Gospel Story Finder

During the years she lived in my parents’ home, she told us Church history and scripture stories at bedtime. The way Grandmother spoke of Jesus Christ, I knew she loved Him. One afternoon my cousin and I went into Grandmother’s room for a visit. She looked at us thoughtfully.
“Now, children, I’m going to die pretty soon,” she said. “And when I’m gone, I know you will feel sad. But I don’t want you to cry too much. I will be with Jesus and with your Grandpa Amacher, you know.” Grandma’s faith helped me come to know Jesus Christ.

One Thursday during my mission in Hong Kong, I was called to be a district leader and sent to a new area. I soon found there were no investigators there. But I was ready to begin the tracting necessary to find people to teach.
The next day as my companion and I and two other elders were about to eat dinner, the phone rang. An assistant to the mission president was calling to relay a challenge from the president: He wanted us to bring some investigators to church that Sunday. Sunday was only two days away!
I hung up the phone, told the other elders of our president’s desire, and suggested we begin fasting. All three of them supported me. We put our dinner into the refrigerator and said a prayer, telling Heavenly Father the purpose of our fast and seeking His divine help.
Then we left the apartment and started tracting. We did not have much success that evening, but on Saturday, we worked even harder and relied more on Heavenly Father. We had some success, but we weren’t sure any investigators would be at church the next day. But I knew we had done our part.
On Sunday when everyone arrived, we had seven investigators there. And of those seven, six were baptized within one month.
This miracle took obedience and hard work. I learned that, as the scripture says, “when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated” (D&C 130:21).

For Niilo Kervinen, a 24-year-old young adult from Rovaniemi, Finland, the 10-hour train ride to Helsinki is a small price to pay for the blessing of serving in the temple.
Before the dedication of the Helsinki Finland Temple in October 2006, Niilo and other members of his ward had to travel to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or to the Copenhagen Denmark Temple. “The trips would usually take a week during the summer vacation,” he remembers. Traveling by bus and sleeping in tents on those trips are some of the best memories he has.
Yet having a temple in his native land is a wonderful blessing. “When they announced the Helsinki Temple, I was so happy,” Niilo says. “The dedicatory prayer still resonates in my heart each time I go inside.”
In speaking of conversion, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said, “I promise that as we come to a knowledge of the truth and are converted unto the Lord, we will remain firm and steadfast and never fall away.”1 Although traveling to Helsinki requires time and money, Niilo is committed to being a disciple of Christ. And for Niilo, that is no sacrifice at all.

In Lucerne, Switzerland, every Saturday morning Sister Martha Stadelmann is one of the first customers at the flower stands in the open-air market. She stops first for a few bright pink baby roses and then at another stall for some bright yellow blooms for two friends who have birthdays next week. After breakfast she fills her basket with the bunches of brilliant blossoms, and then she tucks in a muffin to give to another friend as thanks for her lovely prayer last Sunday. Then Martha is off to visit her sisters. She spreads joy in her small Swiss branch by remembering and thinking of others—and showing her thoughtfulness in acts of kindness.

