Gospel Story Finder

Sister Nichole Franklyn, Relief Society president in the Kingstown Branch, recalls, “We started a kitchen garden. We were happy, but it took a lot of work. We prayed each night over the crops, and Heavenly Father heard our prayers and blessed them.” Their simple garden has grown and is producing.
Not all the produce in their garden is ready to harvest, but they are reaping cucumbers and sweet peppers. They were worried that the ash fall would ruin their garden as it has much of the agriculture on the island. “Many crops have been completely wiped out, but God has spared ours. We were able to reap cucumbers. Right now, we can sell our cucumbers for five dollars per pound, but we opted to share with three shelters,” Sister Franklyn said.
Sister Franklyn is grateful for the blessings that her garden has brought to her family and to those in the shelters. “The Lord watches out for His children and provides when we are able to follow His teachings through our leaders,” she said. “It really feels good to give rather than to receive at this time.”

One from pioneer times who exemplified the charge heard this evening to be steadfast and immovable and who filled her mind, heart, and soul with truth was Catherine Curtis Spencer. Her husband, Orson Spencer, was a sensitive, well-educated man. She had been reared in Boston and was cultured and refined. She had six children. Her delicate health declined from exposure and from the hardships encountered after leaving Nauvoo. Elder Spencer wrote to her parents and asked if she could return to live with them while he established a home for her in the West. Their reply: “Let her renounce her degrading faith, and she can come back—but never until she does.”

Sister Spencer would not renounce her faith. When her parents’ letter was read to her, she asked her husband to get his Bible and read to her from the book of Ruth as follows: “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”

Outside the storm raged, the wagon covers leaked, and friends held milk pans over Sister Spencer’s head to keep her dry. In these conditions and without a word of complaint, she closed her eyes for the last time.

One of these small acts of kindness was performed by Sister Lucy Carr, and led to my first contact with the Church. Sister Carr, a pioneer of the gospel in South Africa, was a schoolteacher at a primary school where my sister Carol also taught. One day, Sister Carr gave Carol a copy of a Church-produced magazine called The Friend, recommending that it had some good stories for Carol to read to her grade 1 class. She accepted the magazine and followed Sister Carr’s recommendation.

Carol then noticed it was a magazine published by a church and asked Sister Carr a few questions about it and the Church. Over a short period, the questions continued. When the time was right, Sister Carr asked Carol if she would be interested in having the full-time missionaries visit her and answer more questions. Carol agreed and as a result, joined the Church in 1971.

Sister Lucy Carr—for taking that step of sharing the gospel in a normal and natural way with my sister Carol, which led to my baptism and conversion.

Many years ago, I observed a heartbreak—which became a tragedy. A young couple was nearing the delivery of their first child. Their lives were filled with the anticipation and excitement of this monumental experience. During the delivery, complications arose and the baby died. Heartbreak turned to grief, grief turned to anger, anger turned to blame, and blame turned to revenge toward the doctor, whom they held fully responsible. Parents and other family members became heavily involved, together seeking to ruin the reputation and the career of the physician. As weeks and then months of acrimony consumed the family, their bitterness was extended to the Lord. “How could He allow this horrible thing to occur?” They rejected the repeated efforts of Church leaders and members to spiritually and emotionally comfort them and, in time, disassociated themselves from the Church. Four generations of the family have now been affected. Where once there were faith and devotion to the Lord and His Church, there has been no spiritual activity by any family member for decades.
In the most difficult circumstances of life, there is often only one source of peace. The Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ, extends His grace with the invitation “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). He further promises, “My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you” (John 14:27).
My paternal grandparents had two children, a son (my father) and a daughter. After serving a mission and military service in Hawaii, my father returned to the islands in 1946 to establish himself professionally and raise his family. His parents lived in Salt Lake City, as did his sister. She married in 1946 and four years later was expecting a child. There is something very special for parents to anticipate a daughter (in this instance an only daughter) giving birth for the first time. No one knew that she was carrying twins. Sadly, she and the twins all died during childbirth.
My grandparents were heartbroken. Their grief, however, immediately turned them to the Lord and His Atonement. Without dwelling on why this could happen and who might be to blame, they focused on living a righteous life. My grandparents never had wealth; they were never among the socially elite; they never held high position in the Church—they were simply devoted Latter-day Saints.
After retiring professionally in 1956, they moved to Hawaii to be with their only posterity. The ensuing decades found them loving their family and serving in the Church, and mostly they just enjoyed being together. They never liked being apart and even spoke of whoever died first finding a way to help them reunite soon. Nearing their 90th birthdays and after 65 years of marriage, they passed away within hours of each other by natural causes. As their bishop, I conducted their double funeral.
The faithfulness of Grandpa Art and Grandma Lou, especially when faced with difficulty, has now influenced four generations that have followed. Directly and profoundly, it affected their son (my father) and my mother when my parents’ own daughter, their youngest child, died due to complications caused by giving birth. At 34 years of age, she passed away 10 days after childbirth, leaving 4 children, 10 days to 8 years old. With the example that they had seen in the previous generation, my parents—without hesitation—turned to the Lord for solace.

