Gospel Story Finder

“Are these all yours?”
It’s a question I hear often, so it didn’t surprise me when I heard it from the lady behind me in line at the grocery store. I looked at my six-year-old and five-year-old daughters standing on either side of my full cart, my toddler happily swinging her legs from the seat in front, and my four-month-old baby strapped to my chest.
“Yes, they are all mine,” I said, smiling.
From the time my husband and I started our family, our choices about how many children to have and when to have them have often come into public question. The decision to have our first child was not a logical one, at least not according to the standards of the world. We were still in our early 20s. Having just recently graduated from college, my husband was searching for a “real job.” We had a meager income and no insurance. Still, the impression was undeniable that spirits eagerly waited to come to our family, so we proceeded with faith.
We were blessed with a healthy pregnancy, a beautiful baby girl, and a stable job with a career track. I was grateful to be able to stay at home with my daughter and the three children who followed. All were brought into our family after strong divine impressions that the time was right, but that didn’t make it easy to explain to others why we would have so many children so close together.
The many inquiries I unfailingly receive often question my judgment: “Why so many?” “Do you not realize how much it costs to raise a child to age 18?” “Can you really give each child the attention and opportunity he or she needs?” And, of course, “Are you done yet?”
I hope we’re not done, even though the years of parenting small children are intense and extremely challenging physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. There are days when children need to be fed, diapers need to be changed, babies need to be soothed, and noses need to be wiped—all at the same time. At such times I question my sanity and wonder if I know what I am doing. On those days the voice of the world seems to laugh in derision, as if to say, “Told you so!”
But how grateful I am during those moments for the teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the value it places on families. Every day I rely on gospel principles taught by prophets past and present to know that my work as a mother—and it is work—is the most important thing I could be doing in my life and is worth every effort. In answer to fervent prayer, I receive divine assistance daily to do what I am asked to do in my home. Through His tender mercies, a loving Father in Heaven allows those days of absolute exhaustion to come punctuated with moments of incandescent joy.
So to the woman at the grocery store and to others who wonder why I would devote my heart and soul to raising children, I proudly reply, “Yes, they are all mine—gratefully, whole-heartedly, and without hesitation!”

With so many boys in the family, the competition was sometimes less than brotherly. Chris and Matt, being close in age, suffered from it for a while. Anything Chris did, Matt tried to do better. It caused contention. Chris says, “Mom knew best. She had a talk with me. She said that God gave us all talents, and we can’t be better than someone else at everything. Then I realized that Matt has something in him that makes him better at some things. He has his talents, and I have mine. We need to share them and gain from each other and really enjoy watching each other do whatever. It might be soccer, band, sports, being outdoors, or giving service.”
When Chris watched Matt compete at state in the pole vault, the sport he had taught his younger brother, the disappointment at not being there himself lessened. He felt calm. “I was glad one of us made it and that it could be my brother.”

Eddie’s heart thumped with fear as the small group of Scouts huddled in the cold rain listening to instructions. They were told to fan out and search ravines, thickets, and the narrow creek for an elderly man who had wandered away from a nursing home early the day before.
Why do they call it a search party, Eddie wondered as he listened. A party is fun, but there’s nothing fun about this!
“The man is feeble and may have lost his coat and shoes by now,” the leader continued. “He could be lying somewhere too weak to call out for help. We’re working against time in such wet weather. That’s why we asked your troop to help. Let’s get started!”
The boys quickly fanned out as they had been told to do. At first they were careful to keep each other in sight, but as Eddie moved from side to side searching clumps of shrubs and waist-high weeds, he suddenly found himself alone.
Hiking a rugged trail with a group is fun, he thought as he struggled along, but this is hard work.
Sometimes there was a ditch on his right and a thicket on his left, and Eddie had to search both. With all the zigging and zagging, several holes had been snagged in his poncho, and his clothing felt wet and cold as it clung to his body. His pant legs were caked with mud, and each boot seemed to weigh five pounds.
Finally Eddie sat on a damp log to rest and clean his boots. At first he was just plain tired of the whole thing. Then he began to think about the old man who had been out in the storm for more than twenty-four hours. Suddenly Eddie was ashamed of thinking only about himself and hurrying to get the search over so he could go home where he would be warm and dry.
“I really didn’t look very carefully along the creek back there because of the thorns and mud,” he admitted to himself. Eddie shuddered at the thought that in his hurry he might not have seen the old man lying out in the storm.
Eddie shifted his pack, picked up a heavy stick to use as a staff, and started to backtrack along the slippery rocks that lined both sides of the narrow stream. His legs ached with fatigue as stones slipped and rolled under his muddy boots, but he was grateful for the support they gave his ankles. He wondered if the old man had good shoes or had left the home wearing only light slippers.
Now all the boy could think about was that someone was lost out in the storm. As he rounded a curve, there was a flash of red and his heart began to pound.
Racing on down the creek, he saw a man huddled under a rock ledge on the other side! Eddie’s first thought was to shout for help. But then he realized that, if startled, the man under the ledge might fall and be hurt or try to run away.
Suddenly Eddie remembered the owl hoot signals his troop had learned. Three hoots wouldn’t mean anything to the others, but they would bring one of the Scouts.
Climbing the slippery bank to the trail, Eddie backtracked a few hundred feet and signaled. There was no answer to the first two calls, but when his straining ears caught a faint answering “whoo” after the third call, he walked back to where he could watch the man and give low signals to guide the others to the spot.
The old man rolled over once. Then he sat up and listened to the owl calls.
Soon another mud-streaked Scout appeared in the ravine. Signaling him to remain silent, Eddie hurried down the slope as quietly as he could and explained that he had found the lost man.
“Hurry and bring help,” Eddie said, “but don’t start shouting for help until you’re far enough away so he won’t hear you. We’ll have to be careful not to scare him or he might try to run away.”
When he was alone again, Eddie crossed the creek and started toward the elderly man. Whistling and splashing along in the shallow water, he pretended to be surprised when he saw someone huddled on the overhanging ledge. “Hi!” he called. “Would you like to share my lunch?”
When Eddie took sandwiches and a thermos bottle out of his pack, he saw that hunger and eagerness replaced the fright in the faded blue eyes. But the old man remained silent as he reached out a trembling hand to accept the food and milk. Eddie took a blanket from his pack and draped it around the frail figure.
There was plenty of food, but Eddie had such a lump in his throat that he could hardly choke down even half of a sandwich. All he could think about was how he had almost gone on and left the poor old man.
“I went for a walk and got lost,” the man explained after he had finished eating. Then he pulled the blanket around himself like a tired child and fell asleep.
Almost before he knew it, Eddie was surrounded by other searchers who were eager to help. Soon the men in charge carried the old man away on a stretcher, and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief.
It was still storming and he was wet and cold and tired, but somehow Eddie felt so warm and good that it seemed almost as if the sun were shining!

