Gospel Story Finder

7. Develop the habit of singing or, if this is not pleasant, whistling. Singing to oneself will bring less comment and question than talking to oneself. My father one time came home from a deer hunt empty-handed, but his heart was renewed and his spirit lifted. He recounted with great appreciation that one of his companions had frightened the deer away because he was always singing trumpet-voiced to himself as he walked through the pines and the quaking aspen. Father was more enriched by the mirth of the song than by the meat of the venison.

Zula Tenges is one young woman whom the missionary outreach touched. She came to Germany from Mongolia. She wanted to learn English and found a course offered at the institute. “The class was free,” says Zula. “I was liking that. I met some elders, and they taught me about the Church. I wasn’t really interested in religion, but I wanted to understand more about Christianity.”
Zula, 21, from the Tiergarten Ward, was drawn into the activities and the friendship she found at the Berlin institute. “It was so cool at institute. I have so many friends. Many of them are now on missions. That was a great place to get to know the Church.” Zula was baptized a little more than a year ago.

Suluya Racule, three weeks older than Vani, faces her own challenges. Suluya didn’t grow up in the Church, although it seemed like she did. She began attending Primary when she was nine because her aunt, a Church member, was a Primary teacher. She spent the first 15 years of her life as a nonmember, even though she knew a lot about the gospel. And she kept going to church even when her aunt and uncle moved to Tonga. But her membership status changed from nonmember to member in December 1995 when she was finally able to be baptized.

Even now, almost four years later, Suluya is still the only member of the Church in her immediate family.

“My parents were against my getting baptized. They thought I was too young to know the truth, and they thought I should go around to other churches and see what they were like before I decided,” she remembers. “But I had this strong feeling inside of me that this was the true church. I couldn’t think of any other church to go to.”

Maybe it takes a little adversity—or even a lot of it—to truly appreciate what you have. Vani admits it’s been difficult at times not having her mom and dad around. Suluya, meanwhile, would like nothing better than to have her family join her on Sundays. For now, she goes to church alone.

When Suluya is asked about her conversion, she gladly shares the details of her Christmas Eve baptism. She fairly beams as she remembers that day. Suluya then mentions the death of her father two years ago. “Heart failure.” He was 47. The conversation switches gears.

“Although I’ve always wanted my family to join the Church, his death has encouraged me even more to help my mom and my sister get baptized. I’m trying so hard to get them to come to church with me,” she says. When Suluya was baptized, her family didn’t attend the service. “But they understand that the Church is a commitment to me, and they respect my decision and support me. Still, it’s hard to see families sitting together at church, and my family isn’t there. When you have something this good, you want to share it with your family.”

Suluya admits she was closer to her father than to her mother, but accepts that maybe in some ways his death was a blessing. “It’s brought my sister and me closer to our mom. We’ve really gotten to know our mom better,” she explains.

