Gospel Story Finder

This year when I changed to a new school, I cried a lot because I didn’t want to leave my old friends. I told myself I would never like my new school and felt like I would be betraying my old friends if I made new ones.
All week, I kept a frown on my face. I didn’t talk to anyone. There were some girls who tried talking with me, but I wasn’t looking to make friends with them.
One day, I realized I didn’t want to be alone. I saw that I needed to be more open. While watching a television series about Jesus Christ, I was inspired to think about how He made friends. Even He didn’t please everyone, but for most people, He changed their life.
Because of Christ’s example, I decided to try to make new friends, even with the fear I had. I was afraid because I was shy and worried that people would make fun of me. But I had the thought, “You have a Father in Heaven who will help you. Even if everyone rejects you, He will be there.”
Now looking back, I can see that the one Friend who never left me during that time was the Savior. Because of the hard experiences I went through, I got so much closer to Him. He loves us so much that He gave His own life for us. And He gave us the scriptures so we can know how to be like Him. You can always count on Jesus Christ to be your Friend.
Rebeca C., age 13, Ceará, Brazil
Enjoys playing volleyball, reading, and drawing.

The road to recognition in this country has been both difficult and frustrating. Since receiving our European assignments, Elder Ringger and I have traveled to Czechoslovakia at least once each year to meet with governmental officials in Prague. Two transoceanic journeys were rewarded only with failed appointments or hopes dashed with the empty statement that “your request for recognition is still being studied.” When we returned to Prague on 6 February 1990, however, we found that the official with whom we had been dealing had been removed from his chair. When his successor heard our complete story, he said, “Your request for recognition will be approved this very month. Your people may again worship in full dignity. Your missionaries may again return to this country.” Recognition was granted February 21, effective 1 March 1990.

When that important declaration was made, I sensed that the real hero in this story was our district president in Czechoslovakia, Jiri Snederfler. Some two and one-half years earlier, Elder Ringger and I had learned that recognition could be formally requested only by a Czechoslovakian member of the Church. So we went to the home of Brother and Sister Snederfler. We explained that we had just received that information from the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs. Knowing that other Czechoslovakian leaders and thinkers had been imprisoned or put to death for religious or dissident belief, we told Brother Snederfler that we, as his Church leaders, could not and would not make that request of him. After contemplating only a brief moment, Brother Snederfler humbly said, “I will go! I will do it!” As he spoke, his wife, Olga, shed a tear. They embraced and said, “We will do whatever is needed. This is for the Lord, and His work is more important than our freedom or life.”

Some months later, when the papers were properly prepared, Brother Snederfler submitted them personally. He and our members were then subjected to strict surveillance. The Saints continued in courage and faith. Ultimately, after periodic fasting and prayer and complete compliance with all requirements, that glorious announcement of recognition came. How I admire the Snederflers and all these stalwart members who endured so much interrogation and risk!

Brother Snederfler has been called to preside over the Freiberg Germany Temple effective 1 September 1991, succeeding President Burkhardt, who has given more than six years of devout and faithful service. Sister Olga Snederfler will serve as temple matron, succeeding Sister Inge Burkhardt.

On 1 July 1990, a mission in Czechoslovakia, forbidden for forty years, was again opened, with Richard W. Winder as president of the Czechoslovakian Mission. He had served in that country on his first mission as a young man. His wife, Barbara, was released as general president of the Relief Society to accompany her husband on this crucial assignment for which they alone were so uniquely qualified.

Prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder has related this experience: A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.
To make it easy for them, however, he had written them to put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled west.
As the train neared his home town, the suspense became so great he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle, indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion changed places with him and said he would. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”
Came the reply: “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There must be a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”
In that instant he stood cleansed by Christ.
His friend said, “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle.”

