Gospel Story Finder

Brayden listened to Mom read from the Bible and looked at the picture she showed them. It showed Jesus after He was resurrected. He was talking to some of His disciples who were on a fishing boat.
The disciples had fished all night without catching anything. When Jesus came, He told them where to put their net to catch fish. They tossed the net into the water. This time it caught so many fish they couldn’t pull the net back up!
“They caught that many fish?” Brayden’s brother, Christian, asked, eyes wide. Mom nodded, and kept reading.
She read how the disciples dragged the net to shore. It had caught 153 large fish. But even though it was so full, the net hadn’t broken! (See John 21:2–11).
This time, it was Brayden who had a question.
“What do you think they did with all of the fish?”
Mom set her scriptures down on her lap. “You know, I’ve read these verses many times, but I guess I never really thought about that. But I love your question! Let’s keep reading and see what it says.”
Soon they found a verse that said Jesus cooked fish for Peter and the other disciples.
“So they ate some of the fish?” Brayden asked.
Mom nodded, but before she could read more, Christian jumped up and down.
“I know! I know!” he said. “The fish were like money back then, right? Because fishing was Peter’s job. Like our dad has a job building walls with cement.”
Mom smiled. “That’s right! So the fish were probably a blessing to Peter’s family, just like the money Dad earns is a blessing to us.”
This time, Brayden’s sister, Victoria, spoke up.
“Maybe they traded fish with a carpenter to get some furniture,” she said. “Joseph was a carpenter, right?”
Mom put her arm around Victoria and squeezed her shoulders. “Wow! You guys have some great ideas about this story. Let’s think of some of the blessings our family has. We already talked about one—that Dad has a job. What are some others?”
Making this list was easy.
“Our house!”
“Clothes!”
“Food!”
Brayden and Christian and Victoria were still calling out answers when they heard Dad open the door.
“You’re home!” Victoria said as she jumped into his arms.
Dad kissed the top of her head. “What are you kids up to?”
“We’re talking about blessing fish!” Brayden said.
Dad raised his eyebrows. “Sounds exciting! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
That night Brayden and his family decided to start a new tradition. Every night after dinner, they would tell each other about new blessings they had noticed. Tonight, Mom even brought out a bowl of fish-shaped candy to eat while they shared.
Brayden smiled as he took a bite. Who knew that blessings could be so sweet?

There is a special bond between Mary Carmen and three others in the group because she helped to bring them into the Church. She had begun by talking about the Church to her friend María del Pilar and María’s sisters Isabel and Loly. Unbeknown to her, her mother ran into María’s mother in the doctor’s office, and although they were complete strangers, began telling her about the Church. The two conversion factors merged; the family accepted the missionaries into their home and were baptized within 13 days of beginning the discussions.
“I shared the gospel with Pili (María del Pilar) and Isabel and Loly because they are my friends and I love them,” Mary Carmen said. “I wanted them to be able to feel the presence of the Spirit and enjoy the rich blessings from the Lord that I do. When they were baptized, I was so happy that no one could stand me at school for a few days. It made me remember the day of my own baptism.”

