Gospel Story Finder

The preparations were everywhere! Peter’s third grade class was planning a huge Easter egg hunt, his Primary was singing with the ward choir for the Easter program the next Sunday, and his mom was busy planning for relatives coming to visit for the holiday. His friends were all busy and excitedly awaiting the Easter holiday.
But Peter was having a difficult time. He wasn’t excited about treats and special lessons at church, because Grandpa Jensen was very sick—so sick that at a family council, Peter and his brothers and sister were told that Grandpa Jensen would soon go back to live with Heavenly Father.
Peter was sure that there was some terrible mistake! Doctors didn’t always know everything. Grandpa Jensen had worked very hard all his life. He was strong and good, and everyone loved him. He just couldn’t be dying!
Peter spent a lot of time praying. He pleaded, “Please don’t take Grandpa home with Thee, Heavenly Father.” He knew that he should say, “Thy will be done,” but it was too hard to say. If I say it out loud, Peter thought, it might mean I’m giving up.
Peter thought about how lonely it would be without Grandpa. He thought about how Grandma would feel without Grandpa by her side. And he knew that all of his family would miss their wonderful Grandpa Jensen. Once in a while Peter found himself laughing and having fun with his friends. Then he’d stop and wonder how he could play and laugh and joke while Grandpa was so sick.
One night at family home evening, Peter’s older brother, Thad, told the story about the Savior’s death and about the joy that Mary Magdalene felt when she knew that He was resurrected. Then Thad talked about their family, how although death would separate them on this earth, because of Jesus, they would someday experience joy when they were all together again. He also talked about the great importance of going to the temple and its blessings. He ended his lesson by saying that Joseph Smith had taught that all people take the love and affection they feel with them when they die. Grandpa would still love everyone in his family as much as ever, even though they were separated. Family is still family—grandpas are still grandpas!
Peter felt much better about Grandpa after that lesson. But then he began to wonder if it would hurt Grandpa to have his spirit leave his sick body. Grandpa was already suffering so much that Peter couldn’t stand that thought. Mom suggested that he talk to Grandpa about it. She said that Grandpa lived close to Heavenly Father already and that he would explain his feelings to Peter.
Sure enough, when Peter told Grandpa his concern, Grandpa explained, “Petey, do you remember that day I took you to the zoo last year?”
“Yes. We stayed so long and had such fun that I fell asleep in the car on the way home.”
“That’s right. You didn’t know that when we got home, I lovingly picked you up and carefully tucked you in your bed. The next morning you were surprised to see where you were. You knew that you were in a different place from where you fell asleep. You didn’t know how you got there, but you knew that someone who loved you took you there. Well, that’s how I believe it will be. Perhaps I will fall asleep, and when I awake, my spirit will be somewhere else. I won’t hurt anymore or be uncomfortable, and I’ll know that Someone who loves me took me there.”
Feeling Grandpa’s arm about him while they talked helped Peter realize that Grandpa wasn’t frightened. And as he closed Grandpa’s door behind him, Peter felt a sense of reverent excitement for the eternal things that Grandpa would experience.
The next Sunday was Easter. During sacrament meeting, Peter listened carefully to everything. The scriptures that were read about Jesus; Jesus’ praying, “Thy will be done”; the telling about the cross, the thorns, the sepulchre, and Mary Magdalene’s joy—all meant much more to him that day.
Jesus had gone through all He had endured because He loved Peter and Grandpa Jensen and everyone else in the world. If Jesus had not atoned in Gethsemane and died for all of God’s children, there would be no hope to ever see Grandpa Jensen again after he died. But because of Jesus, there is hope for every little child and every grandpa to be together again.
As Peter listened to the first line of the closing song, “God loved us, so he sent his Son,”* his heart swelled with joy. That’s it! he thought. That’s the happy message of Easter!