I shall always remember the great experiences I had at the open house prior to the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple. For part of a week, I stood in the entrance to the temple as a host to special guests. Those guests included the wife of the president of the United States, justices of the Supreme Court, senators and congressmen, ambassadors from various nations, clergymen, educators, and business leaders.
Almost without exception, those who came were appreciative and respectful. Many were deeply touched in their hearts. Upon leaving the temple, the wife of the president of the United States commented: “This is a truly great experience for me. … It’s an inspiration to all.”

On my third day, I knew that decisions had to be made. I didn’t know what area of town would be suitable to live in, I didn’t know where to begin to look for work, and I didn’t know what to do with the children while I worked. I certainly could not pick out a name from an ad in the newspaper and feel safe about leaving the little ones with them. I only knew that if we stayed in the hotel much longer, my money would be gone and then I’d have worse problems.
I telephoned three different ministers of the particular church I had been associated with, and assured each that I was not asking for money, only advice. Each man asked me the same question: “Are you a member of our faith?” I answered honestly that I was so bitter and confused at the moment that I wasn’t sure what faith I had, if any. And each one of the three gave me the same response; they couldn’t help me because they had too many of their own people to take care of. My bitterness grew deeper, and I wondered where I could turn for help.
When I had left Hawaii, some friends saw us off. One of them happened to be an inactive Mormon, and when he said goodbye, he added, “If you ever get in a bind and need help, call my church. They’ll help you.”
I knew absolutely nothing of Mormons except that they had a fine Tabernacle Choir. I did not like the idea of begging for help, least of all help from some strange church that I’d never even visited; but I was desperate, and there seemed no other choice. In searching the telephone book, I found an endless number of Mormon churches and listings, so I picked one that was called a mission home. I thought that a mission home would be more apt to be compassionate. A young elder answered the phone, and I told him pretty much the same thing I had told the three ministers: that I did not need money, but I was in desperate need of advice. His reply was that he was quite new to the area and he himself could not help me, but if I would give him my name and phone number, he would have someone else call me. I hung up, half-suspecting never to hear from them again.
To my surprise, within ten minutes I received a call from a lovely lady who listened to my story and then agreed that I could use some assistance. She told me to get all my luggage together, call a taxi, and meet her in thirty minutes at the Berkeley bus terminal. After she described her car and what she would be wearing, she added, “By the way, are you a member of the Church?”
“Here it comes again,” I thought cynically, but into the phone I simply said, “No, I’m not.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, “I just wondered. See you in half an hour.”
I hurried my things together, cleaned up the children, checked out of the hotel, and headed for Berkeley. I was surprised, and a bit suspicious, at the woman’s willingness to help a total stranger, but at this point I was willing to take advantage of any offer.
Her first move was to treat us to lunch. Then I learned that she was the wife of a man named O. Leslie Stone, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy who was then the stake president there. She got us settled into a boarding house and promised to get me the names of some potential babysitters. All this, in spite of the fact that I emphasized to her my strong bitterness toward churches of any kind, and my intention to stay that way. I couldn’t get over it!
She didn’t seem to care that I was so antagonistic, nor did she try to convert me or criticize me. She even seemed to act as though I was doing her a favor by letting her help me. A Bible verse kept echoing through my mind: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” (John 13:35.)
Over the next few days, Sister Stone came every day. She did, indeed, find me a babysitter, a woman from her church. Also she helped me find and get moved into a small, furnished apartment, and she gave me the name of a man to see about a temporary job. Still she didn’t preach to me. It amazed me; and still that same scripture kept flitting in and out of my thoughts, “if ye have love one to another.”
In the apartment I rented, I found a small Mormon book entitled, Articles of Faith, by James E. Talmage. I never knew if Sister Stone secretly placed it there, or if it had been left by the former tenant. At any rate, I began reading it after the children were in bed at night; not because I was interested, but because there was nothing else to do.
During those first few weeks, not a Saturday went by that Sister Stone didn’t stop and ask if we would like to go to church with her on Sunday. When I would politely refuse, she never pushed the issue; but still she regularly asked. At the same time, I became more and more engrossed in the book. I had never heard of such things as I found in that book, though I had studied the Bible faithfully most of my life. Much of what I read I either wondered about or outright disagreed with, so I started jotting down notes of such items as I came across it.
One Saturday when Sister Stone came by, I still refused to go to church with her, but I did tell her that I had some questions about it, and that if she would send her pastor to talk to me I’d discuss them with him. In just a few days I was visited by a man named Marvin Turner and his wife, who said they were stake missionaries and had come to answer my questions. Almost defiantly I brought out my written questions, seven pages in all, and told them that if they could answer them I would listen to whatever they wanted to teach me. Brother Turner’s response was that he did not have all the answers, but he knew that through the Church he could find me logical, reasonable answers. Through the patience and tenderness of the Turners, I finally reached the time when I was willing to pray about the truthfulness of those things that they taught me. I consented to go to church with them. Some time later, I was baptized. However, when I moved to southern California, I lost track of my new friends. I remarried and had other children.
That was many years ago. Now I sit in sacrament meeting and watch while one of my sons passes the sacrament and another one blesses it; I watch the faith and testimonies of each of the children grow; and my thoughts turn toward people who have joined the church as a result of different ones spreading the gospel; and I think too of our kindred dead who have had their baptisms and endowments and sealings done through our genealogy work.
Ultimately my thoughts turn toward a gracious Sister Stone and a sharing, loving Turner family somewhere among the vast number of Saints who, I have no doubt, are still serving the Lord through loving and caring. I ask myself how I can ever repay those people who cared so much for someone so rebellious long ago. And the answer comes to me loud and clear: “Go, and do thou likewise.” (Luke 10:37.)