Manuel lifted the clean white cloth and counted the fresh tortillas in the woven basket he carried in his hand. There were still two dozen left. Grandma had told him if he didn’t sell all of them, there wouldn’t be enough money for cornmeal and beans next week.
Manuel had been to all of the houses in the village except that of the pretty young señorita who had just moved into the house across the street from where he now stood. He’d gone there on his rounds the day before, but she had told him she was busy.
“Should I try to sell her some tortillas again today?” Manuel asked himself. “Or should I just go back and tell Grandma no one else would buy the rest of her tortillas?”
He stood undecided, shuffling his bare feet in the soft dirt and staring soberly at the house across the street. Finally Manuel turned and started slowly toward the small adobe hut where he lived with his grandmother and little sister, Lupe.
As Manuel walked, he thought about how disappointed his grandmother would be when he returned without selling all her tortillas. Suddenly he stopped. I’ll go backto the new señorita’s home, he decided. Perhaps today she’ll buy some.
Quickly Manuel retraced his steps and went up the flagstone pathway that led to the little house.
He rapped lightly on the door and waited a few minutes until the young señorita opened it. She was even prettier than he remembered, and somehow she looked kinder too.
She smiled at Manuel and asked, “What do you want, little boy?”
“I sell tortillas,” Manuel replied, holding the basket out toward her. “Would you like some?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she answered.
“They are very good,” Manuel said quickly. “They’re fresh today.”
Seeing the small boy’s expression of disappointment, the young woman hesitated.
Manuel became very conscious that she was looking at his ragged shirt and pants and his bare feet. He bowed his head and started to turn away without another word.
“Wait!” she said. “What is your name?”
“Manuel,” he replied.
“I think I’ll try some of your tortillas, after all,” she smiled. “Come in while I get a pan to put them in.”
She held the door open for Manuel and then left him alone as she went into another room.
In a few moments she returned. Manuel was surprised when she uncovered his basket and put all the tortillas in a shiny pan. His smile was broad as he thought how pleased Grandma would be, for now she could buy food the family needed.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the señorita as she looked in her purse. “I can’t buy these from you today. I only have fifty pesos, and no change—unless you have some.”
Manuel reached into his pocket and pulled out the ten pesos he carried. “This is all I have, Señorita.”
“I can’t buy them today then,” she said as she began to put the tortillas back in his basket.
Manuel’s face fell. “Wait, please!” he said. “I’ll take your money to the market and get it changed.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said the señorita, shaking her head and looking doubtful.
“Please,” Manuel said quickly. “I’ll bring it right back.”
The señorita looked down at the boy and slowly shook her head again.
Manuel blinked to hide the tears that filled his eyes, but one escaped and rolled down his cheek. He turned and wiped it away with his sleeve as he started to walk away.
The señorita suddenly felt uncomfortable and ashamed.
“Come back, please,” she called. “I know I can trust you. Go get the change for me, and I’ll keep your tortillas here until you come back.”
“Gracias, Señorita!” cried Manuel as he ran from the house.
Manuel’s bare feet slapped in the soft dirt as he hurried toward the village market. But gradually he slowed to a walk and examined the bill he held tightly in his hand. As he looked, he thought of Lupe’s big brown eyes when she stood in front of the jars of candy in the market. He knew how much she wanted some. He also remembered how hard Grandma worked to make the tortillas to sell.
Suddenly Manuel began to wonder if he should keep the money. It was enough to pay for the tortillas he had left behind. There would be enough left over to buy food for many days and even some sweets for Lupe at the market.
Then he remembered the señorita’s words, “I know I can trust you.” Besides, he had given her his word, and Grandma had often told him no person is good unless his word is good too. Suddenly he wanted very much for the señorita to like him and trust him just as Grandma and Lupe trusted him.
He quickly changed the fifty pesos and then ran back to the señorita’s home.
“Come in, Manuel,” she said as she opened the door. “I knew you’d come back.”
“Here is your money,” he said, giving her a handful of bills.
She counted out the money she owed for the tortillas and then gave him an extra peso. “This is yours for going to the market for me.”
“Gracias, Señorita,” said Manuel, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “You are very good to me.”
She ruffled his hair. “How would you like to work for me? I need someone I can trust to run errands and help me around my yard.”
A broad grin spread over Manuel’s face as he picked up the basket. “Si, Señorita. I’d be happy to work for you. I will work very hard too!”
“I’m sure you will,” replied the woman. “Come back tomorrow, and there’ll be many things you can help me do.”
“I’ll come back,” he promised.
As Manuel ran home, his heart sang and he whistled a happy tune. He could hardly wait to tell Grandma about his wonderful new job!

