Gospel Story Finder

When I think of how we show faith, I cannot help but think of the example of my own father. I recall vividly how the spirit of missionary work came into my life. I was about thirteen years of age when my father received a call to go on a mission. It was during an epidemic in our little community of Whitney, Idaho. Parents were encouraged to go to sacrament meeting, but the children were to remain home to avoid contracting the disease.

Father and Mother went to sacrament meeting in a one-horse buggy. At the close of the meeting, the storekeeper opened the store just long enough for the farmers to get their mail, since the post office was in the store. There were no purchases, but in this way the farmers saved a trip to the post office on Monday. There was no rural postal delivery in those days.

As Father drove the horse homeward, Mother opened the mail, and, to their surprise, there was a letter from Box B in Salt Lake City—a call to go on a mission. No one asked if one were ready, willing, or able. The bishop was supposed to know, and the bishop was Grandfather George T. Benson, my father’s father.

As Father and Mother drove into the yard, they were both crying—something we had never seen in our family. We gathered around the buggy—there were seven of us then—and asked them what was the matter.

They said, “Everything’s fine.”

“Why are you crying then?” we asked.

“Come into the living room and we’ll explain.”

We gathered around the old sofa in the living room, and Father told us about his mission call. Then Mother said, “We’re proud to know that Father is considered worthy to go on a mission. We’re crying a bit because it means two years of separation. You know, your father and I have never been separated more than two nights at a time since our marriage—and that’s when Father was gone into the canyon to get logs, posts, and firewood.”

And so Father went on his mission. Though at the time I did not fully comprehend the depths of my father’s commitment, I understand better now that his willing acceptance of this call was evidence of his great faith. Every holder of the priesthood, whether young or old, should strive to develop that kind of faith.

When I think of charity, I again think of my father and that day he was called on his mission. I suppose some in the world might say that his acceptance of that call was proof he did not really love his family. To leave seven children and an expectant wife at home alone for two years, how could that be true love?

But my father knew a greater vision of love. He knew that “all things shall work together for good to them that love God” (Rom. 8:28). He knew that the best thing he could do for his family was to obey God.

While we missed him greatly during those years, and while his absence brought many challenges to our family, his acceptance proved to be a gift of charity. Father went on his mission, leaving Mother at home with seven children. (The eighth was born four months after he arrived in the field.) But there came into that home a spirit of missionary work that never left it. It was not without some sacrifice. Father had to sell our old dry farm in order to finance his mission. He had to move a married couple into part of our home to take care of the row crops, and he left his sons and wife the responsibility for the hay land, the pasture land, and a small herd of dairy cows.

Father’s letters were indeed a blessing to our family. To us children, they seemed to come from halfway around the world, but they were only from Springfield, Massachusetts; and Chicago, Illinois; and Cedar Rapids and Marshalltown, Iowa. Yes, there came into our home, as a result of Father’s mission, a spirit of missionary work that never left it.

Later the family grew to eleven children—seven sons and four daughters. All seven sons filled missions, some of them two or three missions. Later, two daughters and their husbands filled full-time missions. The two other sisters, both widows—one the mother of eight and the other the mother of ten—served as missionary companions in Birmingham, England.

It is a legacy that still continues to bless the Benson family even into the third and fourth generations. Was not this truly a gift of love?

I talked on love at a missionary zone conference in Philadelphia one day, and during interviews a young man from Utah County, a former football player at American Fork High School, came up and said, “President, I’ve never told my dad that I love him.”

I said, “Elder, we’re not leaving this office until you do.” “I can’t,” he protested. “My father works for Geneva, and we can’t reach him during the day; but I promise, president, that I’ll call him tonight and tell him I love him.”

I replied, “Elder, after you do, call me and let me know how it went.”

After driving home from Philadelphia, I went through a tall pile of mail and did some dictation. Sister Pinnock went to bed, but I sat up for a while and wrote in my journal—still no telephone call. As I was finally going to bed, much later than I should have been going to bed, the telephone rang. “President, I did it,” he announced.

I said, “Tell me about it.” “Well, I was so frightened that I waited too long, and when I finally called, they had gone to bed. Mother answered the telephone, and because I had called late in the night on other occasions in my life, she thought I was in trouble; so I said, ’No, mom, everything’s okay, but I must talk to dad.’”

She handed the telephone to her sleepy husband, who said, “Yes, son, what is it?”

The missionary son said, “Dad, I love you. I want you to know how much I love you.”

His father began to sob and handed the telephone back to his wife, who demanded, “What did you tell your father?”

He said, “Mom, I told dad how much I love him, and I want you to know how much I love you.” Then there was crying on both ends of the line.