On January 19, 1841, in a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith at Nauvoo, Illinois, the Lord said, “Come ye, with all your gold, and your silver, … with all the precious trees of the earth … and build a house to my name, for the Most High to dwell therein” (D&C 124:26–27).
The Saints obeyed and built the Nauvoo Temple at great sacrifice before they were driven out of their beautiful city and they moved to the Salt Lake Valley. After they left, the temple was destroyed by others and lay in ruins for more than 150 years. Then, at the end of the April 1999 general conference, President Gordon B. Hinckley announced that the Nauvoo Temple would be rebuilt. And in October 1999, the work of rebuilding the temple began.
The Primary children of the Nauvoo First Ward eagerly watched as the temple rose from a large hole in the ground. They wanted to help in building this house of the Lord, but they couldn’t do any actual physical work, such as cutting the stones or carpentry or electrical work. They decided to answer President Hinckley’s call for Church members to make donations for this special temple. But how? Their Primary leaders found the answer in a story* about the original temple there:
“In 1844, the Saints in Nauvoo were building the temple, as the Lord had commanded. All of them were contributing as much as they could in tithes and offerings. The men were putting in long hours at the temple site, and Mary Fielding Smith and her sister Mercy Thompson were trying to think of a special way in which the women could contribute to the temple. They couldn’t work at the stone quarry or build windows with the carpenters, but they did come up with a wonderful plan: They started collecting a penny each week from the sisters who could help. That might not seem like much today, but it was a lot of money then. Penny by penny, the sisters’ sacrifice paid for the glass and nails needed for the temple.”
A penny fund would be the perfect way for the Primary children of the Nauvoo First Ward to help! Every child could find a way to contribute pennies, and the money would be used to buy a tree to plant on the temple grounds. That way, each time the children went there, they would see a reminder of their sacrifices and contributions. And as the tree was growing, they would also be growing and preparing to enter the temple and make sacred covenants there.
To start the project, the Primary leaders created a special tree on which each class placed a colorful leaf on Sundays when they put their pennies in the Penny by Penny jar. Children brought pennies they earned by doing things like extra chores and recycling cans. Soon the pennies were pouring in, and the special tree branches were filled with colorful leaves. Even children who visited Nauvoo during the busy tourist season put pennies into the jar.
In November 2001, the temple was almost finished, and it was time to prepare the grounds so that they would be beautiful for the open house in the spring. On a cold Saturday morning, the Primary children and their parents gathered in front of the temple to plant their Penny by Penny tree.
First, they sang “I Love to See the Temple.”† The bishop gave a talk, then the children gave their pennies to Brother Ron Prince, the temple project administrator. The tree was placed in the hole prepared for it, a canister containing the written and drawn testimonies of the children was placed among the tree’s roots, then the children took turns shoveling dirt to fill in around the tree. They were very happy to have helped make the Savior’s house in Nauvoo more beautiful, and they look forward to the day when each of them may enter it.

Some time ago one of our daughters was assigned to speak on Christmas Sunday. The topic was “How can we become shepherds this Christmas season?” Let me quote from her talk:
The highlight of Christmas at the Clarkes was always Christmas Eve. The day was spent baking, cooking, wrapping, and busily getting everything ready for the evening ahead. We would bundle up in our hats and gloves and head to God’s Acre, the square in the center of town with a different denomination of church on each of the four corners. The town band would play Christmas carols, and people of all faiths would gather and sing together. All were there for the same purpose: to celebrate the birth of our Savior. But this was just the beginning of the evening.
After caroling, we would head back home, where the feast we had been working on all day would quickly come together for all to enjoy. The month before, my parents would begin asking around the ward to find out who did not have somewhere to go for Christmas Eve. Whoever they might be, they were always invited to our home for the festivities. We lived on the East Coast, far from our relatives, so my parents decided we would be family to those around us, and they would be family for us.
One year when my older siblings were at college and heading home for the holidays, it was mentioned that maybe Christmas Eve would be just for our family this year.
When Christie arrived home from BYU, she asked Mom, “Who is coming for Christmas Eve?”
My mother commented that this year we were going to have just our family because three of our siblings had been away.
Christie then said, “But Mom, what will our Iranian friends do? What will the Toomeys do? And what will Rune do for Christmas Eve?”
These people were counting on us, and we couldn’t change our tradition. Christie had felt the wondrous blessings of having these special sheep in our home for Christmas, and it meant everything to her!
The feast would always be for at least forty or so. In addition to the families that were invited, my ­parents always invited the local zone of missionaries to our home for Christmas Eve. After dinner we would move to the living room for the Christmas program.
The evening was centered on the true meaning of Christmas: celebrating the birth of our Savior. My dad would read the Christmas story from Luke, and then we would go around the room with everyone having the opportunity to share their testimony of Jesus Christ. At the end of the evening everyone received a gift.
In this story—the story of the Christmas Eves of my childhood—the shepherds are my parents. They opened up their home to those who had nowhere else to go. These people were family and were treated as such.

Hello! I’m Priyanka. I live in Visakhapatnam. I love Jesus Christ and His teachings. I used to attend different churches. One fine day I told my friend who is a Christian that I wanted to get baptised. Then she introduced me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints. I really liked the fellowship of the members and the standards of the Church. I took the lessons from the Elders, and I asked my parents’ permission to get baptised. They told me that I could attend church but not get baptised. So I continued attending church and read Book of Mormon with my friend. After a few months, my mom started coming to church, but she didn’t gain her testimony yet. After two years I thought of being baptised without informing my parents.
One day as I was reading a message shared in the Liahona magazine, I strongly felt that I should ask my parents about my baptism again. I did, but my dad again said no. Then my mom spoke with him, and he finally agreed. I, along with my mom, got baptised on April 9, 2017—a most memorable day in my life. Because I followed the Holy Spirit’s promptings and asked my parents again, the Lord blessed me so much that my family members and friends attended my baptism. As the prophet Nephi described his feelings in the scriptures, “And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do” (1 Nephi 4:6). Similar were my feelings when I think about my baptism.