When I was a young boy, my parents received a gift that became fascinating to my younger brother David and me. The gift was a miniature model of the golden plates the Prophet Joseph Smith received from the angel Moroni. As I recall, the model plates had 10 or so metal pages with words written on them. However, those pages weren’t what caught our attention.
We had been raised hearing the stories of the Restoration. We knew of and had sung in Primary about golden plates hidden deep in a mountainside and delivered by the angel Moroni to Joseph Smith. As the curiosity of our young minds stirred, there was one thing we really wanted to see: what was written on the small section of the model plates securely sealed with two small metal bands?
The plates sat on an end table for several days before our curiosity got the best of us. Although we clearly understood that these were not the actual plates Moroni had delivered, we wanted to view the sealed portion. So on several occasions, my brother and I tried using butter knives, old spoons, and anything else we could imagine to pry apart the sealed portion of the plates just enough to see what they contained—but not enough to break the small bands. We were at least smart enough not to leave a trace of our mischievous boyhood curiosity. To our disappointment and frustration, these attempts to “pry at the plates” were always unsuccessful.
I still don’t know what—if anything—was hidden under that sealed portion. But the embarrassing part of our story is that to this day, I have no idea what was written on the portion of the metal pages that was meant to be read. I can only imagine that these pages contained stories of the Restoration and testimonies of Joseph Smith and the Three and Eight Witnesses, who saw the actual plates Moroni delivered.
Knowing the diligent nature of my younger brother, I imagine it very likely that he read all the words written on the model plates in our parents’ home. I, however, ignored those plain and precious truths and instead exerted my effort searching for those things that were not meant to be revealed.

My young friend whom I’ll call Lindsey needed hope. She lived in a home which was devoid of the Spirit and of love. Her friends were wild, and even most of her Young Women leaders looked on her only as a “project.” But deep inside she felt that the Lord loved her, despite her deplorable situation. She focused on always remembering Him. She chose not to participate with her friends when they did bad things. She tried to worship Heavenly Father in the privacy of her own bedroom because she wanted to feel His Spirit in her life. Something in her wanted to be good, to keep His commandments. Even with her limited knowledge and lack of outside help, she was trying to keep her baptismal covenants. She felt hope to carry on, and she felt love from Heavenly Father.

Like the Saints in Missouri, Lindsey knew that in spite of her deplorable conditions, Heavenly Father hadn’t given up on her. His love was firm. She took comfort in the “immutable covenant” of His love—that “all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good” (D&C 98:3). As with Abraham, hers was not an easy path to walk, yet she pressed forward. As she did so, she found help. One special Church leader loved and guided her. She grew closer to Heavenly Father and eventually found a young man who loved her, taught her much about the gospel, and married her.

