Gospel Story Finder

After my grandmother died, my cousin moved in with me and became my guardian. My cousins are my best friends, but the change was still really hard. I had to learn to do all the chores that my grandmother used to do. I had to wake myself up for school and take care of the house.
My bishop had always talked about self-reliance, so I searched about it in Gospel Library. It helped me learn to stand on my own two feet.

Growing up, religion was not a part of my life. Raised in a secular environment, I chased worldly success, dedicating myself to a demanding career as a banker. I worked over 100 hours a week, sacrificing health, relationships, and personal fulfillment in pursuit of professional achievements. Outwardly, I seemed successful, but inwardly, I was empty. Stress and discouragement became constant companions, leading me to rely on alcohol and medication to numb the growing void in my life.
In February 2024, my world shattered when I was laid off amid a wave of redundancies in the banking industry. I felt worthless, as if my identity and purpose had been stripped away. Spiraling into despair, I sought solace in the very habits that were destroying me. My health deteriorated and in March 2024 I suffered a heart attack—a moment that would change my life forever.
I will never forget the events of that day. The symptoms came suddenly: cold sweats, a racing heartbeat and, eventually, unconsciousness. As I regained some awareness, I sensed a profound spiritual presence surrounding me. Confused and desperate, I called for help, only to feel lost and disoriented. Then something extraordinary happened.
When the paramedics arrived, one of them called me by name—a stranger who radiated calm and love, unlike anyone I had encountered before. The other paramedic stood in the shadows, his presence darker and less comforting. As I lay there, caught between life and death, I heard a clear voice in my mind: “I gave you the wisdom and it’s time for you to use it.” I realised I was experiencing something divine.
The first paramedic, whom I now believe was an angel, reassured me, his presence filling me with peace. I prayed earnestly, confessing my struggles and seeking repentance. Every time I mentioned the greatness of Jesus Christ, the angel smiled, his joy and love enveloping me. Meanwhile, the second paramedic growled, but the angel silenced him with a single look.
The angel asked if I wanted to “go home.” Though confused, I understood this as a spiritual call to return to the life I had been given and to change my ways. As the ambulance ascended through a dark, symbolic path, I felt my heart align with Heavenly Father’s will. The angel revealed his name as Mark, a connection that deepened my faith in the scriptures I had been studying.
After arriving at the hospital, I was diagnosed with cardiac vasospasm and pericarditis—serious conditions that could have been fatal. The doctors called my survival fortunate, but I knew it was a miracle. At that moment, I understood that Heavenly Father had intervened to guide me back to Him.
Since that day, my life has transformed. I have committed myself to living according to God’s commandments and have found peace and purpose in the gospel. I now know that Heavenly Father’s love is infinite, His patience unending, and His guidance constant.
To anyone struggling with feelings of despair or unworthiness, I testify that Heavenly Father never gives up on His children. His mercy and grace are always within reach and through repentance and faith, we can find our way home to Him.

For one family home evening, my dad wanted to take advantage of a pause in the rainy weather to go on a walk around the neighborhood. I grumbled and complained that it was too wet and muddy to go walking. I used the excuse that I had a ballet recital that week and didn’t want to sprain an ankle, but my dad didn’t buy it. He insisted that it was going to be the activity for the evening. I murmured a bit more about the unfairness and my recital, but we left on the walk anyway.
As I glumly stomped outside for the walk with my family, I was determined not to smile or be happy. I succeeded in feeling miserable until we reached the end of the street. Then we turned the corner and I saw, in full force, nature’s beauty and wonder. Before me was a gorgeous sunset, and opposite it was a rainbow arching above our neighborhood rooftops. I immediately forgot all about being miserable and looked around in awe.
On the way home I said a prayer of gratitude, thanking God for the beauty of His creations. I later thanked my dad for choosing the activity and for allowing us to enjoy nature for that family home evening.

