Gospel Story Finder

Sister Burton: Knowing and living our purpose unites us across cultures. I met a woman in Uruguay last year who told me how she had been called to be Relief Society president at the darkest time of her life. She was tempted to say, “I can’t do it right now.” But because she had made sacred covenants, she said, “I will do what I’ve been asked to do. I have faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I know through His Atonement I can do it.” Then she said to me, “My calling brought light into my life as I served my sisters. I relied upon the Lord, and He blessed me.”
I recognized the purpose of Relief Society in her story. Her faith in Heavenly Father and in Jesus Christ and His Atonement helped her. She had made sacred covenants and wanted to keep them. As she worked in unity with the bishop, she fulfilled her calling. Now she has a testimony that the Lord blesses us when we trust Him. I add my testimony to hers that our Savior Jesus Christ will help us through every mortal challenge and everything that seems unfair in this life.

One of the residents, Roy, was 46 when Sophia was age two. Because Roy’s mental age was the same as Sophia’s, they became best friends. Brother Ralph describes how they played together and followed each other around. “Now Sophia is eight, and Roy looks up to her as his big sister. Mentally he’s still a two-year-old.” It’s touching to watch them walk hand in hand down the lane to the lambing fields. When it’s spring, Sophia takes Roy to see the newborn lambs, an outing they both cherish.

I cannot reflect on the priceless value of this season’s opportunity without thinking about the Hoa family. The year 1975 was grim in Vietnam. The Republic of Vietnam had collapsed in the face of the relentless onslaught of the North Vietnamese. The army had surrendered. The government had capitulated. Those who had been strongly identified with the government of South Vietnam or with the Americans feared for their lives and well-being. Many fled the country. Those who could not force their way onto departing military aircraft took passage on overcrowded ships and boats of every description. Some of these rusting hulks sprang leaks and sank in the South China Sea, not far into the voyage. Others were accosted by pirates, who molested and murdered many of these pathetic refugees and stole what few possessions they had brought with them. Tran Do Hoa, his wife Nga, their two young daughters and Nga’s teenage brother were among those who survived these perils and eventually reached the United States under an amnesty program.

Our ward in Southern California had offered to sponsor one such family. We found and rented a small home and furnished it in “early Deseret Industries” decor. Finally, the day came that we were to meet “our” family. With my young son as company, I drove to Camp Pendleton, the sprawling U.S. Marine Corps base in northern San Diego County, to pick them up. Following directions, we turned off the main highway onto a narrow byway that soon became a dirt road. We drove down this road for a considerable distance until we came to a large encampment of tents in an isolated part of the base. This was where these refugees were housed. The sight was heartrending: hundreds of Vietnamese attired in worn and ill-fitting clothing, many malnourished and still showing the bone-deep exhaustion of their ordeal. Clouds of dust hung in the late-summer air from the foot and vehicular traffic in and about the camp.

It was then, after checking in at the administrative tent, that I got my first glimpse of Hoa. He was a distinguished looking man in his early forties, thin to the point of emaciation, with graying hair and a gentle, polite smile. Nga, his wife, was a tiny woman with the natural beauty and graciousness of the Vietnamese. Two little girls, Betty and Ti (“Tee”), each clutching a doll, shyly clung to their parents. Thuan, Nga’s teenage brother, stood awkwardly nearby. And what I remember the most: all of their belongings were in a small, travel-worn suitcase and a cheap, plastic shopping bag. In Vietnam, Hoa had been a government civil servant; Nga had worked as a secretary. They had enjoyed a modest, but comfortable, standard of living. Now they had nothing. In fleeing Vietnam, they had forsaken everything they owned and held dear. Grateful to have escaped with their lives, they were totally and completely destitute in a strange land far from home. Hoa spoke halting English; Nga and the children spoke almost no English. As we drove out of that dusty encampment and onto Interstate 5, the great coastal superhighway, I remember thinking how overwhelmed and alone they must feel.

Looking back now, however, with the perspective of the years, I realize that Hoa and Nga had something not immediately apparent to the eye. They had a profound sense of gratitude for the opportunity that this land afforded them. They had virtually nothing of this world’s goods when they arrived in this country. But they brought with them a fierce determination to seize the opportunity provided. Through some interviews we helped to arrange, Hoa found work in a small electronics company. Nga immediately began attending English classes and eventually found a clerical job. Betty and Thuan enrolled in school and devoted themselves to their studies with single-minded resolve. Little Ti, a pre-schooler when the family arrived, grew up as an American child but fueled with the same work ethic that animated the other members of her family.