The young men working on the nature trail learned important design principles as they tried to clear away some of the undergrowth and trees so a person walking on the trail could see other foliage. At first when the nature trail crew looked at the solid wall of green before them, they came back to Brother Kamauoha and told him they did not know what to cut and what to leave.
“I told them this was their responsibility and I wasn’t doing their thinking for them. Then I asked them, ‘When you are in your fale (Samoan house) and the pola (woven blinds) are down, what do you do when you want to see out?’ And they said, ‘We move the pola aside so we can see.’
“After learning this principle, they cut away some of the trees and undergrowth and created beautiful natural windows where students could come and study the plant life or just walk and think.”

President Thomas S. Monson explained the gift of the Atonement by telling the story of a young boy who wanted to buy a bicycle.
Every year, the police department of a big city held an auction to sell all the lost or stolen bikes that had been found during the year. One year, almost 100 bikes were being sold. As the auctioneer started the auction, he noticed an 11-year-old boy sitting near the front of the room.
“One dollar!” the boy called out as the first bike went up for bid. But the bidding went much higher, and the bike was sold to someone else. “One dollar,” the boy repeated hopefully each time a bike came up. But each bike was sold for much more money than the boy had. The auctioneer watched as the boy tried over and over to buy a bike.
Finally, just one bike was left. The bidding went to eight dollars. Suddenly the auctioneer spoke up. “Sold to that boy over there for nine dollars!” he said. He took eight dollars from his own pocket and asked the boy for his one dollar.
The boy gave the auctioneer his dollar’s worth of pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. He took his new bike and started to leave. Then he parked his bike, gratefully threw his arms around the auctioneer’s neck, and cried.

When I was 10, my family had a big family reunion. We visited a place called Olvera Street in California, USA. My cousins and I walked around together and looked at everything. There were craft shops, places to eat, and lots of fun things to do. I stopped to watch a glass blower. He was creating all kinds of beautiful shapes.
After a while I looked around and couldn’t see any of my family! The more I searched, the more scared I became. I couldn’t even find a police officer to help me. I knew I had to do something. Then a thought came to my mind. I would pray to Heavenly Father.
I found a quiet place and asked Heavenly Father to help me. I asked to see someone from my family who would take me home. When I finished my prayer, I had a feeling that I should wait on the sidewalk. I waited for almost two hours!
Meanwhile, my family had all left. My parents weren’t worried because they thought I was with one of my uncles. My uncles weren’t worried either because they thought I was with my parents. When they counted everyone, they realized that someone was missing—me!
My dad got in the car and drove right back to Olvera Street. He looked all over for me. Finally he saw me waiting on the sidewalk. He stopped the car and gave me a great big hug.
I remember this very clearly—even though I was scared and afraid, in my heart I was peaceful and calm. I felt Heavenly Father’s comforting Spirit. I knew my dad would come. I knew Heavenly Father was watching and protecting me.

