Gospel Story Finder

Even when our faith is weak, the Lord’s hand will always be stretched out. Years ago I received the assignment to reorganize a stake in Nigeria. At the last minute, there was a change in the date. There was a man in the stake who had decided to skip town for the first conference date. He did not want to risk being called as the stake president.
While he was away, he was in a terrible accident, but he was unharmed. This caused him to consider why his life had been spared. He revisited the decision he had made. He repented and humbly attended the new conference date. And yes, he was called to be the new stake president.

Some years ago, some close friends of ours loaned us their cabin in Island Park, Idaho. When we arrived at the cabin, we found that the key that we had been given to unlock the front door didn’t work. We tried to undo windows and pry open screens, all to no avail.

Suddenly our son Steven, who was about seven years old at the time, shouted to us that he had just successfully opened the front door. Steven, with a big grin on his face, was standing triumphantly inside the front doorway. I was amazed. I asked him how he did that.

He responded with wonderful, childlike spontaneity: “I bowed my head and prayed. When I looked up, my eyes spotted this big rock by the front steps, and I thought, ‘There is a key under that rock.’ And sure enough there it was.” The prayer of a child had been heard. I thank the Lord for his mother, who had taught him to find keys in moments of crisis.

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.

The construction of a temple in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, fulfilled a dream for Mónica Elena Fuentes Álvarez de Méndez. She is the daughter of a pioneer in the Church who instilled in her a love of the gospel and all its blessings. Her mother, Magda Ester Álvarez, was baptized in 1953, six years after Latter-day Saint missionaries first arrived in Guatemala.
Mónica grew up in the Church and eventually married a good man, Enio Méndez, who was not a member. He supported his wife and daughter in Church activities and admired its members, but he showed no interest in being baptized. Nevertheless, Mónica remembers her mother telling her that one day her husband would become a member. “I never lost faith,” she says, even though she had no idea what could bring about his conversion.
Her mother enjoyed the blessings of periodic visits to the temple in Guatemala City and was filled with joy in 2006 when a temple was announced for Quetzaltenango. But Magda Álvarez suffered from a terminal illness and passed away in 2008, before the temple in Quetzaltenango could be built.
Mónica and her young adult daughter, Mónica Esther Méndez Fuentes, served together as guides during the open house for the Quetzaltenango Temple. Enio attended the open house with them, and unbeknownst to them, he went back two more times.
Leaving the temple together on the last day of the open house, Mónica and her daughter wondered if Magda Álvarez’s prediction about Enio could ever come true.
Enio had always believed it was acceptable for him to be a member of his church and his wife and daughter to be members of theirs so long as they respected each other’s beliefs. But his experiences at the temple open house gave him much to think about. “I began to fast, without saying anything to them, and to pray,” he recalls. He went into the mountains, where he likes to go to ponder. “I asked the Lord, ‘What should I do, then?’” In fact, he already knew what was right, but he needed to resolve doubts.
Enio was baptized in April 2012—a deeply moving occasion for both his wife and his daughter.
The Méndez family was sealed in the Quetzaltenango Temple in October 2013. Sister Méndez expressed their joy at an eternal goal achieved and their hope to be faithful until the end of their lives.

While riding the bus on a school field trip, I was sitting in front of a girl who kept making rude comments and jokes that made me feel uncomfortable. My teachers and other students told her to stop, but she kept going. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to pull out my iPod and listen to some of my favorite music.
I turned it on shuffle and one of the first songs that came on was a song from lds.org/youth/music. I was about to skip over it when something inside told me that I should just listen to the music. I kept listening to inspirational music for the next 20 minutes. The lyrics encouraged me to hold on, and they reminded me that I was a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father.
I know that music can have a profound influence in our lives. I know that listening to the inspirational music on my iPod a couple of days before had helped give me the courage I needed to leave the dance. These experiences helped me get much closer to my Heavenly Father.

4. The wife, the husband, and the Lord. A verse in one of Paul’s epistles had bothered Susan for several years: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.” (Eph. 5:22.) She now felt comfortable enough with Bill to approach the subject. “How would you interpret this scripture?” she asked. “How can we liken it unto ourselves?”