“It’s not easy getting to the church by 6:00 a.m. every school day, but it sure seems to make the day go smoother,” says Blake N. of Illinois, who recently graduated from early-morning seminary with a record of four years of perfect attendance.
Smoother days are nice, but the real motivation for Blake was that he wanted to follow the example of his older brother Conner, who graduated from early-morning seminary in 2008 without missing a day. Conner received his motivation from Derek, who graduated in 2005. Derek followed Jacob, a 2003 seminary graduate. Jacob took after Aryn, who graduated in 2001. Aryn followed Michael, who started the string of perfect attendance when he graduated in 2000. All six brothers combined for a total of 24 years of perfect attendance at early-morning seminary.
“We’ve always tried to support each other, but we also all have somewhat of a competitive streak. Nobody wants to be outdone,” says the oldest brother, Michael. The camaraderie has paid off in other areas. All six brothers are Eagle Scouts. The oldest five have served missions, and Blake has submitted his papers and is waiting for his call.

During my third year of college I got sick. Not just the flu-for-a-couple-of-weeks sick. I couldn’t get better.
I was finally diagnosed with a chronic illness. The doctor gave me medications that were supposed to help, but this was a really bleak and depressing time for me.
It was then I noticed my clothes getting tighter, but I figured that was because I was sleeping all the time. I hardly ever walked to class. I knew as soon as I started to feel better, I’d be up and about on campus again.
After several months, I started feeling better and walked to campus regularly. But the weight kept coming. I even popped the zipper on my pants one day at work.
My doctor discovered that one of the medications had made my body hold onto the fat. I stopped taking it, but the damage was already done.
I hated looking in a mirror. I hated buying clothes. I hated running into people I knew before I got sick. I hated myself. I was stuck in a downward spiral of self-loathing. I was also struggling to accept the fact I couldn’t do everything I used to do. I simply didn’t have the health to do everything anymore. I hated this body I had that hurt all the time and kept getting sick. I felt I was stuck with a fat, ugly, sick body.
We hear all the time in Young Women that our bodies are temples. And one day I had a flash of understanding. It didn’t matter if my body was fat or skinny, it was a temple. I’ve never heard anyone make fun of the way the temples look, so why do we do that to our personal temples—our bodies? I realized that every time I felt bad about my body, I was being ungrateful for and disrespectful to a temple. I remembered that one-third of the hosts of heaven didn’t even get mortal bodies.
I thought of the scripture in the New Testament, when devils begged the Savior to let them enter the bodies of swine, just to have a body (see Mark 5:1–13). I was blessed with a physical body to house my spirit while I’m on this earth, a body patterned after my Heavenly Father’s.
Since that realization, I haven’t miraculously felt like my body is perfect. It’s hard to change old habits and perceptions. Instead of wishing I had someone else’s body, I try to remember that my body is a temple.

In closing, there is a story told by President Kimball. I wish I had it here to quote verbatim, but I shall have to do it from memory and pray that I will not mutilate it too much. He said, in substance, “I went to visit a friend. He met me at the airport. ‘How do you like my car?’ he said as he showed me his luxurious limousine. On the way from the airport to his home, he stopped the car, we got out, and he said, ‘See all this? From the mountains on the right hand over to the river on the left—it’s all mine.’” The way Brother Kimball said “mine” made you feel the covetousness that man had in his possessions. Then they proceeded to his home, which was truly a palace. President Kimball said, “I spoke at his funeral not long ago. They buried him in a piece of land the length of a tall man and the width of a heavy man, and as I returned from the cemetery I observed the cattle in the field, seemingly unaware that there had been a change of ownership.”