At last many of the blessings she had longed for earlier in life were poured out upon her. She found she could have the Spirit in her own family and raise righteous children. Where once she was isolated and neglected, she now feels enveloped by love. This has come from pressing forward while waiting patiently on the Lord. Being steadfast in Christ brought hope to Lindsey as it will to each of us as we struggle with life’s challenges. The words the choir sings tonight will encourage us to come unto Him:

Allison began playing the piano at age three, and although she was very talented, she had no affinity for the keyboard. “My mother was a concert pianist, my aunt was a pianist, my grandmother was a pianist, my cousins were pianists, all my mother’s students were pianists,” she says. “Everything was piano, piano, piano. I just got tired of it.”
Then came the cello. When Allison was nine, she decided she wanted to play in her school orchestra, which already had a pianist, so she decided to switch. “I didn’t know the cello very well, but my mother loved it, I loved the sound, and I thought it would be a good size for me,” she says.
Within six months of her first cello lesson, Allison won her first competition, against children who had been playing for years. She seemed to be racing ahead, winning competitions right and left. She was invited to play with some of the world’s finest symphonies.
But her success is not without its price. With all that practicing and performing she’s involved in, there’s not a lot of time to spare for other activities. “Of course I feel like I’m missing out on other things all the time,” she says. “But with Church, schoolwork, and my cello, there just isn’t a lot of time for other things.”
It hasn’t been an easy choice for Allison to give up those other things, but she puts her shoulder to the wheel and follows through. “I know that if I want to accomplish the goals I have in mind, I have to make sacrifices,” she says. “Yes, I wish I could go out and socialize with my friends more, and go to all the activities, but if I don’t allow a certain amount of time for my music, it just isn’t going to go anywhere.”
So what makes it all worthwhile? What is the reward for all this work and effort? Just watch Allison play, and you’ll understand. As she draws her bow across the strings, Allison closes her eyes, and you note a visible transformation. It’s as if she becomes one with her instrument, a part of the music. You begin to believe she was born to play the cello, and she becomes enveloped in an unmistakable rhapsody.
To Allison, the music is worth it. At 16 years of age, music has taught this “average” teenager that if you want to go somewhere in life, decisions and sacrifices have to be made. Whether you’re studying for a test, preparing for a mission, or doing anything else, to excel you’ve just got to put in the time.
Maybe Allison Eldredge isn’t such an average teenager after all. She’s learned an eternal principle at a young age. In music, as in everything else, the satisfaction you take out is proportionate to the effort you put in. Allison knows that effort and determination are just what it takes.

Let me illustrate how the why and the how work together in real life.
After several years in our marriage, there came a time when we were fighting about everything. The contention was constant. About that time, my studies found me reading the words of the resurrected Savior:
"There shall be no disputations among you, as there have hitherto been;
"For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another."[30]
I knew if I continued to serve the devil, it would destroy our marriage. I knew what I needed to do but just did not know how. One night we watched a movie on Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce tribe and his desperate attempts to keep his people free. For many months he was able to keep ahead of the cavalry. There were battles, and many of his people died, and all were exhausted by their efforts. Finally, just one travel day from the Canadian border, the cavalry caught them. In his surrender he declared:
"I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my Chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever."[31]
I feared that if I continued fighting, I would lose not only my precious wife but my children!
As I remember it, I was deeply touched. I went into a back room in our home and by pricking my finger, in blood I wrote:
Dear Ruth Ann,
I will fight no more forever!
Love, Steve
(My wife says she remembers a red magic marker.)
That decision brought peace to our home. It was not easy. Following that commitment, every time contention reared its ugly head, I would just raise my hands in surrender and say, “I can’t fight. I promised.” Our lives improved and changed with a single decision.

As I walked through the door of the Relief Society room, I avoided meeting the gaze of any of the sisters by pretending to look intently at a fly resting on the piano. Glancing up to see how far back I could sit, I spied a seat on the last row, deep in the corner. I sat down and began to thumb through my scriptures, hoping my studious appearance would help me avoid making eye contact. My mother had been my Young Women leader for four years and was still in Young Women as I, now 18, moved on to Relief Society. Suddenly my peers changed from Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels to ladies my mother’s age.
As women filed through the door, I recognized all their faces, yet they seemed unfamiliar in this setting. Sister Pratt had taught me in seminary; Sister Caton used to teach my Sunday School class; I often babysat Sister Bent’s children. How could I ever relate to these women who had so much more life experience than I did?
The chatter began to die down as the clock ticked closer to the start of the meeting. Nobody sat by me. The empty seats surrounding me began to feel like a force field that was keeping me from joining the fellowship and camaraderie the others seemed to share.
I began shifting in my chair, wishing I could go back to the Young Women room to girls with whom I shared interests, friends, experiences, and the same decade of birth. Suddenly my “force field” was penetrated by a whisper in front of me.
“Heidi,” Sister Pratt said.
I looked up to see her beckoning me to sit by her.
“Come sit with us.”
I smiled as a rush of relief swept over me. Although I had chosen to sit alone, I was now grateful for the invitation to be included.
“Don’t ever try to sit on the back row again,” she said with a wink, as I sat down beside her.
Each week this wonderful warmth was repeated over and over again as other caring sisters invited me to sit with them until I felt truly loved by these sisters. It wasn’t long before I didn’t need to wait for an invitation.
I began to reach out to these sisters, just as they had reached out to me. I let their love engulf me and penetrate the wall I had built. I no longer felt a sense of dread as I entered the Relief Society room. These women with whom I had felt nothing in common soon became more than just sisters; they became my friends. I felt a part of the fold.