Bill thought about it for a moment. “Well,” he finally responded, “in the mission field when we were confronted with a tough question, we often found it helpful to read the verses before and after the passage to put it in the proper context. Let’s see what the other verses say.”

“Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children;

“And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us. …

“Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.

“Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.

“For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body.

“Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.

“Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it. …

“So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself.

“For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church. …

“Let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself: and the wife see that she reverence her husband.” (Eph. 5:1–2, 21–25, 28–29, 33.)

After a discussion of this chapter, Bill and Susan agreed that the basic principle involved was to love each other in the same way the Savior loves us. That is, we should be willing to serve one another and even be prepared to die for each other. Bill remarked, “Sweetheart, Paul says that wives should submit themselves to their husbands and that the husband is the head of the wife ‘eve as Christ is the head of the church.’ I want to ask your forgiveness for the many times I’ve failed to be a Christlike husband. Too often I’ve thought only of my own needs and pleasures without giving a second thought to you and the children. I really am going to try harder to incorporate the Savior’s teachings in my life, to serve you and the children rather than commanding you and making demands on you.

“There have been times,” he continued, “when I’ve really felt like a henpecked husband. I guess I felt like I was being pushed into submission to you. But since we’ve been trying to incorporate the scriptures into our lives, I’ve come to realize that no husband who gladly loses himself in the service of his wife and family can be considered henpecked—because he is doing exactly what makes them happiest, and their happiness becomes a great source of joy in his own life.”

The STOMPing that took place wasn’t grapes or dance floors or each other’s toes. In fact, it had nothing to do with feet.
The STOMP that the youth of the Hermosa Vista Ward in the Mesa Arizona Red Mountain Stake participated in becomes clear when you find out what STOMP stands for—Students Trying Out Moroni’s Promise. (See the New Era, “Captains of Ten,” Nov. 1983, p. 49.)
In 17 weeks (that translates to four pages a day), the Young Men and Young Women and their youth leaders, divided into groups of ten, decided to act on Moroni’s promise in Moroni 10:4–5. [Moro. 10:4–5] They read the Book of Mormon as a group.
Each group of ten was assigned a captain. At first the captains weren’t really sure they wanted the responsibility. Blair Phelps had a little insider’s knowledge about what they were up against. His sister had been a captain the year before, so he knew what was involved. But he agreed, joining seven others as the captains.
Each week these captains contacted each member of their team and added up the points each had earned that week. Points were given for reading each day, for being up to date with their reading assignments, for memorizing certain scriptures, and for attending the firesides and activities organized to encourage participation. Each person was given a booklet with a reading chart, the schedule of events, the scriptures to memorize, and Moroni’s promise printed right there in the front. The teams were not competing. Reporting in to their captain helped each person stay interested and focused on the goal.
Michelle Shephard described what happened perfectly, “I was pretty excited”; then she paused, “at first.” It seems like enthusiasm was high for the first couple of weeks. Then school let out for the summer and the schedules started to slip. It seemed like everyone had some trouble keeping up. In fact, the Beehives took drastic measures to catch up. They had a sleep-over where reading the Book of Mormon was the planned activity. Maria Dastrup said, “It was the strangest sleep-over I ever went to. Who would have thought we would have fun just reading the Book of Mormon?” And read they did, with occasional breaks, until they finally fell asleep. Then in the morning they woke up and read some more.
Nearly everyone had a favorite character or favorite story from the scriptures. Mike Walker said, “I really admired Nephi. He’s a good role model. I kept wondering about his brothers. How could they have an angel appear to them and such wonderful things happen that should build their faith, then turn around and be wicked again? It’s hard to understand.”
Many developed a strong feeling for Moroni. Reading his last words made them both sad and hopeful. “It was sad when Moroni said good-bye,” said Lisa Corrington. “His promise works if you really want to find out if the Book of Mormon is true.”
Michelle also commented on Moroni’s last words. “He gives you a final promise after all his people have died and after all that has happened. He tells us we can still do it—we can still live as Christ taught.”
Blair adds, “It gives you a good feeling. It makes you want to try.”
The young people in Mesa were determined to finish reading the Book of Mormon on schedule. They came up with a list of suggestions that helped them finish their reading:
Pay attention.
Pray first; it helps.
Apply what you read to things going on around you.
Keep a reading chart.
Read along while listening to scripture tapes.
Read the chapter headings.
Read during the day when you’re awake. And try to read at the same time every day.
Read it with your friends or family so you can discuss it.
Read the book of Moroni first; then go back and start at the beginning.