It would be an understatement to say that my husband and I were surprised to learn that, at age 40, I was expecting a baby. Complications in the pregnancy soon prompted the doctors to order complete bed rest for me. My husband gave me a priesthood blessing in which I was promised that if I would do as I was instructed by the doctors, all would be well.
But bed rest proved to be a difficult challenge as I tried to meet the needs of our two young children and keep myself occupied.
When the ward members realized I would be “confined for the duration,” dinners began arriving with regularity. My three-year-old son was often picked up to spend the day with friends. And when my six-year-old son got home from school, someone always seemed to drop in to check on him. Sisters came frequently to clean the house and do the laundry, often ending up sitting on my bed to visit.
More than two months before the baby was due, I went into early labor and our tiny, frail son was born. He was so ill that the doctors told us we should set our affairs in order and prepare for a funeral. We went in to see our tiny son, covered with wires and tubes, in a warming crib. With tears flowing freely, my husband and two other brethren anointed and blessed our little baby, John. John responded by beginning to fight for his life.
While my husband and I spent many days and nights at the hospital, our ward members continued their many acts of service and love for our family. More than once during the pregnancy and at least twice after the baby was born, the entire ward fasted and prayed for us.
On one occasion when we were permitted to take John to church even though he was still on oxygen, a mother approached us with her eight-year-old son. She quietly, almost reverently, asked if her son could see the baby. She explained that her son had caught the vision of serving and loving others by fasting and praying. He wanted to see how his faith and prayers had been answered. He looked at the baby and wept. He told his mother he was glad he could fast and pray. “After all,” he said, “look what Heavenly Father did.”
Today John is a vibrant, energetic, loving 17-year-old. He is a living testimony to the members of that generous ward and their commitment to faith and charity. Words cannot express the gratitude we feel toward them and our Heavenly Father.

Illustration by Scott Greer
Ever since I was little, I was fascinated by the stories of Church leaders who served in the armed forces. Many of them have been war heroes and great examples of valor and humility in their home countries. Their experiences inspired me to participate in my country’s military.
When I was 13, I entered a school known for its strict military discipline and infantry training. My schedule was demanding. I often was so exhausted by the end of the day that my scripture study and seminary participation seemed impossible.
By my second year at school, I had made plans for my life: upon finishing school at age 18, I would go directly into officer school and graduate four years later as an officer in the Guatemalan Army. All my wishes and dreams seemed to be coming true.
One day I told my mom about my plans, and she asked, “When are you planning to serve a full-time mission?” From that day forward her question lingered in my mind every time I thought about my future.
I still had a rigorous schedule, but I started to show more interest in my spiritual training. I started attending seminary, working with the full-time missionaries, and participating in Church activities. Following the advice of my older brother who was serving a full-time mission, I also began reading the Book of Mormon.
When I was training to be a paratrooper, we had very intense training each day. We would get back to our barrack almost crawling, but I always found the strength to read the Book of Mormon. Daily reading of the scriptures strengthened my spirit and helped me continue with my training.
One evening several of my friends gathered around my bed to ask me some questions about the Book of Mormon and the Word of Wisdom. It was my opportunity to be the best kind of soldier—one who defends the truth and brings freedom through a firm and convincing testimony of the Book of Mormon.
When I was 19, I enlisted again in an army—the army of God, the most powerful army of all. I had the privilege of standing shoulder to shoulder with the valiant elders and sisters of Zion in the battalion of the Mexico Puebla Mission. Girded with the armor of God, we proclaimed the gospel and fought for liberty with courage and strength.
We are fighting against the hosts of darkness, but the victory belongs to God. I want to continue to be a brave soldier, enlisted for our King. We have powerful weapons: the Book of Mormon, the Holy Ghost, and the fulness of the gospel. We are led to victory by living prophets. If we train and prepare ourselves for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ, He will give us crowns of honor in celestial glory.

by Elder Craig BarrOhio Columbus Mission
Every year there is a big celebration down in Elkins, West Virginia, called the Forest Festival. To take part in the festival missionaries in the past have set up a display about some aspect of the Church. This year we decided to really do a good job.
Our display consisted of a giant painting of the Washington D.C. Temple. In fact, it was 8-by-12 feet and was painted by an artist in the branch in Elkins. To go with the painting, we obtained a tent 20-by-40 feet from the Army Reserve Depot at Charleston, West Virginia. We set up the tent behind the painting and showed movies to festival visitors. We ran Man’s Search for Happiness, Meet the Mormons, and The New Landmark, a film on the Washington D.C. Temple. On each side of the entrance we placed a display board and pamphlets. These were centered on the family, the family home evening program, and temple work. Floodlights were also set up. There was a blue light in front of the painting to enhance the beauty of the temple and white lights on the side to offset the color and light the display boards. The title of our booth was Why Families and Why Temples?
For four days we had from two to four missionaries at the booth. The response that we received was tremendous. We were kept busy day and night. Many people stopped and commented on the painting, and many others asked for pamphlets and wanted to see the movies. Others requested to hear the missionary lessons or signed our guest register and asked us to come and see them after the festival was over.
The last day there was a parade, and the special guest was President Gerald R. Ford. He stopped and waved to us when he saw the painting of the temple.
We closed down the booth that same evening. When we reflected back over those hurried days, we could see what a great success the booth had been. We had received over 40 referrals and many other verbal referrals. We had come in contact with people who requested that the missionaries come to their homes. Now we are busy teaching and are very grateful for the response that we had. We are especially grateful to those who donated time and talents to help make the display a success.