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to a university in another state. I went to decide if I wanted to go to school there.
While I was there, some girls already on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes.
Throughout the party I felt very uncomfortable and wanted to leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (“The Power of Righteousness,” Liahona, January 1999, 81). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was out of place there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful I decided long ago that I would never drink. That decision helped me in my time of need.

I wasn’t sure what to do that afternoon in my 14th year. I was backed up against the outside wall of my school, and a bully was hitting me. Since I was surrounded by half a dozen of his friends, I decided to take the blows.
He punched me, then kicked me. Many times.
Finally he and his friends left. My bus came, and I climbed aboard. I didn’t raise my head until the bus pulled up to my stop. Even 50 years later, I still wonder if I acted out of cowardice or Christian forbearance.
This experience underscores some puzzling questions we face as Latter-day Saints. When our beliefs are attacked, do we fight, flee, or just take the blows?
The Savior’s words seem clear: “Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also” (Matthew 5:39). I’ve often wondered, Was Jesus simply using a metaphor to teach His followers not to respond to insults with bloody retaliation, as was the usual practice? Perhaps.
And yet, consider the counsel in the Doctrine and Covenants.
In 1833 the Church was facing intense persecution, especially in Missouri. In defense of their lives, Church members took up arms. At that point, the Lord revealed section 98. In it, He taught them to forbear—within limits. They had a right to defend themselves, but if they refrained, He would reward them. If the offenders sought forgiveness, the Saints were to forgive “seventy times seven” (verse 40). As for going to battle, they were to first sue for peace and engage only if the Lord commanded it.
Times have changed since those terrible days, but in some ways the Church remains under attack. Our doctrine is generally misunderstood. Uninformed assumptions, illogical accusations, and outright lies are passed around as truth.
What are we to do? As disciples who strive to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9), we must do something. We can’t run. So do we fight or just take the blows?
In such matters, we can look to the prophets. In recent general conferences, I’ve noted a number of talks explaining the Church’s position on controversial issues. The speakers don’t castigate, but neither do they capitulate. Often they seek common ground with those who disagree with us. They are respectful. They try to understand and be understood.1
There may be times when the only choice is to fight, flee, or take the blows. But often we have a better option. We can reach out in love, as Jesus and His Apostles do.

What are you doing?
Changing the air filter.
What does it do?
It’s got an important job. It keeps dirt out of the engine.
You know, you have a filter too.
What do you mean?
It’s the Holy Ghost. It helps you know when what you’re watching or reading isn’t good.
Like that movie we turned off last night?
Right! The Holy Ghost helped us keep bad stuff out of our brains—just like a filter!
Yeah, it’s not like you can throw your old brain away and get a new one at the store!