Jim tried his best to wipe away the tears before he got home. He didn’t want Mom to see that he had been crying.
Randy, a boy in his class, stopped Jim every day after school and called him names. Jim tried not to let it bother him, but when Randy started saying mean things about Jim being a Mormon, Jim couldn’t hold back the tears.
As Jim opened the front door, Mom looked up from the sofa. She could see that something was wrong. “What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Jim mumbled.
Mom patted the cushion by her. “Tell me, please.”
Jim sat on the sofa next to her. “There’s this boy at school named Randy who keeps calling me names,” Jim said. “Today he said Mormons are weird.”
“That must have hurt,” Mom said.
Jim nodded. “What can I do?”
Mom gave him a quick hug. “I think you can figure out something. Just remember that Heavenly Father loves Randy—just like He loves you.”
Jim thought about his problem. “Maybe I could invite Randy home and make cookies,” he said.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom said.
The next day, Jim worked up the courage to talk to Randy. “Hey, Randy,” Jim said. “We’re going to make cookies at my house tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
Randy squinted at Jim and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of cookies?” Randy asked.
“Chocolate chip.”
“Sure. They’re my favorite!” Randy said.
The following day, Randy and Jim walked home together. Mom was waiting for them.
“Hi, Randy. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
“Nice to meet you too,” Randy said.
“Come into the kitchen and we’ll get started,” Mom said.
In the kitchen, she pointed to the sink. “Wash first.”
After the boys washed their hands, Jim showed Randy how to measure the ingredients and mix them together.
By the time they spooned the cookie dough onto the baking pan, Randy was smiling. “Can I put them in the oven?” he asked.
“Sure. They need to bake for 12 minutes,” Jim said as he set the timer.
When 12 minutes had passed, Jim carefully removed the pan from the oven. Randy started to reach for a cookie, then stopped. “Can I have one?”
Jim smiled. “Yes. But they need to cool first.”
When the cookies had cooled, Jim and Randy each took two. Mom poured glasses of milk for them.
“These are great!” Randy said after he’d finished both cookies and his glass of milk. “Thanks for inviting me, Jim. Thank you, Mrs. Sheridan.”
Mom placed some cookies on a plate and covered them with foil. “These are for you to take home and share with your family.”
After that, Randy no longer teased Jim. The boys played together after school and on the weekends. Jim was glad a simple act could help him make a new friend.

The little log cabin in Winter Quarters was not quite finished, but Orson Spencer and his six children moved into it anyway. They were anxious to get settled before Father left for England where he had been called by President Brigham Young to publish a newspaper for the Church.
Father had told Ellen, who had just turned 14, and Aurelia, who was 12, that they were to be “little mothers” to the four younger children. The baby, Lucy, was only three years old. Their mother had died soon after the family left Nauvoo, so their father ferried them across the Missouri River and then hurried to build the cabin before he left.
He bought eight cows so there would be plenty of milk to drink and enough to sell. They also owned a horse that was to be sold to buy food.
Two of the girls were just recovering from an illness when late in the fall their father said good-bye to them. Friends in neighboring cabins had agreed to help the children if they were needed.
The winter was long, cold, and lonely. Many people in the little community died. Among them were several friends of the Spencer children.
Aurelia wrote in her diary, “We got through the first part of the winter pretty well but it was uncommon in its severity. Our horse and all our cows but one died. Therefore, we had no milk or butter. Our provisions had also nearly given out so that in the spring and summer following we really suffered for something to eat. Part of the time we had nothing but cornmeal, which was stirred up with water and baked on a griddle. Many a night I went to bed without supper, having to wait until I was hungry enough to eat our poor fare.”
Then one day late in the fall of 1847, President Brigham Young went to visit the Spencer’s one-room log cabin. He found it neat and the children clean. Their father had been gone about a year when the Saints began making preparations to start their move to the mountains in the west the following spring.
The children told President Young that their father wrote often to them, making suggestions as to what they should wear, how to comb their hair, what to do if they became ill, and how to take care of each other. They brought out the last letter they had received. After President Young read it, he told them he had a very important matter for them to think about. He asked, “What would you say if your father stayed in England at least another year? We need him there.”
The children looked at each other and then waited for Ellen to speak since she was the oldest. “If it is thought best,” Ellen said quietly, “we would like it so, for we want to do for the best.”
All the other children agreed. They remembered that Father had once written, “Though He slay us, we should trust in Him, and all will be right.”
They had faith in their father, in his counsel, and in their Father in heaven. And so in the spring of 1848, the Spencer children, with determination and grateful hearts, began their preparations to move west with the Saints.