Brothers and sisters, if you love and appreciate someone, it is a matter of integrity to communicate that fact, because it is not said often enough.

Recently, I was called as the temple and family history leader in my ward. In the week or so prior, I had been told a calling was on its way. Though I spent a lot of time thinking through what it could be, family history never occurred to me.
Before that meeting with the bishop, I’d done a little family history work—enough to bring some names to the temple and understand how to find them. Thankfully, my wife is passionate about the work and taught me to do it. It wasn’t something I ever spent much time exploring.
Aside from temple work, and bringing names for proxy ordinances, I didn’t see or understand what the work had to do with me or what blessings I could find in the work. To be honest, I had never attempted to liken the activities to myself for my profit and learning. (See 1 Nephi 19:23.)
When I received the calling and was set apart, I knew it was essential that I find out more about family history, how to find things out, what resources are out there for our eternal benefit of both us and our ancestors.
That very same day, as I got more familiar with the FamilySearch website and Ancestry.com, a scripture I had never given much, if any, consideration came alive for me in an unexpected way. “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the LORD:
“And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse” (Malachi 4:5–6).
I was receiving revelation of how to find sources and how to check the information therein. What had previously been a list of names which allowed me to participate in ordinances became a list of real people, with real experiences, with real worth in the eyes of God. Their life stories inspired me to work harder as a disciple of Jesus Christ and to be more dedicated in being a peacemaker. After all, it is pleasing to God when we “dwell together in unity” (Psalm 133:1).
Seeing my relationship links with people on FamilySearch deepened my desire to keep covenants so I could help them receive the ordinances necessary for salvation and exaltation.

Sleep seemed beyond reach that night. I could find no way to turn off the procession of disturbing thoughts that troubled my mind. Seeking peace, I prayed, asking the Lord about my concern: How could I fulfill my commitment to be a good wife and a good mother amid the iniquity of the world? I was especially worried about helping my one-year-old daughter grow up uncontaminated by the immorality we so often see or hear in movies, music, television, or other media, even when we are careful in our selection.
As I prayed, suddenly I remembered a bit of counsel from Mormon. He had written to his son Moroni after reviewing the horrors of war and wickedness among the unrepentant Nephites: “Be faithful in Christ; and may not the things which I have written”—(and I thought at this point, or the things which you have seen, or read, or heard)—“grieve thee, to weigh thee down unto death; but may Christ lift thee up, and may … the hope of his glory and of eternal life, rest in your mind forever” (Moro. 9:25).
It was exactly the counsel I needed during that sleepless night. The Book of Mormon had come to my rescue again!

Sandra was a student in my advanced English class. Several weeks into the year, she hadn’t done any of the homework or projects. She just daydreamed at her desk. She made up excuses for why she hadn’t completed her assignments, and she demonstrated neither the attitude nor the work necessary for success in such a demanding course.
Her counselor and I decided to schedule a conference with Sandra, her father, and some of her other teachers to determine what direction she should take: should she drop her advanced courses and take standard ones instead? Most substantial was the unspoken question weighing on all of our minds: could we find a way to help Sandra succeed?
Believing that Sandra had been given many chances to succeed but instead had chosen to fail, I went into the meeting feeling very discouraged. Secretly I hoped she would decide to drop my class so that I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. I felt I had done all I could and that it was already too late.
In the meeting, Sandra’s body language revealed that she too doubted her ability to succeed. She stared at the table as I recounted her failure in English class. As her history teacher confirmed that Sandra was failing his class as well, her body slumped lower in her chair and I could see tears streaming down her face.
Mustering compassion, I explained to her and her father that if Sandra wanted to succeed in these challenging courses, she was going to have to change the behavior that had gotten her so deeply into this hole and that it was going to be very difficult.
The counselor then turned to Sandra’s father, a man with little education who seemed uncomfortable in the school setting. The counselor asked him if he had any questions for the teachers. He said he didn’t and thanked us for what we had done for Sandra. But then he said he had something to say to his daughter.
My heart tightened. I had been a part of some parent-teacher conferences where the parents had verbally rebuked their children in front of teachers and counselors, berating them for their laziness, inattentiveness, and lack of motivation. I braced myself to hear it again.
What I heard instead surprised me. Sandra’s humble father turned to his tearful 16-year-old daughter who was weighed down by shame and regret and said to her, “It’s not too late. It’s not too late for you to succeed. It really is not too late.”
I left that meeting grateful for his loving reaction but concerned that he had no idea what it would take for his daughter to pass at this point. It seemed impossible. Word came later that she had decided to drop her history class but not my English class.
Sandra, with motivation to start again, made slow but significant changes. The transformation was not easy—it required daily effort to overcome her bad habits—but she saw the rewards of her efforts as her grade gradually improved.