Dressed in old clothes—pants and shirt that bright yellow paint can’t ruin—James Bridges is sitting with nine of his closest friends saying the following sentence: “Service is fun.”

He says it with absolute sincerity, and the other nine nod in agreement. They are gathered at their church in Anchorage, Alaska, getting ready to restripe the parking lot. Perhaps very few will actually notice their work, but, still, it’s a job that needs to be done. And they were happy to volunteer.

Back to the parking lot. “It’s a serious activity,” says Brother Smith. “I don’t want to see anyone’s initials out there. I want you to be proud that when you drive in on Sunday, the stripes are straight.”

The yellow stripes will be straight. Members of this priests quorum know all about following guidelines and doing a good job. They know where service leads—to feelings of worth. And they know the ones that have set the example for them are now in the mission field. The lines are straight, and they’ll follow.

What do you do when you’re not quite 16, but you desperately want to attend a dance at your school? Several girls from the Bountiful, Utah, area came up with a solution that worked well—they invited their dads.
Anissa Johnson, Shauna Howard, Cindee Olsen, Jill Stauffer, and Shari Salmon all found unique ways to invite their fathers and planned a dinner together before the dance. In accordance with the dance’s tradition, the fathers and daughters all wore matching shirts.
“It was a little strange when we first got to the dance and there were all our friends,” said Shari. “But the strange feeling only lasted a few minutes, and I didn’t think about it anymore; I was having too much fun!”
Cindee summed up one of the reasons she and her friends had such a great time with their fathers. “I didn’t have to impress him,” she said. “I already knew he liked me.”

As time went on, being surrounded by the normalcy of others drinking alcohol made it difficult for me to keep my standards. Going to pubs with clients and coworkers was a regular circumstance I would find myself in. I grew tired of having to explain myself when I turned down a drink, and sometimes I just wanted to fit in.
But beyond wanting to fit in, I wanted to be an example of a disciple of Jesus Christ, so I learned a few ways to help me resist temptation:
I prayed for strength each morning to make good decisions.
I often listened to conference talks or hymns on my way to work.
I kept my favorite scripture taped to my bathroom mirror to read each day: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).
I enlisted the help of my closest coworkers, asking them to support me when others would offer me “just one drink.” They could tell when I was feeling uncomfortable and would kindly jump in and order me a “sparkling water on the rocks” to help me avoid feeling awkward during these gatherings.
I worked with many other religious individuals who had similar morals. There were a few practicing Muslims whom I bonded with, and we often sat together during work functions so we could have strength in numbers. Surrounding myself with like-minded people who respected my standards helped me immensely (see Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).
I strove to focus on my baptismal covenant to “always remember Him” (see Doctrine and Covenants 20:77, 79), which helped me feel the Spirit more abundantly. I had promised to follow God and be a disciple of Christ, and seeking to always remember the Savior helped me keep an eternal and infinite perspective in the most finite moments of temptation.
But what has helped me most in resisting temptation is knowing that the Lord has a higher purpose for keeping all of His commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. And I know that remaining true to the commandments has always blessed my life in so many ways. (See Doctrine and Covenants 82:10.)
I’ve realized that the Word of Wisdom is more than just going without alcohol and other strong substances. Heavenly Father gave us this commandment to help us maintain good health and practice self-mastery, to protect us from potentially crippling addictions and other consequences, and to allow us to find greater wisdom and knowledge (see Doctrine and Covenants 89).
I’ve seen that when we demonstrate obedience to the simple things the Lord asks of us, our capacity and desire to keep all of His commandments grows, and we can learn to overcome even greater temptations and challenges (see 2 Nephi 28:30).
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and that through His strength and the Savior’s, I can overcome peer pressure and temptation. I always remember Alma 7:11–12, which explains how the Savior understands all we face—pains, afflictions, and even temptations. He knows how “to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As I have relied on Jesus Christ to help me in my weaknesses, I have felt His strength enter my life, and I more fully see that He truly does understand us. And when we are faced with temptation, He is ready to help us see the bigger picture and choose well. All we need to do is turn to Him.

