Gospel Story Finder

Neal was in a mortar squad assigned to fire explosive shells at enemy positions hidden inland. He took a position in a foxhole, and after days of back-and-forth warfare, heavy rains turned the scorched landscape into a quagmire. Neal’s foxhole filled with mud, making rest nearly impossible as he tried to sleep standing up. Meager military rations did little to stave off hunger, and the water he received came up the hill in five-gallon tanks and always tasted of oil. Many men drank coffee to mask the water’s foulness, but Neal wanted to be obedient to the Word of Wisdom and refused. He did his best to gather rainwater, and on Sundays, he used water he saved and a biscuit from his rations for the sacrament.2

In a long ago time when men ate only what they grew or hunted and women made clothes from fabrics woven by hand or from animal skins, there lived a boy named Agnon. Agnon lived with his parents and neighbors in a lush and peaceful green valley.
Each day as the sun rose in the sky, Agnon tilled the soil. Each night he ate his bread and broth, then slept with stars quietly shining beyond his window. As Agnon grew, he looked longingly toward the mountains and wondered what was on the other side. There must be more to life than this, he thought. I must go and seek my fortune.
When he told his parents of his decision, his mother kissed him on the cheek and wept. His father nodded sadly, and his friend, Loni, sadly shook his hand.
“Does no one wish me luck and good fortune?” Agnon asked in bewilderment.
“Of course,” his father replied. “We wish those things for you, and we also hope that you return home safely.”
“I will,” Agnon replied with a smile. “And I’m sure I will be the wiser and the richer for having gone.” So saying, the boy wrapped a bearskin in a tight bundle, stuffed his pouch with fruits and vegetables, then waved and set off to seek his fortune. When he reached Loni’s house, he paused at the gate for a moment. Then he continued on his journey.
For many days he climbed the mountain until he came to a great snowfield. He glanced back longingly but could no longer see the lush green valley, so he wrapped his bearskin about his shoulders and trudged on. Finally he came to the end of the snow. Then as he descended the mountain, he saw trees and green fields.
Ah, thought Agnon, this is more like it!
He walked until he came to a wide, well-traveled trail. “Hello!” he called to a woman who carried a bundle upon her head.
But she only glanced at him, pulled her shawl about herself, and hurried on.
“Good day,” he called to a child playing by the trail. “I seek my fortune.”
“There’s none here,” the child replied, then ran indoors.
On and on Agnon walked until nightfall. He was weary and stopped when he came to a fire. As he approached it to warm himself, an old man sprang from some bushes with a knife gleaming in his hand.
“Aha!” he snarled. “You’ll not get my treasure!”
“It was your company I wanted,” Agnon replied, backing away from the fire.
“Build your own fire!” the old man scolded.
Agnon shrugged his shoulders and spread his bearskin on the ground in a nearby grove of trees. In his pocket he carried a flint. With a few quick strokes, he made a fire with some sticks he had gathered. Then, using a snare, he caught a rabbit. As he ate his meal, he saw the shriveled old man cautiously approach his campfire.
“You have food?” the man asked in surprise.
“Indeed,” Agnon replied. “Come, fill your stomach.”
The old man glanced back at his own fire, then hurried to fetch a heavy sack. Dragging it back with him, he came close to Agnon’s fire. Agnon reached to help him with his burden, but the old man growled, “Keep away!”
Agnon sat and watched as the man huddled beside the sack and ate. When the meal was done, he sat back against a tree and slept.
The following morning Agnon awoke with a start. Across the clearing he saw the old man with a finger held to his pursed lips. “Hear that rustling?” the old man asked in a whisper.
Agnon listened to the wind in the trees and nodded his head. “Yes, it is the leaves,” he replied.
“No! It’s bandits sneaking up to steal my treasure!” The man patted his lumpy sack and squinted his eyes. “I am an old man, boy! Too old to carry this treasure anymore, much less defend it.”
“Then leave it,” Agnon replied simply.
“I cannot leave it,” the old man growled. “It means too much to me.”
“More than your life?” Agnon asked.
The man pointed a shaky finger. “I will give it to you who gave me food and could have taken it in the night, but you did not. Yes,” the old man nodded, “you are worthy.”
Agnon could not believe his ears! The old man parting with his treasure! “But what of you?” Agnon asked.
“The bandits will not bother me,” he sighed wearily. “They only seek my treasure. But you are young. Take the sack and be off!”
Agnon lifted the sack to his back, staggering under its weight.
“Go!” the old man shouted. “Run for your life!”
Agnon hurried along the trail, but before he had gone far, he ached with the burden. Can a treasure be worth so much pain? he wondered. Glancing ahead, he saw the snow-topped mountains. If I can get the treasure home, he daydreamed, how proud of me everyone will be.
Slowly, step by painful step, he climbed. Twice he slipped and fell, yet onward he struggled with the fortune upon his back. Ahead he saw another snowfield and shuddered as he remembered his bearskin left in the grove of trees far below.
That night he huddled near his fire and drew close to the sack, but it provided no warmth. Shivering in the cold, he looked about him and saw a ring of wolves with gaping jaws and teeth like daggers. The largest wolf leaped at Agnon, snapping at his legs. Quickly Agnon dodged behind the sack. Ghostly sounds echoed over the mountains as the wolf’s teeth sank into the bundle. He yelped with pain and trotted back into the trees. Other wolves crept closer as Agnon looked at the hole in the treasure sack.
“Why!” Agnon gasped. “The treasure is nothing but colored stones. Pretty to be sure, but not worth all this bother!” Agnon laughed and grabbed a handful of stones and threw them at the wolves. One by one, the wolves yelped and retreated into the forest. Finally the sack was empty and Agnon threw it over his shoulders. “Now it is good for something,” he said with a grim smile. “It will give me a little warmth.”
As Agnon crossed the mountain in the early light of morning, he wondered how long the old man had bent beneath his worthless burden and why. When he reached the valley, he saw his parents and ran to meet them.
“Mother! Father!” he called, his arms open wide.
That day they had a feast, and Loni came to see his friend back from his journey. They all listened as Agnon spoke. “People over the mountains live in fear,” he said. “But truly I have found my fortune.”
“You have?” Loni asked curiously.
“Yes,” Agnon replied thoughtfully. “I found that my fortune was here all the time. It is in the earth and sun that give us food; it is in the house that gives us shelter; and most of all, my treasure is in the faces around me.”
“What is it, Agnon?” Loni whispered.
“It is love, Loni. And no matter what others treasure, if they have no value for each of us, they are worthless. I have come back a wiser person, for none of my treasures are a burden to me, and no one would bother to steal things that are free to all.”