In time, our family moved away. We lost contact with Hoa and Nga and their children for a period of years. And so it was, with considerable delight, that we discovered on a return visit to that community that Hoa and Nga had purchased a lovely home. Two late-model automobiles were parked in their garage. Hoa and Nga each held responsible, remunerative jobs. Thuan had completed college as an electrical engineer. Betty had a scholarship to attend UCLA. And Ti was a vivacious teenager. Not long afterward, Hoa passed away prematurely.

More years passed. I was serving in the Area Presidency of the North America West Area and was assigned to a stake conference near Riverside, California. As I walked into the chapel on Sunday morning, there on the first row was Thuan. Although not a Church member and living more than 50 miles from this stake center, he had heard of my coming to the conference quite by chance from a workmate who was a member of the stake. He had come to once again express his gratitude-- and that of his family-- for the blessing of an opportunity. It was a wonderful and tearful reunion for me–one I shall always remember.

During one particularly difficult time when Josh was to return to Salt Lake City for chemotherapy, we needed help with our other four children. My Mom was scheduled to come up from Nevada to help, but she came down with a kidney stone at the last minute.

I remember that in our desperate circumstance, gathering the family together, kneeling in a circle, and petitioning the Lord in family prayer to help us. No sooner had we got off our knees than the phone rang, and a sister in a neighboring ward felt impressed to call and ask how she could help. My wife told her of our plight, and she said, "Done. I'll take care of it. Don't even worry about this week." And she took care of the children for the entire week! We couldn't have done it without her timely help. Later on, ward members called and asked if we would be okay with a special fast for our son. After wrestling with that decision some, we finally said "yes." It was one of the best decisions we ever made, as the primary children began to pray for us. If you ever need great faith and extra blessings, get the primary children involved in praying for you.

It was New Year’s Day, and a snowstorm had just blanketed the small mountain town of Estes Park, Colorado, where I lived. Filled with the excitement of the holiday season, my older brother, Roger, and I had gone outside to play in a field near our home. A little lake where we had played on the ice many times before now lay underneath a fresh mantle of snow, flat and absolutely flawless.
No one worried about the lake being unsafe at that time of year—we lived at such a high altitude that the cold weather generally insured that small lakes would be frozen. But as we were playing, Roger suddenly fell through a soft spot in the ice. I was only six years old, and I didn’t know what to do. I could see no sticks around to pull him out with; everything was covered by snow. His heavy clothing soon pulled him under the water.
I ran all the way home through the deep snow, over a mile, to get my father. We drove back to the lake, and he dove through the ice and somehow found my brother. He tried to revive him, but by that time Roger had drowned.
That experience left me with several feelings. First, I saw the strength of the gospel in my parents’ lives. We were the only members of the Church in our community. Everyone rallied around my parents to give them support and comfort, but I think that the whole community gained more comfort and understanding by watching how a knowledge of the gospel helped my family handle that very difficult situation.
Second, I learned about the purpose of this mortal experience. We come to earth to gain a body. Some of us are going to live on the earth a shorter time than others. When you’re literally side by side with your brother, and he goes through the ice and drowns and you don’t, it gives you a whole different way of thinking about life. It could have just as easily been me that drowned. But I’ve always felt that my brother’s mission here on earth had been completed and that he was just “called home” at an earlier age than most of us. But being the one who was allowed to remain, it was important to live as well as I could so that not only Heavenly Father but also my brother would be pleased with my actions.
Third, I learned a great deal from the courage exhibited by my father. He risked his life to break through that ice and dive underneath it to try to rescue his ten-year-old son. It was an immediate response; he did what he felt he needed to do. He showed great love, courage, and strength of character.

In fact, what happened after the Temple was announced was there was a community of Latter-day Saintes living in a little village called Iosepa in Skull Valley. Hawaiians were in this desolate place and when they heard of the Temple and the encouragement of their Iospepa, Joseph F. Smith, they came back in a wonderful mass migration from Zion back to Zion.

Many others have come here for the same reason; to receive their Endowments. In fact, when Joseph F. Smith went back and announced this in conference he said that this place, as he said to the brethren, would be a place not only for Hawaiians but for the peoples of the Pacific until they could have their own temples in their own places. He specifically mentioned New Zealand and Tonga and Samoa and French Polynesia, but the whole Pacific.