By then, plans were underway to divide the stake and President Doxey assigned me to acquire property for a new stake house. After careful study and prayer, we selected a 1.6 hectare site owned by two families in Hunter Sixth Ward. The bishop arranged for me to meet with each family. The first generously agreed to contribute the 0.8 hectares. When I met the other couple, the husband, a convert of about a year, began: “I know why you’ve called us in.”
He had had a dream the previous night that he had been called to come to this same office. All of the same people were there. I had explained that his neighbor had agreed to contribute 0.8 hectares for a stake house and invited him to do the same. He woke his wife, told her the dream, fell asleep again, dreamed the same dream a second time, again woke his wife and told her the dream, fell asleep a third time, dreamed the same dream a third time and for a third time, woke his wife. With feeling, she said, “Tell him the Church can have the 0.8 hectares and go back to sleep!”
A new stake center has now been built on this ideal site.

Many years later this boy again visited the Islands in the company of a member of the Presiding Bishopric, Bishop Charles W. Nibley, who later became a member of the First Presidency. As they landed in the harbor at Honolulu, many native Saints greeted them. They brought lots of leis and all kinds of beautiful native flowers. Both of them were loaded with leis upon leis. The young man, who was now an old man, had more than anyone else. A great Hawaiian band was playing a welcome to them and even played Mormon music.
Then Bishop Nibley explained in his journal one touching little incident:
“It was a beautiful sight to see the deep-seated love, the even tearful affection, that these people had for him. In the midst of it all I noticed a poor, old blind woman tottering under the weight of about ninety years, being led in. She had a few choice bananas in her hand. It was her all—her offering. She was calling, ‘Iosepa, Iosepa!’ [means ‘Joseph, Joseph!’] Instantly, when he saw her, he ran to her and clasped her in his arms, hugged her, and kissed her over and over again, patting her on the head saying, ‘Mama, Mama, my dear old Mama!’ And with tears streaming down his cheeks he turned to me and said, ‘Charley, she nursed me when I was a boy, sick and without anyone to care for me. She took me in and was a mother to me!’”
Bishop Nibley continued:
“O, it was touching—it was pathetic. It was beautiful to see the great, noble soul in loving, tender remembrance of kindness extended to him, more than fifty years before; and the poor old soul who had brought her loving offering—a few bananas—it was all she had—to put into the hand of her loved Iosepa” (Life of Joseph F. Smith, pp. 185–86).

The years 1998 and 1999 were a period of somber events in the Congo. I fled my village because of war and spent more than seven months traveling in the wilderness with a group from my village. We had no way to return home.
Every evening our group prayed and sang together, and each person took a turn suggesting a hymn. When it was my turn, I suggested “How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85). Even though no one else knew this hymn, I felt that it answered our concerns exactly.
I sang “How Firm a Foundation” many times in those seven months. It comforted me in my moments of isolation and suffering when life was so difficult with sickness and famine in the wilderness. I sang it alone, but the words and music penetrated the ears and hearts of the others: “In ev’ry condition—in sickness, in health, / In poverty’s vale or abounding in wealth, / At home or abroad, on the land or the sea— / As thy days may demand, … so thy succor shall be.” Because of these words, others told me they wanted to learn more about the Church.
One of the men in our group was the leader of a church in our country. After we returned to our village, this brother told me he wanted to find out more about the gospel. I responded to him, following the example set by Alma in Mosiah 18 (see Mosiah 18:8–10). In the end he joined the Church.
The hymn “How Firm a Foundation” touched my soul and brought me great joy and comfort while I was in the wilderness, and it brings me joy today knowing that it helped a good brother to join the Church.
Thierry Alexis Toko, Republic of Congo

Consider this example: Brother Evans was surprised when he was prompted to stop his car and knock on an unknown door of an unknown family. When a widowed mother of over 10 answered the door, their difficult circumstances and great needs became readily apparent to him. The first was simple, paint for their home, which was followed by many years of temporal and spiritual ministering to this family.
This thankful mother later wrote of her heaven-sent friend: “You have spent your life reaching out to the least of us. How I would love to hear the things the Lord has to say to you as He expresses His appreciation for the good you have done financially and spiritually for the people that only you and He will ever know about. Thank you for blessing us in so many ways, … for the missionaries you provided for. … I often wonder if the Lord picked on you exclusively or if you were just the one who listened.”