I can tell you from experience something about how to help if you are the one sent. Shortly after I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve, I got a phone call from President Faust, counselor in the First Presidency. He asked me to come to his office. I went with some concern as to why he would take the time to visit with me.
After some pleasantries, he looked at me and said, “Has it happened yet?” When I looked puzzled he went on to say, “I’ve been watching you in meetings. It seems to me that you have been feeling that your calling is beyond you and that you are not qualified.”
I said that doubt had come to me, as if I had hit a wall. I expected that he was going to reassure me. I told him that I appreciated his being aware of my doubts and asked for his help. But I was surprised by his kind, firm reply. He said, “Don’t ask me. Go to Him.” Then he pointed up to heaven. Now years later I sit in that same office. When I walk into it I look up and remember him and how he taught me by example how to help those who are feeling overwhelmed in the Lord’s service. Find a way to send them with confidence to Him. If they will follow your counsel, they will gain the strength they need and to spare.

A final example of being blessed during adversity is finding heightened joy in the return of temple ordinances.
This is best described with a story. When Sister Kaitlyn Palmer received her mission call last April, she was excited to be called as a missionary but felt it equally important and special to go to the temple to receive her endowment and make sacred covenants. Shortly after she scheduled her endowment, the announcement came that all temples would temporarily close due to the worldwide pandemic. After receiving this heartbreaking information, she then learned she would attend the missionary training center (MTC) virtually from her home. Despite these disappointments, Kaitlyn focused on keeping her spirits high.
In the intervening months, Sister Palmer never lost hope of attending the temple. Her family fasted and prayed that temples would open prior to her departure. Kaitlyn would often start her home MTC mornings by saying, “Is today going to be the day we receive a miracle and temples open back up?”
On August 10, the First Presidency announced that Kaitlyn’s temple would reopen for living ordinances on the exact day her early-morning flight to her mission was scheduled. She would not be able to attend the temple and make her flight. With little hope for success, her family contacted temple president Michael Vellinga to see if there was any way the miracle they had been praying for could be realized. Their fasting and prayers were answered!
At 2:00 a.m., hours before her flight departure, Sister Palmer and her family, in tears, were greeted at the temple doors by the smiling temple president with the words, “Good morning, Palmer family. Welcome to the temple!” As she completed her endowment, they were encouraged to move quickly, as the next family was waiting at the temple doors. They drove directly to the airport just in time to make her flight to her mission.

Age 17. From Saskatchewan, Canada. Loves singing, taekwondo, boxing, and playing the ukulele, guitar, and piano.
My mom has been taking my siblings and me to sing and dance at senior homes since I was six years old. It’s kind of our way to share the gospel. Recently we sang “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and a lady in the back started crying. That’s one of my favorite songs to sing.
Another time, I got a feeling that we should sing “You Are My Sunshine.” We sang it, and the entire crowd started singing with us. A few of them cried. It was kind of a life-changing experience for me. I was so glad I listened to the prompting to sing that song.
Besides singing at senior homes, I have also done some service projects in my town, such as taking food to the homeless. I also volunteer for two organizations as a mentor for kids who want to plan their own service projects.
I think overall I’ve learned that a lot of people in the world are struggling. We don’t always see that, but simple acts of service, like singing a few songs or doing a few dances, can make people smile.
I think we should all be involved in service—in our community or even our own families. Service brings happiness to the people you’re helping and to you. When you serve others, you’re serving God and you’re helping His children, who He loves very much. (See Mosiah 2:17.)
“Service brings happiness to the people you’re helping and to you.”

