Gospel Story Finder

It was Thursday, and like hundreds of others in the Church, Jim and Alex anxiously waited for the mail to arrive. Their missionary recommendation papers had been turned in several weeks before, and today might be the day their calls would arrive.
Jim was working at the local supermarket, and Alex was working for a home builder. Both had made their mothers promise that if a large white envelope from Church headquarters arrived, they would not open it. Both had trouble concentrating on their work that day. Jim nearly bagged bath soap with the fresh vegetables, and Alex cut a couple of boards too short.
The large white envelopes did arrive. And both young men rushed home from work at the end of the day. With their families around them, they opened the long-awaited calls to serve. The anticipation was replaced by joy and tears of gratitude. Both young men felt the Lord had spoken, and they were ready to respond to His call.
As the initial excitement died down, the next phase of preparation began. Both families made detailed checklists: scheduling the last day of work, buying clothes and luggage, preparing for sacrament meeting, holding a family get-together, and—oh yes—going to the temple. Sadly, however, only one of the families revered the temple experience as the main event in the life of their son, giving it the emphasis it deserves.

I recently had a moment of Golden Section. It came several weeks ago when Stacy and I toured Japan with the BYU-Hawai‘i Concert Choir. After two weeks, we finished our trip in Kyoto. That afternoon we went to the Kinkakuji Temple, which I had not heard of before. As we entered the path and pressed forward with the throngs of tourists, a stunning tableau opened before our eyes, which took my breath away. I was not prepared as we turned the corner. There was a golden temple, floating on the water, as it were. My first thought was to think of the many mansions in heaven, wondering if one of them might look like this, quite frankly, hoping that one could be reserved for me, surrounded in the tranquil perfection of nature. I then remembered the scripture, which talks of the celestial kingdom "having the appearance of [streets] paved with gold."

I am reminded of an address given to Relief Society women by President George Albert Smith in the October 1945 general conference. This was the first conference he addressed as President of the Church and the first conference I conducted as president of Relief Society. For several years we had been denied conferences due to the restrictions of war. The women gathered to that Relief Society conference with eager and receptive spirits to hear the message of their new Prophet-President. The Spirit of the Lord rested mightily upon President Smith, and the spirit of prophecy prevailed as he spoke of the future of the women of the Church. He made very clear the responsibilities we had to all womankind. An excerpt from his address is worthy of reading at this time. Said President Smith:

I feel that I am standing on sacred ground, for in this pulpit have appeared some of the great men and women of the world, those who were anxious to do what the Lord would have them do. Here they bore testimony of the divine mission of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

You are more blessed than any other women in all the world. You were the first women to have the franchise; the first women to have a voice in the work of a church. It was God who gave it to you, and it came as a result of revelation to a Prophet of the Lord. Since that time think what benefits the women of this world have enjoyed. Not only you who belong to the Church have enjoyed the blessings of equality, but when the Prophet Joseph Smith turned the key for the emancipation of womankind, it was turned for all the women of the world, and from generation to generation the number of women who can enjoy the blessings of religious liberty and civil liberty has been increasing.

Do you realize that you have opened this Tabernacle to the first general conference we have had in years? . . . Now the sky is the limit, and I am not so sure that by the time we have two or three more general conferences here we may have visitors from Australia, New Zealand, Africa, China, Japan, and elsewhere. They may leave their homes in airplanes and in about twenty-four hours be right here. It is marvelous what the Lord has given to us in this age. [“Address to the Members of Relief Society,” 4 October 1945, Relief Society Magazine 32 (1945): 716, 717, 719]

I was deeply moved by the remarks of that great President, and following the session I thanked him and poured forth the feelings of my heart. I inquired, “Would any of this take place during my administration?” Then I asked, “When and how will our message be carried to the women of the world?” While his reply is not recorded in the conference proceedings, it is recorded in my little notebook where I’ve kept notes of the various general conferences, and it is also recorded in my mind and in my heart.

The prophet replied, “It could easily happen during your administration. The message of Mormon women will reach the women of the world when there is a special need for it. You don’t need to worry about how,” said he. “The Lord will see to that.”

By way of showing prophecy fulfilled, a few years after President Smith’s address my counselors and I noted a rather large number of women in attendance at our conference from overseas and foreign-language countries. We decided to hold a special meeting for them following the regular session of our two-day conference. We asked for a verbal roll call that morning. Each sister was to give her name, the country from which she came, and her method of transportation. Most of them had come by plane. Every country mentioned by President Smith in his 1945 address was represented except China. I noted that there was a woman there from Taiwan. I commented on this, adding that we did have a sister from Taiwan even though we did not have one from China. The sister from Taiwan then quietly arose and in perfect English said, “China is my homeland.” Prophecy was fulfilled.