That joy is also available to women who, having never borne children of their own, express their motherhood by nurturing the children of others. One woman paid tribute to a single sister: “Although I loved my three small children very much and knew I was doing an important work, I often felt worn out and confined to my home. My husband was working two jobs, but there never seemed to be enough money for a baby-sitter and an evening out. Then sweet Monica came into my life. She called regularly to say she was coming over on a given night to stay with my children. To the delight of my little ones, she always arrived with games and treats. My husband and I were free to attend a temple session or to go out for dinner knowing we would return to a peaceful home. Monica consistently refused any payment for her efforts. This wonderful woman now nurtures my granddaughter.”

During my first time working at the veil in the temple, I had the opportunity to assist a Spanish-speaking patron. I spoke Spanish fairly well at the time, so it meant a lot to me that I was able to help that sister with her temple ordinance in a language I was familiar with. This was also a blessing for me because I was so nervous about remembering the words, and to translate effectively I was able to read the words of the ordinance.
When I was asked to help with the ordinance in Spanish, I felt like I received a quiet message from Heavenly Father letting me know that He was aware of exactly where I was and that He loved me perfectly. Experiencing this ordinance in another language also helped me better understand it because I was able to focus on the Spirit testifying to me of its truthfulness. And I gained a better understanding of what it means to be part of a worldwide Church that is full of many different cultures and languages, and of the love that Heavenly Father has for every single one of His children.

We are indebted to Dr. Homer Ellsworth for sharing with us many years ago two contrasting stories about the happiness of mothers. Often, in the days when the gender of the child could not be predetermined, expectant mothers were very set upon having a boy or a girl. Sometimes when the baby was not of the anticipated gender, the mother was temporarily disappointed. Of course this disappointment was forgotten as soon as the mother cuddled her newborn for the first time.

Dr. Ellsworth told us that a few new mothers demonstrated their immaturity for a day or two. One who wanted a boy baby and happened to receive a girl baby showed her displeasure by throwing tantrums and objects all over her hospital room for a day or two. One wise old nurse, when feeding time came, took a baby boy born with a small facial deformity from the nursery and quietly slipped him into the disconsolate mother’s arms. The immature mother exclaimed, “This is not my child!”

The wise old nurse said, “Well, it is the right sex. Maybe its mother would be willing to trade babies with you.” There followed no more demonstrations of immaturity.

I recall as a boy hearing of the experiences of my Miller ancestors. In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed across the Atlantic Ocean. They reached the port of New Orleans and traveled up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
When the family arrived in St. Louis, planning to earn enough money to make their way to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera struck the area. The Miller family was hard-hit: in the space of two weeks, mother, father, and two of their sons died. My great-grandmother, Margaret Miller, was 13 years old at the time.
Because of all the deaths in the area, there were no caskets available—at any price. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make crude caskets for the family members who had passed away.
The nine remaining orphaned Miller children and the husband of one of the older daughters left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.

Some months ago our granddaughter joined a youth group to tour several Church history sites. The final itinerary noted that she would be passing through the very area where her missionary brother, our grandson, was serving. Our granddaughter had no intention of seeing her brother on his mission. However, as the bus entered the town where her brother was serving, two missionaries could be seen walking down the street. One of the missionaries was her brother.

Anticipation filled the bus as the youth asked the bus driver to pull over so she could greet her brother. In less than one minute, after tears and sweet words, her brother was back on his way to fulfill his missionary duties. We later learned that her brother had been on that street for less than five minutes, walking from an appointment to his car.

Heavenly Father can put us in situations with specific intent in mind. He has done so in my life, and He is doing so in yours, as He did in the lives of our dear grandchildren.