A true story from New Zealand.
On the day before Easter, Freddy woke up early. He looked beside his pillow, excited. He always got a marshmallow egg for Easter. But his smile drooped into a frown. There was no egg for him!
Freddy looked over the side of the bunk bed. “Matilda!” he yelled at his sister. “Did you steal my Easter egg?”
“No,” she said. “My egg isn’t here either!” Matilda pointed to her pillow.
The noise woke up Freddy’s other siblings. All seven of their Easter eggs were missing!
“What’s all this shouting?” Mum asked.
“Someone stole our eggs!” Freddy said.
“No one stole them,” Mum said. “We didn’t buy any this year.”
“No Easter eggs?” Freddy cried. “But we always get one!”
“Easter is about more than just eating treats,” Mum said. “It’s a special time to think about Jesus Christ.”
Freddy frowned. Ever since Dad changed jobs, Mum and Dad said no a lot more. No daytrips. No takeaway food. And now even Easter was ruined!
“I know you’re upset,” Mum said. “But we can still enjoy special Easter eggs today. Come on!”
In the kitchen, Dad had a basket of eggs. Freddy groaned. “Those are just the chickens’ eggs.”
“Are we going to dye them?” asked his older sister Celeste.
Mum nodded. “But first we have to boil them.”
Freddy didn’t like waiting. He was glad when Mum said the eggs had boiled enough. “Finally!” he said.
“Hang on,” Mum said. “They still need to cool.”
Freddy groaned louder. Not more waiting!
Next, Mum helped them make the dye. They mixed vinegar with hot water and put in drops of food coloring. Freddy liked watching the drops swirl through the water.
“What color will you choose?” Celeste asked.
“Blue!” Freddy said.
The eggs soaked in the dye for a long time. But Freddy didn’t mind waiting. Not this time. It was fun being with his family. He thought about what Mum said—how Easter was about more than eating treats.
“Mum,” Freddy said, “I think I get how Easter eggs help us remember Jesus Christ’s Resurrection.”
She smiled. “And how is that?”
“I really like my dyed egg,” he said. “But it took lots of time. All that waiting was hard. Then I thought of how the disciples had to wait even longer for Jesus Christ’s Resurrection after He died on the cross.”
“You’re right,” Mum said. “It wasn’t easy for them to wait either. But the Savior did rise again. And now your ordinary chicken eggs are beautiful dyed ones.”
Freddy smiled at the brightly colored eggs. They weren’t yummy like marshmallow ones, but they were special. Freddy hoped they would get to dye eggs again next year.

After graduation, I began to hang around three girls who weren’t LDS. As our friendship grew, I started smoking. I felt like life had no meaning, so I didn’t care that what I was doing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why I was on the earth, and figured I was probably better off dead. After a while, we went our separate ways and I vowed I would never smoke again. But many of my other feelings didn’t change.

I knew I wanted to marry in the temple and raise a family but wondered if I would get the chance. It was rather annoying when people I knew would become engaged, leaving me to question if I would ever get a date in this lifetime.

I wanted to blame the way I felt on something, so I blamed it on the color of my skin. It was stupid of me, I know. But I figured it was the only reason I didn’t have many friends.

By the time I was 20, I wanted to change. I decided to fix my appearance. I lost a little weight and bought new clothes and glasses. I found it helped me feel better about myself. But the actual change started when I began attending the single-adult ward and decided to go to college. This gave me the confidence that I could do things I had been too shy or scared to do before.

One day in sacrament meeting, my bishop spoke about the importance of attending church, the importance of paying tithing, reading scriptures, and praying. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had no doubt the Church was true. It was at this time I decided to read the Book of Mormon.

For a month, I read my scriptures every night. Afterward, I would pray. I continued to pay my tithing and attend church, and I received a calling in the ward. My life couldn’t have been happier.

One day I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I’m pretty,” I said to the image before me. Tears welled up in my eyes that suddenly seemed to be looking at things differently. I saw myself, but it was as if I were looking at the face of a stranger. The fact I saw myself differently filled me with a happiness I can’t describe.

Without warning, the color of my skin no longer mattered to me. I’m Jennifer, a child of God. If God can love me, then I can learn to love myself, I thought. I now understand why they say you have to love yourself before you can show love to others. Today I can say I’m proud to be black. Four years ago I couldn’t even say it, much less mean it.

My promise now is to live the gospel and put my trust in God. After all, he’s given me the thing I needed most—a sense of my own worth.

“I am so excited to see my friend again,” one young woman kept telling her parents as she prepared for the special reunion. She had recently returned home after having lived far away. She had looked forward to this moment for a long time.
When the two friends saw each other, they were all smiles. They hugged and laughed as they left together to enjoy becoming reacquainted. However, the parents were surprised when their daughter returned home much earlier than expected.
“What’s wrong?” they asked.
“I was so excited to talk the way we used to, but she just spent the whole time text messaging her other friends.” Her hurt and disappointment were apparent as she declared, “I wish texting had never been invented.”

All the youth, no matter what parts they played in other portions of the film, were in the scene in which Mosiah’s sons leave to go on missions. The sons walk through the crowd hugging their friends and family as they prepare for missionary work.
“I’ve had two brothers go on missions,” says Stacey Elder. “And so when we were doing that scene, I was thinking about how exciting it is to see someone go do the Lord’s work.”

