country all the time.”
“We’ll see how you feel about that in a few weeks,” Grandpa replied. “Now let’s walk down the field and see if the water has run all the way through.”
Paul took his new shovel and followed Grandpa down the field. He helped reset the irrigation dam twenty rows from the last setting and learned to carefully shovel cutouts. They had to be just so—too deep, and the turbulent water would wash away the sides of the ditch; too shallow, and the feeble stream of water wouldn’t reach the end of the field. After only a few minutes of digging, the shovel handle had made blisters on Paul’s hands. He was hot and thirsty, and there were two more fields to irrigate before chore time. By the time they had finished irrigating, Paul could almost drive the pickup without it jerking.
Grandpa proudly pointed out the various crops that they passed: a new variety of field corn that was supposed to produce superior silage, a field of alfalfa for hay, a field of oats, and a small field of winter wheat. “Wheat for man, and corn for the ox, and oats for the horse,” Grandpa said, quoting the Word of Wisdom scripture that was familiar to Paul too.
“It’ll be a good crop,” Grandpa said, “if the irrigation water just holds out. We’ll have to make the most of what we have.” He pointed out one field where the water that ran through it would be used on the field below it. “Every drop counts.”
Besides irrigating, the chores that Paul was to help with included feeding a few pigs and a couple calves (Grandma tended the chickens), calling the saddle horses in from pasture for grain, watering the stock, and milking and feeding the milk cow. But when Grandpa saw Paul’s broken blisters, he decided to wait a few days to see if Paul remembered how to milk.
When Grandpa asked the blessing at suppertime, he said, “Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for this fine young man who has come to brighten our days and ease our way …”
That night as Paul settled onto the fluffy feather pillow and cool, smooth sheets with the moonlit tree-limb pattern on them, he decided that he had had enough challenges for one day.
In the next few days the blisters on his hands turned into calluses as Paul followed Grandpa and helped irrigate and rode horseback to move a dozen heifers to a different pasture. He carried heavy buckets for Grandma and still found plenty of time to watch the baby chicks and play with a litter of kittens.
On Saturday afternoon, when he and Grandpa went to make the second irrigation settings of the day, Paul counted the rows to where he thought he should move the dam.
“Not there,” Grandpa told him. “Go more than twice as far.” When he saw that Paul didn’t understand, he explained. “Tomorrow is Sunday. If we spread the water farther, it can run over twice as long. We can leave it safely until early Monday. We’ve labored our six days. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a day of rest.”
They were on the last field, setting long sets with small, shallow cutouts, when Paul heard a splash, a sickening snap, and a cry of pain. He turned in time to see Grandpa sliding in the mud with one leg in an unnatural position under him. Paul ran quickly to him. “Grandpa, are you all right?”
Grandpa grimaced and gasped in pain. “My leg is broken. You’ll have to go for help. Tell your grandma to call for the county ambulance—and don’t you let her get all upset! Tell her I’m going to be fine. Looks like you’ll have to do chores by yourself. Can you do it?”
Paul nodded.
“Now go—and be careful.”
Paul put his shovel over his shoulder and ran toward the pickup. At least we can call the paramedics, he thought. What would I have done on the prairie in a handcart company?

Paul hurried to the house and told Grandma to call the county ambulance. Then he did the chores by himself, just as Grandpa had asked. Later, after the ambulance had taken Grandpa to the hospital, Paul kept on helping Grandma with the work around the farm.

The next day was Sunday, and Paul went to church with Grandma. He thought about Grandpa’s broken leg and about all the work that had to be done on the ranch, and he realized that the “challenges” he had been wishing for had come after all. They were not the kind he had expected, but they were real enough.

When Grandpa came home from the hospital, Paul was waiting for him. “How is your leg?” he asked.
“It’ll heal,” Grandpa said. “And you did fine while I was gone.”
Paul smiled. “I guess the pioneers had challenges enough.”
Grandpa smiled back. “They sure did. And so do we. The important thing is to do what needs to be done.”
Paul nodded. He knew now that real challenges were not something to hunt for just to keep from getting bored. They were opportunities to serve and to grow.

(To be continued.)

President David O. McKay once taught:
"You know, I am afraid too many of us are like that Scotsman...who had lost his wife by death. His neighbor called on him to give comfort to him, saying what a good neighbor his wife had been, how thoughtful of others she had been, and what a good wife she had been to Jock, who was mourning her death. Jock answered: 'Aye, Tammas, Janet was a guid woman, a guid neighbor as you say...She was, aye, a guid true wifey tae me, and I cam' near tellin' her sae aince or twice.'[12]
We should be quick and sincere with words of love and comfort, commendation and appreciation.