We turned down a lane that led to a group of cottages on the shore of the St. Croix River. It was a clear, warm day in late fall, an Indian summer. The leaves on the trees had turned to bright yellows and golds. It was my first day of door contacting as a missionary.
“Your door,” Elder Higgins said, smiling.
It was a small cottage that sat near the edge of the water. Waterskiing gear leaned against the railing of the porch. I cleared my throat and knocked firmly.
“I’m Elder Roberts and this is Elder Higgins. We have a message about the Savior we’d like to share with you,” I rehearsed.
The inside door opened, and behind the screen door stood a very pretty girl, somewhere between 17 and 20, blue eyes, long gold hair, wearing a swimsuit. The words, the finely tuned lines I’d practiced a thousand times on the plane, at the mission home, in our apartment, and on the three-mile walk to this cottage, vanished.
“Awk,” was all that came out when I opened my mouth.
Elder Higgins looked at me grinning and then turned to the girl.
“We’re ministers in the area, and we have a message about Jesus Christ we’d like to share with you and your family.” He gave her a Christ in America pamphlet and made an appointment to meet her family.

I live in Perm, Russia, in the Ural Mountains. In March 1996 I met the missionaries. At that time I was all alone; during the previous four months, I had lost my husband and both parents and had gone through two operations. The missionaries told me about the Book of Mormon, about the life of Jesus Christ, and about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They invited me to their meetings. I became friends with the members of the Church and was baptized. We are now like a family; we support each other through difficult times.
I was given a copy of the Liahona (Russian). I have found in it much to help me in my life and in teaching others. The support and testimonies we receive from members throughout the world have helped me the most. I testify that the Church is true and that the Liahona helps bring people together.
Margarita Andreyevna Rusanova,Penn Central Branch, Russia Yekaterinburg Mission

What made this work so effective was the opportunity it presented for friendships to develop between members of the Church and open-minded individuals behind the Iron Curtain. In 1975 I visited Kiev, Ukraine, as a participant in round-table discussions relating to archival matters. After one social event held outside the city, the participants boarded a bus for the long ride back into Kiev. One of the conference translators sat next to me. Because of the lateness of the hour, almost everyone soon fell asleep. At that moment he turned to me and asked if I were a Mormon.
His question took me by surprise. Who in Eastern Europe in 1975 would know about the Church and have the courage to inquire? I asked why he would pose such a question. He said he had met a member of the Church once at a conference. What he observed in me reminded him of his previous acquaintance. We spent several nights in rewarding conversation.
I do not know who that member of the Church was, but his example had made a lasting impression on this man. Individual members of the Church, through the power of their personal examples, introduce the gospel long before the Church is able to officially establish its presence.

In April 1994 I was living in the city of Monterrey, México, earning a living as a taxi driver. One day it rained for hours, sending water cascading down the mountainsides. After driving around in the rain for hours, I found myself in a little town about eight kilometers from Monterrey. It was about 9:30 P.M., nearly time to go home. Suddenly I saw two young men on foot. They were wearing dark trousers and white shirts, and they were drenched from head to foot.
I opened the door of the taxi and called out, “Get in! I’m going to Monterrey.”
The taller one, who had a very fair complexion, replied, “We don’t have any money.”
“No charge,” I replied.
As I drove, we talked. They asked if they could share a message about Jesus Christ. I agreed and gave them my address.
When I got home, I woke my wife and told her about the two young men. “What a coincidence,” I said. “One is Mexican and the other is American, and they are both named Elder.”
“Elder means missionary,” my wife answered, knowing just a little about the Church.
From deep within me, I felt something stir. These young men had left a feeling of exquisite wonder in my heart. I felt close to finding the water that would quench my thirst.

“When I was about thirteen years old, my mother had prepared a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Before she could get the table set, an emergency call came, and my mother and father had to go to be with my brother, who was very ill. After my parents left, I went to a friend who didn’t have a mother and whose father wasn’t well. I knew that he wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited him to our home for dinner. I got out Mother’s best linen, crystal, and silverware, and I set a table that was fit for a king. After our dinner together, I sent some food home for my friend’s father. I was trying to follow my parents’ example to serve others.