I trudged back from the bathroom, my stomach rumbling and my head pounding. Falling back into bed, I grimaced. For the second time in two months, I was sick with a stomach virus. I had missed school classes and work. I could hear others having a good time and laughing in the kitchen, but I was curled up in bed, feeling miserable.
I pulled the blankets tighter around me and turned to face the wall. I was frustrated, but I didn’t know where to aim my anger. It wasn’t my fault I got sick. The more I dwelt on the injustice of it all, the more upset I became. My frustration turned into sadness, and I started crying. I just wanted the pain to go away. Hoping for some type of encouragement, I reached for the scriptures and turned to 3 Nephi 17, my reading for the day. I was amazed by the words of comfort found in verse 7:
“Have ye any that are sick among you … or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.”
I was still crying, but I was no longer upset. Instead of dwelling on the pain, I focused on the invitation of the Savior to come unto Him and be healed. I read the chapter over and over, lingering on the phrase “all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, … and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him” (3 Nephi 17:9).
The Savior was opening His arms to me, inviting me to be healed, if not of the virus, then definitely of my frustration at that moment.
Reading that chapter didn’t stop the stomach pains or headache, but that night the words of the Savior healed my heart. I was no longer bitter, because I understood that this stomach virus, like other trials, was simply a fact of life. Heavenly Father knew I was sick, and although He didn’t instantly cure me, He reminded me of the individual love and concern He feels for each of His children. This love is manifest through the gift of His Son, Jesus Christ, who came to show us compassion. As we soften our hearts and come to the Savior with sufficient faith, we can all receive His healing grace.

One night, Harold B. Lee became dangerously ill with pneumonia.
Harold: Mother, I can hardly breathe.
Mother: I’ll be right back. You’re going to be OK.
Harold’s mother sliced juicy onions into a flour sack, put the wet sack on his chest, and prayed for a miracle.
The next morning he could breathe again. Soon he recovered completely.
Harold: You always know what to do. You saved my life!
Mother: The Lord saved your life. He just expected me to do everything I could to help.

One year we didn’t have much money for Christmas, so I prayed for help to be able to buy a gift for my stepdad, Adrian (whom my sister and I call Weegee). My sister and I had only two dollars between us to spend on gifts.
When my mom said we were going to a nearby thrift store to shop for Christmas gifts, I ran to my room and prayed for help: “Please help us find a gift for two dollars.”
At the store Elaina and I looked through the books and found a triple combination that looked brand new. We were so excited when we found it. I held onto it tight as we ran through the aisles to my mom. Jumping up and down, we said together, “We found a gift for Weegee!” At the checkout my mom asked, “How much for this?” The lady replied, “Two dollars.” My prayer was answered.
At that time our stepfather was not a member. He didn’t like Mormons, he didn’t believe in “the Mormon book,” and he didn’t like members picking us up for Young Men and Young Women activities. He even chased away the elders. But the ward members and missionaries didn’t give up on him.
On Christmas day we saved his gift for last. Elaina and I said, “This is the greatest gift anyone could ever give you! It will make you happy.” Weegee guessed a couple of times, and we laughed at his answers. We told him, “It’s an awesome gift! It’s going to change your life. It changed ours.”
Our mom was worried that he would be mad about our gift to him, but Elaina and I knew it was the right thing to do.
When he opened it, he thanked us for the gift and said he would read it.
Because we love Weegee, we wanted him to learn about Jesus Christ and the gift of His Atonement. We wanted him to believe like we do, to pray and repent, and to have the gospel in his life.
He read and prayed about the Book of Mormon, and with the help of the elders and ward members, he was baptized and is now a member of the Church. We were so happy to be sealed in the temple, and we know we will always be together forever as a family.