When the former Governor of Missouri, Lilburn Boggs, was shot, Porter Rockwell was charged with the crime. Without any evidence of his guilt, Porter was taken prisoner and kept in an unheated dungeon without any bedding for over nine months. He was given food that even the dogs refused to eat. Without his natural stamina, Porter never would have survived the ordeal.
One day a Sheriff Reynolds came to the jail and offered Porter a large sum of money if Porter would take him to Joseph Smith so that the Prophet could be captured. “I will see you damned first,” responded Porter.
After Porter’s release from jail, he walked most of the way to Nauvoo, Illinois. He arrived at Joseph Smith’s house on Christmas Day in 1843, as the Prophet and his friends were having a supper party. “During the festivities,” Joseph recounted later, “a man with his hair long and falling over his shoulders, and apparently drunk, came in and acted like a Missourian. I requested the captain of the police to put him out of doors. A scuffle ensued, and … to my great surprise and joy untold, I discovered it was my long-tried, warm, but cruelly persecuted friend, Orrin Porter Rockwell.” (History of the Church, 6:134–135.)
It is believed by those who knew Porter Rockwell best that it was on this occasion that the Prophet Joseph promised Porter that if he remained faithful to the Church and didn’t cut his hair, he would never suffer death from a bullet. From then on, Porter wore his long hair braided and tucked into a bob at the back of his neck.
The sight of Joseph and Porter riding together out to the Prophet’s farm was not uncommon. And when Joseph went to Washington, D.C., to see if government authorities could help right the wrongs suffered by the Saints at the hands of the Missouri mobs, Porter went with him.
It may have been supposed that Porter was only a bodyguard to the Prophet Joseph. However, frequent mention was made of his attendance at council meetings with Joseph Smith and other Church leaders. And when Joseph decided to leave Nauvoo and go west to help lessen the persecution of the Saints, Porter and only two others went with him. Afterward, when the Prophet learned that his departure was thought by many to be an act of cowardice, he said, “‘If my life is of no value to my friends it is of none to myself.’” Turning to Porter, he asked, “‘What shall I do?’ Rockwell replied, ‘You are the oldest and ought to know best; and as you make your bed, I will lie with you.’” (History of the Church, 6:549.)
After Joseph and Hyrum were killed in Carthage Jail, Porter went west with the first party of pioneers. He believed that the Prophet Joseph would have wanted him to do that. His services as a scout and game hunter were invaluable.
In 1849 Porter Rockwell was appointed deputy marshall of Great Salt Lake City, and he was a peace officer in Utah until his death. When pursuing lawbreakers, Porter was relentless, and his endurance was legendary. He would follow a trail at a gallop in his buckboard where others would walk their horses, searching for clues.
Detractors make much of the fact that Rockwell could neither read nor write. Yet he was remarkably successful in a number of business enterprises. It should be remembered, too, that illiteracy was not uncommon in the nineteenth century.
Porter remained loyal to his family and friends, and he was generous to others who needed his help. A touching act of Porter’s charity, recorded in a letter, was the gift of his shorn hair to the widow of Don Carlos Smith, the brother of Joseph Smith. The woman had lost her hair when she had typhoid fever, and Porter’s hair was used to make her a wig. When Porter’s hair regrew, he wore it in a bob again.
Porter traveled thousands of miles on horseback in service to the Church as a scout, guide, and expert in solving problems with Indians. When he died during the summer of 1878, he had been a member of the Church longer than anyone else then living. At his funeral service, Elder Joseph F. Smith of the Council of the Twelve said, “He had his little faults, but Porter’s life on earth, taken altogether, was one worthy of example, and reflected honor upon the Church. Through all his trials he had never once forgotten his obligations to his brethren and his God.”