Few newlyweds honeymoon by camping out in the cold for two winter months. But the 18-year-old bride, Emily Abbott, and her new husband Edward Bunker, had little choice. Right after John Taylor, then an apostle, sealed them together as man and wife in Nauvoo, they fled west with hundreds of other Saints over frozen Mississippi River ice late in February 1846. As refugees, they camped in mud and snow day after day on their slow journey across Iowa.
At Garden Grove, Iowa, Edward managed to build a crude one-room log cabin. But its lack of windows or doors and its dirty floor certainly provided his new bride with much less than she was accustomed to. Emily, he well knew, had grown up with nice things. Her childhood home in Dansville, New York, was a prosperous home. Thanks to her father’s good income from a woolen mill he owned. Her parents sent her to a fine grammar school in the area.
When Emily was about ten, the family moved west to develop a 16-hectare stretch of Illinois land. There they were converted to Mormonism and soon moved to Nauvoo. Then in 1843 Emily’s father died, and to help provide for her mother and the five other children, teenage Emily found work in nearby homes. Hour after painstaking hour, her tailoring work turned her into a fine seamstress. It was while tailoring that she met and then married Edward.
Life was not easy in their Garden Grove cabin community, so Edward traveled over an area of many kilometers to find part time jobs. He managed to bring home a little corn one time, some bacon another time. When he heard that the United States army wanted volunteers for the Mormon Battalion, he enlisted, hoping his army salary would pay for Emily’s trip to the West.
Her husband left, leaving Emily and her mother’s family to care for themselves until he returned. Within the year, by January 1847, poverty would teach the young wife a lasting lesson about pride.
Emily, an expert with needle and cloth, sometimes felt superior to those not dressed as well as she was. One day she saw a young baby dressed in some glazed curtain material—bright shawl-type flower figures on a deep blue background. Curtain materials for a baby dress! She severely criticized the mother for not being able to provide better and vowed out loud: “I would not clothe my child in a dress like that, even if I could have it for nothing.”
But that January, when Emily gave birth to her own first baby, she had nothing to clothe him in. No one in the camp had anything she could buy to sew into baby clothes. No one, that is, except the poor mother she had criticized. The mother kindly said to her: “I have a few lengths of the same material from which I made my baby’s dress. You are welcome to it.” Emily, swallowing her pride, accepted the curtain material and offered to pay for it. “No, I don’t want you to pay me for it,” the giver said. “I hope you need it so much that you’ll not shed tears over it and blame the Lord because you have nothing better.”
Emily did not complain about the curtain-cloth dress she made for her son. For a long time it was the only clothing the baby boy had.
When Emily’s husband, Edward, returned from battalion duty after an 18-month absence, he got acquainted for the first time with his 11-month-old son. (But records do not tell us what the baby boy wore to meet his soldier-father.)
Years later, as the mother of 11 children, Emily often told the story of the curtain dress to her children to help them accept situations when they were lacking money and earthly goods.

“Pizza face!”
I winced and sunk down into the bus seat, trying to disappear. The 20-minute ride home from school every day was pure torture for me. Lance and Sean always took the seat right behind me, and thought up as many names for me as they could. My face, full of acne since the fifth grade, provided them with such entertainment that they acted like I should be proud to receive so much verbal creativity.
I would run home from the bus stop, sit in the corner of my room with a blanket over my head, and cry. This experience was detrimental to a young girl’s self-esteem, but after a few months the boys moved on to some other poor soul with a visible affliction.
My self-esteem seemed to recover at the same rate my acne cleared—slowly. By high school a pimple was rare for me. On the other hand, both Lance and Sean, whom I still avoided, had acne problems of their own. They were much more withdrawn and had few friends.
“Serves them right,” I would think. “Now they’ve got exactly what they made fun of me for.” I felt inclined, even entitled, to some revenge of my own.
My chance came one day when Sean and I were alone in a large school hallway. He didn’t see me walking his way, and when I judged he was close enough for maximum damage, I said in a most disgusted way, “Pizza face!”
He winced, hung his head, and quickened his pace. As I watched him fleeing my torment, looking so alone in the huge hallway, I was astonished at what I felt. I had expected to feel triumphant. Instead I felt guilty and small.
Revenge had seemed like the clear answer for me, but standing there in the hall, I realized that revenge was empty. I felt worse than I’d ever felt in my life. I wanted to apologize. I learned my lesson that day: revenge is not the way to heal your inner injuries.