Wyoming can be a cold and snowy place in the wintertime. That’s why one troop decided to make snowshoes. During the fall they were looking ahead to the Klondike derby coming up in January. They wanted an activity that could prepare them for winter camping.
Under the direction of their Scoutmaster and deacons quorum adviser, the young men went online to find a pattern and instructions for making snowshoes out of rawhide and wood. “We realized this project was going to take a long time,” says Sam F., deacons quorum president, “but we were all excited, and we had a plan.”
By January, the snowshoes were finished and each young man had a pair to use during the Klondike derby. Aiden H. said what they all felt about making snowshoes: “It was fun because we got to use them!”
“We learned a lot about enduring to the end on a project and about strengthening our quorum through Scouting,” Sam says. “My snowshoes will last a long time, and whenever I see them I’ll remember this experience, as well as the great friends we made in our troop and quorum.”

Many years ago in the country of Norway, a young widow with two small sons sent a pair of shoes to a shoemaker for repairs. When the mended shoes were returned, the mother was surprised to find a religious tract tucked into each shoe. Shortly thereafter, curious about the tracts, and with a parcel containing another pair of old shoes, she set forth for the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop.
After concluding her business with the shoemaker, she hesitated briefly with her hand on the door latch, wanting, yet reluctant, to ask about the tracts. As she paused, the shoemaker said, “‘You may be surprised to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes.’
“‘What can you, a shoemaker, give me better than soles for my son’s shoes? You speak in riddles,’ she answered.”
The man “did not hesitate. ‘If you will but listen, I can teach you the Lord’s true plan of salvation for His children. I can teach you how to find happiness in this life, and to prepare for eternal joy in the life to come. I can tell you whence you came, why you are upon earth, and where you will go after death. I can teach you as you have never known it before, the love of God for His children on earth.’”
The words pierced the heart of Anna Widtsoe, whose husband, John Andersen Widtsoe, had died unexpectedly just a year before. Her oldest son, John Andreas, was six years old, and her second son, Osborne, was just two months of age. At the burial service the young widow “and her oldest son stood by the open grave while the cold words of the church funeral service were spoken, ‘Dust thou art, to dust returnest,’ with no promise of a future meeting in a happier place than man’s earth.”
Her life had since been lonely, and she was filled with many unanswered spiritual questions which her own religion had failed to satisfy. She asked the shoemaker a simple question: “‘Who are you?’” He answered: “‘I am a member of the Church of Christ—we are called Mormons. We have the truth of God.’”
As repaired shoes were returned there was always a new tract, and her curiosity finally caused her to attend a Mormon meeting. Anna Widtsoe was an intelligent woman. She “knew her Bible. Time upon time she [attempted] to vanquish the elders, only to meet defeat herself.” She insisted on debating and discussing the points of doctrine she questioned; and finally, unwillingly, yet prayerfully, she became convinced that she was in the presence of eternal truth.
“At length, on 1 April 1881, a little more than two years after she first heard of the Gospel, she was baptized into the Church. … Thin ice still lay over the edges of the fjord, which had to be broken to permit the [baptism]. The water was icy cold yet she declared to her dying day that never before in all her life had she felt warmer or more comfortable than when she came out of the baptismal waters of old Trondheim’s fjord. The fire within was kindled, never to be extinguished.”
This account is taken from a book titled In the Gospel Net (Salt Lake City: Improvement Era, 1942, pp. 47, 53–57), written by Elder John A. Widtsoe, Anna’s eldest son, who later became an Apostle and member of the Council of the Twelve in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