As a child in Virginia, Kevin took an immediate interest in piano. “Before I studied piano I’d go up to the piano and fool around on it, just make some noise,” he said. When Kevin was five, his nine-year-old sister started lessons, and he decided to follow her example. “My mother thought I’d grow tired of it, sitting on the hard bench for a couple of hours. But I didn’t. And that’s when they discovered I had some talent and should continue. My parents have always encouraged me but never forced me. Sometimes when you’re very young your parents have to give you a little push, because you haven’t developed a lot of self-discipline. You really want to practice, but other things seem more important at the moment. Parents can look ahead for you and help you see the road you want to take.”
When Kevin was 10, his family moved back home to California. “By the time I was 12, I had no question I wanted to continue,” he said. “But at 13, I almost stopped when my teacher left on a concert tour and we had to find someone new.” Kevin finally became a student of Krzysztof Brzuza in San Diego and has attended the San Francisco Conservatory. He has also studied under Leon Fleischer at the Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, Maryland, the oldest conservatory in the U.S.

You can also be an influence for good, so that the gospel message will shine through your countenance. I recently heard of a young woman who invited a group of her friends to bring their dates to her home after a dance. One couple stopped on the way to pick up a videotape to watch.

As they played it, the group realized it was an R-rated movie. This young woman became disturbed and excused herself to talk to her parents. They reminded her that R-rated movies are not shown in their home and suggested that someone should turn it off. The young woman said she would do it, and she did. Everyone seemed relieved.

This is a simple incident, but it illustrates a point. A young woman who wanted to be good acted on her desires, and a whole group of young people were spared a little bit of evil. Repeated many times over, until it becomes a pattern, such actions can be an influence that will spread through the Church and through society.

When I served in the Africa Southeast Area, I was inspired by the history of a group of Saints in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. They were faithful members, living where the Church was strong. Then, due to political unrest, in 1993 they were forced to move more than 625 miles (1,000 km) away. They arrived in Luputa, a remote area with no organized Church units. But that small group of families chose to live the gospel.
They studied the scriptures and worshipped in their homes. Each Sunday, they met as a group in a small house. They paid to use it by working in the owner’s field. Although they weren’t authorized to bless the sacrament, they faithfully donated tithes and offerings. They kept this money in a safe place for three years until two brethren journeyed 625 miles to give it to the proper priesthood leader.
Finally, after four long years, a branch was organized in Luputa. The Church grew fast. Soon a district was formed. Then, in 2011, a stake was organized. All this growth came through the work of members and branch missionaries. No full-time missionaries had been assigned to Luputa, yet more than 100 full-time missionaries had been called from Luputa to serve in other places.
In 2012, Sister Cook and I visited Luputa. We drove for two days in a four-wheel-drive vehicle to get there. As soon as we arrived, we joined the Saints for fast and testimony meeting. After the sacrament, it was time for testimonies. Many people rushed to the front of the chapel. The brother conducting the meeting asked some of the members to return to their seats and wait for next time.
About 40 Saints bore brief, heartfelt testimonies about Jesus Christ. They focused on the blessings of the gospel rather than their trials. We felt deep love for them.
After the meeting, I asked the stake president, “Is it always like this?”
“Yes,” he said. “Is that OK?” It was very OK.
“How did your stake grow and progress without missionaries?”
“We had branch missionaries, good ones, just like it says in the handbook.”
“How do you handle welfare concerns amid so much poverty?”
“Everyone here has family.” He referred to the principles in the handbook. “We should care for our own welfare and then ask family members to help. Only after doing this should we ask for help from the Church.”
“You meet in simple, crowded buildings. Are they good enough?”
“We are working on it.”
“What problems do you have?”
He sounded surprised. “We don’t have problems,” he said. “We have the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The Lord gave the Saints of Luputa strength “that they should suffer no manner of afflictions, save it were swallowed up in the joy of Christ” (Alma 31:38). I know He will do the same for us, because I have felt His joy over and over again in my life.
The Lord gave the Latter-day Saints in Luputa strength “that they should suffer no manner of afflictions, save it were swallowed up in the joy of Christ” (Alma 31:38).
Photograph courtesy of the author