So that's the other consequence of having a Temple here is that Laie became international. We as an international university with our flag circle. PCC is an international gathering place. That's really an extension. We are extensions of the Temple. It became a sight that people came to from many different countries. That's another blessing of having the Temple here.

In our pain, we may not appreciate this fact so much, but our pain indeed contributes to our joy. I found this to be true for myself when I experienced a divorce a few years ago. I was devastated, and at the time wasn't sure I would ever recover. Day by day, bit by bit, I learned that I had the power to choose whether or not I was going to be happy. A series of those choices has led me here to you, for which I am very grateful.

This is a time to discover talents and interests that will be of satisfaction to you for the rest of your lives. When I was a freshman here at BYU, Janie Thompson—a BYU legend in finding and developing talent—asked me if I would participate in a song and dance number she was producing for some sort of conference. I agreed. But after a few practices, Janie said, “Bob, I like your enthusiasm, but you are not much of a singer.” Since then I have not sought opportunities to stand in front of audiences and sing. But I have found numerous rewards for enthusiasm.

Through all of this, I did learn that I could work as hard as almost anyone. That was not a native skill; my dad taught me how to work, and all of my life I have been able to keep up with the hardest of workers. This became one of the most important lessons from my college life. Your successes highlight your gifts; your disappointments help you learn your limitations. And these are very important lessons that affect directly who you are in God’s plan. These lessons play a major role in helping you determine your true identity.

Some have the gift of being a friend, of being selfless and thoughtful and lifting those around them. Speaking of the most treasured spiritual gift of charity, Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:5 says it "seeketh not her own." That certainly means that someone with the gift of charity isn't always looking out for himself or herself, isn't overly concerned with his or her own self-interest. But I learned something of charity from someone with such a gift of friendship. After graduate school we moved to Southern California. We moved in on a Saturday, a call came on Sunday, and on Monday I was surprised to find myself the new early-morning seminary teacher, facing a group of 30 high-school juniors and seniors. They were delightful. As I got to know them I particularly noticed one young man. Everyone wanted to be around him. It was interesting that there was nothing superficially exceptional about him: he didn't have a great car, was not a big athlete. So I observed, and I learned. For example, when most of us go into a fireside, who do we look for? I think we would agree, for our friends, for those with whom we're comfortable. Not my friend Sean. Though everyone was saving him a seat, Sean would look for the person who was alone, who needed to have someone to sit by. He was not seeking out his own buddies, not seeking out his own. When you walk into a dance, who do you look for? Well, you'll have to answer that one for yourself; but I suspect some of you might have been thinking of physical descriptions of people in the room. My friend Sean was looking for whoever might feel a little lonely or awkward. Sean's goal was to see everyone had a good time. He wasn't seeking his own pleasure or gratification, he wasn't seeking his own. And I can tell you his gift had a significant affect, on the love and the unity of our Stake, and a richness came into his life.

My parents did not belong to a church when I was a boy, and they didn’t talk much with me about Jesus Christ. But even as a little child, I always said my prayers. I slept in an upstairs loft on a couple of mattresses. I climbed the stairs, knelt beside the mattresses, and talked with Heavenly Father. Then I rolled into bed. I’m sure I didn’t use hallowed language, but I learned to feel comfortable praying, so that when I heard the missionaries as a teenager, it was an easy thing for me to pray about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, and to ask Heavenly Father if the Church was true.

In a personal way, I recall the experiences my dear wife and I went through after deciding the course I should take for my life’s work. I had taken some courses in pharmacy with the plan in mind of converting to a career in medicine. As many of us do, I changed my mind and engaged in another business, banking. We were blessed with steady employment, but I felt attracted toward the profession of law. This was a serious decision because I was married and had a family to support but after fasting and prayer and obtaining the facts as to the best way to proceed, I completed my undergraduate work and entered law school. I took classes at night because it was necessary to be employed during the daytime. These were not easy years for us, but desires are usually accomplished if we are willing to make a determined effort. Needless to say, I had the help and support of my wife. She remained a homemaker and cared for our children. What she gave in love, encouragement, frugality, and companionship was far in excess of any material contribution she might have made by taking employment.