When Lorenzo Snow was finishing his studies at Oberlin College in Ohio, his sister, Eliza R. Snow, invited him to come to Kirtland to study Hebrew under a famous professor. Lorenzo eagerly accepted.
Eliza wanted her brother to join the Church as she had. After studying the gospel, Lorenzo prayed to Heavenly Father. His prayers were answered, and he was baptized in June 1836.
Several weeks after his baptism, Lorenzo still had some unanswered questions about the gospel. He believed that it was true, but he wanted to know it. One night while he was studying, he felt depressed.
Deep in thought, Lorenzo left his books and went walking through the fields around his house. A feeling of darkness and confusion overcame him. He had made a habit of praying every night in a nearby grove, but that night he did not feel like praying.
Still, Lorenzo knew that he should pray, so he went to the grove and knelt down. As soon as he began praying, he felt the Spirit stronger than he had ever felt it before. He knew that the gospel was true and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ lived and loved him.
Lorenzo later became the fifth President of the Church, and he often told the story of the night that he gained his testimony. The memory of that night stayed with him and strengthened him throughout his life.

I’ll close with two stories of young men—just a few years older than you students—who knew what they were on earth to do. Years ago a young man in Boston named Edward Kimball taught Sunday School at his church, feeling called to invest his life in the lives of young boys and men. In an effort to get to know his students better, he often paid a visit to them at their homes or places of work during the week.

One Sunday a 17-year-old boy showed up in his class—a boy with some rather rough edges, often bursting out in anger or profanity. Kimball thought about how he might reach this boy and decided to visit him at the shoe store where he worked for his uncle. He was nervous. What would the boy say? How would he be received? He found the boy in the back of the store wrapping shoes and putting them on the shelves.

Kimball simply put his hand on the teenager’s shoulder and mustered up some words about how Christ loved him. Amazingly, right there in his uncle’s shoe store, this young man wound up committing his life to Christ. His name was Dwight L. Moody.

In 1879 Moody was instrumental in the conversion of F. B. Meyer, who went on to become a minister. Meyer mentored someone named J. W. Chapman and led him to Christ.

Chapman became a pastor and evangelist and started an outreach ministry to professional baseball players. One of those players, Billy Sunday, became Chapman’s assistant for many of his evangelistic meetings.

Having learned from Chapman, Billy Sunday started to hold his own evangelistic meetings, becoming the greatest evangelist of the first part of the 20th century in America. In the 1920s, one of Billy Sunday’s revivals in North Carolina was so successful, an associate of his, Mordecai Ham (who had given his life to Christ in one of Sunday’s crusades), was asked to come back to Charlotte a few years later to hold a second series of crusades.

On one of the final nights of Mordecai Ham’s evangelistic meetings in Charlotte, North Carolina, another teenager responded to an invitation to follow Jesus Christ. That teenager turned 94 in November, and thanks to a Sunday School teacher in Boston years ago, countless millions of people have heard about Jesus because of the preaching of Billy Graham.

In my own family there is a story of a young woman who had the courage to start to teach doctrine when she was only a new convert with little education. And the fact that the effects of her teaching haven’t ended gives me patience to wait for the fruits of my own efforts.

Mary Bommeli was my great-grandmother. I never met her. Her granddaughter heard her tell her story and wrote it down.

Mary was born in 1830. The missionaries taught her family in Switzerland when she was 24. She was still living at home, weaving and selling cloth to help support her family on their small farm. When the family heard the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, they knew it was true. They were baptized. Mary’s brothers were called on missions, going without purse or scrip. The rest of the family sold their possessions to go to America to gather with the Saints.

There was not enough money for all to go. Mary volunteered to stay behind because she felt she could earn enough from her weaving to support herself and save for her passage. She found her way to Berlin and to the home of a woman who hired her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. She lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the living area of the home.

It was against the law then to teach the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Berlin. But Mary could not keep the good news to herself. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear the Swiss girl teach. She talked about the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, of the visitation of angels, and of the Book of Mormon. When she came to the accounts of Alma, she taught the doctrine of the Resurrection.

That caused some problems with her weaving. In those days, many children died very young. The women around the loom had lost children in death, some of them several children. When Mary taught the truth that little children were heirs of the celestial kingdom and that those women might again be with them and with the Savior and our Heavenly Father, tears rolled down the faces of the women. Mary cried too. All those tears falling got the cloth wet that Mary had woven.