Isabel Faye Hills was excited for a very special birthday. On the day she turned eight, she was baptized and confirmed! At home in Goffstown, New Hampshire, Isabel’s family says she is a shining example of staying on the right track with hard work and a great laugh.
Isabel helped plan her baptism service, and she made the program herself. She was baptized by her dad and confirmed by her Grandpap Conklin.

Compassion for others abounds in Coventry. On 11 March 2023, over 60 women from the community gathered to provide support for the children of Gatispo, a rural community in eastern Rwanda. The joint project was spearheaded by Compassion Direct UK and female members of the Coventry Stake of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Because of poverty and health-related issues, many of the Rwandan children are hungry and lack decent clothing for school. The struggle for survival and dignity is real for many families in the rural community of Gatispo, particularly for those affected by HIV and its ripple effects.
To offset some of these challenges, women in the Coventry community sewed nearly 50 pairs of Bermuda shorts for the children so they could feel comfortable attending school.
The Day of Compassion was also designed to celebrate International Women’s Day and the organisation of the Relief Society of the Church, through service to others.
The event was attended by female leaders in the community, who served as panel members in a question-and-answer session focused on the importance and significance of women. The panel consisted of Councillor Ann Isherwood, mayor of the borough of Redditch; Nyear Nazir, councillor for Batchley and Brockhill and deputy leader at Redditch Borough Council; and Kate Taroni, president of the Coventry Stake Relief Society.
Mayor Isherwood said, “It’s International Women’s Week and I felt honoured to meet with sisters that are like-minded. Christlike service, helping people [whom] we will never meet is a great privilege. I feel honoured to be part of an organisation that recognises this.”
“The worldwide struggle of women continues,” noted Councillor Nazir. “Change is slowly happening. My Muslim faith empowers women. Women are nurturers. A nurturing woman can create a beautiful society. Celebrating women is paramount. We are there to support other women and families.”
Kate Taroni added, “It’s been really good to celebrate International Women’s Day. Being a woman is part of our identity. We are daughters of God, and this reminds us of who we really are.”
The chairman of Compassion Direct UK will be taking the clothing to Gatispo at the end of March. The charity provides practical support to rural children and families living in poverty by providing environmentally sustainable solutions and self-help projects in the developing world.

Earlier this year widespread flooding hit Washington state. “West Ellensburg was hit especially hard and about 200 residents, including my family, were evacuated the first night as up to four feet of water went into our homes,” says Krista Lindsay, a Laurel in the Ellensburg First Ward. “My family stayed with our bishop for a couple of nights since we had lost electricity and heat in our house. The next couple of days, after the flood had receded, were a whirlwind of cleaning up. The American Red Cross had contacted local churches to help with the flood relief. The Church recruited 445 volunteers who donned yellow shirts and invaded West Ellensburg with squeegees and lots of compassion. They cleaned up our yard and helped put our basement back together again. In other homes, they dragged out soggy carpet, moved furniture, and cleaned debris from yards. The flood damage was cleaned up and life does go on, but the helping people in yellow shirts remain a happy memory for all the victims.”

Sally was a relatively new member at the time of the martyrdom. She and her husband and their two sons had joined the Church near Buffalo, New York, and migrated to Nauvoo in 1843. Here they found many Saints sick with fevers, malaria, and measles. Writing to her family in the eastern United States, she said, “It is very sickly here at present … , and a great many children die” from the diseases.
Sally’s oldest son, 14-year-old George, soon got sick and died about three weeks later. With “a heart full of grief and sorrow” from her son’s death, she received word eight months later of the Prophet’s martyrdom. In this state of grief, she wrote her family to detail the events, share her emotions, and give perspective to events of the time.