At my baptism I received a set of scriptures. I was so excited. The black-bound books had my name engraved on them in bright gold letters. I proudly carried them to church every Sunday. Previously I had had only a Book of Mormon. Now I felt extra special carrying the other scriptures too.
As a new member of the Church, I decided I would read the Bible every day. But that only lasted about a week. I got confused with all the names and years in the first part of Genesis. So I tried just reading during the sacrament on Sundays. After a while I wasn’t thinking about Jesus anymore; I was just trying to piece together who was who in the Bible.
A year later, our family started reading the Book of Mormon together. When we finished the following year, I had forgotten almost everything we had read.
As I became older and could understand things better, I decided to read the Book of Mormon by myself.
I started okay, but soon began forgetting—or thinking I didn’t have enough time. When I did read, it went through my 11-year-old brain like water. I was just reading to read and was not really understanding what the book was saying.
Then, the summer right before I turned 12, I went to girls’ camp with my ward’s Young Women.
We had time each night for scripture study in our tents, and I decided I was going to read the scriptures every night I was there. I began with the first words of the first verse that almost everyone has memorized: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Ne. 1:1).
It was so incredible. I don’t know how, but the scriptures started making more sense. I felt how hard it would be if Heavenly Father commanded my family to leave our home and go somewhere so far away. I had always known the story of how the Lord commanded Nephi to go get the brass plates, but those three nights at camp I could actually see a young man going to an evil man’s home, needing the plates.
I have read the scriptures every night since girls’ camp. I haven’t forgotten, and if I accidentally turn off the light before I read my scriptures, I am not able to sleep. After I finish reading the Book of Mormon, I plan on reading the Bible.
Now that I have learned to “liken all scriptures unto us, that it might be for our profit and learning” (1 Ne. 19:23), I hope others will learn from my experience and be able to enjoy reading the scriptures too.

It was a blind man who helped me see a principle of leadership in a way that I will never forget. It happened one day on the Eagle Gate corner in Salt Lake City. I had arrived at the intersection at the same time as a blind man (I later learned his name was Jim Ganski) with his Seeing Eye dog. As the signal changed, the dog hesitated because a bus at curbside was blocking his vision and he was not sure it was safe to cross. Desiring to be helpful, I grasped the blind man’s arm and started him across the street. As we walked, I explained the reason for the dog’s hesitation. By the time I completed my explanation, we had reached the middle of the street and the dog had already turned and looked at me several times and then inquiringly at his master. The twist of the dog’s harness no doubt signaled his concern to his master. It was then that the blind man thanked me courteously for the explanation and then said firmly, “Now, if you would please let go of my arm, my dog doesn’t like people taking over his job.”
What a great lesson! Once you have delegated a job, do not take it over again.

It had just started to rain when seven-year-old Angela stepped into the tent. Her two older brothers, Michael and Mark, were already inside. Mom and Dad had their own tent set up not far away.
“Let’s say our prayers before we get into our sleeping bags,” Michael said.
The three children knelt in prayer. Angela thanked Heavenly Father for her many blessings, and she asked Him to keep them safe from the storm and to help them sleep well.
After her prayer, she slid into her sleeping bag. For a long time all was quiet except for the plomp, plomp, plomp of the rain against the roof of their tent. Then she heard Michael’s voice. “Hey, Angela, wasn’t Mount Rushmore cool?”
“Yes,” she answered with a yawn.
“So were the animals in the park,” said Mark.
“I liked them, too,” Angela agreed. She pictured the buffalo calves grazing so close to the road that she could see their eyes watching the slow-moving cars.
Flash! Boooooom!
Angela squeezed her eyes tight. “Go to sleep,” she told herself. “It’s just thunder.” It had rained almost every day that her family had been on vacation. Every time it rained, lightning shot across the sky like hot arrows, and thunder echoed on and on like beating drums.
Flash! Boooooom!
Angela pulled the sleeping bag over her head. “Go to sleep,” she told herself again.
“Mark, are you awake?” Michael whispered into the darkness.
“Hmmm?” Mark’s voice was heavy with sleep.
“Are you awake?”
Flash!
Mark opened his eyes. “I am now,” he said.
Boooom!
“Angela, are you awake?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Angela whimpered. “I’m scared. I want to go to Mom and Dad’s tent.”
“It’s raining too hard,” Michael said. “You’ll get soaking wet. Besides, it’s not safe to go out in the lightning.”
Angela frowned. “But I’m really scared.”
Flash! Flash!
“You don’t need to be scared,” Mark said. “The lightning is really cool! It’s just a bunch of static electricity in the clouds.”
Boooom!
“And the thunder sounds like a big whip!” he added.
Angela shuddered. “I don’t like it!”
Flash! Boooom!
“Well, then think of things that make you happy,” Mark suggested. “That might help.”
Angela closed her eyes and thought about a field of yellow flowers. She imagined herself running down a hill into the field, laughing.
Flash! Boom! Flash! Flash! Booooom!
“It’s not working,” Angela said, shaking. “I’m still scared.”
Suddenly, rain began pelting their tent. Angela scrunched deep within her sleeping bag. What could she do to stop feeling scared? Then a quiet thought entered her mind. “Why don’t we sing?” she shouted, hoping her brothers could hear her above the noise. “My Primary teacher said that singing Primary songs can help us feel better.”
“OK,” Mark said loudly. “What should we sing?”
“How about ‘I Am a Child of God’?” Michael suggested.
Slowly, quietly, Angela started to sing.
“I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here …”
Angela stopped. Her brothers weren’t singing with her. “They must not be able to hear me,” she thought. So she sang louder.
“Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.”
Her brothers were singing now.
“Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.”
(Children’s Songbook, 2–3.)
Flash! Boom!
“Now what should we sing?” Angela asked.
“Let’s sing that one again,” Michael said.
Over and over, Angela, Michael, and Mark sang “I Am a Child of God” until the storm passed and peace returned to their tent.
“It worked!” Angela told herself as she snuggled into the warmth of her sleeping bag. “Finally I can go to sleep.” As she closed her eyes, another thought gently filled her mind. “I am a child of God, and I know He will help me find the way.”