This was the first youth conference Chris Windham, 14, of the Nacogdoches Ward, Longview Texas Stake, had attended. He had fun at the dances, listened to the speakers, and filled up on good food. But his strongest memory might be when his group came to the final house as they installed their last smoke detector. It was Chris’s turn to talk to the homeowner and explain their purpose. Each group member had taken a turn being the one to handle the screwdriver, hold the ladder, or do the talking.
At this house, it was Chris’s turn to talk. He reached for a picture of Christ. It was supposed to have someone’s testimony written in the accompanying paper. But they had run short, and the paper was blank.
Chris handed the picture to the man they had just met. He said, “I don’t have a written testimony to give you with this picture of Christ.”
He paused. The adult leaders, who were standing behind him, glanced at each other. What was Chris going to do?
As Chris said later, the Spirit was urging him to tell this man what he believed. So, without hesitation, Chris bore his testimony with power and conviction to someone he had just met. “I know that Christ lived, and that He suffered and died for us. …”
As Chris spoke, tears sprang to the eyes of the man listening. He carefully held the picture of Christ, with head bowed, and listened to the words of a 14-year-old boy.
For a few days, the LDS youth in these two stakes didn’t feel so few in numbers. They were a force for good, and they pulled strength from being together. They bore their testimonies, in writing and in testimony meeting.
Melanie Paul, 16, Coushatta Branch, Shreveport Louisiana Stake, said about their written testimonies, “These are going to people who may change their lives. I stressed the influence of Jesus Christ in my life. They may never get another chance to hear a testimony from a member of the Church. When you start writing, you aren’t just saying empty phrases. It’s true.”
This group also wanted to take sides against a chorus of bad influences. “The advertising is all aimed at kids our age,” said John Daniels, 18, Queen City Ward, Shreveport Louisiana Stake, “encouraging us to smoke, to drink, to do other things. We need someone on the other side, warning us, telling us where we can go wrong and how to avoid it.”
The voice of warning against the vices of the world may not be as loud and strident as a smoke detector, but for those with ears to hear, it is just as compelling, a voice of warning that may save someone’s life eternally.

Spencer’s family were also members of the Church. That made me nervous, because I had been taught my whole life that if I walked inside an LDS church, I would see fire and go straight to hell.
But Spencer and other Mormons were really nice to me, and I felt comfortable around them. So even though I was pretty scared of the Church, I went to church with them a few times and met a lot of other good people.
Their kindness helped soften my heart.
One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.
Still, things weren’t perfect after that. Most of my family was not happy that I joined the Church. My dad even offered me a brand-new pickup truck if I would just forget about it. But my brother Roger supported me. When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%. Whether I was serving a mission or not, he told me to always do my best.
When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%.
I tried to prepare the best I could by studying the scriptures, praying, and going to a mission prep class. While I was on my mission in North Carolina, I lost myself in the work and did my best to follow Roger’s advice to give it 110%.
Ten years later, I lost my dad to cancer. Even though he and I had hard times, I love him so much. As I leaned down to hug him and say “I love you” one last time, he said something I will never forget. He told me he was proud of me and that he was glad I served a mission. Two years later, Spencer got to baptize me for my father in the temple.
My family may not have approved of my joining the Church, but because of their unfailing love and the example of my friends and their families, I was able to serve a mission, be married in the temple, and help my dad after he passed on. I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

One time Farid was in a testimony meeting with us. Just at the moment when he was going to stand to bear his testimony, the bishop closed the meeting. The next night, I asked Farid to bear his testimony in family home evening. He surprised me when he asked, “Which testimony do you want?” He then explained that when children are asked to bear their testimonies, they usually say that they know the Church is true. “But my testimony,” he said, “is more about Jesus Christ. It is very strong.” This is the kind of testimony I hope that all children will have.

A good example of this kind of misrepresentation took place when the subject of the Latter-day Saint pioneers came up in my daughter Sarah’s school classroom a few years ago. One of her classmates said, “My daddy says Mormons are people who live in Utah and worship idols.” Sarah quickly answered back, “Well, I’m a Mormon, and we don’t worship idols.” But many of her classmates never did believe her, largely because they had already accepted the misrepresentation.