One day a teacher of first and second graders took all the chairs out of the classroom. As the students arrived, they exclaimed, “What happened to our chairs?” The teacher was giving them a choice: “You can stand the rest of the school year or come to the shop, and we can make chairs.”
The students go to the school’s shop, and they build chairs using all the naïve assumptions they have about things like glue and screws. Some of the chairs won’t even make it back to the classroom before they fall apart. And none of those chairs will last more than a couple of days. Every time one of the chairs breaks, they pick it up and put it on a table and everyone scrutinizes it. Eventually, no one has a chair to sit on. The teacher says, “Let’s take another stab at this chair thing.” So they build the next generation of chairs. But this time the kids have learned a little bit about crossbars and supports. They’re also being much more precise. They’ve discovered that if the legs of a chair are different lengths, the chair tears itself apart. These second-generation pieces are much better chairs, but they’re not very comfortable.
The students go back to build a third chair. But by this time, they’ve learned more about different kinds of chairs. They’ve been to a furniture shop and seen chairs assembled. They’ve learned how to use dowels in building their chairs. They’ve also learned about using hardwoods instead of pine. While building their third-generation chair, they understand that you can’t just throw it together in one day. They’re doing overnight gluing and clamping operations. They have to think through the order of assembly so they can put the pieces together.
Now, these students have a piece of furniture that they understand every single part of and why it is the way it is.
This teacher took seven-year-olds through an iterative process that produced complete, thought-out, fine-tuned creations that were unique to each student. She gave them room to find a design that suited them. She gave them room to make mistakes. But she also gave them space to correct their mistakes in each succeeding iteration of the chair. At the end of the school year, the students took their chairs home. They’ll likely have them for the rest of their lives. But more importantly, they’ll have the skills they learned in making those chairs.

So, imagine wonder of these people who’ve just walked across the central plains of the United States of America on the mainland only two days after they’ve arrived, two days after they’re in the valley of the Great Salt Lake, President Brigham Young marched to a center site, stuck his cane in the ground and announced, “Here will be the Temple of our God.”[14] No one knew that it would take now nearly four million dollars in 19th-century currency[15] and 40 years to construct, but they did know what they had just been through in the Ohio, and Missouri, and Illinois.

Surely there must have been at least a few in the congregation who heard that announcement that day, and from the memory of those earlier experiences where it was simply too fresh and too painful, were feeling some resistance. “Why spend the time and the money, and the tears and the labor to build another temple that we’re going to have to abandon? Surely this is too much to ask. That’s all they knew and it’s what they expected. Surely their sacrifice was too great to ask after so much. Such a gesture can’t be this important to the Lord.”

I don’t know whether people actually said that or not. But I am guessing that they had to at least felt it and perhaps there were some who said it. We can’t know, but presuming that a few may have been so troubled and so weary, President Brigham Young anticipated that and said on that day on that spot:

“Some will inquire, ‘Do you suppose we will finish this temple, Brother Brigham!’ I have had such questions put to me already. My answer is, I do not know, and I do not care. . . I have never cared but for one thing, and that is, simply to know that I am now right before my Father in Heaven. If I am this moment, this day, doing the things God requires of my hands, and precisely where my Father in Heaven wants me to be, I care no more about tomorrow than though it never would come. I do not know where I shall be tomorrow, nor do I know when this temple will be done. . . .

“This I do know?there should be a temple built here. I do know it is the duty of this people to commence to build a temple.”[16]

We visited teenage mothers who had just given birth. One was a young girl of just 14 whose baby had been born dead. The sisters put their hands on her shoulders, comforted her, and gave her much wise advice. My eyes filled with tears as I watched these wonderful women of Zion who had laid aside their own problems, which were many, to give of what they had.
“Ye are … willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8).

A translator in the Philippines discovered another problem. He completed his translation of the Gospel of John, printed it, and gave some copies to the tribe he was with. Nobody liked it, and nobody read it. After some investigation, he found that the native language had two forms for stories, one for fiction and one for true stories. In his translation, he had used the fictional form. He redid the translation in the other form, and the new version was a success.

When a commercial came on the radio that started saying the Lord’s name in vain, my mom turned the station as quickly as she could. It bothered us a lot that they would use the Lord’s name in that way. We wrote a letter to the advertiser telling them we were offended about how they used the Lord’s name. They wrote back and apologized. Within a few days, the commercial was changed.
Gavin Z., age 7, California

Walter and Edith were serving a temple mission and had only a few months left when he became seriously ill with cancer and was bedridden for the first time in his life. During his illness, he reflected on his life. “He could see that he had accomplished much,” says Gloria, “but he also saw that he probably could have led a more balanced life. He softened at the end, in all of his suffering. The thing that made him happiest was that his family had strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Walter Spät died on 15 May 1989.