I started skateboarding in the seventh grade with a group of my friends. Skateboarding was huge at my school in California. Most of the guys and some girls I knew skated on a regular basis.
I was a street skater. I didn’t like going to skate parks because of the people there. I was honestly scared of the kinds of people who showed up at the skate parks.
As my friends and I continued on our “skating careers,” we became fairly good. We were able to receive sponsorships from local skate shops, which meant we got free skateboards, shirts, pants, etc. It was awesome and a really fun sport to pursue.
But, as with anything else, there were temptations.
As we gained more confidence in our skills, my friends and I started traveling to different skate spots and parks, and we started meeting many new, different kinds of people. Unfortunately, the skaters we met all had one thing in common: smoking. Every skater smoked, it seemed. My freshman year, my friends gave in to the temptation and began smoking. Still, I didn’t think much of it, because I’d decided I would never do that.
As time went on, my relationship with my friends grew weaker. We didn’t have the same interests anymore. They used drugs or alcohol every weekend. I could see them throwing away their lives. I couldn’t believe how bad it had become.
One Saturday morning, one of them asked me, “How did you stay away from it, man? Why can’t I be like you? You have something special in your life.” It was then that I realized it was because I’d always held myself to the Church standards.
I owe my ability to resist smoking and the other temptations to the little things. Even as my life got very busy with school, family, Church, dating, sports, and friends, I stuck to the plain and simple things. I read my scriptures, said my prayers, went to Mutual, and went to church. I know that if I hadn’t given myself the spiritual nourishment I needed every day, then I may have given in to temptation.
I know we must do the little things in the gospel. They will give us the strength we need to stay strong and avoid temptation.

I recall that not too long ago I became acquainted with a precious young woman named Sharon living in Brisbane, Australia. She had cystic fibrosis and had in the last few years spent nearly as much time in the hospital as she had in her home. She was downcast and desperate, feeling that God had forgotten her and that there was no chance for her. But a priesthood blessing told her to trust in the Lord with all of her heart and lean not to her own understanding and promised that He would guide and direct her. And then came the words that somewhat frightened him who was pronouncing the blessing: “Sharon, there will come in your lifetime medical advances which will correct the problem and alleviate the challenges that you are facing.”
Within thirty days, in Melbourne, Australia, there came a medical announcement of a new drug, experimental in nature, that showed promise in combating cystic fibrosis. Sharon applied for treatment, and it has been successful. Today, she spends very little time in the hospital; the rest of her time is spent preparing for a career.

Even so, Kate faces some hard situations when it comes to the party atmosphere that accompanies sports. It seems that drinking can become a stumbling point, especially when the team goes to Europe to compete. “After races, it’s party time. Everyone I met would drink. At first, I felt like the loner in the hotel. But I got over that feeling. My teammates knew better than to ask me to drink with them. After I won the worlds, my competitors would say, ‘Kate, you have to drink tonight.’ But I’d say no. My teammates would say, ‘No, she doesn’t drink. Don’t even ask.’”

It seems that people are indeed watching Kate and what she chooses to do. At the end of the season, two of her teammates said they had stopped drinking because of her. “It was the biggest reward I have ever received,” says Kate.

Some years ago a newspaper reporter was assigned to interview workers on a construction site to get a firsthand story about the project. He approached one man who was breaking great rocks and filing them down in order to have smooth and even surfaces and corners.

“What are you doing here with these huge rocks?” he asked.

Looking up, annoyed, the man said, “What do you think I’m doing? I hack away at these filthy rocks all day long. My back is bent and I’m tired. Day after day I do the same thing!”

“Well,” said the reporter, “this certainly isn’t a very pleasant job. I don’t envy you.”

He approached another man who appeared to be doing the same thing. The reporter was hesitant to interrupt him but finally asked, “Can you tell me what you’re doing, sir?”

The man stood up, wiped his sweaty brow, and, pointing to a rough but very large foundation, said, “Can’t you see? We are building a cathedral. Its spires will rise to the sky, and my children and grandchildren will remember that I had a great part in it.”

“Oh,” said the reporter, “this is a very important thing you are doing.”

“Yes,” said the man. “How lucky I am.”