Life was going to start at 16. No more having Mom drop me off at dance practice or chauffeur me on my nights out. No more watching older sophomores jingle their key chains as I stepped off a sputtering bus. I was going to get my driver’s permit!
Sure, I would have to drive with an adult in the car, but it was the first step toward freedom. Since age 12 I had been bugging my father to let me practice, but Dad always refused. I still remember the lecture he gave me on the eve of receiving my permit.
“The car is not a toy. Blah, blah, blah. Driving is a serious thing. Blah, blah, blah. People get in car wrecks. Blah, blah, blah.”
I sat in the living room, arms folded, listening quietly. But there was a gleam in my eye. I was ready to hit the road. When Dad put the keys in my hands, I felt a surge of power. Life had begun!
So think of my surprise when driving turned out to be infinitely more difficult than I’d imagined. The road looked so small from the driver’s seat. I could never shake the feeling I was overlapping into the next lane. Every time an oncoming car neared me, I swerved to get away. What’s more, I had lived in the same town all my life and never paid attention to how to get anywhere.
Now, if these had been the only crises of my driving career, I would have probably reached 17 unscarred. But I had to face another obstacle on a daily basis—our driveway.
Our driveway was five times as long as a normal one and had an uphill curve right at the end. It might have been manageable going forward, but Dad insisted we back in. He said he liked to pull out onto the road and see what was coming at him.
It was nearly impossible to negotiate the thing in reverse. To make matters worse, Dad always parked his truck right on the other side of the driveway. It was a big truck that left little room for error. And the truck was Dad’s pride and joy, a sitting duck in a bad location.
One fateful day, after I’d finished trying to find my way through town, I failed the driveway obstacle course. Dad was sitting in the passenger seat yelling his usual directions at me, “Okay, take it slowly. To the right. To the RIGHT! You need more gas. Turn it left now. LEFT! Straighten it out. Straighten it! Straightenstraightenstraighten! STOP!!!” Crunch.
My father leaped from the car and surveyed the damage. The truck had an ugly, ugly dent. He was furious.
“Why didn’t you straighten the car out? Why didn’t you stop?”
I had tried to stop, but I had pressed the gas instead of the brake. I didn’t tell him though. I went in my bedroom, and cried. Life had ended.
A while later, a knock came on the door. I opened it, and Dad stepped in.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’ve always believed people are more important than things, but that’s not how I acted just now. I’m sorry.”
I was too amazed to say much. I had just smashed his truck and he was apologizing to me. He was really sorry. It was a lesson I would remember long after the other driving sessions had faded from recall.
Three days later, my younger brother noticed the dent. We were about to get in the car to leave for his soccer game.
“Wow!” my brother gasped. “What happened to the truck?”
“It was a hit and run,” Dad said calmly. Which in the broadest sense was true. I had hit the truck and run to my room. My brother didn’t notice the half smile Dad slid to me. I smiled and got in on the driver’s side.
“Okay,” I said cheerfully. “How do we get to the soccer field?”

Many years ago I stood by the bedside of a young man, the father of two children, as he hovered between life and the great beyond. He took my hand in his, looked into my eyes, and pleadingly asked, “Bishop, I know I am about to die. Tell me what happens to my spirit when I die.”
I prayed for heavenly guidance. My attention was directed to the Book of Mormon on the table beside his bed. I began to read aloud:
“Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—… the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“… The spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
My young friend closed his eyes, expressed a sincere thank you, and silently slipped away to that paradise about which we had spoken.

When I was investigating the Church, I remember the missionaries teaching me about the importance of partaking of the sacrament after being baptized. This helped me to remember the covenant I chose to enter. I was baptized on Dec. 6, 1988. I will always remember the Sunday that followed because I was then able to partake of the sacrament. I felt joy, simple and sweet joy, peace, and confidence. I felt that I was completely part of this special meeting. My Sundays became different because of being able to come to the table of the Lord. I felt empowered by the covenant and received the promised Spirit of the Lord to start and handle the coming week.
Thirty-five years have passed since then and I think that I rarely missed a sacrament, always making it a commitment to come to sacrament meeting and partake of this special supper.