“Nothing ever goes right!” Jason shouted, and he slammed the model car he was making down on the table. Pieces of it flew in all directions. He picked up the pieces, shoved them into the box, then tossed the box onto the shelf in his bedroom and went outside.
Jason’s little brother, Kent, ran up to him. “Do you want to play catch with me?”
“I suppose,” Jason replied. He tossed the ball to his brother. Kent tried to throw the ball back, but it flew straight up into the air. It didn’t come anywhere near where Jason was standing.
“Learn to throw, will you!” Jason exploded.
Kent tried again. This time the ball bounced a couple of times and stopped far away from Jason.
“Oh, forget it,” Jason groaned. “I’m going to play ball with some of my friends.” He went down to Miller’s field, where his friends were standing together talking. Something important must be going on, he thought and ran over to them. “What’s happening?”
“Bad news,” Robert said. “Tomorrow’s Blazer B picnic has been called off. Brother Gilbert can’t take us because his father’s shed burned down and he has to help clean up the mess.”
“Nothing ever goes right!” Jason grumbled.
At lunchtime he hardly nibbled his egg salad sandwich.
“What’s wrong, Jason?” his mother asked.
“Oh, Mom, what a rotten day! Everything’s going wrong, and we can’t even have our picnic tomorrow because of a dumb old fire.”
His mother put her hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I know how you feel, Son. We all have what we call terrible days. But sometimes it helps to remember Heavenly Father’s goodness to us. Remember the scripture in Psalm 118:24 [Ps. 118:24]: ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it’?”
Jason sighed. “I remember, Mom, but how can I be glad when everything goes wrong?”
“Sometimes things go wrong because we don’t use the gifts that Heavenly Father gave us to try to make things go right.”
Jason just moaned as he went outside and sat on the front steps, still feeling glum. He knew that his mother was trying to help him, but what was happening to him wasn’t his fault at all. The pieces of the model car were cut wrong; that’s why he couldn’t put it together. And it sure wasn’t his fault that Kent couldn’t throw a ball or that Brother Gilbert’s father’s shed had burned down.
He watched Kent trying again and again to throw the ball straight. But every throw was wild. The kid didn’t follow through with his arm. He jerked each throw with a twist of his wrist.
“Let me show you how to do it,” Jason said. He took the ball from Kent. “Watch my arm.” The ball made a nice arc through the air.
“That’s a great throw!” Kent said admiringly.
“Thanks,” his brother said. “If you go get the ball, I’ll show you again.” After a few more throws, Jason let Kent try. Kent’s arm motion was smoother this time, and the ball went pretty far.
“Oh, wow!” Kent yelled. “That’s the best I’ve ever done.”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “It was good.” It made him feel good to see his brother so excited.
“Let me practice some more by myself,” Kent said. “Then we’ll have a real game of catch.”
Jason wandered into the house. He couldn’t think of anything to do. Mom was in the kitchen, doing the lunch dishes. Jason went in and picked up the towel and began to dry them.
“Well, thank you,” his mother said, surprised.
Jason grinned. “When we get the dishes done, you’d better sit in a chair so you don’t fall down because I’m going to take out the garbage.”
Mom looked so startled at Jason’s pronouncement that he had to laugh. And the laughing made him feel good too. After he took out the garbage, he felt good enough to try working on the model car again. He took out all the pieces and looked at them carefully. Then he looked at the directions. He felt silly when he saw that he had been trying to put a piece where it didn’t belong. No wonder he’d thought that the pieces weren’t cut right. Now that he was using the gifts that Heavenly Father had given him, as his mother had put it, things were going right. He had even made Kent and Mom happy by helping them.
At least today is turning out pretty good, he decided. But what about tomorrow? All the guys had planned on the picnic. Mom had already bought the hot dog buns and mustard that he was supposed to bring. The Blazers had planned to go swimming, and Brother Gilbert was going to show them how to play water basketball.
Well, there was no sense moping about it. There was no way that the boys could go on the picnic without Brother Gilbert, and he had to help his father. Suddenly Jason put the model car down. Maybe …
He raced out of his room to find his mother. “Do you know where Brother Gilbert’s father lives?”
Mom looked surprised. “He lives about five or six miles out in the country, on Highway 27. Why?”
Jason told Mom his plan, and she thought it was a good one.
It took Jason a while to round up the other boys and for them to get their parents’ permission, but when everything was arranged, Jason called Brother Gilbert on the phone. “We’re sorry to hear about your father’s shed,” he said. “All the Blazer Bs want to help you clean up. My mom will drive us out there right after supper. Is that OK?”
“Is it OK? It’s terrific!” Brother Gilbert said. “If we all work together, we can probably get the whole job done this evening and go on our picnic tomorrow as planned.”
Jason smiled as he told his mother what Brother Gilbert had said. “You know something, Mom? My terrible day turned out to be terrific! When things go wrong, sometimes we can do something ourselves to make them better.”