Every year, my husband and I and both our extended families go on a camping trip to celebrate the end-of-year holiday season. We choose a site that can accommodate our numbers and then camp from Christmas Eve until just after New Year’s Day.
These camps are a wonderful time for us to strengthen our family bonds. Because most of us are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these camps also strengthen our testimony of Christ and of His Church as we celebrate His birth.
At the end of 2020, we found a site in Bikenibeu Village, Tarawa, which has a large mwaneaba (a traditional meetinghouse) that our whole family could sleep under. As always, my dear sister-in-law, Meteta, joined us in the camping festivities.
Meteta lived with my husband and me and, at 71 years old, she was more like a mother to us. She was still quite healthy and active, except that she walked on crutches as a result of a surgery she had 20 years earlier. Meteta loved our Christmas camping trips and eagerly participated in our family games and activities.
On the 31st of December, a few hours before our New Year’s celebration, Meteta was so excited. She took an early shower, got dressed and then sat down in the mwaneaba, ready to enjoy the night. Everyone else was rushing around, getting ready, too.
Then, in the midst of all the preparations, Meteta quietly said to me, "I have a burning pain in my chest." I dropped everything I was doing, called my husband and another sister-in-law over, and soon several of us were trying to help her.
It all happened so fast. About fifteen minutes later, Meteta started to gasp for air. My husband and son gave her a priesthood blessing while we waited for the ambulance. Sadly, the doctors couldn’t do much more for her. Soon after we arrived at the hospital, our Meteta was gone.
That evening, the world stopped for us. As we slowly made our way back to the campsite—to share the tragic news and inform everyone that we had to break camp—my husband and I reflected on Meteta’s final moments. The doctors had done their best to revive her, and those around us tried to give us hope, but we felt a strange kind of peace that told us it was Meteta’s time to go.
Our faith in Jesus Christ and our testimony of His gospel also helped the rest of our family accept what happened. We had just spent a week in both worldly and spiritual celebration, but as our holiday camp transitioned into a funeral, we tuned the world out completely.
We mourned the loss of our dear Meteta—she had been a great source of stability in our home, and we would have to make many adjustments without her—but in the wake of her passing, we talked more about the meaning of our own lives.
We focused on our Saviour and on His divine gift of exaltation. We expressed deep gratitude for His atoning sacrifice and His victory over the grave. It was a time of spiritual renewal for all of us. As we worked together to organise and prepare for Meteta’s earthly farewell, our thoughts were on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, and on His Son, who has made it possible for us to reunite with Meteta again, one day.
Our family holiday camps are always boisterous events, full of music and dance, talent shows, laughter and fun, but this particular Christmas, the happiness of our festivities seemed to dim in the light of true joy—the joy that our Saviour Jesus Christ brought when He was born into this world to give us life.
Our understanding of His gospel is what brought our family peace after Meteta’s passing. It helped us to remember the real meaning of Christmas.

When our son, Nate, returned from his mission, he had the same feelings as my friend John. Nate decided to volunteer to become a mentor in a program that matches adults with children in need of supportive one-on-one relationships. That service changed his college experience. Now that he is married, Nate and his wife, Carla, have “adopted” again through the program. It has been a great blessing for them in their marriage to share what they have with those in need.

Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminds us how we can have spiritual light: “When I was a boy, I used to ride my bicycle home from basketball practice at night. I would connect a small pear-shaped generator to my bicycle tire. Then as I pedaled, the tire would turn a tiny rotor, which produced … a single, welcome beam of light. … I learned quickly that if I stopped pedaling my bicycle, the light would go out. I also learned that when I was ‘anxiously engaged’ in pedaling, the light would become brighter and the darkness in front of me would be [forced away].”
Elder Hales explains that “spiritual light comes from daily spiritual pedaling. It comes from praying, studying the scriptures, fasting, and serving—from living the gospel and obeying the commandments” (“Out of Darkness into His Marvelous Light,” Ensign, May 2002, 71).

It worried me when I noticed that my good friend was not coming to church anymore. Her close friend, I found, had recently passed away, and she was beginning to doubt. One day I invited her to a party with some girls from church. I made it a goal to bring up the Church once. After the others left, we talked about various Church topics that I would have never thought to talk to her about. I learned that by doing my part, the Lord will take care of the rest. All we need to do is open our mouths (see D&C 28:16).
Rebecca T., 16, Washington

We had just moved to a new state, and I was nervous. As I was walking into my new school, I said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to let the Holy Ghost be with me. I felt a warm feeling in my chest. If you don’t know if you are feeling the Holy Ghost, see if you feel a warm feeling inside. Everybody feels it differently. It’s easiest to feel it if you say a prayer or do something good.
Joshua S., age 8, North Dakota