When I was baptized, I was the only member of my family who accepted the gospel. I was 19 years old, and I was happy about my baptism. I was welcomed by the brothers and sisters of the Panuco First Branch in Veracruz, Mexico. In addition, I began preparing to serve a full-time mission as soon as I had been a member of the Church for one year. It was wonderful to know the true Church, and I wanted to share the gospel with others.
My father, my stepmother (my mom died when I was 12 years old), and my three brothers rejected the Church when I was baptized. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond well. I was disrespectful to them. I didn’t consider my father or his opinions. When I told him I would serve a mission soon, he was not happy since I would stop working and especially since I might go far away. It bothered me every time my family’s lifestyle conflicted with my principles, such as when they watched TV or listened to music programs that I felt were inappropriate for Sundays or when my father would invite me to have lunch on fast Sunday.
I justified my negative attitude toward my family by telling myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong—as a member of the Church, I should live gospel principles even when my family members bothered me. I told myself they were the ones who should change. Due to this reasoning, my relationship with my father was not good. It got worse because of my attitude and pride. I continued this way—not concerning myself with his spiritual welfare.
One day while I was studying for my institute class, I came to 1 Nephi 16, where Nephi breaks his steel bow, making it difficult to get food. Everybody began to murmur—Laman and Lemuel, as was their custom, together with their father, the prophet Lehi. Nephi responded by making a bow and arrow out of wood and asking his father where he should go to obtain food. His father prayed for guidance and was reprimanded by the Lord for having murmured. Lehi reacted favorably and retook his role as leader of his family and as a prophet of the Lord. Nephi did not judge his father in his weakened state, nor did he think that he shouldn’t be prophet anymore, even when Nephi had spoken with the Lord and had received visions.
When I read and understood this account, immediately I thought of how badly I had behaved toward my family. I was embarrassed by my attitude—feeling that I was better than they were—and felt especially bad for not treating my father with respect. I was sad for not making it a priority to share the gospel with them.
I had not seen my family as they could become. I had focused only on their weaknesses. From that day on, my attitude and behavior changed gradually. I strived to always respect my father’s opinions, despite the many times I did not agree with him. If he invited me to lunch when I was fasting, I said I was sorry for not being able to share the meal with him. I no longer felt bothered by the programs or music they watched or listened to on Sundays, remembering that they still hadn’t made covenants with our Heavenly Father, as I had.
One morning while I was helping my father with a meal, I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for my rude behavior. I told him I was proud that he was my father and that I wanted to have a peaceful relationship with him.
Everything began to change. The arguments lessened and disappeared. Although I thought it would be a long time before my family joined the Church, their attitude toward the Church improved. None of these changes would have happened had I not changed first.
After I had been a member of the Church for one year, I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Tijuana Mission. Three months before returning, I received a letter saying that my family had accepted the gospel and would be baptized. When I returned, they already belonged to the Church.
In my 15 years as a member of the Church, one of my greatest lessons came from my study of the Book of Mormon and with the children of God I had closest to me: my family.

As a new full-time missionary I was anxious to see what Christmas would be like in Guayaquil, Ecuador, where I was serving.
I knew we would not be having a snowy white Christmas like those I was accustomed to. As other thoughts of turkey dinners, gifts, lights, and caroling flashed through my mind, I began to long for the Christmas traditions I was familiar with.
My companion and I felt a renewed urgency and greater responsibility to spread the restored gospel of Jesus Christ to make the Christmas season more meaningful.
One December day we stopped at the humble home of Señor Torres and were given a warm welcome. He told us he had been waiting and praying for the truth for eight years. For two months my companion and I had passed by his house daily without stopping. Señor Torres said, “I always wanted to stop you to ask about your church, but you were always walking so fast that I thought you were too busy for me.” Prayers had been answered. We began teaching Señor Torres and his family with great joy.
Christmas day drew nearer, and we could hardly wait to see the Torres family as we quietly approached their home for our fourth visit. Before we knocked on the door, we saw through the window a scene that touched our hearts.
Beauty emanated from the whole family, their loving eyes, rosy cheeks, and gentle faces glowing in the dimly lit room. Beneath a tree on a table in the corner stood miniature Nativity figures, telling the story of a small family in a stable. Two young girls leaned eagerly over their mother’s shoulder as she read from a book we had given her, Gospel Principles. The oldest child, eight-year-old Victor, was watching attentively as his father played “Silent Night” on a xylophone.
Victor saw us and ran to greet us. We joined in singing “Silent Night” in Spanish. Next they asked us to sing it in English, and then we all sang it together again in Spanish.
Sister Torres told us that before we had shared the gospel with her family she had not felt like celebrating Christmas. But now pictures of Christ, Christmas music, and the Nativity scene had been brought from their place in the cupboards, where they had been collecting dust for the past three years. The true Christmas spirit had been restored as we had presented the gospel message. As servants of the Lord, testifying in His name, we had helped to bring Jesus Christ back into the family’s Christmas.
On the third week of December, Christmas became complete for me as I watched Brother and Sister Torres and Victor, all dressed in white, enter the waters of baptism and become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My companion turned to me and whispered, “Looks like it’s a white Christmas after all.” I couldn’t have asked for a more meaningful Christmas.