Hilary couldn’t wait. She slid off her bed and landed on Elise’s mattress—hard.
“Get up, Leesie,” she told her little sister, taking an extra bounce. “It’s a special day.”
Elise scrunched her nose, groaned, and rolled over. She didn’t even open her eyes.
Hilary skipped across the room to Baby John’s crib. “Hey, John B., guess what?” She poked her hand through the bars and stroked his little arm. “It’s general conference today.”
John stuck his tongue out and gurgled at her.
He’s too little to listen to conference, Hilary thought. Mom didn’t even buy him a new coloring book.
Hilary could hear the shower going. Probably Daddy. She horse-galloped down the hall and peeked into Mommy and Daddy’s room. Mommy was lying on her side with the covers pulled up to her chin. Hilary tiptoed up to her. “Mommy, it’s conference day,” she whispered into Mommy’s ear.
Mommy opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re right, darling.”
“That means Leesie and I get to use our new coloring books, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mommy yawned.
“And our new markers?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And the new puzzle with the bunny on it?”
“That’s right.” Mommy rolled down the covers and sat up in bed. “Is Baby John awake yet?”
“Yep. But Leesie doesn’t want to get up.”
“Tell her I’m running your bathwater as soon as Daddy’s out of the shower. We need to hurry.”
“I’ll put the candy you got for us in your bag with the markers,” Hilary volunteered. She was planning to be very good during conference so she could get the most candy. I’m being really good so far, she told herself.
The family drove to the meetinghouse for the broadcast because it wasn’t on their local TV channels. Hilary and Elise spread their coloring books and markers on a table at the front of the Relief Society room. Mommy and Daddy liked to watch conference there so that the girls could color quietly and Baby John could sleep on his blanket. Hilary listened to the choir sing as she looked through all the pictures in her new book. She had a lot of coloring to do!
Then a man in a suit and tie appeared on the screen.
“That’s the prophet,” Mommy whispered. “He tells us what Heavenly Father and Jesus want us to do.”
Hilary sighed and flipped through the coloring book one more time. “Leesie, let’s do our puzzle now,” she said.
Elise looked up at her and shook her blond pigtails. “Not yet. We have to listen to the prophet.”
Hilary saw that Elise’s coloring book was closed. She was looking at the television screen and trying to understand what the man with the tie was saying.
Hilary tapped the toes of her shiny church shoes on the carpet and frowned. She wondered why they even got the new puzzle if they weren’t going to use it. Then she remembered the candy in Mommy’s bag. Quickly she folded her arms and stopped tapping her toes. She glanced to see if Mom was watching, then gazed up at the television.
The prophet was saying to be a little more kind to others. Mommy tells us that, too. Hilary also remembered Sister Johnson’s last lesson in Primary: “Jesus said, ‘Love everyone.’”
Hilary looked around at her family. Daddy was bent over his notepad, writing down with a blue pen what the prophet was saying. Elise still hadn’t opened her coloring book. Mom was holding Baby John, patting his back, and watching the screen. Mom caught Hilary’s eye and smiled.
Hilary felt happy and warm. I like listening to the prophet, she decided, looking up at the man with the tie. Her new puzzle and coloring book could wait.

Take me for example. I had LDS friends since I was 13, and I eventually joined the Church when I was 19. But despite learning a lot about Church culture over those years, I had a hard transition. To me, the Church culture and practices were so different that they seemed kind of weird.
I grew up in a church that in many ways is quite unlike the one you know or are coming to know. At church the ministers and choir wore robes similar to high school graduation robes. During worship service—their equivalent of sacrament meeting—the ministers gave sermons and did all the talking. Every Sunday we all repeated the Lord’s Prayer in unison and always sang the hymn “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” Babies were baptized by having water sprinkled on their heads, but confirmation happened at around 14 years old.
We used grape juice instead of water for the sacrament, and high school kids attended Sunday School with the adults in a class that talked about current issues in society.
Even our building was different from the LDS buildings I had visited. We had a large chapel modeled after Christian churches in Europe, with a high peaked roof and tall, stained-glass windows. There was a cross in the choir loft. A beautiful, tall bell tower stood out front. I loved ringing that bell after church services. It was heavy enough that it could lift a small child off the ground as the rope went up and down.
Our customs and social beliefs were different too. We were taught that it was OK to drink alcohol or smoke. Having a boyfriend or girlfriend as a teenager was OK. In fact, we were taught that you could even have sexual relations before marriage as long as you believed you were in love. We never talked about having a testimony. The first time I saw a fast and testimony meeting—wow! I couldn’t believe how odd that seemed. No one ever stood to share their beliefs like that in my church.
Coming to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wasn’t just about learning new doctrines, such as the premortal life and baptism for the dead; it was a change in culture and lifestyle and expectations. Resolving those differences was a hard road to walk.
The first six months after my baptism were really hard. I almost didn’t make it. Everything was so different, especially because I was attending church without my family. I still struggled with certain doctrinal points, as well as feelings of being estranged from my past.
Fortunately, my friends in the Church were patient, kind, and constant. They took me to activities, invited me to their homes for dinner and family home evening, and prayed with me. That made a huge difference not just in my joining the Church but also in my staying active and finding strength when my testimony wavered. I owe a lot to them for helping me figure things out.