The story was told by my mother that on the morning I was born, on a Sunday, my father was quite proud. He was the bishop of the Oakley First Ward in Oakley, Idaho, and he went outside to announce it to one of our Scandinavian friends, Brother Petersen, who was walking by. My father asked him to come in and see the new son. My mother said I was the homeliest little child she had ever seen. I was undernourished, wrinkled, and bald headed. And so Brother Petersen, after looking at me, said, “Sister Haight, do you tink he’s worth boddering with?” Well, that was my entrance into the world.

But even on a winning team, there are lessons to be learned about defeat. Angie Harris, the team center, hyperextended her knee during the second quarter of the first game of the record-breaking season, and was sidelined for the rest of the year. At least two surgeries have been necessary to get her back on her feet, and she’ll probably never play school ball again. Many players might be bitter over this, but not Angie. She reads the scriptures faithfully every day, and from them she’s learned that “the Lord isn’t going to give you challenges that you can’t handle. This injury wasn’t that bad. I played on the state championship team last year. This keeps it from going to my head.”

Giving gifts of love and service to those less fortunate has been a hallmark of the prophets’ Christmas experiences. In 1931, during the Great Depression, President Harold B. Lee was president of a large stake in Salt Lake City, Utah. President Lee determined that he would know the needs of his stake members and do everything he could to alleviate their want. By survey he learned that more than half of his stake, almost 5,000 people, were dependent on others for help, including almost 1,000 children under the age of 10. He mobilized members to collect toys and organized workshops to repair, paint, and clean old toys or make new ones so no child would be without on Christmas. He decided that every family in the stake should have a dinner for Christmas and solicited food donations to make that happen.1 Later as an Apostle, Elder Lee was asked to organize the Church’s welfare program based on similar principles of service, sacrifice, and work.

I knew a faithful mother who humbled herself and asked, “What is keeping me from progressing?” In her case, the response from the Spirit came immediately: “Stop complaining.” This answer surprised her; she had never thought of herself as a complainer. However, the message from the Holy Ghost was very clear. In the days that followed, she became conscious of her habit of complaining. Grateful for the prompting to improve, she determined to count her blessings instead of her challenges. Within days, she felt the warm approval of the Spirit.

President David O. McKay spoke about his horse Dandy, who wanted complete freedom and no restraints. President McKay said:
“Under the saddle he was as willing, responsive, and cooperative as a horse could be. …
“But Dandy resented restraint. He was ill-contented when tied and would nibble at the tie-rope until he was free. He would not run away—he just wanted to be free. Thinking other horses felt the same, he would proceed to untie their ropes. …
“… His curiosity and desire to explore the neighborhood led him and me into trouble. Once on the highway he was hit by an automobile. …
“Recovering from that, and still impelled with a feeling of wanderlust, he inspected the fence throughout the entire boundary. He even found the gates wired. …
“One day, however, somebody left the gate unwired. Detecting this, Dandy unlatched it and took another horse … with him, and together they … went to an old house used for storage. Dandy’s curiosity prompted him to push open the door. … There was a sack of grain. What a find! Yes, and what a tragedy. The grain was bait for rodents! In a few minutes Dandy and the other horse were in spasmodic pain, and shortly afterwards both were dead.”
President McKay continued: “How like Dandy are many of our youth! … They are impulsive, full of life, full of curiosity. … They, too, are restive under restraint, but if they are kept busy, guided carefully and rightly, they prove to be responsive and capable; but if left to wander unguided, they all too frequently violate principles of right which often lead[s] to snares of evil, disaster, and even death.”