On a crisp autumn Saturday, I went to spend a day with my grandfather. He lives in a small town, in a small house on Sixth Street.
There are a lot of things I like about Grandfather, especially his twinkly eyes and merry laugh. He has an interesting house, and he tells the best stories. I like to have him all to myself sometimes. I was really happy to spend that day with him all alone.
He had called on the telephone and asked if I could come help him do something special. Mom and Dad said I could. They always let me go to Grandfather’s when he has something special to do. I get to help him with all sorts of things. I like to help out!
On this particular Saturday, my mom dropped me off at his house in the morning. He welcomed me, and we waved good-bye to Mom. Then he told me in a cheerful voice, "Grandson, today you are going to help me build a bridge—one that’s been wanted on both sides of it for a long time. Does that sound OK to you?"
"Oh yes! I like to build things!"
"Good!" he said, and we went into his house.
Well, the more I thought about it, the more excited I became! I imagined myself erecting a great bridge that would span a raging river or a gorge of great depths. Then the thought popped into my mind that there were no rivers around. In fact, there weren’t any gorges or even ravines around. So I asked, "Where are we going to build our bridge, Grandfather?"
"Not very far away."
"But there isn’t any place to put a bridge, is there?"
He just looked at me and said, "You’d be surprised, Grandson!"
Sometimes he says things like that, and I don’t understand what he means. But Grandfather is wise, and I believe him when he tells me things.
"Will we need tools, Grandfather?"
"Indeed we will! I think we should go get them right away. Follow me!"
He led me to a tiny shed behind his house. He took a key out of a pocket in his overalls and unlocked the door. We stepped inside, and it was very dark. When he turned on a single light bulb, the shed seemed sort of yellow and gray and fuzzy combined.
"Now, let’s see." Grandfather began rummaging through the clutter. "Here, Grandson, hold these!" He handed me two pairs of gloves.
Yes, I thought, we will certainly need gloves when we are building our bridge!
"And, of course, we will need these." Grandfather handed me two big metal buckets.
As he handed them to me, I accidentally dropped them. Clang! Clang! Clong! Oh, they made a dreadfully loud noise! I picked them up and tried to be more careful when Grandfather handed me a garden rake.
"What will we need this for?" I asked him.
"Oh, that’s a most important tool!" he exclaimed. He smiled at me and said, "Come, my wondering grandson. Let’s go build our bridge."
"But we don’t have any wood!"
"We won’t need any," he said.
"We don’t have a hammer and nails, either."
"We’ll not be needing any of those things. Come, young man. Let’s go build that bridge."
Grandfather walked out of the shed and into the cool, clean morning air. I followed him, still wondering how on earth we were going to build a bridge without supplies.
Soon I discovered that we were in the neighbor’s yard. I remembered the yard well, and I did not want to be there one bit! It was old Mr. Jenkins’s yard. I thought back to last year at Thanksgiving time. My whole family was at Grandfather’s, and after the meal, we children played behind the house.
During an exciting game of hide-and-seek, some of us had gone into Mr. Jenkins’s yard to hide. His house looked empty and lonesome, and we were sure that nobody was home. But he came out, waving his cane in the air and shouting for us to leave! He even called me a scalawag!
"Grandfather," I asked now, "why are we in this yard?"
"Why, this is where we will build our bridge!" When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he said, "Do you trust me, Grandson?"
"Yes," I answered.
"And if I ask you to do something, will you do it?"
"I will, Grandfather."
"Good!" He handed me a pair of gloves and asked me to go down to Mr. Jenkins’s big garden. "Do you see those pumpkins?"
Of course I saw them! There were lots of bright orange pumpkins scattered all over the ground, surrounded by their withered vines from the last frost.
"I would like you to pick them and put them in a pile over by the house. Be very careful, and don’t carry them by the stems!"
"OK, Grandfather." I went to the task. I had never seen so many pumpkins! Some of them were skinny and tall. Others were round and fat. They were all heavy! I worked very hard for a long time. After I got that done, Grandfather asked me to rake the fallen leaves in the yard.
I told him I would, but when I looked around, I was stunned! There must have been thousands of leaves surrounding me! The huge cottonwood trees in the backyard had certainly had a lot of leaves that year! It took me two hours to rake them. All the while, I kept thinking, Maybe when I’m done with this, we will build a bridge.
Grandfather was busy too. He had brought a shovel, and he dug up all the potatoes in the garden, put them into the buckets, and carried them to the porch. When he noticed that one of the stairs leading to the porch was sagging, he set to fixing it. Then he helped me bag the leaves.
Well, when we were finished with Mr. Jenkins’s yard and garden, it looked great! It felt nice to look at it and see what a good job we had done. I knew Mr. Jenkins saw what a good job we had done, too, because once I saw him peeking through a window—and he wasn’t scowling!
By this time, I felt hungry. I was glad when Grandfather said, "How would you like it if we went home now and made some of my famous potato soup?"
"Hurrah! I love your potato soup!"
We went into the house and made a great big batch of it. And as we were cooking it, I thought that maybe after lunch we would start building that bridge.
The soup was delicious, and we had a fun time eating and talking. Grandfather told me interesting stories that made me laugh. When we were all done, there was a lot of soup left. Grandfather put it in a big bowl and said, "Now, Grandson, I want you to take this over to Mr. Jenkins."
"What?" I exclaimed. "I can’t do that! He’s mean, and he doesn’t like me."
Grandfather just looked me in the eyes and said, "Please."
So I got all my courage together and walked over to Mr. Jenkins’s front door with a bowl of warm soup in my hands. I rang the doorbell and waited a long time. Finally he came to the door. He had a broken leg and was on crutches!
"Hello, young man," he said. He didn’t look mean at all—in fact, he even smiled at me!
"My grandfather asked me to bring this over to you."
"I thank you for it. Tell me, could you carry it just a wee bit farther and put it on my table?"
"Sure." As I walked through the house, I noticed that it was very messy. I suspected that he couldn’t get around well enough to take care of it. I put the soup on the table and told him I had to go. As I was leaving, I thought I saw tears in his eyes.
"Young man, you don’t know what you and your grandfather did today means to me! Thank you, from the bottom of a cranky old man’s heart!"
I smiled big and said, "You’re welcome!" Then I went back to Grandfather’s house. When I told him what had happened, he seemed very pleased. Then I asked him if we could build our bridge.
"Why, Grandson, we have already built it!"
"We have? Really?"
"Yes indeed! We built a very wonderful bridge today: the bridge of friendship, my boy. Mr. Jenkins may be a cranky old fellow sometimes, but as you could see, he needed some help. And he was glad to get it. All it took to warm his old heart was just being a good neighbor and friend. Our helping him showed him that we were his friends. Building bridges between people and making friends is one of the strongest bridges we could ever build!"
Well, it took me a minute to understand what Grandfather had said. But once I realized that we actually had built a bridge, I couldn’t help but smile. Then I remembered how Mr. Jenkins’s house was so messy, and it gave me a great idea. "Grandfather? Do you think we could add a little bit to that bridge today?"
Grandfather smiled, winked at me, and said, "Yes, Grandson, I believe we could!"