Many years ago I was called to the bedside of Robert Williams, a young man who lay dying. His wife and their two children stood nearby. We were all trying to be brave, but tears were in our eyes. Robert asked me, “Where does my spirit go when I die?” I offered a silent prayer. I noticed on his bedside table a copy of the triple combination. I reached for the book and fanned the pages.
Suddenly I discovered that I had, with no effort on my part, stopped at the 40th chapter of Alma in the Book of Mormon. I read these words to Robert: “Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“And … the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
As I continued to read about the Resurrection, a glow came to Robert’s face, a smile graced his lips, and his tired and ill body slept. I said good-bye to his wife and children. I next saw them at Robert Williams’s funeral. In those precious corridors of memory, I think back to that night when a young man pleaded for truth and, from the Book of Mormon, heard the answer to his question.
I read the words, but God turned the pages.

Many years ago, I traveled on a small plane with a newly certified pilot at the controls. At the end of our flight, we were cleared to land. But as we neared the ground, I heard an alarm in the cockpit warn the pilot to “pull up.” The pilot looked to the more experienced copilot, who pointed in a downward direction, away from the runway, and said, “Now!”
Our plane rapidly moved to the left and down, then climbed back to an appropriate altitude, reentered the landing pattern, and arrived safely at our destination. We later learned that another aircraft had been cleared for takeoff. Had we followed the instructions of the alarm, we would have veered into, rather than away from, the oncoming plane. This experience taught me two important lessons: First, at critical moments in our lives, we will hear multiple voices competing for our attention. And second, it is vital that we listen to the right ones.

Julio looked at the new black and white soccer ball. He turned it carefully in his hands and ran his fingers along the seams.
“Do you like it?” Tia (aunt) Maria asked.
“Sim (yes),” Julio answered, still not believing the ball was his. “But why are you giving it to me?”
Tia Maria laughed. “Because you help me so much,” she replied. “You run errands for me and help me clean my yard. You have earned more than a ball, but this is all I can give you. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
Julio looked at his tia. He knew she didn’t have much money, and he wondered if he should accept such a big gift from her. But her eyes told him that she would be hurt if he did not take the ball.
“Obrigado (thank you),” he said softly.
“All I ask is that you always remember why it is yours,” Tia Maria told Julio. “Now go play.”
Julio thanked his tia again as he rushed out into the spring air. He rolled the ball over and over in his hands, wondering what Tia Maria had meant by, “Remember why it is yours.”
But the thought soon left when Julio noticed the budding trees. Spring meant soccer with his friends, and this spring he had his very own soccer ball!
Julio dropped the ball to the ground and skillfully kicked it down the cobblestone sidewalk as he ran.
“Hey, where did you get the new soccer ball?” Antonio asked as he came out of his house.
“Tia Maria gave it to me.” Julio replied proudly.
“That’s great! Can I play with you?”
“Sure!” Julio answered.
Antonio and Julio kicked and rolled the ball back and forth. Before long others joined them, and soon there were enough boys to start a soccer game.
Tia Maria watched from her apartment window, and Julio could see her out of the corner of his eye as he played.
Julio loved to play soccer and he was good. Someday he hoped to play on the national team of Brazil. Tia Maria knows that, he thought. Maybe that’s why she gave me the ball.
But the thought vanished as the ball came his way. Skillfully he maneuvered it with his feet toward the imaginary goal, never touching it with his hands. As he neared the goal, he kicked the ball and sent it sailing through the air and into the goal to score.
“Good work!” Antonio shouted. “We’re ahead now!”
For a while a younger boy watched shyly from the sidewalk. Then he slowly walked over to where the group of boys was playing.
“Oh, no,” Antonio whispered to Julio. “Paulo is coming! Don’t let him play! He always messes up the game. We’ll lose if he plays!”
It was true that Paulo was not a good player. He often lost the ball to the other team, and on several occasions he had even run for the wrong goal. But Julio knew how much Paulo liked to play.
“Can I play?” Paulo asked hopefully.
Julio looked at the other boys and started to say no. Then he glanced at the window where Tia Maria was standing. Her face was drawn tight in a concerned expression as she too waited for Julio to answer.
“Remember why it is yours.” Her words came to Julio’s mind. Once more he looked at Tia Maria. He had shared his time and efforts to help her, and he wondered if she were trying to tell him to keep sharing.
Julio looked away from the window and then turned to Paulo. “Sure, you can play,” he said. Before anyone could say anything, he added, “As a matter of fact, Antonio is a good player, and he’ll help you learn more about the game.”
Paulo’s face lit up with a smile. “You will?” he asked eagerly.
Antonio looked at Julio and then he too smiled. “Sure, I’d be happy to! We’ll all teach you to be a great soccer player!”
As they began to play again, Julio glanced up at the window. Tia Maria was smiling as she nodded her head. Julio waved at her before he continued playing the game.
Suddenly he knew why Tia Maria had given him the new soccer ball.