When I was serving as a young bishop with only limited experience in Church leadership and lacking much in the way of practical experience as well, I was approached by an elderly couple in my ward. They were old enough to be my grandparents. For years they had successfully farmed a piece of ground. They had been blessed in many ways and had reared a fine family. None of the children had showed an inclination to follow in their father’s footsteps as a farmer. Increasing age and declining health had brought the couple to a point of decision as to what should be done with their farm. They were reluctant to have it pass from their hands after so many years of labor and careful improvement. The children could not agree on a plan of action. Some wished to keep the farm in the family and lease it for an income to be shared among the family members; others didn’t care what decision was made.

One Sunday afternoon the couple appeared at my office in the ward chapel and asked to consult with me. They explained their dilemma and their reluctance to make a decision that might divide the family and jeopardize their own welfare for the remaining years of their lives. “We have come to you, bishop,” the old gentleman said, “to ask you to find out for us what the Lord wants us to do.”

I was humbled by the sincere trust that the couple were willing to place with me, but I sensed that the decision they were attempting to lay upon me and upon the Lord was not ours to make. I counseled them in the best way I could, tried to help them weight the alternatives, and then recommended that they prayerfully reach a decision themselves and ask their family to sustain them. They left my office in great disappointment, making it quite clear to me that they felt I was not fulfilling my responsibility as a bishop.

When Gordon was ordained a deacon and eligible to attend stake priesthood meeting, his father took the somewhat unwilling boy to his first meeting and, as a member of the stake presidency, went to the stand. Gordon stayed on the back row.
The congregation of men sang as the opening hymn “Praise to the Man.”
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah
Jesus anointed that prophet and seer. …
Something happened! “There welled up in me an overwhelming conviction!” President Hinckley said later. A spirit of confirmation flowed into his heart, and a spirit of testimony affirmed to that boy deacon that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He knew it! He knew it! He knew it as firmly as he knew that he lived! From that moment on he was armed with that “residual of faith.”
Later, when the faith of this bright university student was challenged by doubts (always a part of the education of the young members of the Church), the memory of that moment sustained him. Even today, more than sixty years later, he cannot tell of that experience without putting a finger under his glasses to prevent a tear from rolling down his cheek.

When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn’t very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if he wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico, serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.

One night, while serving as a youth leader in my ward, I arrived at the church and was not surprised to find a group of young men playing basketball in the gym while they waited for opening exercises to begin. I was surprised, however, to see David. He was relatively new in the ward but had already demonstrated that attending Church-related activities was not a normal part of his routine. Coming to a Young Men activity was a big step.
David did a pretty good job of quietly easing into the group without being noticed—that is, until the basketball rebounded off the rim and went straight at him. He caught the ball and realized it was his turn to take a shot. He dribbled a few times and clumsily threw the ball up toward the hoop. It banged hard off the bottom of the rim and came right back at him, hitting him on the arms he had put up to protect his head. Everyone laughed, and so did David.
The ball then went into the hands of another boy, who mockingly imitated David’s awkward shot. As before, most of the boys laughed, but this time David was not laughing. He had come to be a part of his priests quorum but had become the brunt of their laughter.
David turned to the exit and walked out.
My heart broke for David. I was not sure what to do, but I knew I needed to try anything to get him to stay. I followed David out the door, trying to think of something to say that might help him have the courage to come back.
As I was walking after David, I was surprised to see Dennis, one of the other priests, run past me and put his arm around David. I do not know what he said, but Dennis must have been inspired, for David’s heart was softened and he hesitantly, but willingly, turned around and came back into the church. It was a wonderful moment.
It was only a few weeks later when a similar situation occurred. Some of our ward members, including many of our young men, were practicing for an upcoming theatrical performance. Todd, a priest, was one of the performers. During a rehearsal, someone mockingly mimicked Todd’s performance. He was offended and started walking toward the door dejectedly.
“Oh, no,” I thought, “here we go again.” I felt compelled to follow him outside and encourage him to ignore the offense and come back.
What happened next was a beautiful surprise.
This time it was not Dennis who hurried past me, but David. David, who only a few weeks earlier had been the dejected one, was now the inspired one. He ran up to Todd and, putting his arm around him, pleaded with him to return. Todd accepted the invitation, and within minutes both boys were standing side by side on the stage. David had now successfully convinced another to stay.
As I witnessed this example of the Aaronic Priesthood in action, I was reminded of a statement by Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “We are so busy checking on our own temperatures, we do not notice the burning fevers of others even when we can offer them some of the needed remedies, such as encouragement, kindness, and commendation. The hands which hang down and most need to be lifted up belong to those too discouraged even to reach out anymore” (“Swallowed Up in the Will of the Father,” Ensign, Nov. 1995, 23).
David’s hands had been ones that hung down. From the selfless act of one young man to another, David’s hands then became those that lifted up.