Several years ago I was running early in the morning on the day before Thanksgiving with a group of women. We called it our Thanksgiving run, and as we ran we called out things for which we were thankful. I had just finished saying that I was thankful for a strong, healthy body when I slipped and fell on a patch of black ice on the road. As I tried to get up, I realized that I was badly hurt. I knew I had broken my leg just above the ankle—and I won’t say how I knew or I could faint right here on the spot. My husband said that if I had been an NFL football player, I would have made the highlight films that night.

As I lay there in the road in the shadows of the early morning light, waiting for help to arrive, I saw the lights of a car come speeding down the road right toward where I lay. The car screeched to a stop, and a man jumped out. He said he had thought I was a garbage bag in the road and almost kept going. I asked if he were a member of the Church, and he replied that he was. I asked if he could give me a blessing because the pain was so severe I didn’t know how long I could stay in that condition. He paused and then said: “I can’t. You better wait for your husband to do that.” Then he got in his car and drove away.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was wheeled into a little cubicle in the emergency room where I waited to be taken into surgery. As they moved the curtains to the side, there were my husband and all five of our sons. As they encircled me and laid their hands on my head, I felt their purity, their power, and their strength. Young men, priesthood men, keep yourselves pure so that you may be able to use your priesthood power at a moment’s notice. That day I was blessed by their priesthood power, which they exercised in virtue and holiness.