My wife, Harriet, and I love riding our bicycles. It is wonderful to get out and enjoy the beauties of nature. We have certain routes we like to bike, but we don’t pay too much attention to how far we go or how fast we travel in comparison with other riders.

However, occasionally I think we should be a bit more competitive. I even think we could get a better time or ride at a higher speed if only we pushed ourselves a little more. And then sometimes I even make the big mistake of mentioning this idea to my wonderful wife.

Her typical reaction to my suggestions of this nature is always very kind, very clear, and very direct. She smiles and says, “Dieter, it’s not a race; it’s a journey. Enjoy the moment.”

How right she is!

I remember vividly, after undergoing surgery in 2018 and upon returning to work, I was in the parking garage at Church headquarters. Suddenly, I heard the voice of President Russell M. Nelson calling, “Taniela, Taniela.” I ran toward him, and he asked how I was doing.

I said, “I am recovering very well, President Nelson.”

He gave me counsel and a hug. I truly felt the personal ministry of a prophet to the “one.”

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place [and] was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. … He and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing anyone can do for this boy.”
“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “Willing and Worthy to Serve,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2012, 67, 68.

At the Berlin Olympics in 1936, Hitler declared that Aryans were a master race. America had 10 black athletes, who, much to Hitler’s chagrin, scored more points than any national team. Chief among them was Jesse Owens. At the opening ceremonies, Hitler refused to greet Owens and deliberately snubbed the blacks. Owens simply shrugged, “I didn’t come over to shake hands with Hitler, anyway.” Owens then battled to four gold medals. As he broke the world’s record for the running broad jump, the first to greet him was not a fellow team member but an exuberant German competing in the same event, Luz Long.
“I never see anything like this. You are the greatest of all!” Long exclaimed in broken English.
As Owens took Long’s hand in both of his and squeezed it, the crowd thundered approval. Then the two competitors wrapped their arms about one another and began to walk toward the track. The crowd—in spite of Hitler’s presence—went wild with joy and shouted for many minutes.

At the end of January 1831, Joseph and Emma Smith traveled to Ohio from New York in a horse-drawn sleigh. It was very cold, and Emma was expecting a baby. They arrived safely in front of Newel K. Whitney’s store in Kirtland during the first part of February. As they stopped, the prophet sprang from the sleigh, entered the store, and approached Brother Whitney, whom he had never met before. “Newel K. Whitney!” he declared, extending his hand to shake. “Thou art the man.” “You have the advantage of me,” replied Brother Whitney. “I could not call you by name as you have me.” “I am Joseph the Prophet. You prayed me here, now what do you want of me?” Joseph then explained that while he was still in New York he had seen Brother Whitney in a vision, praying for him to come to Kirtland. With great joy, the Whitneys made room in their home for the Smiths until they could find another place to live.