Almost 50 years ago I knew a boy, even a priest, who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. This boy, Robert, stuttered and stammered, void of control. Self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, he had an impediment of speech which was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always would he gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to him in the baptistry of the sacred Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I asked Robert how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost incoherently that he felt terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Then the clerk read the words: “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.” Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into the water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He then gazed as though toward heaven and, with his right arm to the square, repeated the words “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”18 Not once did he stammer. Not once did he stutter. Not once did he falter. A modern miracle had been witnessed.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

I was baptized when I was 17 years old. My first responsibility in the Church was to pass the sacrament. I was very excited to exercise the priesthood and to do my part.
On my first Sunday to pass the sacrament, I tried to do my very best. But about halfway through passing the water, I realized I had been taking the tray back from the members too quickly. They didn’t have time to put their empty cups back into the tray.
I felt terrible. I felt like I had failed in my duty.
When the meeting was over, an older gentleman, Brother Ostos, came up to me and gave me a hug. He said, “Rafael, you did wonderfully.”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t give the members time to put the cups back.”
He just smiled and said to me, “That doesn’t matter, Rafael. You were so reverent. You did a wonderful job.”
It was such a short conversation, but this good man’s friendship and support made a lasting impression. It gave me strength and courage to continue serving in the Church. How powerful kind words can be!

Immediately following the organization of the Church, missionary efforts pressed forward. Oliver Cowdery and Peter Whitmer, Jr., were called to take the gospel to the Lamanites. A great desire was expressed by two recent converts to accompany them. So Ziba Peterson and Parley P. Pratt were also commissioned to make this first distant missionary journey. The first extended mission was one that was destined to influence the Church for many years as it proceeded after conference held in September of 1830. The mission of these four men caused them to travel on foot for more than 1,500 miles to the West. Parley P. Pratt had previously lived in the vicinity of Kirtland, Ohio, where he had been commissioned a minister for the Campbellite faith. One of his first acts on this missionary journey was to return to Kirtland. There he sought out Sidney Rigdon, his former pastor, and preached the gospel to him. He received it, and his congregation was also receptive to the message which they brought. By the time they left they had a thriving branch of twenty members, who were, in succeeding weeks, able to bring into the Church practically all of that religious group.

I have a sister, Olivia Eson, in my ward (Ekpoma First Ward) who I wish to write about. Sister Olivia hardly has the chance to come to chapel cleaning every Saturday morning because of her tight class schedule at school, but unfailing, she always serves her time every Sunday immediately after closing from sacrament meeting by cleaning the chapel, which becomes dirty after Sunday services.
She goes to get soap, water and other cleaning materials and goes to work to keep the toilets clean.
Sister Olivia says: “I find joy in serving my Heavenly Father by keeping the Lord’s house clean since I can’t come every Saturday, but on a Sunday morning after sacrament meetings, this is one way I choose to do my part”.

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.

We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”

Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”

Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”