Correction, hopefully gentle, can come from one’s spouse. Elder Richard G. Scott, who just addressed us, remembers a time early in his marriage when his wife, Jeanene, counseled him to look directly at people when he spoke to them. “You look at the floor, the ceiling, the window, anywhere but in their eyes,” she said. He took that gentle rebuke to heart, and it made him much more effective in counseling and working with people. As one who served as a full-time missionary under then President Scott’s direction, I can attest that he does look one squarely in the eye in his conversations. I can also add that when one needs correction, that look can be very penetrating.

The salesman said, “It’s rather interesting that you should ask those questions. A few nights ago I was at the airport in Salt Lake City and it was extremely crowded. I hadn’t been there very long when your ‘boss’ came in. The only empty seat was right next to me, and there I was smoking a cigarette. As he sat by me I turned away from him and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. He then put his arm around me and said, ‘Never mind, young man. We know that not all of the people in the state of Utah are members of the Church.’”
Then the salesman told me that the man, President David O. McKay, my “boss,” had asked him basically the same questions that l had.

A second way we fail to feel blessed is by giving God a timeline. I have a darling three-year-old grandson named Dalan. His family arrived at my home late one night after a seven hour drive. My exhausted daughter wanted to sleep in the next morning, but Dalan did not. He jumped on her bed very early and said, "Wake up mommy; I'm hungry."
She opened one eye and said, "Oh, Dalan, I am so tired. Just give me five more minutes."
To her surprise, he said "Ok." Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "one, two, three, four, five. I did it mommy. I gave you five minutes."
He was so cute she just had to get up with him. I think that sometimes our perception of time is close to Dalan's. We tell God that we have waited for five, ten, or even twenty years and that is long enough. We think God asks too much of us. What if Columbus had finally told God that he knew he was inspired with the idea to sail west and he knew he had been told he would succeed. However, he had been doing everything he could to accomplish this for almost six years--and that was long enough. We need to be faithful, patient and know that we will be blessed.

A memorial service was held for Stephen at the Vancouver stake center in British Columbia. Instead of sending flowers, friends contributed to a fund in his name set up at his former high school. Each year a graduating student who has “shown outstanding contributions in the area of helping other young people—one who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the spirit of a true humanitarian”—will receive $100 bursary and the “Super Steve Humanitarian Award.”
The Vancouver British Columbia Stake has inaugurated a “Stephen Farrance Memorial Sportsmanship Award” to be presented to the seminary team that shows the most concern for each other, attention to rules, sincere effort, and good sportsmanship during the annual scripture chase.
At the memorial services, members and nonmembers gathered to remember Stephen. A School friend spoke on Stephen’s contributions to the school and to his fellow students. He spoke of his many talents, his desire to serve, and his example to the student body. His priests adviser talked about Stephen’s Church accomplishments, his enthusiasm for any outing, even if he knew he couldn’t participate, and his concern for the priesthood brethren. And the bishop spoke about Stephen’s spiritual achievements. He reminded those gathered of the great, strong testimony he had, and how he had made use of every opportunity to bear it. He talked of Stephen’s desire to serve the Lord in any capacity he could. For the first time members and nonmembers, brought together through love of Stephen, became aware of many sides of Stephen’s remarkable character.