There was a tiny glow of growing yellow light just above the mountains to the east as I crept across our front lawn and headed for Buddy’s place next door.
“Well, good morning, Aaron,” Buddy greeted me in a soft, surprised voice. “I would have bet my best fishing pole that you’d never get that mattress unstuck from your back at this time of day.”
“And you would have lost that fishing pole,” I teased back.
Buddy chuckled. “It’s rare for a ten-year-old boy to get himself out of bed at four o’clock just to help his neighbor irrigate his yard.”
Buddy was old enough to be my grandpa. I used to call him Mr. Chambers or Brother Chambers until he told me that his name was just plain old Buddy. Mister, he said, made him sound too old, and Brother made him sound like a preacher.
I’d been helping him with his yard, in his shop, or around his house for as long as I could remember. When I helped him work on his truck or car, he explained how everything worked and why he had to change the oil or the spark plugs or pour in antifreeze. When we planted his garden, he asked me where we should put the carrots and the tomatoes and the other vegetables like I was the expert and had to be the one to decide. He usually planted them right where I suggested.
When I arrived that morning, the irrigation water was gurgling into Buddy’s backyard because he had already pulled up the headgate that let the water in from behind his backyard fence.
For the next hour, Buddy and I sloshed around in the cool brown water as we irrigated the garden, the fruit trees, the lawn, and the flowers.
“We have to be careful that we don’t let in too much water back here,” he told me, “or it will overflow the patio and run into the basement. It happened once, and it took Marva and me a week to pump all the water out and get things cleaned up. We had to replace the carpet and almost everything else downstairs. Marva hasn’t let me forget that boo-boo. That’s why I needed you out here today to keep me on my toes. Another accident like that, and I’ll be sleeping in the shed for the next two years.”
When we finished, he said, “I’m hungry. What do you say we drive down to Burt’s cafe?”
I had eggs and bacon alongside a stack of pancakes floating in blueberry syrup. Soon I was so stuffed that I could hardly move. “Buddy,” I asked, “would you come to Primary with me on Sunday?”
“I’m afraid I’m too old for Primary. They ran me out of Primary years ago. I don’t think they’d let me back now.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t mean that, and you know it. I’m going to give a talk this Sunday. I thought you’d like to hear me give it.”
“I’d love to hear you preach, Aaron. I’ll tell you what, you get your talk all polished and practiced, then come over and give it to Marva and me.”
“But I want you to hear me give it in Primary.”
Buddy wagged a finger at me. “You’re a sneaky guy, but I know your tricks. You’re just trying to get me to go to church. I already told you that it’s been so long since I went to church that the whole building would fall down if I walk through the door.”
“That’s not true,” I came back. “You were there when I got baptized, and it’s still standing.”
Buddy smiled. “That was a special occasion. Special occasions don’t count.”
“Sundays are special occasions,” I pestered. “Marva would love to have you there. She hates always going to church alone. Why did you stop going to church, anyway?”
Buddy set his fork down. “Oh, somebody hurt my feelings. It doesn’t seem like a big thing now, but it seemed pretty important back then. I decided I’d stop going, and I just got out of the habit. Now I’m in the habit of staying home, and it’s a tough habit to break. Besides, I’m too old to go back. And nobody cares, anyway.”
“That’s not true. I care. So does Marva.”
“Aaron, it would take a miracle to get me back inside the church.”
“What kind of miracle?”
“Oh, a little one would do fine, but I don’t think anybody’s passing out miracles these days. But when you get your talk ready, you come over and practice on Marva and me.”
“Mom, do you believe in miracles?” I asked my mother later that morning as I helped her clean the family room.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“What do you think a miracle is?”
Mom thought for a moment. “I suppose a miracle is something that doesn’t normally happen, and when it does happen, it’s because the Lord helps it happen that way. For example, when you had an earache in the middle of the night last year and there was no way to get you to the doctor, Dad gave you a priesthood blessing. Right away the pain stopped, and you went to sleep. That wasn’t a huge miracle, but it was a miracle.”
“Do you think it would be all right for us to pray for a miracle for Buddy? He says he won’t go to church unless he has a miracle.”
“Well, Aaron, the scriptures tell us that we aren’t to ask for signs. A miracle might be considered a sign. We could pray that Buddy would decide to go to church, but I’m not sure asking for a miracle for him would be the right thing to do.”
I worked on my Primary talk. I decided to talk about how the Lord answers prayers. I included the story about my earache. When I finally had the talk as good as I could get it, I went over to Buddy’s house and practiced on him and Marva.
“It’s a mighty fine speech, Aaron,” Buddy said.
“So will you come to Primary and listen to me give it there?” I coaxed.
Buddy laughed. “You don’t ever stop pestering me, do you? Besides, Marva and I are going to be out of town for three or four days, including Sunday. In fact, I need you to keep an eye on things while we’re gone. Will you water the flowers and pick the green beans and cucumbers?”
I was disappointed, but I didn’t stop praying for Buddy.
Monday morning I watered Buddy’s flowers. I picked the green beans and cucumbers. I even pulled the weeds. Then I checked all around the yard to make sure everything was all right before going home.
On Monday afternoon as I was reading a mystery book, I got to wondering about Buddy’s place again. I went back to my book, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking of Buddy’s place. I’d done more than he’d asked me to do, but something kept pestering my mind.
Finally I set my book down and muttered to myself, “I’ll go back and check again.” I wandered around Buddy’s front yard, making sure all the flowers had received water. I looked through the front window. Everything was all right in there. The rose bushes on the side of the house were all fine.
I was starting to feel kind of silly. Then I went through the gate. The backyard was a huge pond, and the water was just a few inches from running into Buddy’s basement! Someone had taken the headgate from the irrigation ditch when it was empty. But now it was full, and the water was gushing into Buddy’s yard.
Without stopping to pull off my shoes and socks, I sloshed over to the ditch and pushed the headgate into place. The water stopped rushing into Buddy’s yard. It had started trickling into the window wells, but it didn’t look like it would flood the basement.
When Buddy and Sister Chambers came home, one glance at his backyard told him what had happened. “Well, Aaron,” he said, “I owe you a great big thanks. As soon as I walked back there, I remembered taking that headgate out to clean the ditch. I forgot to put it back. I almost thought I’d had a miracle.” He grinned. “But it wasn’t a miracle at all—you look out for me all the time. I’m sure glad that I’d asked you to keep an eye on things.”
“But, Buddy,” I said seriously, “I think it really was a miracle. I’d already checked on your place once today, and everything was fine. I’d done everything you’d asked me to do. I had no reason to go back and check on anything. But this afternoon something in my brain kept insisting that I needed to check again. That’s why I went back.
“The other day you said that nobody cared about what you do. That’s not true. The Lord was watching out for you. He was the one who sent me over here to check up. I don’t know everything about miracles, but if you ask me, that’s a miracle. It might be just a little one, but it’s still a miracle.” I hesitated. “Maybe you’ve had more miracles than you know about. Maybe you just haven’t recognized what they were.”
The next morning I went over to help Buddy clean up his backyard. We didn’t say very much at first, but when we took a short rest, he said, “I’ve been doing some serious thinking since last night. You were right. Even though I’ve stayed away from church so long, the Lord hasn’t forgotten me. He still knows where I live. I didn’t think He did.
“And He doesn’t even mind sending a miracle or two my way, even when I don’t deserve them. I guess I’m going to have to break an old habit—staying home Sundays.” He took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve walked through those church doors, but if you’ll walk beside me and take me by the hand, I’m going to see if I can do it without the whole building falling down.”
I smiled. “You missed my Primary talk,” I teased him, “but that’s OK, because more than anything, I want you to come back to church. For good. Next Sunday will be best of all, because I’ll know that you’re not there for a special occasion. You’ll be there because you’re finally changing a bad habit for a good one.”