Mary’s teaching created a more serious problem. Even though Mary begged the women not to talk about what she told them, they did. They shared the joyous doctrine with their friends. So one night there was a knock at the door. It was the police. They took Mary off to jail. On the way, she asked the policeman for the name of the judge she was to appear before the next morning. She asked if he had a family. She asked if he was a good father and a good husband. The policeman smiled as he described the judge as a man of the world.

At the jail, Mary asked for a pencil and some paper. She wrote a letter to the judge. She wrote about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, about the spirit world, and about how long the judge would have to think and to consider his life before facing the final judgment. She wrote that she knew he had much to repent of which would break his family’s heart and bring him great sorrow. She wrote through the night. In the morning she asked the policeman to take her letter to the judge. He did.

Later, the policeman was summoned by the judge to his office. The letter Mary had written was irrefutable evidence that she was teaching the gospel and so breaking the law. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long until the policeman came back to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go, on the conditions she had stated in her letter. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had opened eyes and hearts enough to get her cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail (see Theresa Snow Hill, Life and Times of Henry Eyring and Mary Bommeli [1997], 15–22).

From 1856 to 1860, thousands of Latter-day Saint pioneers pulled their belongings in handcarts for over 1,000 miles (1,600 km) as they traveled to the Salt Lake Valley. One hundred sixty-seven years ago this very week, on October 4, 1856, President Brigham Young was surprised to learn that two handcart companies, led by Edward Martin and James Willie, were still hundreds of miles from Salt Lake, with winter fast approaching. The very next day, not far from where we meet today, President Young stood before the Saints and declared: “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and they must be brought here. … Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
Just two days later, the first rescue parties departed in search of the handcart pioneers.
A member of the Willie company described the desperate situation prior to the arrival of the main rescue team. He shared: “[Just] when it seemed all would be lost, … and there seemed little left to live for, like a thunderbolt out of the clear sky, God answered our prayers. A rescue party, bringing food and supplies … , came into sight. … How we thanked God for our rescue.”
These rescuers were heroes to the pioneers, putting their own lives at risk in extreme weather conditions to bring as many as possible safely home. One such hero was Ephraim Hanks.
In mid-October, and unaware of the handcart predicament, Hanks was returning to his home in Salt Lake following a trip when, during the night, he was awakened by a voice saying, “The hand-cart people are in trouble and you are wanted; will you go and help them?”
With that question ringing in his mind, he hurried back to Salt Lake City. And upon hearing President Heber C. Kimball call for additional volunteers, Hanks set out the very next day, on his own, to the rescue. Moving quickly, he overtook other rescuers en route, and upon reaching the Martin company, Hanks recalled, “The sight that met my gaze as I entered their camp can never be erased from my memory … [and] was enough to touch the stoutest heart.”
Ephraim Hanks spent days moving from tent to tent blessing the sick. He related that “in scores of instances, when we administered to the sick, and rebuked the diseases in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, the sufferers would rally at once; they were healed almost instantly.” Ephraim Hanks will forever be a hero to those handcart pioneers.

As a young man, Ezra Taft Benson (or “T” as he was called) was an assistant Scoutmaster in Whitney Ward in Whitney, Idaho. One of his duties was to prepare a young men’s choir for a stake competition.
Ezra: Tenors, you’re a little bit flat.
They won and moved on to compete against winning groups from six other stakes. It was a big challenge for a small ward, but T knew how to inspire boys.
Ezra: If you win this competition, I’ll take you on a thirty-five-mile hike over the mountains to Bear Lake.
Scout: Hurray!
Scout: Let’s win it!
They sang their hearts out and finished in first place! A promise is a promise, and they met to plan the hike.
A promise is a promise, and they met to plan the hike.
Scout: Mr. Scoutmaster, I’d like to make a motion. We should all clip our hair off so we won’t be bothered with combs and brushes.
The motion passed, which was all right with T—until another Scout spoke up.
Scout: How about the Scoutmasters?
They all went to the barbershop together.
Barber: I’ll tell you what, T. If you and the Scoutmaster will let me shave you bald, I’ll cut everyone’s hair for free.
Twenty-four short-cropped boys with their bald Scoutmaster and his bald assistants had a wonderful time on the hike.
Ezra Taft Benson stayed in touch with those boys his whole life, inspiring them to make right choices.