In 1830 Samuel also sold a copy of the Book of Mormon to Brigham Young’s brother: Phinehas (or Phineas) Young, a Methodist preacher. When he first met Samuel, Phinehas was returning home on horseback from his preaching circuit. He had stopped at a farm for dinner. As he and the family were visiting, a young man, dressed in rough clothes, entered the room. Book in hand, the young man said to Phinehas, “There’s a book, sir, I wish you to read.”

“Pray, sir, what book have you?” Phinehas asked.

“The Book of Mormon, or, as it is called by some, the Golden Bible.”

“Ah, so then it purports to be a revelation?” Phinehas asked.

The young man opened the book to the testimonies of the Three and Eight Witnesses and said, “Here is the testimony of the witnesses to the truth of the book.”

Phinehas read their testimonies. When Phinehas looked up from his reading, the young man said, “If you will read this book with a prayerful heart and ask God to give you a witness, you will know the truth of the work.”

Phinehas promised to read the book. Then he asked the young man’s name.

“My name is Samuel H. Smith.”

Phinehas had seen that name! “Then you are one of the witnesses.”

“Yes,” Samuel said. “I know the book is a revelation from God, translated by the power of the Holy Ghost, and that my brother, Joseph Smith, Jr., is a Prophet, Seer, and Revelator.”

After arriving home Phinehas told his wife, “I have got a book here called the Book of Mormon, and it is said to be a revelation, and I wish to read it and make myself acquainted with its errors, so I can expose them to the world.”

True to his promise, he read the Book of Mormon—twice in two weeks. Rather than finding any errors, he became convinced the book was true. On Sunday, when his congregation asked for his opinion of the book, “he defended it for ten minutes, when suddenly the Spirit of God came on him with such force that in a marvelous manner he spoke at great length on the importance of it. … He closed by telling the people that he believed the book.”5

That summer, the Young family, including Brigham, and their friends the Kimballs read the Book of Mormon and believed it.

A second source of spiritual strength was Elder Scott’s wife, Jeanene. When they were dating they began to talk about the future. Jeanene, who had grown up in a strong missionary home, expressed her desire to marry a returned missionary in the temple. Elder Scott, who hadn’t thought much about serving a mission before, was strongly impacted. “I went home, and I could think of nothing else. I was awake all night long. … After many prayers I made the decision to meet with my bishop and begin my missionary application.”8 Although Jeanene gave him the guidance and prompting he needed, Elder Scott said, “Jeanene never asked me to serve a mission for her. She loved me enough to share her conviction and then gave me the opportunity to work out the direction of my own life. We both served missions and later were sealed in the temple. Jeanene’s courage and commitment to her faith have made all the difference in our lives together. I am certain we would not have found the happiness we enjoy without her strong faith in the principle of serving the Lord first. She is a wonderful, righteous example!”9
It was the spiritual influence of these women in his life that helped just one young man—Elder Scott—make some of the most important decisions in his life: to be baptized, to serve a mission, and to marry in the temple.

A few months ago I received a letter from a family friend whom we had not seen for many years. Her letter was an expression of hopelessness and a plea for help. After struggling to raise her children as a single mother, she was now remarried. Her nonmember husband was a rough outdoorsman who attempted to express his manhood through drinking, foul language, tough talk, and questionable behavior. Her great concern was that her husband’s example was teaching her son that these indeed were the traits of manhood. Her plea to me: Is there some way, even though separated by great distances, that I might speak to her son, whom we shall call Ben, about the characteristics of true manhood? In answer to that plea, tonight I shall attempt to respond. Thus I address my remarks to a faraway friend and to all the “Bens” in the Church attempting to measure up as a man.