When my grandpa became sick, I travelled to Antsirabe to be with him. The missionaries visited his home several times. Grandpa and I were not members of the Church, but he liked visiting with the missionaries. One night, they gave grandpa a blessing, and after a family home evening, they handed us the Book of Mormon.
“Please read this book and ask God if it is true,” they said.
When I returned to Sarodroa, I didn’t want to read the Book of Mormon because I thought it was not true. Then, one day I became so sick that I was stuck in my house for several days. As I looked for something to do, I found the Book of Mormon and started to read.
Later, I returned to Antsirabe and met the missionaries. They taught me more about the Book of Mormon and about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I told them that we didn’t need prophets and that there was no prophet today. The missionaries asked me to pray to God and ask if there is a prophet now. They promised that God would answer me. I prayed and felt that what the missionaries said was true.
I wanted to attend church, but I had no money for the bus. I talked to my friend, Razafindravaonasolo, and she said we could ride my bike. We rode two hours one way from Sarodroa to Antsirabe every Sunday. When I would get tired of pedaling, I would ride on the back and she would start pedaling. Then when she got tired, we would switch places again.
Eventually, Razafindravaonasolo’s family and I joined the Church. We attended church in Antsirabe until a branch opened in Sarodroa. We were so happy when we could attend church in our own village!
Razafindravaonasolo’s father was called as the branch president. One day he met with me and encouraged me to prepare for a mission. I didn’t think I could serve, but he reassured me that I could. I accepted the call to serve in the Madagascar Antananarivo Mission. I am married now and I have two kids. I am grateful for my family, and I have had more experiences than I can share that have helped me know that this Church is true.

Let me tell you of one last example of another young man. We’ll also call him Raymond. I think the family of this young man exemplifies the love, confidence, and trust that must exist in family relationships.

Raymond found himself quite ill as he was serving his mission in a distant land. He had many digestive problems and the mission president was considering sending him home due to his poor health. To compound his problems, one day, while out walking, he found himself with a severe pain in his left foot. He couldn’t even walk to the discussion he and his companion had planned. They went to the doctor who said, “It’s just arthritis caused by the damp weather. If you’ll stay off your foot for two or three days the pain will pass.”

The young man did so. He also had a priesthood blessing, but nothing happened. He was a district leader at the time, and his district had just begun to baptize in a city where there had not been baptisms for some time. He could not understand how the Lord could allow him to remain down for those days when his district was just beginning to have success.

A week went by, two weeks, three weeks, a month in bed. He was still incapacitated with no change in the pain in his foot. Finally, he was taken to the mission home in the capital city where more suitable medical facilities were found.

An X-ray was taken. One of the bones in his foot had been fractured or broken and had then grown back together incorrectly. The doctors talked of either breaking the bone again or giving him some special electrical treatments that were supposed to fuse the bone correctly, but it would take another month. He was down again, going for treatments twice a day. The treatments didn’t make any difference. This problem, on top of his other medical problems, had him somewhat discouraged, and again the consideration came to send him home.

One morning, after nearly three months, he stepped out of bed to find absolutely no pain in his foot. He stepped on the foot gently, then stamped on it, then ran with his companion for a mile that morning, totally healed. With great joy he returned immediately to the field to work.

Two more weeks went by. A letter arrived from home that said, “Dear son,” and then followed a paragraph or two of chastisement for not having told his family about his ailments in the mission field. They indicated that they had learned of his problems from another missionary, a friend of his, who had written home. In great love they wrote, “We have begun a fast and constant prayer for you as a family. We also have placed your name on the temple prayer list and hope that it might be of help to you.”

As he tearfully read the letter and examined his journal, he found that the day that he had risen from his bed healed was the very day the letter had been written, the very day his family began praying and exercising faith for their distant son.

How could that be, across 7,000 miles? I suppose no man knows, but the reality of the power of faith cannot be denied.