I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

Illustration by Toni Oka
Taking the step to leave her family and gather to Zion was a profound choice for 20-year-old Cyrena Dustin. Baptized in Portage, Ohio, in March 1837, she was the only member of her family to accept the message of the restored gospel. Joining the Church brought opposition from her family, but rather than abandon her faith, Cyrena held fast to her testimony.
In the summer of 1837, she traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, and visited the recently dedicated temple. She described that meaningful experience: “Truly I felt like thanking God that my mind had been enlightened and that I had been permitted to embrace the gospel and partake of its blessings.”
The next year she felt the desire to gather to Zion and join her fellow Latter-day Saints in Missouri. This decision not only separated her from her family but required her to, in her words, “start out alone in the world to fight the battle of life among strangers.”
Cyrena trusted in the promises of her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and gave her the “necessary faith, courage, and fortitude to make the sacrifice of leaving home and friends.” She wrote of her determination: “I went forth trusting in the Lord in full faith that he would give me grace sufficient to overcome all obstacles and difficulties which might be thrown in my way, and that I might endure to the end.”
Her final farewell with her parents and siblings before leaving for Far West, Missouri, was filled with tears, pleas for her to stay, and even threats to have her forcibly returned home. Despite the sadness, Cyrena left holding firm to the conviction that she had heard the voice of the Lord.
“As I was leaving the house,” she recalled, “I turned back at the door and bore a faithful testimony to the truth of the gospel, and that was the last time I ever saw any of my father’s family.”
Quotations come from Cyrena Dustin Merrill, Autobiography, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University.
A longer version of this article can be found in this issue at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org or in the Gospel library app.

A few years ago we were standing in a large crowd of people gathered early in the morning along the waterfront of Apia Harbor in Samoa. It was the occasion of the National Holidays, when hundreds of people came to watch the Fautasi, or long-boat, races that sweep in from the ocean to the calmer waters of the harbor to cross the finish line.
The crowd was restless, and most eyes were turned toward the sea, watching for the first glimpse of the fautasis. Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd as the boats came into sight in the distance. Each of them had a crew of fifty powerful oarsmen dipping and pulling the oars with a rhythm that forced the crafts through the waves and foaming water—a beautiful sight.
The boats and men were soon in full view as they raced toward the finish. Even though these powerful men pulled with their might, the weight of a boat with fifty men moved against a powerful adverse force—the resistance of the water.
The cheering of the crowd reached a crescendo when the first long-boat crossed the finish line. We walked over to the place where the boats docked after the race had concluded. One of the oarsmen explained to us that the prow of the fautasi is so constructed that it cuts through and divides the water to help overcome the resistance that retards the speed of the boat. He further explained that the pulling of the oars against the resistance of the water creates the force that causes the boat to move forward. Resistance creates both the opposition and the forward movement.

Several years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published an obituary notice of a close friend—a mother and wife taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence to the distraught husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers.
“Come with me,” she said; and she led me to the casket in which rested the body of her beloved mother. “I’m not crying, Brother Monson, and neither must you. My mommy told me many times about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.”
Through tear-moistened eyes, I recognized a beautiful and faith-filled smile. To my young friend, whose tiny hand yet clasped mine, there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth, can declare to the world, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Ps. 30:5).

Ho Yung was baptized in Lake Michigan. Some of the promises she made to Heavenly Father at that time were that she would try to be like the Savior and be kind and loving to other people, that she would attend her Church meetings, that she would obey the commandments, that she would have faith in Jesus Christ, and that she would take His name upon her. She knows that He helped people who were sick or injured, and she tries to be like Him by helping her sister, who is disabled. Ho Yung helps her eat, gets things for her, helps her get dressed, plays with her, and does whatever else she can for her. She says she feels good when she helps her sister—and everyone.

While residing at [Long Beach, California, he wrote], I received a telephone call from Brother Rich. “Jim,” he said, “will you come and administer to my wife? And bring a partner.”
I felt impressed to go alone and use him as my partner, as he held the Melchizedek Priesthood but was not active in the Church and did not keep the Word of Wisdom. When I rang the bell, he answered the door, looked over my shoulder, and said, “Where is your partner?”
I pointed my finger at him and said, “You are my partner.”
“Oh, no, Jim,” he said. “You know I smoke and I drink an occasional glass of beer.”
“I know that,” I said. “When you called awhile ago did you say, ‘I want a perfect man to come and give my wife a blessing’? If you did, I will go home, for I am not perfect.” So I went in and asked him to anoint his wife’s head with oil.
“I don’t know how,” he said.
“I will show you how,” I said.
And so he proceeded to anoint her head, and I gave her a blessing. She recovered the next day.
I had quite a talk with him, and he promised to stop his smoking and drinking. Two weeks went by and I got a call. “Jim,” he said, “I have stopped smoking and I am working on my other problem.”
Two more weeks went by and he called again. “I have overcome my problems completely,” he said.
So I took him to see the bishop for a temple recommend, and the bishop was happy to find him worthy to go to the temple. He and his wife took charge of the temple assignments in the ward and both were faithful workers in the temple. He died in 1969.
I often think back on what would have happened if I had thought he was not worthy to help me bless his wife. If we listen to the promptings of the Spirit, and follow the direction of our leaders, we get results.