On the morning of the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the strangest thought pop into my head. I was tying bows around bunches of gourmet candy canes to give to my friends when my mind said, “You should give one of these to Megan*.”
What a crazy idea! Megan, a very popular girl in my English class, was terribly mean. In addition to the rude things she said to me, she and her friends were always giggling and pointing in my direction. She made me feel horrible. Why should I give Christmas candy to someone like that?
Today was always the best day of the whole year at Valley Middle School. Like the last day of school in June, schoolwork would be pushed aside in favor of movies and games. But what made it even better than that was the candy we exchanged with our friends. As we went from class to class, our stacks of goodies grew and we found out who liked us enough to put us on their gift list. You could tell who the really popular kids were by their enormous piles of candy. Someone like Megan would have to bring an extra bag to carry everything. She certainly didn’t need anything from me.
I was confident I would have a respectable pile of sweets myself. I was nowhere near being part of the popular crowd, but it was a big school, and I had a large group of friends. However, because I was one of the few Latter-day Saints in the school, I really stood out. Anyone who stands out too much in middle school becomes a target for teasing, so, unfortunately, I had as many tormentors as I had friends.
It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.
Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”
“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.
I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.
“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.
She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.
She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”
I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.
I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

Her dad used to help run the family grocery store. “Karissa liked to come to the store with me,” he said, “and she always put on a green apron just like mine.” Once a man from the ward came into the store. Even though Karissa didn’t know him, she treated him like a friend. When he left, she stood in front of the door and teased, “You can’t leave until you say the magic word!” The magic word was “pretty please.” “Karissa isn’t scared of anyone,” her parents agree. “Age makes no difference. Everyone is her friend.” Right now she is learning to cook. She likes cracking eggs for a recipe best. She is also learning to play the piano. She can sing her favorite hymn, “I Stand All Amazed,” from memory, and she looks forward to being able to play it all the way through on the piano. “She is the first one to start singing ‘I Love to See the Temple’ whenever we drive past one,” her mom says. When Karissa visited her Grandma and Grandpa Burrup in Richland, Washington, she was able to see the Columbia River Washington Temple being built. The construction workers offered her a piece of granite from the temple walls to take home. Karissa doesn’t give up when problems arise. At a ward Christmas party, she was invited to sing a musical number. As she climbed onto the platform, she slipped and fell. Primary leaders rushed to help her, but before they could, she had already climbed back up. She sang her song the way she lives her life every day—with a smile.

The gospel came into my life at an opportune time. I was 14. It came at the hands of a senior missionary couple, Glenn and JoAnne Haws, who lived every single word they taught me. They took me under their wing.
My mother didn’t share with us that she was a member of the Church. I just remember seeing some extra scriptures on her lamp desk. When Elder and Sister Haws came to fellowship and teach her, they said, “Don’t you want your daughter to know what you know?” I was baptized on May 21, 2000.

Later, a young man moved into our community from Nigeria. I found out that he had recently completed his mission and relocated to my community. I enjoyed coming around him because of his strange accent and his stories about the development happening in Nigeria—the beautiful streets and cities.
One day, while we were arguing, one of my colleagues, Amos Bangura, made a statement: “Liberia is a hell, and if you are born and die in Liberia and go to hell, it is a double punishment. Then God is not fair because things are so tough in Liberia.”
The returned missionary, Brother James Kolue, quickly used that statement as an opportunity to teach us about Heavenly Father’s love for all His children—no matter their location, family background, or country. He taught us that God’s love extends beyond our imagination.
After his teaching, I quickly asked him: “Which church are you attending?”
He replied, “I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you heard about this church before?”
I quickly said, “Yes, I sometimes see their missionaries passing by.”
He asked if I would like to learn from the missionaries, and I accepted the invitation. I started meeting with the missionaries. They were friendly and kind, and their message about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation felt different from anything I had ever heard before.
I spent several weeks learning more about their beliefs and reading the Book of Mormon. There was something about the teachings that resonated deeply with me. I remember the day I prayed for the first time to know if the Church was true, and I felt an overwhelming peace—something I had never felt before.
That was when I knew I had to take the next step.
However, life became tough, and I moved to Logan Town in search of opportunities. There, I met different missionaries and stopped them to explain that I had been learning with missionaries in Brewerville. They contacted the other missionaries and continued my teaching.
The missionaries introduced me to the bishop, who was then Bishop Paul Wrotto. He guided and helped me as I took this new step. Soon after, I was baptized. The moment I emerged from the water, I felt like a new person. My heart was full, my mind clearer, and I was ready to follow the path that Heavenly Father had set for me.
The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