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

Miracles of power can come as quorums reach out to serve others. They come as well when the priesthood service is to members within the quorum. A deacons quorum president met early one Sunday, before the quorum meeting, with his counselors and with the quorum secretary. After prayerful consideration in council, he felt inspired to call a deacon to invite to the next quorum meeting another deacon who had never attended. He knew that the deacon who had never attended had a father who was not a member of the Church and that his mother had little interest in the Church.
The designated deacon accepted the call from his president to contact the boy. He went. I watched him go. He went a little reluctantly, as if it might be a hard task. The boy he invited to come with him to quorum came only a few times before his family moved away. Many years later I was in a stake conference thousands of miles away from where that deacons quorum had met. Between conference meetings, a man I did not know came up to me and asked if I knew someone. He gave me a name. It was the boy who was called by his deacons quorum president to go after and care for one lost sheep. The man said to me, “Will you thank him for me? I am the grandfather of the boy he invited to a deacons quorum years ago. He is grown now. But he still talks with me about the deacon who invited him to go with him to church.”
He had tears in his eyes, and so did I. A young quorum president had been inspired to reach out to a lost member of his quorum. He was inspired to send a boy on the errand to serve. That president had done what the Master would have done. And in the process a young president trained a new priesthood holder in his duty to serve others according to the covenants. Hearts were knit which were still connected after more than 20 years and across thousands of miles. Quorum unity lasts when it is forged in the Lord’s service and in the Lord’s way.

“You’ve gotta crack a half a cuppa nuts!” is a very familiar phrase heard in my family. It is not unusual for our mother or dad to say it, and we’re all quite used to the strange and puzzled looks we get from those visitors who have no idea what it means.
It all started a couple of years ago when my dad was out of ideas to keep us under control. Being the father of ten active and quite rambunctious children, he needed a way to discipline our behavior. Consequently, he tried several methods of punishment that didn’t work particularly well.
One of the most boring discipline remedies that I can remember was “sitting on the chair.” When we were being punished for misbehavior, we had to sit on a hard chair in a corner of our dining room for a certain time which Mom would set on the oven buzzer. What made this punishment particularly unpleasant was that the chair was right by the piano. It never failed that a big sister would plop down on the piano bench and, seeing she had a captive audience, sing and play to her heart’s content. Talk about a fate worse than death!
That form of punishment failed because Mom and Dad had to worry about us sneaking off the chair and reducing the time on the buzzer, or simply disappearing. It proved a discipline dead end.
Another time Mom tried the “write an essay” form of punishment in which we had to write about what we did and how we would never do it again. None of us had much problem coming up with a lot to write about, but for some of us the punishment disintegrated into page-long poems that began with “Roses are red,” while others developed a unique writing style in which they could snugly fit about 17 huge words on a page. Another dead end.
Unfortunately for us, Dad came up with an idea that he thought was absolutely brilliant. Dreadful was a better word for it. We have a walnut tree in our backyard. Dad had been noticing how many walnuts go uncracked every year. He decided to mix that chore with our punishment. Every time we would break a family rule we would have to crack one half cup of nuts. Half a cup of nuts became the standard unit of punishment.
Cracking nuts may sound silly, but, believe me, it’s hard work. Picture a bunch of kids sitting on a hot sidewalk cracking each walnut one by one with a brick, then picking out the meat. Filling up one-half cup takes about 45 minutes, 35 if you’re a pro.
We children weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea, but we always had an abundance of cracked walnuts around to add to breads or cookies.
It takes forever to clean the slate when you get behind in your nut cracking. Once our family was planning a vacation. Dad decided that we weren’t going until everyone had his nuts cracked. Those who didn’t have nuts to crack were encouraged to help the others. We started out being grumpy, but by the end, we were all working together and actually enjoying it! Spending that time together, just talking while we were at our nut cracking, made us closer.
As for the days when the trees are bare and walnuts are scarce, we can work off our obligation by helping a parent or doing extra chores around the farm or house at the rate of one half cup of nuts per 15 minutes. As I have grown older, I have noticed one nice side effect. Working one-on-one with a parent gives us time to talk and learn how to work.
We’ve all grown and become better people because of our Dad’s nutty idea. Over the years even Mom and Dad have had to crack a few nuts themselves. It has proven an equitable way to discipline our family. Having nuts to crack was an unpleasant task but never a punishment that would damage our self-esteem.
I have just one word of warning to any kids out there who happen to have walnut trees in their backyards—obey your parents, don’t fight, and don’t call your little brother a “stupid nerd.” Or your parents might end up a little nutty over discipline.