Not far from this tabernacle there lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then the husband and father. Friends visited; words brought a measure of comfort; but grief continued unrelieved.
The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world which surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the inspiration of the Lord which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

When I was 16, I had the opportunity to attend general conference in person for the first time. My family was living in western Oregon, USA, and we drove to Utah to attend conference and to drop off my older brother at the missionary training center.
I went to the conference with a desire to be taught by the Holy Ghost. As a result, I received a manifestation from the Spirit that I probably would not have received had I not prepared myself.
During one of the sessions, everyone stood and sang the congregational hymn, “Guide Us, O Thou Great Jehovah.” As we sang, I had the distinct impression to look around the Conference Center. I did and was struck by the power of the unity of the thousands of people there as we all raised our voices in praise to God.
Then I had an experience where I felt like Nephi when he saw the vision of the tree of life, for the Spirit told me, “Look” (see 1 Nephi 11–14). I looked at President Thomas S. Monson and felt that the unity of the Church existed because we are led by a living prophet. Through the witness of the Holy Spirit, I know President Monson is the true prophet for our day, and I know that Jesus Christ leads this Church through him.

Last time you tried that backward shot, the ball ended up in the tree.
Your turn to get the ladder, Matt.
Dad, how can I be a missionary with Franco like Mandy is with Audrey? I don’t know what to say.
Franco knows you’re his friend, right?
Yeah. And I try to be a good example.
Sounds like you’re doing the right things.
I know! I could invite him to our next Primary activity!
Good idea. And if he says no, you’ll still be friends, right?
Of course!
Hey, I just thought of a new shot I want to try.
Good thing the ladder is still out.

In July 2011, the Atiwa District in Ghana experienced an unusual amount of rain. After a day or two, and without warning, the local rivers overflowed their banks and flooded the countryside. This deluge of water turned the village of Abomosu into an island, as well as the adjacent villages of Asunafo and Sankubenase. The flood not only isolated these villages, but also flooded their farms and swept away most of their crops.
For the small branches of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, these were perilous times. Their main supply of food was gone, many homes were flooded, and some were cut off from their families and loved ones.
Seth Oppong, President of the Abomosu District, was in Abomosu when the river flooded, cutting him off from his village of Asunafo and his small family. As the extent of the danger began to dawn on him and other priesthood leaders in the town, they quickly gathered at the local branch building to counsel together and ask the Lord to help them.
Elder James Dalton, who along with his wife Pam, had just arrived in Abomosu six weeks earlier as MLS missionaries, were among the eight priesthood leaders who met in the local branch building to discuss the situation.
After pleading with the Lord to protect the people and to guide them in responding to the danger, they quickly developed their plan: first, they needed to account for all the members of the branch; second, they needed to take inventory of the food sources that were available to them; and third, they needed to distribute the food according to the needs of each family. As they discussed feeding the local members, they quickly realized they could not ignore their nonmember neighbors and friends, so they were added to the distribution list as well.
Their plan was quickly passed on by cell phone to the other branch presidents in surrounding villages. The goal was to locate every member and identify food sources and report back in two hours.
Within two hours, the priesthood leaders reported back. In Abomosu, all but three members of the branch had been accounted for (they were later found and rescued). The report was that there was not much food available. Some members had food storage and were willing to share.
Stephen Abu, the former district president and current stake patriarch, had a field of corn near Abomosu that was located high enough to avoid the flood waters. He told the district president that the corn was not ready for harvest, but they were welcome to take whatever they needed. Two young missionaries and several members were given the keys to Elder Dalton’s truck and told to fill the truck with corn. When the missionaries returned, the back of the truck and the back seat of the truck were completely filled with corn. They spent the rest of the day, driving through the village, handing out corn to members of the Church and their neighbors.
That night the priesthood leaders met again. They had enough corn to feed the village for a couple of days, but how would they be able to feed them after that? They knelt and prayed that the Lord would help them find a way to keep the people from starving.
The next morning, another member of the Church came forward and said that they had some corn that they were drying to be ground into meal. It was not completely dry, but they could have it to help feed the people. Those who had food storage continued to help those in need. Several days later, the two young missionaries and several local members went back to the small corn field of Stephen Abu to see if they could find any more corn that could be picked. Because the flood waters were so high, they needed rafts to get to the farm and bring the corn back. No one expected much, but when the missionaries returned, they had another load of corn. This little miracle continued four or five times until they were able to find additional sources of food, some of which came from friends and relatives and the Church in Accra.
In talking about the flood and the efforts made to take care of the people in Abomosu, Brother Abu said, “Isn’t the Lord wonderful! The more you give, the more he gives back.” Both Brother Abu and President Oppong referenced the Savior in feeding the 5,000 as they reflected on how the Lord had preserved them.
Elder Dalton reflected on the words of the Prophet Elijah to the widow of Zarephath, “make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son.
“For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail . . .
“And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house, did eat many days.” (1 Kings 17:13–15)