If someone had asked me when I was little if I would serve a mission, I would have said no. My heart softened toward the idea as I got older, partly because I had seen my older siblings serve. But I still never really thought of it as something I would do.
When I turned 21, I began to wonder if I should go on a mission, but I never prayed seriously about it. As time went on, I began to feel something was missing. I told my mother how I felt, and she suggested I reconsider a mission. She said that when she was my age, she felt the same emotions I was experiencing. Serving a mission was the answer for her, so maybe it was also my answer.
I was terrified to pray about a mission. One reason I never considered a mission before was that I didn’t think I was strong enough to do it. I would have to leave my comforts behind and perhaps learn a new language. Plus, I didn’t think I knew the gospel well enough to teach it. But as I prayed with purpose, I felt my fears melt away. The answer I received was overpowering: the Lord loved me, and He wanted me to serve a mission.
I was amazed by the confidence I felt after I received my answer. I no longer felt nervous or unqualified. Instead I was excited to share the gospel, and I began working on my mission papers. I was soon called to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission.
Rebecca Keller Monson

Perhaps less visible than the Prophet’s father, but equally important in shaping and influencing his life, was his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. She gave birth to 11 children and endured faithfully as all but 4 preceded her in death. During her life, she watched six of her immediate family and one grandson die as a result of ruthless mob violence and persecution.

Early in her marriage, Lucy prepared herself to raise a prophet. On one occasion she became seriously ill, and the doctors said she would die. Lucy records that she “made a solemn covenant with God that if He would let me live I would endeavor to serve him according to the best of my abilities.” After a voice assured her that she would live, she told her mother, “The Lord will let me live, if I am faithful to the promise which I made to him, to be a comfort to my mother, my husband, and my children.”3

She gave continual encouragement, support, and strength to her son, Joseph the Prophet. His mother was the first person with whom young Joseph shared some of his momentous experiences of the Sacred Grove. Years later, he shared with her the joy and relief he felt when the Lord allowed others to view the sacred plates of gold.4

The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.

Like great parents of all ages, Lucy turned to prayer for divine help to sustain her family. During the march from Ohio to Missouri known as Zion’s Camp, Joseph and Hyrum were seriously ill with cholera, and their lives were almost taken. At one point, “Hyrum sprang to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Joseph, we shall return to our families. I have had an open vision, in which I saw mother kneeling under an apple tree; and she is even now asking God, in tears, to spare our lives. … The Spirit testifies, that her prayers … will be answered.’”5

Lucy’s sons Joseph and Hyrum ultimately sealed their testimonies with their blood. As the grieving mother looked upon their lifeless remains, she cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!” As a kind blessing to a faithful mother, the Lord softened her grief and granted to her the peace that only God can bestow. A voice spoke to her soul: “I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest.”6