On October 3, 1918, Joseph sat in his room, reflecting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the redemption of the world. He opened his New Testament to 1 Peter and read about the Savior preaching to the spirits in the spirit world. “For this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead,” he read, “that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.”
As he pondered the scriptures, the prophet felt the Spirit descend upon him, opening his eyes of understanding. He saw multitudes of the dead in the spirit world. Righteous women and men who had died before the Savior’s mortal ministry were joyfully waiting for His advent there to declare their liberation from the bands of death.
The Savior appeared to the multitude, and the righteous spirits rejoiced in their redemption. They knelt before Him, acknowledging Him as their Savior and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell. Their countenances shone as light from the presence of the Lord radiated around them. They sang praises to His name.3
As Joseph marveled at the vision, he again reflected on the words of Peter. The host of disobedient spirits was far greater than the host of righteous spirits. How could the Savior, during His brief visit to the spirit world, possibly preach His gospel to all of them?4
Joseph’s eyes were then opened again, and he understood that the Savior did not go in person to the disobedient spirits. Rather, he organized the righteous spirits, appointing messengers and commissioning them to carry the gospel message to the spirits in darkness. In this way, all people who died in transgression or without a knowledge of the truth could learn about faith in God, repentance, vicarious baptism for the remission of sin, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all other essential principles of the gospel.
Gazing upon the vast congregation of righteous spirits, Joseph saw Adam and his sons Abel and Seth. He beheld Eve standing with her faithful daughters who had worshipped God throughout the ages. Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses were also there, along with Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and other prophets from the Old Testament and Book of Mormon. So too was the prophet Malachi, who prophesied that Elijah would come to plant the promises made to the fathers in the hearts of the children, preparing the way for temple work and the redemption of the dead in the latter days.5
Joseph F. Smith also saw Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and others who had laid the foundation of the Restoration. Among them was his martyred father, Hyrum Smith, whose face he had not seen in seventy-four years. They were some of the noble and great spirits who had been chosen before mortality to come forth in the latter days and labor for the salvation of all God’s children.
The prophet then perceived that the faithful elders of this dispensation would continue their labor in the next life by preaching the gospel to the spirits who were in darkness and under the bondage of sin.
“The dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God,” he observed, “and after they have paid the penalty of their transgressions, and are washed clean, shall receive a reward according to their works, for they are heirs of salvation.”6
When the vision closed, Joseph pondered all that he had seen. The next morning, he surprised the Saints by attending the first session of the October general conference despite his poor health. Determined to speak to the congregation, he stood unsteadily at the pulpit, his large frame shaking from the effort. “For more than seventy years I have been a worker in this cause with your fathers and progenitors,” he said, “and my heart is just as firmly set with you today as it ever has been.”7
Lacking the strength to speak of his vision without being overcome by emotion, he merely alluded to it. “I have not lived alone these five months,” he told the congregation. “I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith, and of determination, and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
“It is a happy meeting this morning for me,” he said. “God Almighty bless you.”8

Recently I read of an experience that touched me deeply. It took place at the USA Masters Track and Field National Championship—a competition for seniors.
One of the participants in the 1,500-meter event was 100-year-old Orville Rogers. The author writes:
“When the starter pistol fired, the runners took off, with Orville settling immediately into last place, where he remained alone for the entire race, shuffling along very slowly. [When] the last runner besides Orville finished, Orville still had two and a half laps to go. Nearly 3,000 spectators sat quietly watching him slowly make his way around the track—completely, silently, and uncomfortably alone.
“[But] when he began his final lap, the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and applauding. By the time he hit the homestretch, the crowd was roaring. With the cheering encouragement of thousands of spectators, Orville called on his last reserves of energy. The crowd erupted with delight as he crossed the finish line and was embraced by his competitors. Orville humbly and gratefully waved to the crowd and walked off the track with his new friends.”
This was Orville’s fifth race of the competition, and in each of the other events, he had also taken last place. Some might have been tempted to judge Orville, thinking that he shouldn’t have even competed at his age—that he didn’t belong on the track because he greatly prolonged his events for everyone else.
But even though he always finished last, Orville broke five world records that day. No one watching him race would have believed that possible, but neither the spectators nor his competitors were the judges. Orville didn’t break any rules, and the officials didn’t lower any standards. He ran the same race and fulfilled the same requirements as all the other competitors. But his degree of difficulty—in this case, his age and limited physical capacity—was factored in by placing him in the 100-plus age division. And in that division, he broke five world records.
On the last lap of the race, the crowd overwhelmingly cheered Orville on, giving him the strength to keep going. It didn’t matter that he finished last. For the participants and the crowd, this was about far more than a competition. In many ways, this was a beautiful example of the Savior’s love in action. When Orville finished, they all rejoiced together.