One Sunday when I was a stake president I was at home - a fairly rare occurrence. That day our oldest daughter had a meltdown, told us we were the worst parents in the world, went downstairs to her room, slammed the door and turned her music up to at least 2,000 decibels. After several minutes of the entire house rattling, I went downstairs to tell her to turn her music down. As I approached her room, I heard the words of her music: "You're not alone." I stopped and thought, "If there is any message that should be blasted into the very soul of every Latter-day Saint - young or old - it is that one!" So I turned around and went back upstairs - without even mentioning to her that I had been there. In a few minutes, the music came down on its own. She came up and said, "I'm sorry." We said the same, and the Spirit returned to our home. It has been many years since that Sunday, but I have never forgotten the message: We are children of a kind Heavenly Father and are, indeed, not alone.

My brother Bill was six years older than I was. He was my ideal, I wanted to be just like him. I would follow him and his friends around and, although I am sure he sometimes thought of me as a little pest, he was good to me and allowed me to tag along.
When Bill was in high school, he had saved enough money to buy himself a car. I remember well the day he drove his very first car home. It was his pride and joy, and he spent many hours shining it up. One day as we were coming home, he stopped at the bottom of the lane that led to our barn and asked me if I would like to drive his car up the lane, which was permissible in those days on a farm. Of course I would! I couldn’t believe that he would trust me to drive his new car—I knew how much it meant to him.
I ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. He showed me where the key was, how to shift gears, and where the gas pedal was. My foot just barely reached the pedal. I knew everything I needed to know to start the car, and off we went. It was great! It was only when we reached the top of the hill that I realized he hadn’t shown me how to stop the car, and we ran right into the side of the barn. I felt so bad! I was sure that Bill would never trust me to drive his car again. However, a few days later he asked me again if I wanted to drive his car up the lane—but this time he showed me where the brake was! I was so grateful that he understood that running into the barn had just been an accident and that it hadn’t destroyed his trust in me.

I will give one example. As an elders quorum presidency we had some success in preparing couples to go to the temple for the first time to receive their endowments and be sealed for time and all eternity. For the past 20 years I have been blessed with the authority to perform sealings for numerous couples. Although this is a great and sacred honor, I can say without reservation that the gratification I feel in doing so is not as great as that which I felt sitting in an obscure corner of the sealing room watching another sealer perform the ceremony for a couple with whom I had worked to prepare for that occasion. As General Authorities we travel from place to place and have limited opportunities to get personally involved with members.

While I have had many experiences in my life that follow this pattern, my call as a member of the Seventy is illustrative. The call came the first week of June 1992, and my first assignment was to serve as a member of the Central America Area Presidency beginning on August 1. During my vacation time in July, I immersed myself in the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, and spent hours studying, praying, and pondering to help me prepare and overcome my feelings of inadequacy.
Based on Matthew 4:1–11 and the Joseph Smith Translation of Matthew 4:1–11, the parallels shown in table 2 came to me.
Table 2. A Pattern for Spiritual Growth (see Matthew 4)
Verses
Phrases from the Scriptures
Parallels to Our Day
1
The Savior sensed His sacred responsibility and sought to commune with God.
I sensed my sacred responsibility and sought to commune with God.
1
He communed with God.
Enlightenment came as I studied, fasted, pondered, and prayed.
3–10
He was tempted and challenged.
I was challenged with feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness.
11
Angels ministered to Him.
The Holy Ghost comforted, taught, enlightened, and strengthened me to go forward with divine assistance.