In the beautiful hills of Pennsylvania, a devout group of Christian people live a simple life without automobiles, electricity, or modern machinery. They work hard and live quiet, peaceful lives separate from the world. Most of their food comes from their own farms. The women sew and knit and weave their clothing, which is modest and plain. They are known as the Amish people.
A 32-year-old milk truck driver lived with his family in their Nickel Mines community. He was not Amish, but his pickup route took him to many Amish dairy farms, where he became known as the quiet milkman. Last October he suddenly lost all reason and control. In his tormented mind he blamed God for the death of his first child and some unsubstantiated memories. He stormed into the Amish school without any provocation, released the boys and adults, and tied up the 10 girls. He shot the girls, killing five and wounding five. Then he took his own life.
This shocking violence caused great anguish among the Amish but no anger. There was hurt but no hate. Their forgiveness was immediate. Collectively they began to reach out to the milkman’s suffering family. As the milkman’s family gathered in his home the day after the shootings, an Amish neighbor came over, wrapped his arms around the father of the dead gunman, and said, “We will forgive you.” Amish leaders visited the milkman’s wife and children to extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love. About half of the mourners at the milkman’s funeral were Amish. In turn, the Amish invited the milkman’s family to attend the funeral services of the girls who had been killed. A remarkable peace settled on the Amish as their faith sustained them during this crisis.
One local resident very eloquently summed up the aftermath of this tragedy when he said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” It was an amazing outpouring of their complete faith in the Lord’s teachings in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.”
The family of the milkman who killed the five girls released the following statement to the public:
“To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community:
“Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you’ve extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.
“Please know that our hearts have been broken by all that has happened. We are filled with sorrow for all of our Amish neighbors whom we have loved and continue to love. We know that there are many hard days ahead for all the families who lost loved ones, and so we will continue to put our hope and trust in the God of all comfort, as we all seek to rebuild our lives.”
How could the whole Amish group manifest such an expression of forgiveness? It was because of their faith in God and trust in His word, which is part of their inner beings. They see themselves as disciples of Christ and want to follow His example.
Hearing of this tragedy, many people sent money to the Amish to pay for the health care of the five surviving girls and for the burial expenses of the five who were killed. As a further demonstration of their discipleship, the Amish decided to share some of the money with the widow of the milkman and her three children because they too were victims of this terrible tragedy.

One day after my doctor told me that I would have to receive physical therapy for months, I went home in tears and asked Heavenly Father, “How long will I have to endure this?” Immediately, it was as if a tender and clear voice told me, “You can’t progress without trials. You still need even more.”
I couldn’t believe that I had received an immediate response to my prayer. At that moment, I was determined to move forward in faith. I decided to resubmit my mission papers and serve God, despite my challenges. A few months later I received my mission call to the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission! But getting to that point wasn’t easy either. It took a lot of bravery and courage to accept my circumstances, forget myself, and invite others to follow Christ.
My mission was wonderful. I learned to value the principles of the gospel even more, and I found confidence in myself to share my testimony and bring hope to many people who didn’t know where to find it. I felt my heart being changed by Heavenly Father. I had never experienced what it felt like to love total strangers and be willing to give everything I had for them without hesitation until now—walking day in and day out, rain or shine, my feet tired and sore.

I used to leave the house at 8:00 a.m. and return at midnight after working all day and going to class at night. During the little time my husband, Daniel, and I had together, we argued. Things were bad. We were on the verge of separating.
One Sunday evening after an argument, Daniel said, “Maybe we should get closer to God.” The next day, while Daniel was home watching our son, missionaries knocked on our door.
When the missionaries started visiting us, I disagreed with everything they taught. But after a few lessons, we began to feel something. We didn’t know what it was, but we described it as “magical,” a feeling of peace and harmony. It would linger even after the missionaries left. We realized that we needed that feeling more often in our home.
Inspired by the missionaries’ message about the importance of family, Daniel and I came closer together in our marriage. I had hoped that going to school would lead to a better position at my work. But we decided to focus on our family, spend more time together, and have more children. I quit school, quit my job, and went to work as Daniel’s secretary at his pest control business.
Less than three months after the missionaries’ first visit, we were baptized and confirmed. Our life changed dramatically. We began living the law of tithing. We began praying at home and at work with Daniel’s employees. We began serving in the Church. Daniel’s business grew, and he needed to hire more workers.
A year after our baptism, we went to the temple to be sealed. A few days after our sealing, I found out I was expecting.
Sundays aren’t easy for us. Daniel leaves early for high council meetings. I have to prepare our three children for church by myself. But we are able to share a lot of time together throughout the week. So even if we are apart at times on Sunday as we serve the Lord, we know that we are blessed.
We have gained a testimony that when we do our part, the Lord can help us, and blessings come. We have received a lot more than we had ever hoped for from our own plans. The Lord had better things in mind for us.