Our Scout troop traveled to Cape Hatteras on North Carolina’s Outer Banks for a surf fishing adventure. Arriving at mid-afternoon, we set up camp and then drove to the beach to fish.
We found a nice stretch of beach at the end of a driveway that wound through high sand dunes. Confident from my years of driving a trailer, I proceeded down the winding pavement and parked. We retrieved our fishing gear, rigged surf rods, cut bait, and eagerly hiked to the beach, hoping to catch the large bluefish and channel bass that roam the surf.
The excitement and labor of surf fishing made us lose track of time. I began to think about the van, trailer, and long, winding driveway. With no room to turn around, I knew we would have to back out. This is easy in daylight, but daylight was quickly fading.
As I backed out, I could not see if my wheels were on safe, firmly packed gravel or the loose, sinking sand that would easily swallow an axel. Facing the possibility of a stranded vehicle 10 miles from camp in the dark, I knew it was time to pray for guidance. After we prayed, I tried to maneuver. Then one of the young men said, “Let’s all take out our flashlights and stand along the safe ground. Just follow our lights, and we’ll get you out.”
There soon was a string of lights shining in the darkness. It was easy to back up. As I progressed down the pitch-black driveway, the lights moved on, marking the safe path. Soon I was nearly at the highway entrance and feared that the trailer might back onto the dark highway instead of the safe shoulder. Again, the young men reminded me, “Just follow our light.” They guided me safely onto the shoulder, and then they all boarded the van. About an hour later we were eating hot soup around the campfire.
Two days later, at fast and testimony meeting, I was reflecting on the actions of our young men. There could have been hundreds of them trying to guide me, but only those holding up the light could actually help. I thought of Jesus saying: “Therefore, hold up your light that it may shine unto the world. Behold I am the light which ye shall hold up—that which ye have seen me do” (3 Nephi 18:24).
I bore testimony of our valiant and wise young men and the lesson they had taught me. I reminded them to keep the light of Christ burning brightly so they can guide those stranded on the sand dunes of life looking for that light that leads to safety.

As I navigated life after my parents’ divorce, I learned that Jesus Christ really is the ultimate source of peace and hope.
Christ’s healing power is real. For years, I didn’t talk to my dad. I tried to forget what he had done. I begged for Christ’s grace to help me let go of my anger. The Spirit helped me understand what to do, and eventually, I was able to forgive him. Our relationship, while still recovering, was instilled with new life.
Easter is a reminder that through Jesus Christ, hope will conquer despair, life will conquer death, and light will conquer darkness. Choosing to follow Him is the decision that shapes my life—not one made by someone else.

Nita Blackwing dragged her bleating one-year-old sheep across the corral. “You’re going to get your first shearing,” she told him. “But don’t be afraid—it won’t hurt.”
Mother and Granny were shearing the whole flock that spring day. Some of the sheep belonged to Nita’s older brothers and sisters. This was Nita’s first sheep. With a pair of big hand shears Granny expertly sheared the wool from Nita’s sheep in one whole piece.
“How skinny he looks!” Nita declared. “Poor thing!” She wished she could wrap his woolly coat around him and make him a baby lamb again.
Feeling a bit sad, Nita walked home with Granny as the glowing sunset turned the earth and rocks of the Navajo reservation red.
Running ahead of the older woman, Nita shouted, “The cactuses are in bloom, Granny!” Nita kept a safe distance from the spiny pads of the prickly pear cactuses as she stroked the dark pink petals of a colorful blossom. They were big and as shiny as wax. “I wish I could take one home,” she said.
“A cactus flower lives only a short while,” Granny cautioned. “Let it turn into a fruit that we can use.”
The Blackwing hogan was a round house made of logs and bark, plastered with mud the same color as the rocks around it. The boys helped their father with the horses and ponies and the crops of corn and squash. The girls herded the sheep and helped prepare the wool for weaving. Mother wove good blankets and rugs, but Granny was known far and wide as one of the best weavers among the Navajos.
Nita and her sisters spent the hot summer days in front of the hogan, beating the wool with sticks to make the burrs and dirt fly out. Then they carded it into strands by combing it with metal-toothed paddles. Nita carded her own sheep’s fleece especially well so that Granny would want to use it in her rug.
Every night Nita watched Granny spin the wool into yarn on a spinning stick. “Why do you whirl it around so many times?” she asked.
“The more you spin, the finer the yarn,” Granny explained. “The finer the yarn, the better the rug.”
Mother, who liked new ways and bright colors, bought the dye for her yarn in paper packages at the trading post. One night when they were all snuggled down under their sheepskins, the children chose the colors they wanted for their wool.
“Turquoise!” said Maria. “Like the sky.”
“Yellow!” said Jolie. “Like the sun.”
“Red—bright red!” Ben shouted.
Those three colors would go into Mother’s rug.
“My sheep is black, so I don’t have to choose,” said Ramon.
“I want mine to stay white,” said Johnny. “And my wool will be twisted with Ramon’s to make gray.”
Both Mother and Granny used the three natural colors—black, white, and gray. But Granny wouldn’t use dyes from the trader. She made her own by boiling roots, bark, fruit, and leaves from plants.
“I guess you’ll have to choose brown, Nita,” said Maria. “That’s about the only color Granny ever makes.”
But brown was dull, and Nita liked bright colors too.
One day Nita went with Granny to the nearby mountains to find plants for making dye. The trees and shrubs were turning red and yellow in the frosty air.
“What a pretty tree,” said Nita as they dug up roots of a mountain mahogany with reddish bark and leaves. “Does this make red dye, Granny?” She hoped it did.
But Granny replied, “No. Brown.”
On the way home they came to the prickly pear cactus, now bearing dark red fruit. “We’ll pick some of these to make rose-colored dye,” said Granny.
“You’ve never woven a rose-colored rug before!” Nita said excitedly.
“I mix it with brown to make a good Indian color—the color of the earth that takes care of us.”
Nita looked toward the hogan framed against the rocks. It was a kind of rosy brown in the setting sun. “Like that?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes, I see a design in my head that has many squares of the Indian earth color at sunset.”
“Then I want that for the color of my sheep’s wool,” Nita declared.
When the snow came and the coyotes howled, Nita sat in front of the loom and watched Granny weave her rug. It had a gray background and a black border and a design in squares and rectangles of white and black and the rosy Indian earth color.
When the frozen ground thawed and the snowstorms were replaced by dust storms, Granny took the rug off the loom and laid it on the floor. Nita touched the rosy brown squares.
“There is my sheep’s wool,” she said. “And there are the colors from the prickly pear flower and the mahogany tree.”
Granny began to roll up the rug. “Now I must take it to the trading post. We need flour, sugar, and canned food, and some cloth for blouses and skirts.”
Tears came into Nita’s eyes as she thought about the beautiful rug that must be traded for supplies.
“Come,” said Granny. “Your father will drive us to the trading post in his truck. The trader will give you a peppermint stick.”
Nita smiled. “It’s almost time for the ewes to have new lambs, isn’t it? Will I get to choose another one to be mine?”
“Of course,” said Granny. “You will have a new lamb, and your old sheep will have new wool. The cactus will bloom again, and we will go again to the mountains for our plant dyes. That is how the earth takes care of us.”
“And I will learn to weave rugs full of beautiful things like yours,” said Nita.