And girls, don’t underestimate your influence on your brothers and your sweethearts. As you live worthy of their love and respect, you can help greatly to determine that they will be clean and virtuous, successful and happy. Always remember that you can go much further on respect than on popularity. I was reading the other day of a report of a conversation between two young prisoners of war in Vietnam. One said, “I am sick of war, bombers, destruction, prison camps, and everything and everybody.”

“I feel much like that myself,” said the other. “But there is a girl back home who is praying that I will come back. She cares, and it really helps me endure all these atrocities.”

My brothers and sisters, I want to tell you another story that happened in Japan right after the war. A young boy lost a father and lost practically everything in his life because of the war. This young boy naturally hated Americans, was prejudiced against them because of his lack of understanding. As he grew up, this young boy learned that a handful of Japanese leaders took the initiative to start the war, and he understood the true situation.

Things were difficult—not enough food or clothing for him or his family. His mother always tried to help, to teach, and to clothe the family. After he graduated from junior high school, this young boy had a chance to go to senior high school. One day he heard a conversation between his mother and brother and found out the financial difficulties of his home. The next morning, though his brother said that he could go to senior high school, this young man decided, “My brother, I will not go; I will work and help the family.”

He found a job in a tiny shop which produced a bean curd (we call it tofu in Japan) and attended school part-time at night. He would get up in the morning at 4:30, work until 6:00 p.m., go to school until 11:00 p.m., and not get home until 11:30 p.m. He followed this demanding schedule for about one year, but it became too much and he found himself in the hospital one day suffering from exhaustion. His condition was very critical, and he sensed that. Without knowing of Jesus Christ or God or even how to pray, he prayed, “O God, if thou art there, save my life. If thou wilt save me, I shall repay thee someday. I will serve thee.”

This was the simple prayer of this young boy. He was able to leave the hospital after two months. In order to recuperate he stayed with an uncle in the northern part of Japan.

At about the same time there were two young men, one from Pocatello, Idaho, and one from Salt Lake City, who went to San Francisco and crossed the big pond, the Pacific. It took them almost a month. There were no jumbo planes in those days. After a few months of training and laboring in Tokyo, they went to the northern part of Japan to a very cold place, not a dry cold like here, but high humidity—it was very wet there.

It was a P-day, but the senior companion from Idaho, Elder Delmont C. Law, a great man, asked his companion, R. Gordon Porter, if they could go knock on doors. They had had no success whatsoever for days, weeks, and months. Then finally, on this P-day, they decided to keep trying, and after breakfast they took off. They knocked, knocked, and knocked on doors that day. When evening came, bringing with it more cold and rain, they decided they should go home. Then the Spirit prompted them again, especially the senior companion from Pocatello, Idaho, who said to his companion, “Companion, can we do a few more doors?” They again agreed and then went on.

In that same vicinity lived the young man who had just left the hospital and was recuperating in his uncle’s home. He was waiting for something without knowing what. In a dark and cold room in that uncle’s home, the missionaries found this young man. When he saw these foreigners, he said to them, “I don’t like you Americans. Please go home.”

That was the first reply of the young boy, but the missionary from Pocatello, Idaho, replied, “We have a message for you. Can’t you even spend five minutes?” That was a very strong statement, and the young boy couldn’t refuse them and welcomed them inside. These missionaries taught him the most beautiful story, and this young boy accepted the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that day. He was baptized two weeks later and grew in the gospel. My brothers and sisters, that young boy is now standing before you.

On that day I almost missed the glorious everlasting gospel that your forefathers and mothers preserved, this great legacy, great heritage, glorious truth, even the teachings of Jesus Christ. I accepted the beauties of that day. I glanced at the beauties of the panorama of this great gospel of love and this legacy. To me, my wounds, my pain, my suffering, my patches, and my stitches from the war were gone because of the gospel of the Lord, our Savior, even Jesus Christ.