Several times during the trip, the pioneers talked with mountain men. Jim Bridger discouraged them from moving all the Saints to the Salt Lake Valley until they knew if grain could be grown there. He was so convinced that grain could not be grown that he offered (US) $1,000 for their first bushel of corn. But God was leading the Saints. President Young told Bridger, “Wait a little, and we will show you.”

While camped on the Bear River, Brigham Young contracted mountain fever and became so ill that he could not continue to travel. It was decided that eight wagons and several men would stay behind with him, and the rest would go on. But as the main group moved on, others were stricken with the fever. The pioneers decided to let the sick rest while an advance company with 23 wagons and 42 men led by Orson Pratt scouted out the best route through the mountains.

The advance party found the Donner Trail, made the year before, and began to follow it. The trail was very rough, so the men spent much of their time clearing trees and leveling the ground for those behind them.

On 21 July 1847, Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow went down Emigration Canyon ahead of the others to scout out the area. They had only one horse, so they took turns walking and riding. A few miles from the mouth of the canyon, Erastus realized that he had lost his coat. He took the horse and turned back to find it. Orson walked on alone and was the first of the pioneers to set foot in the Salt Lake Valley. He and Erastus returned to camp, and the next day the advance company entered the Salt Lake Valley and headed north.

On 23 July they traveled to an area near where the Salt Lake Temple now stands. Orson Pratt called everyone together and led them in a prayer of thanksgiving and of dedicating themselves and the land to the Lord. After the prayer, the pioneers immediately went to work unpacking the wagons, establishing a settlement, and plowing the dry, hard land so that it could be planted. On that same day, Brigham Young and his group crossed Big Mountain. From its summit, President Young looked out of the carriage he was riding in and declared: “This is the right place. Drive on.”* The next day, 24 July, the last of the company arrived in the valley. It had taken the pioneers 111 days to make the journey to the Salt Lake Valley.

Sunday, 25 July 1847, the Saints worshiped and gave thanks for their safe journey. It had been a long trip, and for many years Saints would continue to sacrifice to cross the plains—but at last a place had been found where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints could prosper.

Earlier this year, my three sons and I visited the sites in France where my father fought in the U.S. Army in World War I. Great was the suffering and terrible were the consequences to all involved in that war. Millions lost their lives. Although my father was not killed, he carried mental and physical scars until he died. Despite his terrifying experiences, he prefaced his diary as follows: “If I had to do it again, I would do it because it was my duty.” As we traveled 80 years later through the beautiful countryside, we visited battle sites and cemeteries of the combatants on both sides. In the military cemetery outside Paris, with my hand resting on Stanford Hinckley’s cross, I called President Hinckley on a cellular phone to express my feelings on that occasion.
World War I was particularly tragic for our family because my father had some second cousins serving on the other side of that conflict in some of the same general battle areas. We eventually became acquainted with these relatives and found them to be decent, God-fearing Christians. They had nothing to do with the grand geopolitics or causes of the war. Like my father, they were serving their country because it was their duty. World War I and the wars that followed brought such great suffering and caused the deaths of countless innocent people. In its simplest terms, wars are so often caused by a great lust for power.