As a young boy, not quite 13 years of age, in September 1939, it was natural to have some momentary fear when I heard that war had been declared. Some of the children even speculated about the end of the world coming in those dark days that followed when the invasion of England seemed imminent and bombs were falling all around. We were not really afraid, however, for we had faith in God. We prayed and worked for deliverance, and miraculously it came.

“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.

I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

When William later hurt his back lifting a quarter beef, he took a laborer’s job in the dockyards at the same pay. Harbor activities intrigued him, and he carefully noticed the daily comings and goings of the many ships using the docks. One day he heard that a British naval vessel, the His Majesty’s Ship Eurotas, soon would sail for the South Pacific, and he immediately formulated a plan for reaching Zion. He enlisted in the British navy and joined the Eurotas’ crew as a butcher, hoping one day to go ashore in California and travel from there to Utah.
But once the “old twenty-eight gun sailing frigate, converted into a screw propellor ship” cleared port, his immigration hopes vanished. At a surprise meeting the commanding officer opened secret orders and announced to the crew: “My men, we are going to the Crimea, the seat of war!”
Because the ship operated with but half a crew, William soon learned various sailing skills. As he later wrote: “I not only had my work to perform as a butcher, but after it was done, I then had to assist the gunners’ crew in whatever they were doing. The gunners are almost invariably excellent seamen … I was therefore under very practical men and learned to do considerable sailor’s work which I have always found useful to me even in Utah.”
Lisbon, Portugal. Gibraltar. Algiers. Malta. Constantinople, Turkey. At each stop William went ashore to obtain meat for the crew. And all along the way they received “dreadful” war reports from the Crimea.
After cruising off the Crimean peninsula, the Eurotas docked near Sebastopol [Sevastopol], a city from which British and allied troops had driven Russian units at terrible cost to both sides. To William’s great joy he found that among the thousands of British servicemen camped in the area were enough Latter-day Saints for a “field church” (Church meetings conducted at the place where an army is camped rather than a church building) to be established. He eagerly participated.

“Bridgette, have you seen my takkies?” Jaide said. Sometimes Bridgette borrowed Jaide’s clothes. This time, Jaide’s tennis shoes were missing.
“Bridgette!” Jaide called again. “Have you …”
Bridgette came into the room, holding Jaide’s white shoes. Only they didn’t look white anymore. They were covered with mud!
“What did you do?” Jaide said.
“I had to go outside,” Bridgette said. “And it was raining. So I put on your shoes. But I stepped in some mud and …”
“You’re always ruining my things!”
“And you’re always mean to me!”
That’s when Jaide heard awful words come out of her mouth: “I wish you weren’t my sister!”
Bridgette started to cry. Then she ran out of the room.
Jaide started to cry too. She hadn’t meant to say that.
Jaide looked out the window. Along the street she could see the lavender blossoms of the jacaranda trees. There were lots of them where her family lived in South Africa.
Usually, seeing the pretty trees made Jaide feel happy. But right now she didn’t feel happy at all. She had hurt Bridgette’s feelings with those sharp, ugly words.
Now she wasn’t sure what to do. She sat down at the table and looked at her scriptures. Last night she had been reading a story with Dad and Bridgette. It was about when an angry crowd came to take Jesus away.
Jaide opened her scriptures to that part and read, “And, behold, one of them which were with Jesus stretched out his hand, and drew his sword, and struck a servant of the high priest’s, and smote off his ear.”
The disciple must have been really angry that Jesus was being taken away. Jaide read the next verse:
“Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword” (Matthew 26:51–52).
Then Jesus healed the man’s ear. Jesus was kind, even though the man was there to hurt Him.
Now Jaide realized what she needed to do. She needed to forgive her sister, like Jesus would. And then she would try to help her heal from the cutting things she had said earlier.
Jaide bowed her head and said a little prayer. “Please, Heavenly Father, help me make things right with Bridgette.”
Jaide looked out at the jacaranda trees again. She got a piece of paper and started drawing. She drew a picture of their street, lined with the beautiful trees. In the corner, she wrote, “I love you, Bridgette!” Then she went to find her sister.
Bridgette was sitting alone, staring at the floor.
“I made this for you.” Jaide held out her picture of the jacaranda trees.
Bridgette looked at the picture. “Thank you! It’s so pretty!”
“What I said was mean,” Jaide said. “I’m really sorry.”
“But I ruined your shoes.”
“It’s OK,” Jaide said. “I forgive you. Will you forgive me for saying something horrible that I didn’t really mean?”
“Yes!” Bridgette said. “Do you still want to be sisters?”
“Of course! I love you, and I want to be your sister forever.”
She liked the way those loving, happy words felt coming out of her mouth. It felt good to follow Jesus.