I asked Janie first. She’s my baby-sitter. “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” she answered, returning to her book, “but I wish I had the blue dress in this catalog.”
It was a pretty dress.
“I’m saving my baby-sitting money to buy it,” she added.
I next asked Mom as she left for work, “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” she said, “but I wish the living room would be picked up and vacuumed. After work I must go by the dry cleaners, so I’ll be late.”
When my big brother came home from school, I asked him, “Jack, how can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” he replied, “but I wish for an A in geometry.”
That afternoon and evening Jack left the television off and worked hard on his geometry.
As soon as Dad came home, I asked him, “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” he answered, “but I wish my good suit was cleaned and pressed. I need it tomorrow.” Looking at Mom’s note saying that she would be late, he started picking up the living room. “Hmmm … it needs the full treatment,” he said. He wheeled out the vacuum cleaner.
“I wish I could ride my bike, now that you took off the training wheels,” I said as he was putting the vacuum cleaner away.
“Come on, I’ll help you practice.”
First he showed me how to stop and get off. Then he gave me some good starts, and I began to get the hang of it.
When Mom came home, she looked around with pleasure at the clean, inviting living room. And the next morning Dad was happy to find his freshly pressed suit in his closet.
That afternoon Janie seemed happy. She had received a birthday check from her grandmother. “In another week I’ll have enough for my blue dress.”
Jack came home, walked right past the basketball hoop he loved to shoot at, and went into his room.
“When’s the test?” I asked.
“Next week. I have three more study sessions.”
A week passed. I practiced every day riding my bicycle in the driveway. I had a skinned elbow, a bruised knee, and a scraped ankle, but I finally mastered the bike.
I was proudly riding it when Janie came by to model her beautiful blue dress for me.
“You look great, Janie,” Jack said as he came down the sidewalk. Then he grinned and waved a geometry test paper with a 94 on it!
How can wishes come true? Figure it out—I did!

As a child living in the suburbs of Taipei, Taiwan, I never knew about the missionaries. So the first time I came in contact with them, I was curious about their message. It didn’t take long before I was eager to follow their teachings and put the gospel into practice in my life. I felt that this was a way for me to find out if there really is a God.
Within a month, I had been taught the gospel and the commandments that are taught before baptism. Peace came to me through prayer, I received personal revelation from studying the scriptures, and I never missed a Church meeting. I decided that I should be baptized.
The biggest challenge I faced at that time were problems that had emerged in my relationships with some of my friends because they opposed my involvement with the Church. I prayed a great deal about these problems, but our relationships seemed to only get worse.
I invited my friends to my baptism, but they completely disregarded my invitation. I really did not know what to do. Before my baptism, I sat alone on the sofa in the foyer of the chapel, praying that my friends would miraculously appear so I could tell them about the positive changes I had made in my life and prove to them that I was making the right decision by being baptized.
My friends never showed up, but while I poured my heart out to God, I felt an impression. At that point, I felt great love from my Heavenly Father. I knew that He was there and had truly listened to my prayer.
I originally wanted to be baptized simply because of all the wonderful things happening in my life, but at that moment, I came to understand the purpose of my baptism.
The impression I received was like the voice of the Lord speaking tenderly and directly to me, saying, “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You just need to prove to me that you are willing to come unto me and stay true to my gospel for the rest of your life.”

As prophet, President David O. McKay traveled with his son Llewelyn to Europe. He dedicated temple sites and tried to greet as many Church members as possible.
Llewelyn: Father, you don’t have time to greet all these children. Aren’t you tired?
President McKay: Son, never hurt a child. I can take time to meet these youngsters—I wouldn’t disappoint them for anything.
Girl: President McKay, could you sign my autograph book?
President McKay: Do you think I can write plainly enough for you to read it?
Just then, someone tapped President McKay on the shoulder and whispered to him for a moment. When he turned back to sign the little girl’s book, she was gone.
President McKay: Llewelyn! Please find the little girl in the blue dress. I’m afraid she thinks I didn’t want to sign her book.
Others helped Llewelyn search, but the little girl was nowhere to be found. On their way to London, Llewelyn and President McKay traveled with a group of missionaries. President McKay told them about the little girl in the blue dress.
President McKay: I wish we could have found her.
Missionary: President McKay, we think we know who she is. We’ll talk to her branch president, and he’ll phone you this evening.
President McKay: Wonderful!
President McKay talked to the little girl’s branch president, apologized for what had happened, and arranged for the autograph book to be sent to his office in Salt Lake City. When it arrived, he eagerly signed it and mailed it back.