True in his faith, Napela was one of the first to arrive in Laie. Remote and desolate, Laie became the new gathering place in the islands after the sad end of the Palawai settlement. Here in Laie, Napela and Kiti settled once again into a new life with the saints. During his first year here, Napela demonstrated how sugar cane could flourish on this side of the island. Soon plantations in Laie and Kahuku expanded and a new means of support took root. Here is a photo of one of the first sugar mills in Laie, and industry on the North Shore that can be traced back to Napela's first crop of sugar cane in his field near Haaula. In the 1870's Laie did not possess the remarkable beauty we now enjoy. The land was barren, vegetation was limited, and water was scarce, yet 6,000 acres was purchased for new gathering place. During this time, Napela received permission from the Kingdom of Hawaii to travel to Salt Lake City where he met with former missionaries and where he received his endowment. Not long after his return the Napelas faced another crisis. In 1872, it was discovered that his wife, Kiti, had contracted leprosy, a scourge of the islands affecting nearly every village in the Kingdom.

Contracting leprosy meant that under law Kiti must be taken to reside in the colony on Molokai to remain until the disease would disappear or until the end of her life. Unwilling to be separated from his wife, Napela volunteered accompany Kiti to Kalaupapa, there to care for his wife and to serve the settlement the assistant to the director of the colony. For a period of time life on Molokai for the Napela's achieved a kind of normalcy. There are records horseback riding, fishing, picnics, and many social activities. Their only child, Panana, was sent to the Big Island to live with relatives. There, Panana married Samuel Parker and together they became the parents of nine sons and daughters, two of whom are pictured here. Meanwhile, Napela served as the local branch president, conducting meetings sometimes out in the open or under a hut made of woven fibers like the ones shown here. In 1877, Napela contracted leprosy.

Very likely the appearance of the Napelas would resemble these former residents of Kalaupapa. The disease first took hold in Kiti while Jonathan showed less evidence of leprosy. However, these conditions changed quickly. When visiting Kalaupapa near the end of Napela's life, Elder Henry Richards stated that the disease had taken Napela beyond recognition. Prior to his death, Napela was permitted to visit Laie once again, attend conference, and bid farewell to his beloved friends and saints living here. His final days, despite pain and disfigurement, were filled with exceptional service to the local saints in the colony. He continued to care for Kiti and willingly assisted members of other denominations with the basic care and comfort necessary to survive under unimaginable difficulties. Napela, preceding his wife Kiti in death, in August of 1879. The graveyard in the crater near Kalaupapa is the final resting place of Jonathan Napela.

The ferry was sitting low in the heavy seas, bumping the waves like a fat mallard barely making headway. As it inched closer to the dock you could see the captain in the wheelhouse surrounded by young men. The whole boat seemed covered with people, and the forward deck and rails were packed with eager young faces with a few adults interspersed.
The moment the ferry nudged the pilings and the heavy ropes were thrown ashore, people in Scout uniforms started pouring onto the dock.
Australian Scouts of all sizes were everywhere for a moment, and then they quickly formed a human chain from the dark interior of the boat, leading up into the light and out onto the dock. Supplies started flowing down this human chain. Boxes, billies (pails), tins, sleeping bags, tents, packs, and enough oil drums and surplus army ammunition boxes and weapons boxes to establish a beachhead were piled on the wharf. In no time at all the gear was sorted and loaded onto backs or carts pulled by more Scouts and Explorers, and the first Hobart Australia Stake all-LDS Scout camp was underway.
Sixty-eight excited Tasmanians climbed off of the ferry for their adventure on Maria Island. Many had never seen or met the people from the other wards. They also brought many of their nonmember and non-Scout friends. And they had many good leaders, including their stake president and several bishops and fathers, in addition to their Scoutmasters and other priesthood leaders.