My association with the General Authorities has been filled with many great experiences. A few years ago while Elder S. Dilworth Young was caring for his first wife who was very ill, he invited Sister Burton and me to their home to sample his homemade bread. He is an excellent cook, and we enjoyed not only a fine meal, but excellent company. After the meal he showed us a picture he was painting, and we expressed our admiration for his talent.
“I wish I could do that,” I said.
“Why don’t you then?” he asked.
I told Elder Young that I had bought some paints, brushes, and canvases just for fun but didn’t even know how to mix colors, let alone paint. He then offered to show me how and suggested I learn by actual experience. He said we could take a day off sometime when we were both free and go up into the mountains together and paint.
I thought he was just making conversation, but he soon followed through. Free days are rather rare for General Authorities. Their busy schedules often conflict. But finally we did find two such days before winter came. I didn’t learn to paint, but I did learn to love that great man. We sat together, ate lunch together, and talked a great deal. Between brushing away flies, we even did a little painting. During those hours together I learned to appreciate Elder Young as a fine storyteller, a warm companion, a great friend, and a man of God.

When Nikolay Shaveko traveled to Poland from his home in Chernigov, Ukraine, he thought the trip would be routine—just another long bus ride across the border to buy children’s toys to sell at an outdoor market back home.
The year was 1995, and many changes were taking place in Ukraine, a former Soviet republic. “I was having great difficulties,” Nikolay says. Not only was he struggling with harsh economic challenges, he was also tasting religious freedom for the first time. He was hungering and thirsting for the truth.
In Poland, Nikolay met a group of Latter-day Saints from L’viv, Ukraine, who were also there on business. “They started speaking to me about God and about faith,” he says. When Nikolay returned home, he brought not only a load of toys to sell—but also a copy of the Book of Mormon and a great desire to learn more.
Nikolay’s wife, Lena, was frightened by his interest in a new religion. “There were so many churches coming into our country,” she says. “I didn’t know what to do.”
As Nikolay studied the Book of Mormon, his faith grew steadily. Then the Church members he had met in Poland visited him and his family. Impressed by their spirit, Lena now shared Nikolay’s hunger to learn more.
“We tried to find the Church in Chernigov,” Lena says. “But we couldn’t.” In the city of 350,000, there were no missionaries, no branches, no known members. The closest branch was 150 kilometers away in the capital city of Kiev. “So we decided to follow all the commandments we knew of—to obey the Word of Wisdom and pray,” she says. “Our family grew closer. We started to spend more time together.”
But they yearned to have a greater understanding of the gospel, to make covenants with the Lord, and to have fellowship with Church members. On Sunday, 24 November 1996, Nikolay, Lena, and their daughters, Anya, age 10, and Yulia, age 7, made the 150-kilometer journey to Kiev.
“When we arrived at the branch, we met the missionaries for the first time,” says Lena. “They thought we were already members!” The Shavekos were amazed by the love and welcome they received. “It’s in our blood not to smile a lot,” she says, “so we were surprised to see all the people smiling. We loved the spirit we felt.”
That was the first of many trips the Shaveko family made from Chernigov to Kiev for Sunday meetings. For months they never missed a Sunday, even though the 300-kilometer round-trip journey took 24 hours each weekend, the temperatures dipped to -30 degrees Celsius, and the trains were poorly heated. The train always made several stops along the way, including a seven-hour layover in a crowded station in the middle of the night. The Shavekos would leave home at 8:30 P.M. Saturday and return home at 8:30 P.M. Sunday—or they would leave at midnight and return home the following midnight. In Kiev they would take buses and subways to the rented building where the branch met, arriving just in time for the 10:00 A.M. meeting. Afterward they would mingle with members, eat lunch, listen to a missionary discussion or two, and then head home.
Traveling by bus would have been faster—only three hours each way because of a more efficient schedule. But bus tickets were too expensive. As it was, train tickets for four Sundays each month cost nearly half of Nikolay’s monthly income.
But the journey didn’t seem burdensome, remembers Lena. “We were happy. Even the girls didn’t complain, although sometimes they fell asleep on the way. When we received the Liahona at church, we would read the whole magazine on the way home using the dim overhead lights on the train. The inconvenience of the trip didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t important.”
Two missionaries, Elders Kent Averett and Derek Rowe, obtained permission from the mission president, Wilfried M. Voge, to travel to Chernigov a couple of times to teach discussions to the Shavekos in their own home. Since the home’s heating wasn’t adequate, the family and missionaries had to dress warmly. “But the presence of the Spirit in our gospel conversations warmed us,” says Elder Rowe.
On 5 January 1997, six weeks after their first visit to the branch, the whole family—Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia (who had turned eight)—were baptized.
After Lena became pregnant a few months later, she was unable to make the long journey to Kiev every Sunday. So the mission president authorized a variation in the schedule. Two Sundays per month, Nikolay and his daughters continued to travel to Kiev for meetings. On the other Sundays, missionaries held Church meetings in the Shaveko home. Talks and lessons were taken from the scriptures, Church manuals, and the Liahona.