A few days ago we visited with an elder in the mission field. During the interview I inquired, “Is your father a member of the Church?”
He said, “No.”
“Is your mother a member of the Church?”
He responded with, “Just barely.”
“Did your father want you to go on a mission?”
He answered, “No.”
“Did your mother want you to go on a mission?”
“She really didn’t care whether I went or not.”
“Who influenced you most in your decision to go?”
“I did. I’ve always wanted to go, and I knew I could make a success of it.”
I looked that young man in the face and said, “From what I hear and what I feel of your spirit, you will succeed.” Here was a great individual who had the opportunity to knock and to murmur, “My dad doesn’t care. My mother doesn’t care. Why should I care?” He knows the importance of going forward and has the courage to continue.

One summer the Jacobsons—Dad, Mom (Barbara), Ginger, and sisters Kim (21), Melissa (19), Mary (17), Becky (15), Jessica (13), and Jackie (2)—were traveling home from a family vacation to Nauvoo, Illinois. When their car broke down, Ginger immediately suggested that they ask their Heavenly Father for help. They did, and just as they said, “Amen,” a man stopped and towed them first to his home and then to a junkyard where they found what they needed to repair their car.

Amid the bustle of the Christmas Eve excitement, my father was preoccupied. His thoughts kept returning to the used bicycle hidden carefully in the garage rafters. Next to it lay the boxes holding two brand-new shining black, matching three-speed bikes which he had purchased for my two older sisters. The budget strains of Christmas had prevented Dad from buying a third black three-speed for Leanne, my third sister.
Instead, he set about restoring the old single-speed, fat-tired bike the older two no longer rode. Scouring pads and elbow grease made the rusty spokes shine. The inner tubes were patched, and a new coat of paint erased the battle scars of collisions and neglect. A replacement set of handgrips made the handlebars look almost new.
This Christmas Eve, when he finished the bicycle assembly projects and rolled out and placed the rejuvenated old bike next to the new ones, the stark contrast of the old half-sized, blue, thick-tubed bike against the sleek, black beauties made the revamped two-wheeler suddenly look small and old-fashioned. Had he made a mistake in trying to redo the old bike for Leanne? Would she feel slighted?
Early Christmas morning, we were poised in our annual positions in the hall—all in a row, youngest to the oldest. Dad was in the living room making the movie camera and the lights ready to record our grand entrance. My older sisters spotted their black beauties, gave them the once over with due praise and admiration, and moved on. Amid the chaos and clutter, Leanne stood firmly next to the old blue bike. She was touching every part and talking aloud, “Look, it has new grips and new paint! Just look at those pedals, and it’s my very own, my very own bike!”
She stayed near the bike and repeated the same speech several times, though no one was listening, no one, that is, except my father. He stood silently, the movie camera held low on his side, listening to Leanne. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he witnessed this perfect acceptance of his imperfect gift.
(December 1984, p. 29.)

In the spring of 1866, during what is called the Black Hawk War, our pioneers were struggling to beat back deadly Indian attacks on many settlements in southern Utah. Two of President Heber C. Kimball’s sons were called into military service for a three-month expedition against the Indians. Before they left he gave them a priesthood blessing. Apparently concerned that his sons might shed the blood of their Lamanite brothers, he first counseled them about the great promises God has made to this branch of the house of Israel. He then blessed his sons and promised them they would not see a single Indian on their campaign. His sons, full of fight and eager to smell gunpowder, were disappointed at this promise, but the blessing was fulfilled. When they returned three months later, they reported:
“We … rode hundreds of miles, following the tracks of different bands of hostile Indians, and were close upon them a great many times. They were attacking settlements all around us, killing the settlers and driving off stock.” But the company did not see a single Indian (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, an Apostle, 2d ed., Salt Lake City: Stevens and Wallis, 1945, p. 429).