Some immigrants were troubled by the rough-looking, rough-talking Utah Boys. According to Englishman William Yates, another diarist on the trail that year, the boys looked and acted like poorly educated frontiersmen. Brother Yates, however, was fooled by appearances, for his own diary is notches below the quality of the one kept by Utah Boy Zeb Jacobs.
The immigrants learned quickly to appreciate the boys’ abilities with oxen and wagons. And they liked to see the Utah Boys do much of the wagon trains’ dirty work. Zeb and the others had to hunt for firewood and buffalo chips, build fires, track down missing cattle, set up and break camps, haul water, and spend hours in rivers helping wagons to cross. At Loup Fork crossing, for example, Zeb “had the pleasure of getting a dunking several times, helping the wagons over.” Near Fort Laramie he wrote: “I was in the water most of the afternoon helping the teams across. The weather was cold.” The boys seemed to enjoy showing off their expertise and strength, however, especially when teenage girls were watching.
The boys’ main assignment was caring for cattle and wagons—hitching, unhitching, feeding, shoeing, corralling, guarding, and mending harnesses. This work provided Zeb with some unexpected adventures. One day, according to his diary, “I was helping to shoe an ox, and witnessed the mosquitoes and horse flies driving off the horses and cattle, and in gathering the animals we kept what is called the dog-trot for about a mile. I finally caught a horse and jumped on him, and with considerable difficulty I succeeded in getting the animals back to camp.”
One night the “mules and horses took a notion they would go and accordingly they went.” The boys started in pursuit “but the night was so dark that we had to take the advantage of the lightning to tell us which way we were going.” When Zeb saw something move in the distance he tried to run to it. “At last I got lost in a swamp but managed, after much trouble, to get back to camp without finding the animals.” Next morning, on foot, the boys found the animals more than nine miles from the camp.
One night Zeb let the terrain keep the cattle from wandering: “Being on guard, I took the mules up a large ravine and stayed until midnight, then Bro. Henry Parker relieved me.”
For teenagers life can never be all hard work. The Utah Boys had fun on the trail too. One day they “caught a string of fish.” Another time they “had a family swim in the Platte.” One morning Zeb and one of the men “crossed the river and found plenty of chokecherries and currants. After satisfying our own appetites we filled our hats and pockets.” In recrossing the river “we got ducked several times, but we hung on to the fruit.” Back at camp they shared the berries and “finding breakfast ready, we ate heartily.”
On July 24, Pioneer Day, the Utah Boys decided to help the campers celebrate. With good-humored exaggeration Zeb wrote of their fun:
“We were up at daylight and called out the ‘National Guard’ [the boys] which fired a volley of musketry, and any kind of guns that were handy. Then the ‘Martial Band’ struck up ‘Hail Columbia’ (the band was composed of tin pails, pans, bake-kettle lids, bells, and various instruments of music); then there was another volley by the Guard; and at sunrise, the firing of cannon (which was about 3 inches in length), and concluded the morning performance with an Indian jig.”
That night the boys held a “grand ball” at the “Bachelors Hall,” meaning a square dance in front of their tents.
August 17 provided one of the highlights of the boys’ fun on the trail. According to Zeb: “As we woke up in the morning all hands began laughing at each other, as our faces were besmeared with tar and wagon grease. Some of the boys from the other camp had paid us a visit and left their compliments upon our faces.”
Humor also helped Zeb describe how the mosquitoes plagued them at swampy stretches of the trail. “Some of us went in the river to bathe,” he wrote once, “but we found the mosquitoes there ahead of us. They very soon got rid of us.” Another evening he said the boys were “entertained with a large and renowned band of minstrels (mosquitoes); they kept us dancing all night.”
On August 30, in the middle of Wyoming, the teenage driver received a special honor. Captain Joseph W. Young needed to rush ahead of his train to catch up with another wagon company, so he selected Zeb to drive him in a wagon pulled by mules. (Mules travel much faster than oxen.) Zeb drove as fast as he could for three days and then Captain Young, needing to travel even faster, hailed a passing stagecoach, boarded it, and left Zeb to travel alone.
Zeb liked the fast mule team which moved him 20 to 45 miles a day, double what wagon trains could cover. But driving alone on the hot, dusty trail and camping by himself at night had its lonely moments. So he enjoyed catching up to other travelers and visiting with them. Late on September 3 he overtook the Joseph Horne train “where I joined the people in that camp in a dance.” An injured man in the camp needed to be hurried to Salt Lake, so Richard Horne joined Zeb as a traveling companion, “and I was very glad of his company,” Zeb confessed.
Zeb, the teenage driver, put his mule-pulled wagon and injured passenger into Salt Lake City in near record time, arriving on September 7 at breakfast time. He beat his Joseph W. Young wagon train there by 16 days. In total, down and back, Zeb had been on the trail for 18 weeks.
It is not known if Zeb kept any diaries after 1861. He made down-and-back trips again in 1862 and 1863. In 1866, at age 24, he married. He served in the Blackhawk War as a sergeant in the cavalry. By career he became a railroad man, working as a popular conductor on the Utah Central Railroad. Late in life he became a guard at the state penitentiary. He remained a lifelong faithful Latter-day Saint.

Alex asked his friend Jake to play at his house on Saturday. They were having fun with race cars when Jake noticed a picture hanging on the wall.
“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to the picture of Thomas S. Monson.
“That’s President Monson,” Alex said.
Jake didn’t say anything.
“You know, the prophet of our Church,” Alex said.
Jake looked embarrassed. “We don’t go to church anymore,” he said.
“Why did you stop going?” Alex asked.
Jake shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to come with me on Sunday?” Alex asked. “We could go to Primary together. My teacher is really great.”
Jake’s eyes brightened. “I’ll have to ask my mom, but I think she’ll let me go,” Jake said.
At lunchtime, Alex asked his mom, “Can Jake go to Primary with me tomorrow?”
“We have to check with Jake’s mother,” Mom said. “If she says yes, then of course he can go.”
Later that day, Jake’s mom came to pick him up.
“Can Jake go to Primary with me tomorrow?” Alex asked.
“Can I, Mom?” Jake said. “Alex says Primary is really great. They read stories, sing songs, and learn about people in the scriptures.”
“I don’t know,” Jake’s mom said, looking uncertain. “We haven’t been to church for a long time.”
“Please, Mom,” Jake said. “I want to go.”
“Jake is welcome to come with us,” Alex’s mom said.
“Are you sure you want to go?” Jake’s mom asked.
“I’m sure!” Jake said.
“Then I guess it’s OK,” Jake’s mom said.
Jake gave his mom a quick hug. “Thanks,” he said.
On Sunday morning, Alex’s family picked up Jake. He was dressed in his Sunday clothes. After sacrament meeting the boys went to Primary. When they got to class, their teacher said, “We’re so glad to have you here, Jake.”
After church, Alex’s family took Jake home.
“Thanks for taking me to church with you,” Jake said.
Alex’s mom smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Jake. We hope you’ll come with us again,” she said.
That evening at dinner, Alex asked, “Can I invite Jake to go to church with us next Sunday?”
Mom nodded. “I’m going to follow your example and invite his mother to go with us too,” she said.
“You’re a good missionary, Alex,” Dad said.
Alex was surprised. “I was just being a friend,” he said.
“That’s what a missionary is,” Mom said, “a friend.”