But along with joy came persecution. “Some neighbors said, ‘Oh, the Orthodox Church isn’t enough for you?’ And they started giving us problems,” says Lena. “Some of them are not as close to us anymore.”
On the day of their baptisms, the Shavekos received wonderful news. A member in Kiev told them that while serving as a missionary three years earlier in St. Petersburg, Russia, she had taught the gospel to a Ukrainian family—a single mother named Alla Kurnosova and her young son, Vitaliy. They had joined the Church and returned to live in Chernigov, where Alla works as a tailor.
During the three years since Alla Kurnosova’s baptism, she had corresponded with missionaries she had known in St. Petersburg. “Through letters, they gave me hope and strength,” Alla says. She and 13-year-old Vitaliy had continued studying the scriptures. “It seems Vitaliy knows even more than I do,” says Alla. “He teaches me all the time.” Both prayed that the Church would come to Chernigov.
Their prayers and patience were finally rewarded. Alla and Vitaliy became close friends with the Shavekos. The two families took turns hosting the twice-a-month Sunday meetings with the missionaries. Nikolay and Vitaliy were assigned as home teaching companions and visited both families together.
The meeting in Nikolay and Lena’s home on Sunday, 1 June 1997, is typical of the meetings during those days. Twelve people are in attendance: Nikolay, Lena, Anya, and Yulia; Alla, Vitaliy, and Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera; Katya Malihina, a 19-year-old Church member from Kiev attending law school in Chernigov; and four missionaries who have been teaching the group—Elder William and Sister Manette Murri, Elder David Sills, and Elder Chris Colton.
Elder Sills conducts the meeting. Sister Murri plays the piano. (She has been encouraging Anya and Yulia to learn to play several hymns. Before and after the meeting, the girls demonstrate how well they are progressing.)
The opening hymn is “I Need Thee Every Hour,” and Vitaliy offers the prayer. The sacrament hymn is “Jesus Once of Humble Birth.” Nikolay and Elder Colton prepare the sacrament on a small table covered with a simple white cloth and offer the sacrament prayers. Vitaliy passes the bread and water. Then, as sunlight streams through the living room windows, the members and missionaries express love for the Savior and gratitude for the gospel.
Lena weeps as she expresses how wonderful it is to hold Church meetings in her home. “There are very few people here; everybody fits into one apartment,” she says. “In other places, there are more members of the Church, and everybody does not have the opportunity to bear his or her testimony every time.”
She tells about a visit she had with a woman during the week: “I had a feeling in my heart that I should share the gospel with her.” In return, the woman, a member of a Protestant church, shared with Lena the steps necessary to officially register the LDS Church in the city—making a complicated process seem manageable. “The woman and I were happy to have the opportunity to talk with each other about religion. We became good friends, sisters in faith, even though we have different religions. We are all children of God. I know God will always help us and that the Church will grow here in Chernigov.”
Nikolay expresses appreciation for “being able to bear my testimony freely and to show my feelings to other people. How wonderful it is to come to know the truth and to have faith in God and in Jesus Christ, our Savior.” Then he bears witness of the Word of Wisdom. “By following it, we can have a clean heart and a clean body,” he says. “Before, I was often a drunk man, but today I am bearing my testimony! When I began to live the Word of Wisdom, there was a big change inside of me. I look at life a lot differently than before. I don’t want to go back to the darkness we had around us. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has the truth and the commandments we should obey. We are coming closer to becoming like our Heavenly Father.”
Katya Malihina, the 19-year-old law student, says: “Yesterday I spoke with my friend about what Jesus Christ did for us. She asked me many questions.”
Young Anya Shaveko testifies: “I know Jesus Christ lives. The Church of Jesus Christ is true. It was restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I hope we can get a branch here as soon as possible so people can come more quickly to the gospel.”
Alla Kurnosova says: “I love the Savior with all my heart, and I try to live His commandments. After our meeting last Sunday, I spoke to my cousin about the Church. She was very interested and wants to come to our next meeting.”
Then Alla’s nonmember mother, Vera, speaks: “This is my first time to come to church here in Chernigov, but I attended several times in St. Petersburg. I have noticed here today the same feeling I had when I went to that branch—peacefulness in my heart. My soul is softened today. I think I will keep coming.”
“Love at Home” is the closing hymn. Eight-year-old Yulia offers the prayer.
Since that Sabbath day in 1997, much has changed for the Church in Chernigov. Nikolay and Lena have had their baby—a daughter named Lara. Alla’s mother, Vera, has been baptized. Vitaliy, now age 14, is preparing to serve a mission. The Church has been officially registered in the city, and a branch has been organized—with Nikolay serving as branch president. Full-time missionaries now live and work in Chernigov. Several more people have been baptized. And the growing branch has rented a small building in which to meet.
But other things have not changed. The branch members still care about and watch over one another. They still share the gospel with people they meet. And the Spirit of the Lord continues to burn brightly in their hearts and in their homes.
Best of all, on 8 August 1998 the First Presidency announced that a temple will be built in Kiev, Ukraine. Soon, when the members from Chernigov make the trip to Kiev, it will be to attend the house of the Lord.