Brother Peterson was a successful man by most people’s standards. But now our whole quorum’s attention was riveted on him as he told the story of his impoverished childhood, of eight brothers and a sick father, the frustration of having to do without the things other kids had during the time of his father’s illness, and how the subsequent feelings of inferiority had led to rebellion against some gospel principles. He told of the girl who would one day become his wife and how she persuaded him to forsake bad habits and go on a mission. And then a story about his missionary farewell. …
“I didn’t know what to talk about. I worried about it all week long. Finally I went in to see Brother Bloomfield. I said ‘Brother Bloomfield, I’ve got to give a talk in less than two hours and I have no idea what to say!’ Well, he had me write down a few things and then he said, ‘Now, you could conclude by saying that you know Peter, James, and John restored the Melchizedek Priesthood to Joseph Smith.’ I said, ‘Who are Peter, James, and John?’ Through all my life, I hadn’t learned who Peter, James, and John were and I was going on a mission in a week!”
Brother Peterson was finishing the story of an extraordinary mission experience. He and his companion had baptized ten people in one month.
“That experience changed the way I thought the other elders in my mission looked at me. It changed the way I looked at myself. That new confidence carried me through the rest of my mission and for twelve years after I got home. …”
He mentioned some of the challenges facing him now and closed with his testimony. There were extra firm handshakes and pats on the back after the meeting, both with Brother Peterson and between other quorum members.

I always wanted to retire young from my job and I did that in March 2018. I am a professional agronomist, and I loved my job. After retirement, I thought the fatigue caused by my work would be improved and I would be more relaxed, as my job was very demanding. After a few months of retirement, my fatigue got worse, and I only wanted to be in bed sleeping. Following the advice of my husband, I visited a doctor who helped me learn the reason for my exhaustion.
After undergoing different tests as advised by the doctor, they found the reason for my fatigue. I had a colonoscopy, and I was diagnosed with a malignant stage 3 colon tumor. I had cancer! When I received the news, I wasn’t scared at that moment, but I did become a bit anxious. I asked the doctor, “Am I going to die?” She replied with a smile, saying she didn’t think that would happen for now, but I needed to hurry to have the tumor removed.
I underwent an operation on September 24, 2018, and had many people by my side taking care of me. A few days after the operation and being discharged, while at home, I felt a lot of fever inside me. I visited the clinic again, and after several tests, they found that during the surgery to remove the colon tumor, they had left a small hole causing the fever. I developed sepsis because no hole was supposed to remain after the operation. I had to stay in the clinic for one more week.
On the third day of being hospitalized, I felt extremely sad. I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked many questions. After finishing my prayer and shedding many tears, there was a knock on the door of my room, and to my surprise, it was the two missionaries who were attending my ward at that time. Seeing me crying, they prayed with and encouraged me. I told them about the prayer I had made and how the Lord had sent these two messengers to me.
Thanks to my Heavenly Father, I overcame the sepsis and moved on to the next stage, which, although difficult, was a true miracle. I had to undergo chemotherapy, and when I received the first treatment, I suffered another health setback. A port was inserted to administer the chemotherapy, and the doctor who placed it put it in too high, causing me to have four embolisms and two pulmonary infarctions. My oncologist couldn’t explain how I had survived the embolisms and infarctions. I told her that I believed God was keeping me alive because I still had important work to do for Him.
During my chemotherapy, which was the most painful part of my treatment, I dedicated myself fully to my calling as the Young Women president of my ward, and that helped me a lot. I also did service, which kept negative thoughts about my health from my mind. I am extremely grateful to my Heavenly Father for everything He does in my life.
During a check-up in 2019, I was found to have a tumor the size of a softball in one of my ovaries. My oncologist thought the colon cancer had metastasized to the ovary. On November 14, 2020, I underwent a hysterectomy and, thankfully, the tumor in the ovary turned out to be benign.
I have been cancer-free for six years, and I hope to enjoy good health for many more years to come. I always had Heavenly Father by my side taking care of me, and I value life more. I enjoy many hobbies with my husband and have since accomplished some big educational and career goals. I also enjoy serving in my callings.
I no longer fear death because I know without a doubt that it is part of the plan of salvation that our Heavenly Father created for His children. If you ever find yourself in a situation like mine, never lose faith. Hold strong, and you will see that miracles do exist.