Life was good for 15-year-old Sarah Jane Marler—about as good as it could get in Port Gibson, Mississippi, in 1850. As the oldest daughter of a wealthy land owner, Sarah Jane enjoyed many of the comforts of the Old South: a beautiful and spacious home, many servants, and a bustling social life.
Along with her parents and seven brothers and sisters, she joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1845. Now she had the blessing of the restored gospel, too.
Yes, life was good for Sarah Jane, almost perfect. Then her parents, Allen and Harriet Heath Marler, made a decision to leave, to sell their land and most of their possessions, and join with other pioneer Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. In early March of 1850, along with Sarah Jane’s uncle Samuel Heath, his wife and two little boys, her family left tender ties and a warm climate to make the long, arduous journey to a new life in Utah territory.
How did Sarah Jane feel? Did she pout? Did she cry? She probably felt like any modern-day teenager does when facing a forced move. Sad to leave her friends, maybe a teensy angry with Mom and Dad, and most certainly knots-in-the-stomach scared! After all, she would never see her Mississippi home again.
During the first part of their journey the two families traveled by riverboat up the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers headed for St. Joseph, Missouri. However, before they reached their destination, the dread disease cholera broke out in the family. One of the children was seriously ill. The riverboat captain, fearing his boat would be quarantined if a sick person was found aboard, insisted that they leave the boat at once. It was night, and the small band went by foot in cold and drenching rain to find refuge in St. Joseph. The child died in his mother’s arms. And within hours all members of the family, except Sarah Jane, were violently ill.
Can you imagine Sarah Jane’s desperation? Her loneliness and isolation must have been overwhelming as she ran through the streets of St. Joseph begging for help. The people of that community were sympathetic but so fearful of catching the disease themselves they dared not come near her family. She must have thought, I’m the only one! I’m the only one who can help! The fear in her heart must have been unbearable. For days, she was doctor and nurse to her family.
Sarah Jane’s father, three of her sisters, and her two boy cousins died. She served as midwife for her mother, who bore a premature baby girl who died, too. She then had to be mortician for her family. After begging again, help came, and she was finally able to bury her loved ones.
In a few weeks those remaining were well again. After much prayer, Sarah Jane’s mother and uncle decided to continue west. A row of graves, large and small, left behind a story of tragedy and sacrifice. But they moved on, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on October 2, 1850.
Sarah Jane Marler was my great-great aunt. Her courage and faith, borne of a powerful testimony of the gospel for one so young, has been an inspiration in our family for generations.
I often wonder, could I have done what she did?

“Have fun,” Mother called to Christy from the doorway. “Run quickly so that no one catches you. If they do, you’ll get a kiss.”
Christy smiled and waved to Mother as she walked slowly up the hill pulling her little wagon.
Soon Christy stopped in front of Lisa’s house and counted the May baskets in her wagon. She had one, two, three, four, five small ones and a special basket with a big frilly bow.
Christy parked her wagon behind a bush and picked up one of the small baskets. She tiptoed up to Lisa’s front door and carefully hung the basket on the doorknob. Then she rang the doorbell and ran quickly back to her wagon.
As Christy stood behind a bush and held her breath, Lisa’s door opened. But there was no sound. Christy began to wiggle with excitement. She wiggled this way and that. Finally she peeked around the bush.
“I see you!” Lisa called from the porch. Christy jumped up and started to run, but Lisa ran faster and soon caught her.
“Happy May Day,” Lisa said, kissing Christy on the cheek.
“Happy May Day,” Christy answered. “Have you delivered your May baskets yet?”
“I was just starting,” Lisa replied. “Let’s go together.”
Christy helped Lisa arrange her baskets in the wagon.
“Let’s go to Gary’s first,” Lisa suggested.
The two girls hurried to Gary’s house. They set their baskets next to the door. As soon as Lisa rang the doorbell, they ran around by the side of the house to hide.
Gary opened the door and they could hear running steps.
Christy ran to catch up with Lisa who was already pulling the wagon down the sidewalk as fast as she could.
Gary watched them a minute and then called, “Thanks for the May baskets!”
Lisa and Christy stopped running. “You’re welcome,” they shouted together as they hurried away.
Finally all the baskets were delivered but the one with the big frilly bow.
“Who’s that basket for?” Lisa asked.
“It’s a special basket for a special person,” Christy answered, “and we’re almost to her house.”
Christy and Lisa tiptoed up to the door of one more house. They carefully hung the special May basket on the doorknob, rang the doorbell, quickly ran away, and hid at the side of the house.
The door opened, and Christy’s mother stepped out onto the porch. She smiled when she saw the May basket.
“Who could this May basket be from?” she asked as she looked all around. “I’ll bet I have some milk and cookies for whoever brought me such a nice May Day surprise.”
Lisa and Christy ran out from the side of the house.
“We’ve delivered all our baskets, Mother,” Christy said. “I made a basket just for you, and Lisa helped me bring it.”
Mother leaned down and gave both girls a big hug. “You’ve had a happy May Day, and you’ve made it a happy May Day for me too. Thank you.”