As a high school teacher, I’ve seen students completely change themselves in hopes of winning friends.
Lora, a sophomore, was new in my school, and she had everything going for her. She was pretty, smart, athletic, and personable. Unfortunately, it was her first experience in a new school, and she had difficulty adjusting. She had never known what it was like to be new, to be a stranger, to be without friends.
In her desperation to make friends, Lora latched onto the first kids who showed an interest in her. Those kids were, in my estimation, less than desirable. They lived for the weekends when they could “party hardy.”
They welcomed Lora with open arms, and so she was sharing the shallow existence of those whose only happiness is found in alcohol, drugs, or immorality. Lora continued to be pleasant and active in my class, but she had changed. Her sparkling countenance was gone, and her academic motivation was fading.
It’s important to have friends, but friends and popularity aren’t worth self-destruction. One Church leader said it well when he advised youth to, “Seek not to be well known; seek, instead, to be worth knowing.”
It’s not difficult to get to know people if you involve yourself in school activities, talk to people, and act friendly. But sometimes the hard part comes in making real friends out of people you get to know. If, however, you’re “worth knowing,” you’ll have little trouble turning acquaintances into friends.
So then, how can you be worth knowing?
First, be interested in others. Martin H. Durrant, my former bishop and stake president, lifts my spirit every time I meet him. He always asks me about myself, my family, my job, or my hobby. His questions are sincere, and I know, without a doubt, that he’s genuinely interested.
But it’s not always easy to talk about other people’s interests. For example, a friend and I were finishing graduate school at about the same time. Every time we met he’d tell me in great detail about his research project and how it was going. In all the time we were working together, he never once asked me about my work and study. He didn’t seem like a real friend because he didn’t seem interested in what I was doing.
Once you learn to talk to others about their interests, practice being cheerful. Having a smile on your face forces you to be in a good mood. No one enjoys being around a grump or someone who looks like they’re carrying the world’s problems on their shoulders.
In addition to being cheerful, it’s also important to be a good listener. Sometimes when my wife has a problem or is struggling with a decision, she’ll talk to me about it. My first impulse is to stop listening, tell her what I would do, and advise her to do likewise.
It took me a while to learn that she didn’t want my advice; she wanted my willing ear. The next time a friend tells you about a problem, bite your tongue the minute you’re tempted to dispense advice. Let them say all they have to say; then give advice only if they ask for it.
And, finally, be a good influence on others. When I was a sophomore in high school, some of my friends started drinking and smoking. They knew I didn’t drink or smoke, but they began to pressure me to join their parties anyway. The more they pressured me, the more uncomfortable I felt, until finally I stopped hanging around them. I figured that if they were really my friends, they wouldn’t push me to do things I didn’t want to do. Real friends would never ask you to do something you shouldn’t.
Really, this friendly advice is basically what you’d do if you followed the Savior’s advice to “love one another.” If you really work at loving those around you, and show that love, you’ll be the kind of friend everybody wants.
It’s never easy being the new kid on the block, and making friends and breaking into social groups can be tough. Here are a few ideas you might want to consider.
Give yourself some time. If you’ve just moved to a new town, or changed to a new school, it will take a while to establish friendships. Don’t worry if you have to spend some time alone for the first few months. Take advantage of this time by participating in family activities, developing your talents, and learning about your new surroundings.
Don’t be afraid to make the first move. You can’t always wait for people to introduce themselves to you. Remember, they might be as apprehensive approaching the “new” person as you are talking to them.
Stay away from people who drag you down. If your friends force you to choose between them and doing what you know is right, it’s time to look for new friends. Pray for guidance when you are making new friends, and make a commitment to yourself to maintain your integrity.
Get involved. In addition to getting to know the kids in your ward or branch through Mutual activities, try joining a club at school, going out for a sports team, volunteering to decorate for a dance, or trying out for a play. These types of activities often involve teamwork, so it’s a good way to really get to know people who share your interests.
Be worth knowing. Think about the kind of person you would like to be friends with. Write down some of the qualities that person would have, and then work to cultivate those traits in yourself.

Before my call to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I read many times in the Doctrine and Covenants about the council appointed to oversee and disburse sacred tithing funds. The Council on the Disposition of the Tithes was established by revelation and consists of the First Presidency, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and the Presiding Bishopric (see D&C 120). As I prepared in December of 2004 to attend my first meeting of this council, I eagerly anticipated a most remarkable learning opportunity.
I still remember the things I experienced and felt in that council. I gained a greater appreciation and reverence for the Lord’s laws of finance for individuals, for families, and for His Church. The basic financial program of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—for both income and disbursement—is defined in sections 119 and 120 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Two statements found in these revelations provide the foundation for the fiscal affairs of the Church.
Section 119 simply states that all members “shall pay one-tenth of all their interest annually; and this shall be a standing law unto them forever, … saith the Lord” (verse 4).
Then, concerning the authorized disbursement of the tithes, the Lord said, “It shall be disposed of by a council, composed of the First Presidency of my Church, and of the bishop and his council, and by my high council; and by mine own voice unto them, saith the Lord” (D&C 120:1). The “bishop and his council” and “my high council” referred to in this revelation are known today as the Presiding Bishopric and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, respectively. These sacred funds are used in a rapidly growing church to spiritually bless individuals and families by constructing and maintaining temples and houses of worship, supporting missionary work, translating and publishing scriptures, fostering family history research, funding schools and religious education, and accomplishing many other Church purposes as directed by the Lord’s ordained servants.
I marvel at the clarity and brevity of these two revelations in comparison to the complicated financial guidelines and administrative procedures used in so many organizations and governments around the world. How can the temporal affairs of an organization as large as the restored Church of Jesus Christ possibly operate throughout the entire world using such succinct instructions? To me the answer is quite straightforward: this is the Lord’s work, He is able to do His own work (see 2 Nephi 27:20), and the Savior inspires and directs His servants as they apply His directions and labor in His cause.
In that first council meeting I was impressed by the simplicity of the principles that guided our deliberations and decisions. In the financial operations of the Church, two basic and fixed principles are observed. First, the Church lives within its means and does not spend more than it receives. Second, a portion of the annual income is set aside as a reserve for contingencies and unanticipated needs. For decades the Church has taught its membership the principle of setting aside additional food, fuel, and money to take care of emergencies that might arise. The Church as an institution simply follows the same principles that are taught repeatedly to the members.
As the meeting progressed, I found myself wishing that all members of the Church could observe the simplicity, the clarity, the orderliness, the charity, and the power of the Lord’s own way (see D&C 104:16) for conducting the temporal affairs of His Church. I have now participated in the Council on the Disposition of the Tithes for many years. My gratitude and reverence for the Lord’s pattern has grown each year, and the lessons learned have become even more profound.