I once conducted a training session here in Idaho and asked for a volunteer to help me teach a principle. A man about 35 years old came to the podium. I asked him, "Is there anything in your life you would like to improve?" He responded, "You mean in my Church assignment or work or what?" I said, "You choose. Whatever comes to your mind first." He said, "Okay, what I'd really like to improve is I'd like to spend more time with my family. My career is just taking too much of my time, and I need to do better." Keep in mind that he is saying this in front of about 500 people in the chapel. So then, I asked, "Would it help if you reported back to me on how you're coming with your goal?" He immediately agreed that having to report back to a general officer of the Church might help. So I gave him my email address and invited him to contact me whenever he felt that he was making progress on his goal.

About two weeks later, I received an email from this good soul. It was not a brief message. He gave a detailed account of what he had done to be able to spend more time with his family. He explained that our little conversation had helped him make some big changes in his life. He said that his marriage was better because of it and that he was happier than he'd ever been.

Think of this experience I had. It took about three minutes. All I was doing was trying to build up his soul. It took so little of my effort. I simply invited him to do what he really wanted to do but had not yet been able to do without some outside help.

For yet others, a testimony of the Book of Mormon comes more slowly, after much study and prayer. I have a friend who read the Book of Mormon searching to know if it was true. He applied the invitation in Moroni to ask God with a sincere heart, with real intent and faith in Christ, if the Book of Mormon is true. But he did not immediately get the promised spiritual answer. However, one day as he was deep in thought, driving down the road, the Spirit testified to him of the truth of the Book of Mormon. So happy and overwhelmed was he that he rolled down the car window and yelled, to no one in particular and yet to all the world, “It’s true!”

During the banquet and program, I sat next to a well-known personality, Flip Harmon, and his wife, Lois. Flip has been involved with the direction of the Days of ’47 celebration for forty-three years, this being an annual July 24th activity in Salt Lake City. Since Flip was up and around the room fulfilling his official duties, I had the privilege of talking with Lois. She mentioned that she and family members were in attendance at every presentation of the famous rodeo which is one of the highlights of the Days of ’47 celebration. Now, a rodeo is nice once in a while—but every night? I asked Lois how she endured the schedule. Her response was from the heart. “This is Flip’s life, and I want to be part of it. He counts on me.” The night I had attended the rodeo with Sister Monson, my Aunt Blanche (age ninety-five), and our grandchildren, Lois was surrounded by children and precious grandchildren. She was the epitome of happiness. Now, during our luncheon conversation, Lois volunteered to me a few details about her husband. She said Flip had an angel mother who prayed fervently for her sons as they served their country during wartime. When Flip returned home, he and Lois were married. A busy life and welcome children followed. Each year as their wedding anniversary approached, Flip would say to Lois, “What gift do you want for our anniversary?” Each year the answer was the same, “A temple sealing.” The gift was not given.

Then one year, as the perennial question was asked, “What do you want, Lois, for our anniversary?” and the usual response was given, “To go to the temple of God together,” Flip’s reply was unexpected: “Fine. I’ll prepare for such an event.” They were sealed for time and eternity in the holy house of God on their twenty-ninth anniversary. Later, Flip served as a bishop. Each remains faithful to the other and loyal to the Lord.

As Lois continued, I noticed tears brimming in her eyes. She said, “You know Flip always wears cowboy boots. At the end of each day he would sit in the chair before the fireplace, where he would take off his boots and then read the paper. He would never put away the boots, no matter how many times I mentioned the subject. Years ago that would bother me. But not anymore. Today I just love those boots. Tender are my feelings and full is my heart as I willingly and lovingly pick them up and put them away each evening.”

Now tears were brimming in my eyes. Unexpectedly, Lois Harmon was asked to come to the podium, where she was given signal honor for her silent service. A beautiful bouquet of red roses was presented to her. Flip was asked to respond. His expression was from his heart. It was as though the two of them were alone in the large hotel dining area. “Lois is the light of my life. She’s my eternal partner.” (The word partner seemed to fit with the cowboy boots.) “We’ll be together forever.” Patience was rewarded. Love was expressed. Heaven was near.