I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.

I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”

Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.

I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

With work on the temple progressing amid a tense peace, in the spring of 1845 President Young turned his attention to the West. Joseph Smith had spoken privately of “a place of safety preparing … away towards the Rocky Mountains.” 11 Only weeks before his martyrdom, the Prophet had commissioned the Twelve to seek that place of refuge.

President Young found it no sacrifice to leave home and temple, for he knew that the destiny of the Saints lay not in Nauvoo but in the West. There, he believed, they would become a mighty people; there they could build new homes and a new temple in safety. Believing this, when mobs attacked settlements around Nauvoo in September 1845, President Young used the occasion to publicly announce the long-planned migration.

A major concern for Brigham was finding the right place. After frequent fasting and daily prayer in his room in the temple, he saw in vision the right spot and felt he could recognize it. His mind at ease, he was now ready.

One month later, Brigham Young and the first company of Saints crossed the Mississippi River, though it was still winter. Once on his way, President Young seemed drawn westward as if by an unseen hand. “Do not think … I hate to leave my house and home,” he wrote his brother Joseph from the Iowa prairies. “No, far from that. … It looks pleasant ahead,” he wrote, “but dark to look back” toward Nauvoo. 12

The Iowa experience, nonetheless, proved difficult, and for a time it seemed that the whole Church was mired, both literally and metaphorically, hub-deep in the spring prairie mud. Moving thousands of Saints hundreds of miles took far longer and consumed more resources than even Brigham Young had imagined. The experience drained him and forced him to grapple with his limitations. He lost so much weight that his clothes no longer fit. Exhausted physically and emotionally, Brigham understood more than ever the need for God’s intervention. And he longed for Joseph to counsel him and to reassure the people.

As Brigham Young left his bed on the morning of 17 February 1847, illness seized him so suddenly that he “fainted away, apparently dead.” 13 Only those who die and go through the veil could know how he felt, he said two weeks later, adding that “I know I went to the world of spirits.” However, it was not given him to remember immediately the details of what he saw there: “All that I know, is what my wife told me about it since. She said that I said, I had been where Joseph & Hyrum was” and that “it is hard coming back to life again.” 14

Once revived, Brigham Young fell asleep and dreamed, and when he awoke, he recorded what he had seen. “In my dream I went to see Joseph,” he wrote. Finding Joseph sitting by a large window looking “perfectly natural,” Brigham took him by the hand, kissed his cheeks, and asked him why they could not be together as before. Joseph arose from his chair, looked at Brigham, and spoke in his usual way: “It is all right.” Brigham protested, but Joseph replied: “You will have to do things without me a while and then we shall be together again.”

Brigham then addressed Joseph as his mentor and asked for counsel. The advice was direct and simple: “Be sure to tell the people to keep the spirit of the Lord.” 15 Brigham then turned and saw Joseph in the light, “but where I had to go was as midnight darkness.” Because Joseph insisted, Brigham “went back in the darkness” and awoke. 16

Though Brigham Young spoke frequently of this in the weeks before heading for the Rockies, he did not elaborate on its meaning. Undoubtedly, it buoyed his spirits and provided still more evidence that he was on the Lord’s (and Joseph’s) errand. Though still burdened by the demands of leadership and the magnitude of the challenge, he was at peace.

That peace was not always shared by those closest to him. Two weeks after President Young’s illness and vision, his brother, Joseph Young, called on him in his office and “stated that he thought 100 lbs Provisions”—the announced minimum for the trek west—“very little for each Pioneer.” Some months before, he had told Brigham that getting the Saints safely across Iowa would require as great a miracle as Moses leading the children of Israel through the wilderness. Should they now expect a second miracle? With so little, he insisted, any mishap at all could endanger the whole enterprise. For Brigham Young, that amount—all they could expect to obtain—simply must do. “Brigham replied he wanted all to stay here, who had not faith to go with that amount.” 17 Though not foolhardy, President Young was realistic. After doing the best they could, the Saints had no choice but to depend on the Lord for the rest.