Six-year-old Alma Elizabeth Mineer looked around the dark insides of the huge sailing ship, where a flickering oil lamp served as a night-light. In the shadows she could barely see some of the other passengers asleep in their berths.
She liked to listen to the night sounds. As the ship gently rocked from one side to the other, its big wooden beams creaked and groaned. Mothers sang softly to quiet their children. Although Alma could not always understand the words, she discovered that English and German and Swedish and Norwegian and Danish babies all cried in the same noisy language! Sometimes before falling asleep, Alma felt sad thinking about her home and friends and village in Sweden that she had left behind.
During the daytime Alma Elizabeth liked to climb up the stairs and walk out on the deck. At the front of the ship she would look and look, trying to see America. But day after day all she could see was the Atlantic Ocean in every direction.
Alma Elizabeth liked to watch the huge canvas sails puff full with the wind. She wished she could climb up the ropes like the sailors did. New friends often invited her to play games with them. Occasionally she tried out new English words. When they reached Utah, she knew she would have to speak English instead of Swedish.
Sometimes Alma Elizabeth crept into the part of the ship where the sailors lived. She became a favorite of the crew’s cook. He often gave her special treats, and she liked that because her family’s meals were not too tasty. They could cook only five meals each week. And the sea biscuits were so hard that she had to stomp on them with her shoes to break them open.
For five weeks in May and June of 1861, their ship, the Monarch of the Sea, sailed across the Atlantic. When it finally docked in New York harbor, little boats took the Latter-day Saint immigrants ashore. They all stayed overnight in a giant hall called Castle Gardens.
That night while the children tried to sleep on the floor of the building, Alma Elizabeth’s brother August discovered some sacks of brown sugar right next to him. One had a small hole in it and was spilling its contents. Alma Elizabeth and August had tasted no sugar or candy during the ocean voyage. So August found a spoon. Soon they had had a grand feast. But by morning they were sick!
Alma Elizabeth, with her family and the other Saints, took a long train trip to Iowa. There they joined wagon trains going to Utah. She walked the entire way, except when she got into a wagon to cross a deep river.
Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to keep up with the wagon train, and he insisted that his family go on ahead, promising to catch up with them.
Her father struggled on until he spotted a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and caught up with the wagon train.
When Alma Elizabeth’s family reached Utah they settled in Mount Pleasant. As a pioneer she worked hard. She learned how to card and spin wool, weave carpets, milk cows, knit and crochet, make gloves out of buckskin, weave hats out of braided straw, stack hay, and bundle wheat.
One time she collected wheat left in the fields after the harvest and sold it for $10. With some of the money, she bought ten yards of calico for her first party dress.
The day Alma Elizabeth turned eight years old she saw some elders baptizing people in a nearby creek. Her folks did not know about the baptismal service, so she ran home to tell them. With their permission she, too, was baptized in the creek. Afterward she walked to the meetinghouse to be confirmed. But after the confirmation, she felt very tired and fell sound asleep on a seldom-used church bench where people could not see her. When the meeting ended everyone went home. Alma Elizabeth’s family became concerned about her long absence, and they sent her big sister Helen to search for her. She found Alma Elizabeth still asleep in the now empty meetinghouse.
On a hot July day when Alma Elizabeth was ten years old, she went to a ward meeting. The people felt very discouraged because their crops needed rain. President Brigham Young came to the meeting, and she listened carefully when he rose to his feet and spoke. He promised the people that if they would listen to his words, the Lord would open the heavens and send the rains.
The words hardly left the prophet’s lips when Alma Elizabeth noticed the gathering clouds. Soon they filled the sky, and rain poured down in torrents. On that day she received a great testimony of the gospel that she remembered all her life.

Years later I thought of that moment again. My wife and I were being taught by the missionaries. The missionaries asked me, “Do you believe that you can become like God?” I had never thought about it. But I thought, If Heavenly Father is actually my Father, He would want the best for me, like my dad did. He would want me to be able to become like Him. So I said to the missionaries, “Yes, I believe I can be like my Heavenly Father.”
The moment I answered, I knew what I said was true.