Jimena climbed into the car and buckled her seat belt. She and her parents were on their way to the temple. This would be her first time doing temple baptisms. Papi was going to baptize her for some of their ancestors. Jimena couldn’t wait!
But then Jimena thought of something that made her feel panicky inside. “Papi,” she said, “what about my pump?”
Jimena had type 1 diabetes. To stay healthy, she always wore a small device called an insulin pump to help control the sugar levels in her blood. If she went for too long without wearing it, she felt sick.
“Will they let me wear it inside the temple?” Jimena asked. Her heart was beating fast. “What about when I get in the water?”
“It will be OK,” said Papi. “You can wear your pump until you get in the water. Then Mamá can help you put it back on as soon as you get out.”
Mamá nodded. “And if you start to feel sick while you are doing baptisms, just tell Papi and you can stop.” Mamá squeezed her hand. “We’ll be with you the whole time.”
“OK,” said Jimena. She still felt nervous. But Mamá and Papi had helped her feel a little better.
When they arrived, Jimena held Mamá and Papi’s hands as they walked toward the temple doors. As soon as she stepped inside, Jimena felt a warm, comforting feeling. She knew the Holy Ghost was telling her that Heavenly Father would help her, even though she was nervous. Everything would be OK, just like Papi said.
Jimena changed into white clothes. Then Mamá helped Jimena take off her pump. “It will only be for a few minutes,” Mamá said. She gave Jimena a hug.
Jimena stepped into the water. Papi was waiting for her. He reached out his hand and helped her down the stairs.
Papi said the baptism prayer and dipped Jimena under the water. When she came back up, Jimena smiled. Then they did a few more baptisms.
“Are you feeling OK?” Papi whispered in her ear.
“Yes!” said Jimena.
Papi baptized her for a few more people. “Can you do more?” he asked again.
“Yes!” said Jimena.
After the last baptism, Mamá helped Jimena put on her pump and checked Jimena’s blood sugar. Mamá smiled. It was normal! It was as if Jimena hadn’t taken off her pump at all.
Next they went into a smaller room. Papi placed his hands on Jimena’s head. He confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the people who had died that she had been baptized for. Now her ancestors could choose to join Jesus Christ’s Church!
At home evening the next week, Jimena and her parents talked about their temple trip. “The temple is the house of the Lord,” said Papi. “When we go, we can have miracles in our lives.”
“What kind of miracles?” asked Jimena’s little brother, Pablo.
“I was nervous to take off my insulin pump to get in the water,” said Jimena. “But while I was doing baptisms, I didn’t even feel sick. It was a miracle!” Jimena smiled. “And even though I was scared, the Holy Ghost helped me feel calm. That was a miracle too.”

Illustrations by Scott Peck
So much homework … But tomorrow I get to play with my friends.
Mom? Nobody wants to go to the school carnival with me tomorrow.
I just don’t have any real friends.
I’m so sorry, sweetie.
I wish I could help … What would Jesus do?
I know!
I can go with you to the carnival, if you want. I bet we’d have lots of fun together!
But aren’t you playing with your friends tomorrow?
Well, you are one of my friends!
Best carnival ever!
Kindness is one of the best gifts you can ever give.
See family manual, page 79.

A cow helped provide necessary nourishment on the trail for the family of my great-grandmother Margaret McNeil as she came to Zion from Scotland. As a 12-year-old, it was Margaret’s task to arise early and get breakfast for the family and milk her cow. She would then drive the cow on ahead of the company to let it feed in the grassy places. She wrote:
“The cow furnished us with milk, our chief source of food. … Had it not been for the milk, we would have starved. …
“One night our cow ran away from [the] camp, and I was sent to bring her back. I was not watching where I was going and was barefooted. All of a sudden I began to feel I was walking on something soft. I looked down to see what it could be, and to my horror found that I was standing in a bed of snakes, large ones and small ones. At the sight of them I became so weak I could scarcely move; all I could think of was to pray, and in some way I jumped out of them. The Lord blessed and cared for me.
“We arrived in Ogden, Utah, on the fourth day of October [1859], after a journey of hardships and hunger. … I walked every step of the way across the plains.”