There’s a hospital in New York called a foundling hospital that cares for orphaned infants. Their mortality rate some years ago was unbelievable. About two out of three died, no matter what the directors and doctors did in terms of constant surveillance, medical care, all the things that you do to keep a child alive. Two out of three still died.
And then they discovered a ward in that hospital where all of these little kids were flourishing. There was a light in their eyes; they would eat instead of ignore their food; they smiled and gooed, and their crying wasn’t a chronic sick cry. It was a “let you know what is needed” cry.
They couldn’t understand why these children were so hale and hearty—until they discovered old Anna, not a nurse but a washwoman. A huge, older woman, she would strap (she knew she shouldn’t, but she waited till nobody was watching) a little baby on each hip, and then while she was working along she would cluck, and put a hand under each baby’s head, and say nice things.
These children lived because they were loved! The others died because they weren’t. Love is a matter of life and death, and you’d better believe it!

Janet Egbo of Big Qua Town Ward, Calabar Nigeria Stake
I am a teacher by profession, I reside and work in Calabar. I have always wanted additional income because what I earned was not sufficient to support my family. I was part of the self-reliance group in my stake and I joined the Starting and Growing My Business group.
I learned a lot of principles throughout the Starting and Growing My Business group meetings, which motivated me to start a business of my own. I never knew that I could start small and grow big.
The principles I learned that gave me the guide I needed to succeed were: payment of tithing, praying, savings, budgeting, and record keeping. I was able to start with two bags of flour and a bag of sugar. Today I have rented a shop for the business.
I have a variety of commodities on my shelves, and my shop is a mini supermarket because I have most of the items that households may need.
I am indeed grateful that I heeded the call to join a self-reliance group. I now have the additional income I needed.
I am now growing my business. I keep record of my sales, use a budget, and I can save money.
I now pay my tithing and fast offering, take care of my basic needs, and that of my family members.

Walter and Edith were serving a temple mission and had only a few months left when he became seriously ill with cancer and was bedridden for the first time in his life. During his illness, he reflected on his life. “He could see that he had accomplished much,” says Gloria, “but he also saw that he probably could have led a more balanced life. He softened at the end, in all of his suffering. The thing that made him happiest was that his family had strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Walter Spät died on 15 May 1989.

Two months after the above experience, the second adventure took place. I was again out in the mountains, this time with a group of Scouts, and we were 20 miles out in the back country. We were taking our annual 50-mile hike and had decided to do it a little differently; we would hike in for 15 or 20 miles and then take day hikes into the surrounding lakes and streams where the boys could do some fishing. One day we broke into three groups: The first was going to hike in three or four miles to some high beaver ponds along a stream where the fishing was alleged to be great. The second, of which I was the leader, was headed to the top of a beautiful mountain about six miles away. The third group, exhausted from several days of such activity, would stay in camp, fish in the adjacent stream, and clean up. All went well with my little group of eight young Scouts and also with those in camp, but the first group was in for quite an experience. As the boys arrived at the appointed fishing areas, they spread out along the river for about a mile, each selecting what he thought would be the best spot. As the day wore on, they collected around the proven fishing holes. However, one young Scout had started working his way downstream looking for a new spot. Suddenly he experienced what felt like an attack of appendicitis. Being nearly a quarter of a mile from the nearest boy and close to the noisy stream, his yells for help were in vain. Not being able to walk because of the pain in his side, he lay down next to the river in despair, fearing for his life.
In the second illustration, the young Scout remembered his whistle and his training. Three blasts at three minute intervals was a plea for help. His whistling was heard by two boys up the river, and they came running. It wasn’t long until he was being carried on an improvised stretcher to the base camp where medical care was available.