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.”14 This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

Ace was just pulling the crawdad trap up toward the bridge when the children heard it. “Kittens, I think,” said Cindie. “Maybe in the tall grass there near the water.”
“No, it sounds like baby birds,” said her sister Vikki. “Over on the other side of the creek by those blackberry bushes.”
The two girls and their younger brother quickly clambered down through the brush toward the pitiful cries. “Over here!” shouted Cindie. “I’ve found a gunnysack!”
Anxiously, the young people fumbled with the twine and opened the sack. Inside were four very cold, very hungry newborn creatures, their eyes still closed.
“Kittens?” asked Vikki, holding one baby close.
“They look like tiny pigs,” observed Cindie, peering closely at another.
“Let’s get back up to the bridge,” said Ace. “Dad will know.”
“They’re puppies,” said dad. “Really young and really ugly. It looks like someone driving over the bridge threw out the pups to drown them in the creek. But they missed the water. These pups can’t be more than a few hours old.”
“Poor babies. We’ll just have to take care of them,” said Vikki, 11-year-old protector of all things living. “We’ll take them to grandma’s house and feed them right now.”
“Yeah, dad, we can check the crawdad trap later. We need to take care of the pups now.” It was unusual for six-year-old Ace (legally known as Adrian) to consider anything more important than trapping—and releasing—crawdads while vacationing at grandma’s house in Oregon.
“We’d better hurry. This one looks pretty weak,” observed Cindie, age 14 and the most practical of the three.
“Whoa, kids. Let’s think for a minute,” chimed in dad. “We’re on vacation 800 miles from home. We surely can’t take these pups home with us, and I doubt if anyone else would want four mongrel dogs. It might be better if …”
“If what, dad? Maybe other people can throw innocent little puppies in a creek to drown, but you’ve always said that we should protect living things.” The determination in Cindie’s voice was evident.
“Besides, dad. I think Heavenly Father intended that we be here this morning so that we could rescue these poor little things. We’ll figure out what to do with them later. Right now we’ve got to hurry and get them some milk.”
Minutes later mom and grandma were examining the foundlings—and asking the same practical questions adults usually ask when young people bring home newborn pups. Meanwhile, Cindie put some milk in a saucer and tried to feed one of the crying pups.
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” said grandma. “They’re so tiny that they’ll have to be fed from a bottle. Who would have a bottle with a nipple that small?”
“Maybe a doll’s bottle?” suggested Vikki. “But where can we get a doll’s bottle?”
“And that’s not all,” said mother. “For the first few days, they probably won’t be able to digest regular milk. I’m sure they’ll need milk from a mother dog.”
“But we’ve got to do something,” said Ace. “We can’t just let them starve.”
“Is there a pet store in Oregon City?” asked dad. “Perhaps they could help us.”
“I’m sure there is,” replied grandma. “But is it wise to spend the time and expense to rescue four mongrel dogs that no one will want? They can’t stay here, and you surely can’t take them back home with you. They’d never survive the trip.”
“It might have been kinder in the long run if you had left them at the creek,” mother quietly observed.
By now Cindie had located the telephone number of the pet shop and had started dialing. “We’ll find a way, grandma. Heavenly Father will help us. But first we’ve got to find a way to feed these poor crying babies.”
And a way was found. Two very expensive cans of dog milk and two doll bottles were purchased. Each pup was fed, almost constantly, and wrapped in a warm cloth. Eventually they received their names: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
The days which followed were taken up with feeding and loving the puppies. The girls learned that newborn puppies cry mightily if not fed periodically—all day and all night. On short trips to visit uncles and aunts, the pups were brought along so that they could be fed—and so that they could melt the hearts of potential owners.