Richard also used to party a lot. But, after the last bash, he said, “I saw things there and I didn’t feel right. For some funny reason I knew I didn’t belong there.”
He left the party and vowed to become more involved in things like service, schoolwork, studying the scriptures, listening to good music, and not to watch so much television.
“It’s hard,” he says. “I’m a teenager. I like to keep up with things going on outside. I don’t want to be a social hermit. But I feel that if I’m going to go on a mission, and if I’m going to get married in the temple, and if I’m going to receive callings, I know I have to be worthy.”

Through obedience we build spiritual strength that sustains us during times of adversity. My friend and counselor Joy F. Evans tells of such a time in her life. She had four young children and was expecting her fifth child. The much-anticipated day of birth arrived—about six weeks early. They had expected to have “a” baby, but they had twins instead—Michael and Amy, premature and very small.

They had already lost one child earlier, and Joy, being a nurse, felt certain those babies were also going to die. She was even afraid that her own lack of faith would contribute to their dying, and she wanted desperately for them to live!

In her words, “I think it was the first time I couldn’t say ‘Thy will be done.’ I just couldn’t say it.”

When her husband went home the second day after the babies’ birth, he prayed, not for the babies, but for his wife, their mother. Then a sweet assurance came to her that everything was all right: whatever happened was the Lord’s will. The babies did die, one after two days, and the other after three; but Joy still had her feeling of peace. She could draw from the wonderful reservoir of strength she had developed by keeping the commandments through the years.

Having the babies dressed appropriately for burial was very important to their mother, but they were so tiny that clothes could not be found small enough to fit them. When the Relief Society president came after the second baby died, she sensed Joy’s disappointment in not being able to dress the babies as she would like. The president went home and sewed busily that night. When she came back the next morning, the day of the graveside service, she had a darling little white suit for Michael and a dainty little white dress for Amy.

Peace can come to both the giver and the receiver as we follow the promptings of the Spirit to serve one another.

When I eventually moved to a new neighborhood with my daughters, life took an unexpected turn. I had a brain accident and suffered a stroke. I was in a very dark place. During this difficult time, a bishop named Noel Sosa from my new ward reached out to me. He had dedicated himself to finding members of the Church in his neighborhood who were not coming to meetings. Upon discovering my situation, he mobilized the ward’s efforts to help me. With the support of our new Church family, led by the capable Relief Society president, Raquel, they cared for my daughters and me, not only attending to our physical needs but also nurturing our spiritual needs.
Initially, I hesitated to re-engage with the Church, but I overcame my doubts with my ward’s genuine love and support. I especially appreciated my brothers and sisters in the gospel who ministered to me with love. Their teachings awakened a testimony within me that I now share with others.

It’s hard to believe it was only 120 years ago when Wilbur and Orville Wright first lifted off and flew over the sands of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Four short flights on that December day changed the world and opened the door to one of the greatest inventions in the world’s history.
Flying was risky in those early days. The brothers knew this. And so did their father, Milton. In fact, he was so terrified of losing both of his sons in a flying accident that they promised him they would never fly together.
And they never did—with one exception. Seven years after that historic day at Kitty Hawk, Milton Wright finally gave his consent and watched as Wilbur and Orville flew together for the first time. After landing, Orville convinced his father to take his first and only flight and to see for himself what it was like.
As the plane lifted from the ground, the 82-year-old Milton got so caught up in the exhilaration of flight that all fear left him. Orville rejoiced as his father shouted with delight, “Higher, Orville, higher!”
This was a man after my own heart!

As mission president, he again found the Book of Mormon to be a constant source of inspiration, and he used it extensively in zone meetings and in counseling with the missionaries. He was an efficient, compassionate mission president. One of his missionaries, Wayne L. Gardner, remembers serving in an outlying area and receiving the assignment to make arrangements for a conference. “Everything went wrong,” he says. “I had scheduled a building for us to meet in, but at the last minute it was cancelled. By the time I got to the airport to get the president, I was late and he had been waiting. I forgot to ask the taxi driver to wait for us, and there weren’t any others in sight. We were stranded.
“Even though I could see frustration in the president’s eyes, he put his arm around me and told me he loved me. He was so patient and understanding. I hope I never forget that lesson.”