President Young faced the challenge with such unwavering confidence because he knew the plan was not his own. As he told the Saints nearly 10 years later, “I did not devise the great scheme of the Lord’s opening the way to send this people to these mountains.” Who did? “It was the power of God that wrought out salvation for this people,” he insisted. 18

From the moment Brigham Young entered the Salt Lake Valley in 1847, he had a focused sense of mission about what the Saints must do there and a firm conviction that, through the Lord’s protection, they would be privileged to do so.19 He foresaw that if they lived worthily, they would never be driven from there.20 This faith sustained him and informed his decisions throughout his long tenure as civic and Church leader in Utah.

In 1857–58, President Young’s faith was put to a severe test as thousands of U.S. troops marched to Utah as an “escort” for Alfred Cumming, who was sent by the U.S. government to replace Brigham Young as governor. Some have argued that Governor Young should have immediately sought a political solution. Logically, compromise and accommodation seemed the only policy that might preserve peace.

President Young felt otherwise. The Saints’ experiences in Missouri had taught him what enemies can do when backed by military authority. Confident that if the Saints did all in their power, the Lord would prevent disaster, Governor Young declared martial law and mobilized the territorial militia to do everything short of bloodshed to slow down the advancing troops. Grasslands and supply wagons were burned, provisions and cattle confiscated, and the advance units harassed day and night. Still the troops came—until the timely arrival of heavy snows forced the army into winter camp near Fort Bridger, roughly a hundred miles from the Mormon settlement in the Salt Lake Valley. 21

That did not end the army’s advance, of course. By spring, soldiers wanted revenge for a miserable winter. Facing a renewed and perhaps even more dangerous threat, Brigham Young ordered his men to prepare to oppose the army but added the promise that “not a gun will be fired, not a man slain.” One of his commanders, a man who viewed President Young as the Lord’s mouthpiece, replied that “he knew it was true but he did not believe a word of it.” Given the circumstances, bloodshed seemed inevitable. 22

Even as troops advanced toward the city, Brigham Young and governor-designate Alfred Cumming, aided by Thomas L. Kane, the non-Mormon friend of the Saints who had risked his life to reach Utah in the winter, concluded a peaceful accord. Without incident, the army marched peacefully through a deserted Salt Lake City to an isolated encampment 30 miles away. U.S. Army Captain Jesse Gove summarized the toll of the Utah War: “killed, none; wounded, none; fooled, everybody” 23—everybody except Brigham Young, who, throughout, had an inner assurance that the encounter would not result in calamity.

President Young’s leadership was not flawless, of course; in mortality, no one’s is. “There are weaknesses manifested in men that I am bound to forgive,” he said on one occasion. “I am right there myself. I am liable to mistakes,” he continued, but “I am where I can see the light. I try to keep in the light.” 24 The promise he felt was not that he would make no mistakes or always know what was best but that, in the end, God oversees the essentials. He quickly abandoned what did not work well for something that might work better, but his direction and his destination remained unchanging. Long-term goals based on revelation provided the consistency that informed his day-to-day decisions and gave him the confidence to press forward regardless of the obstacles—or even the errors.

Such certainty sometimes made Brigham Young appear stubborn. A few months after the peaceful resolution of the Utah War, President Young visited Governor Cumming. Concerned that they had narrowly averted disaster, the fair-minded governor cautioned Brigham Young to refrain from provocative acts in the future.

“With all due respect to your Excellency,” the President interrupted, “I do not calculate to take the advice of any man that lives in relation to my affairs.” Though not spurning friends and counselors, during such crises, in God alone would he trust. “My religion is true,” he told the governor solemnly, “and I am determined to obey its precepts while I live.” He would, he insisted, “follow the councils of my heavenly Father, and I have faith to follow it, and risk the consequences. …

“You may think strange of it,” he concluded, “but you will yet see that I am right.” 25