BUMP! CRASH!
Splitfoot staggered back from the blow. His mother—twelve hundred pounds of angry moose—glared at him. She had just struck him with her broad chest.
Splitfoot, only a year old, waggled his big ears. The blow had not hurt him, but he was puzzled. What’s happening? he wondered. Why is she driving me away?
His mother rejoined her newborn calf a short distance away. The calf, a reddish colored male, had arrived in the world two days before and was still wobbly. He nuzzled his mother’s flanks, wanting to nurse.
It was mid-May, and the north country had lost its winter drabness. The foliage was green, and leaves were budding. Splitfoot nibbled at a tuff of fresh grass, but he wasn’t really hungry. He watched his mother and the calf furtively from a clump of spruce trees.
For a year now, his place had been by her side. She was his protector and his strength, so it was only natural for him to want to remain close to her. He started toward her again, trying not to be obvious. While he grazed, he kept angling closer to his parent. But Splitfoot couldn’t fool his mother. When he was about twenty feet away from her, she charged. This time she really smacked him, knocking him down. Then his mother ran off a little way, her hackles raised. She bawled and growled menacingly.
When Splitfoot arose, she charged him again, leaving him sprawled on the ground. This time he just lay still, rolling his brown eyes. His mother trotted back to her calf, where she stood guard. She was nearsighted, as are all moose, but she could see her unwanted son well enough.
Splitfoot lay quietly for a few minutes more, then he climbed painfully to his feet. The last blows had really jarred him. He moved back to the protective spruce trees and studied his mother. Although his eyesight, too, was less than perfect, his ears and nose were keen. He knew every move his mother and the newborn were making. Splitfoot was learning what all yearling moose must learn: they are not welcome when a new calf is born. His mother might have accepted his company for another year had it not been for the calf. But, by instinct, she was so protective of her helpless new offspring that she distrusted every other creature, even her oldest son.
For the rest of the day, Splitfoot sulked in the trees. Toward evening, he went to a nearby pond for a drink. After ducking his head under the surface for a mouthful of succulent lily roots, he went back to try to find his mother. But she and the calf were gone. He searched for hours but never found them.
Now Splitfoot would be on his own for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t be so bad, however, because he had been prepared by nature for what lay ahead. He had thirty-two good teeth, and he knew what to eat. His mother had long before weaned him. Though only a year old, he was strong. This strength would help him escape enemies he couldn’t fight. Later that summer several wolves chased him. He managed to keep ahead of them until he came to a lake. Though he hadn’t had much practice, he plunged in and swam all the way across to safety. Few animals of the north have more stamina.
Splitfoot learned during the next few years who his enemies were, especially wolves, bears, and men. Deep snow was also an enemy. It was difficult to escape wolf packs while plunging chest deep through snowdrifts. And in wintertime, storms covered willows and cottonwood branches with ice, making it hard for him to eat. The ice cut his gums, turning his mouth bloody and raw. During one long cold spell when everything remained frozen, Splitfoot nearly starved—some moose did.
In the summertime, the mosquitos were a great nuisance. Great swarms of them stung his nose and tender lips. They dove at his eyes and buzzed in his ears until he dashed through the forest crazily to escape them. But in spite of all these hazards, he survived.
In his third year, the young moose grew his first spread of antlers. He also felt that he should take a mate. But older and stronger bulls drove him away from the females.
When he was four, he did manage to mate. But first there was a terrific battle with another male who also wanted the female. They charged each other head on, their antlers cracking like thunder on impact. They shook the ground, and their eyes flashed red with anger. They tore up the ground and snapped young trees like twigs. The battle lasted for an hour, then the rival moose gave up. Splitfoot was victor. It was the first of many such battles he would have.
After he mated, Splitfoot remained with his bride for only a short time. He was not content with only one mate, like the wolf, and in a couple of years would have a large harem.
When Splitfoot was seven years old, he came into his full powers. He weighed eighteen hundred pounds, measured over six feet high at the shoulders, and was nearly nine feet long. His antlers weighed eighty pounds and had a spread of seventy-five inches. He was deep-chested, with muscles that rippled under his dark-colored hide. Splitfoot was a king among his kind.
In December he would shed his antlers. This left him without an important weapon for defense. But that didn’t stop him from fearlessly roaming his fifty-square-mile range.
Splitfoot would live for twenty years, a long time in the wilderness. But to do that, he had to outwit hunters, outrace wolves, and outlast ice storms. He didn’t worry about any of these difficulties, though, but took the days as they came.