Just about everybody at the Air Force Academy knows who Jake Oldham is. It’s hard not to.
Jake was the Top Graduate, number one in his class for combined academic, athletic, and military scores. In his four years at the academy, with a double major in premedicine and mechanical engineering, he maintained a 3.969 grade-point average.
Jake earned a spot in the drum and bugle corps. He was number one at the academy in his weight division in boxing and placed third at nationals. And he was one of four group commanders (a leader of 1,000 cadets). No wonder he got a standing ovation at the awards ceremony.
Jake spent graduation week meeting generals and VIPs. His photo was on the front page of the Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph. He sat in the first chair of 916 chairs at graduation. His name was added to the 100-year honor roll.
Despite all these accolades, Jake earned a reputation as a modest, polite young man. “He always showed a profound respect for others,” said John Hasler, director of the Colorado Springs LDS Institute. “He always stood up when you entered the room. He always shook your hand and looked you in the eyes. It was more than just being polite. He made each person feel important.” One military officer described him as “a perfect poster boy for the Air Force Academy.”
Jake graduated in May 1996. He is now studying medicine at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, on his way to becoming a military doctor.
That’s quite a list of accomplishments, particularly for someone who once resigned from the academy with no guarantee he’d be allowed to return. A lot of people at the academy know that story about Jake Oldham, too.
Jake accepted a call from the Lord, signed by a living prophet, to serve full-time in the Japan Sapporo Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That meant resigning, leaving the lofty realms of the academy for the even higher heights of the mission field.
“I prayed about it a lot,” says Jake, who comes from Kaysville, Utah. “I knew it was what I needed to do. Some things are important enough that, no matter how difficult, they are worth doing.
“And my mission was a great experience. I have never spent two years, even at the academy, so focused on one thing—learning the gospel and teaching it.
“My mission not only gave me an opportunity to love the Japanese people and to share the gospel with them, but it also did a lot to help me understand myself and to strengthen my testimony.”
As his two-year mission came to a close, however, Jake had to face the reality that he might not be reappointed to the place cadets call “the hill.” “I had to apply all over again, compete with a new group of potential appointees, and try to communicate with the admissions officers clear from Japan. I was a bit apprehensive,” Jake explains.
Even though the process is tough, he was greeted with open arms. “I discovered that the academy is learning to respect returned missionaries. We come back as better leaders, better people, just better officer-candidates all-around. The things they teach us in the mission field about loving and helping people—those are traits that make anybody a better person.”

I learned the gospel from the full-time missionaries and was baptized at age 17 in 1972. Three years later, as an organist, I was at the Budokan arena in Tokyo when President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) announced the construction of the Tokyo Japan Temple.

After the temple was dedicated in 1980, I commuted from Sendai to the temple every month. I would leave work Friday evenings to attend the temple the next day. My desire to attend the temple grew stronger, so I moved to Tokyo in 1981.

On 10 January 1969, my life abruptly changed. I certainly hadn’t intended to make any changes. I was not active in the Church and was a heavy smoker and drinker; in fact, I had reached the point where I felt unable to function without alcohol. I enjoyed the companionship of my drinking buddies, and the alcohol numbed my senses, making it seem easier to deal with life’s challenges.
But on that January day I did some quick reevaluation of my life. At work I was removing the rind from slabs of bacon with a five-inch boring knife and accidentally sliced a deep cut in my thigh. I started for the door, trying to remove my belt and cutting tools, and fainted before doing either. Co-workers carried me out to the loading dock, placed me in the company truck, and sped off to the hospital. I was losing a great deal of blood, and one man rode in back with me, applying constant pressure to the cut.
Midway to the hospital, we passed over a rough section of railroad tracks, and he was thrown down. By the time he regained his footing and could assist me again, we were both sure I was going to die. Although I was alert, I became extremely cold. I felt and saw a blackness settle over me, and I became very frightened.
I’m dying, I realized. I thought of my wife and children. I can’t die now. I have too much to do.
Right then I determined that if I were spared, I would repent and set my life in order. Immediately the cold I felt was replaced by a satisfying warmth in my body. The darkness fled, and I drifted into sleep. I later learned that more than once I came close to dying on the operation table, yet the doctors were able to save me and my leg.
When I awoke that night, I saw the moon shining through the window. I wept as I thought of my second chance. I felt a strong desire to pray—a foreign feeling to me. I couldn’t kneel, but I poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. I thanked him for all he had given me and for his patience and mercy.
With the help of a supportive wife and an outstanding bishop, I began making changes I’d never imagined I would make. After being released from the hospital, I attended church with my family. I studied the scriptures and read other Church books as well.
I was ordained a priest and then an elder. Eventually our family went to the temple, where we were sealed for time and eternity.
Other blessings followed. My wife, who had battled with cancer, rheumatic fever, and several other debilitating health problems, felt better than she had felt in years. I had suffered from a hearing loss for most of my life. After much fasting and prayer, I underwent surgery that restored most of my hearing.
My whole life became more peaceful, more enjoyable, more worthwhile. The more I learned and grew, the more I prayed, thanking God for the most fortunate accident of my life.