But to no avail. Aunt Janine already had a dog. Aunt Karen surmised that one more dog at her house would result in one less husband. Uncle Dennis had two dogs, and grandma had cats. No luck. Neighbors and friends were approached. No luck. Pet store owners were implored. No market for ugly orphan pups.
Each day in their prayers the family members asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. But as they prepared to leave for southern Oregon to visit grandpa, four little puppies still had no homes. A family council was called to consider the options. The family knelt in prayer, and each of the children asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for the pups.
Finally a decision was made: The pups would go to southern Oregon—but no further. If grandpa couldn’t take them, and if no other homes could be found when the family reached Ashland, the pups would have to go to the pound.
The trip to grandpa’s farm was a happy one. The young people took turns feeding the now fat, happy pups, and they took endless delight in the puppies’ antics. Both Mark and Luke started opening their eyes. And the children discovered that Mark ate the most, that John cried the loudest, and that Matthew was a girl!
But the four pups were still homeless—and the family was getting closer and closer to grandpa’s farm. Three worried young people entrusted all to a kind Heavenly Father and offered many silent prayers from the back seat (plus a few were offered from dad and mom in the front seat).
One prayer was answered; grandpa took one pup! At least John would be spared, grow up on a farm, and be loved.
All too soon the time at grandpa’s was gone, and the prayers for Matthew, Mark, and Luke were still unanswered. Only one last faint hope remained: Brother “Cwik.”
The family stopped to have dinner and attend sacrament meeting with family friends, the Cwiklinskis. Cindie, Vikki, and Ace were heart-broken to discover that the Cwiklinskis already had a dog and a cat and a goat. There just was no way the family could take in three pups.
On the way to sacrament meeting, the pups were fed once more so they could stay in the car in the shade and not cry while their rescuers were in church. Before going in, Cindie, Vikki, and Ace each offered a silent prayer to remind Heavenly Father that after church they would drive to Ashland—the last stop for Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
Cindie spent most of sacrament meeting with her eyes closed, praying for a miracle. Vikki cried softly into a handkerchief. Ace chewed his lower lip. Too soon the meeting was over; the family was in the foyer and moving toward the door.
Then a miracle began to unfold. “Cindie,” whispered Brother Cwik, “run out to the car and bring me those pups. Bring everything—the milk, the bottles, the blankets—everything. And hurry!”
Cindie was back in a flash, and Brother Cwik showed the pups to the Young Women of the ward. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were passed from hand to hand and lovingly fussed over as Brother Cwik recounted how the babies had been miraculously rescued.
If a potential dog owner wavered in her decision to adopt, Brother Cwik mentioned the canned milk, the feeding bottles, and the blankets. Luke went first—to a young girl with soft brown eyes. With his arms around Cindie and Vikki, Brother Cwik mentioned how earnestly the girls had prayed that someone would adopt the orphans. An older girl with long, blonde hair finally persuaded her parents to permit her to take Mark.
Only Matthew, the little female puppy, remained. People were drifting away now; super-salesman Cwik was losing his audience. It appeared as though no one would take an ugly orphan female pup. Suddenly, running down the hall with Ace came a nine-year-old boy, his eyes shining.
“Have you got any puppies left?” he shouted. “Dad says it’s all right. Are there any left?”
Indeed, there was one. A nine-year-old boy got his birthday present a week early, and three young people learned some important lessons about faith and works and the value of all living things. All the way home the family thanked Heavenly Father for hearing and answering prayers.